Raymund Ballast knew he should be looking at the battlefield as a whole, measuring the strength of the opponents waiting for them, but his heart hijacked control of the rest of his body— his eyes locked upon Techetadore and refused to budge.

His brother had seen better days. Even since their last encounter, he had earned visible marks of suffering.

The gaunt and hollow sag of Techetadore’s cheekbones, as though this flesh were just the mask worn by the creature beneath, had Raymund’s eyes blazing. Now that the Ghosthound had explained the situation, Raymund could see the signs of the insidious hand upon his brother. While the body did indeed belong to Techet, a capricious, slimy creature had made itself a home within his limbs. It leered out through the eyes of his precious brother-

Next to him, he felt a heavy paw press down on his shoulder. “Easy. If we charge straight into their midst, it will not go easy for us. Fight smart in the face of odds and we can yet win.”

Raymund tore his gaze away and looked at Charlotte Wick. With the additional emotional ghost she had received from the Ghosthound, her previous solid image had evolved into a rawer weapon, one that pulsed and seethed with power. The Primal Ground sat at the heart of this offensive, fueling it with an irresistible nudge toward growth. Each step forward saw energy flowing up through their feet and increasing their momentum.

But now heavy layers of cool mud and rich dirt wrapped around Raymund’s body, an often unused aspect of the image. His heat and fury seeped out of him, draining through the porous soil. His heavy breathing slowed and he could look around with eyes less clouded by Techetadore’s situation.

Charlotte was correct; this would not be an easy fight. Raymund frowned. “A flat field…”

“They waited for us here,” Charlotte nodded.

The crystal mountains still rose around them, but they had proceeded into a large open chamber. A few meandering cracks distantly above them allowed light and mist to seep down and precipitate down through the room. The main feature of this chamber appeared to be an elaborate mural painted on the ground, depicting what Raymund assumed to be the birth of the Nexus. Perhaps in happier times, or during the rapid growth of this mountain range, it had been assumed this room would host extravagant balls.

Now, it housed an army.

Several recognizable Swacc Family members stood in rigid formation above an army of at least a thousand. Yet the number of images released by the regiment tripled that. Each warrior possessed at least one Armament, with the more decorated members of the Swacc family bristling with the exaggeratedly large and serrated blades or wave-patterned armor. Chaotic as though their energy might be, it at least blazed.

And did seem to be restrained by the misty, ambient Aether of this place, as the Vulpis Squad continued to be. It was not that onerous a burden, especially not after the sadistic training regimens designed by the Ghosthound and perfected by Alana Donal, but those small advantages would add up.

Raymund pressed his lips together, “Forgive my brief madness, Charlotte. You are correct-”

A voice that rumbled through the marrow of the listener’s bones covered the entire battlefield. “Randidly… Ghosthound. You grow quickly. You have brought me many gifts. Yet this is… not enough to earn you clemency.”

Techetadore’s eyes glowed. The two armies bristled in the general direction of the other, but no one made any moves. Because opposite the crowned leader of the Nexus, the man with a voice that made souls shiver, a tall man with black hair lifted his chin. He looked into the eyes of Raymund’s brother, looked at the monster that had possessed him, and did not flinch.

Randidly Ghosthound grinned.

“What I bear are not gifts, you nameless thief,” Their leader straightened as he drew on his own power. Currents of kinetic destruction galloped out from the wreckage of porcelain dolls they had left in their wake. These dark energies wrapped lovingly around his body, spinning into whirlpools around his left arm before exploding out and covering the area above their invasion force.

A tangible sign of resistance warped the space within the chamber.

Raymund had felt the first stirrings of this power as they had been fighting through, but he had only heard individual echoes during the hurtling rush to reach this point. Small, deft touches the Ghosthound had used to extract the extra kinetic force and churn it into the storm he dragged behind him. But now that he saw the storm making landfall on their position, he realized it was not just a howling typhoon, but the manipulation also conjured the ocean surging beneath it.

From those depths, he recognized the violent patterns of the spear strokes. He could hear the woman’s determined breath, soak in her bloodthirstiness. Even now, Randidly Ghosthound did not fight alone. The First Knight of the Ghosthound carved up the battlefield with her vicious patterns of force, making the Armaments possessed by the Swacc Family look like toys.

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“What I bring for you,” Randidly took the first step forward, wielding Helen’s spear, a bleak cloak of darkness and grief wrapped around his shoulders. “Is fucking kismet, you bastard.”

Techetadore’s jaw wiggled. He raised his arms. “The First Fist: Dominance.”

“Erebus’s Baleful Waltz. Marred Yet Reliable Foundation of Yggdrasil. Lethal Tide of Izanami.” Randidly growled opposite.

The pressure inside the crystal-walled room shot upward.

A punch manifested in the air behind Techetadore’s body. A punch of a half-deific being, with enough raw potency to grind against the crystalline walls of this place. Randidly Ghosthound launched himself forward, the storm and the ocean frothing and seething around his position. All that force spiraled together along his spear.

Simultaneously, their leader sent a message to Raymund Ballast. Keep the troops sharp. But stay back; I’ll need your help for this. If this proceeds how I expect it to…

Both armies still remained motionless, waiting to see how the battle would proceed. Or, perhaps more realistically, both sides waited to see whether Randidly Ghosthound could clear the first hurdle and prove they had the standing to truly rebel in the Nexus.

Raymund didn’t even breathe. He felt Heiffal tensing up next to him. They both watched and hoped.

Speartip met punch. Sound and light blossomed.

Raymund Ballast braced himself, but even so he staggered backward as the impact smacked against their group. For several long seconds, the two image projections hummed against one another.

The massive fist looked down on the amalgamation of images in the spear strike. The message rumbled out by its affect pressed against not only Randidly, but the army following him. You will submit.

The spear pierced, ignoring the oppressive persuasion of the attack, instead repeating its mantra. It offered another Path, refused to allow the avenue to be sealed for the people of the Alpha Cosmos. Advance, advance, advance!

When neither could gain an advantage with the flavor of their attacks, the decisive factor ended up being power. The lines around Raymund’s mouth tightened as he saw the light of the Ghosthound’s spear beginning to wane… and then it snapped. The fist swelled and swelled, filling more and more space without any force standing against it; it had become dominant and drew succor and momentum from the ambient Aether of this place. The massive shot forward and slammed into Randidly’s body, who threw himself out in front of the group. Comparing the two of them in size, his body was a grain of sand in front of a collapsing mountain.

And their leader grimaced, but only took a single step backward. The rebel army shivered. Their eyes narrowed with resolve. They lifted their own weapons, preparing to fight.

The unspoken test had been passed.

Look at Techetadore, Randidly sent in a message, distracting Raymund from his worry. He looked and his eyes widened. A drop of blood crept out of his nose and seeped into the fur around his mouth.

I can’t afford to be delicate, not with him, even though the body limits the power he can wield. But… if Elhume goes all out, Techetadore won’t be able to withstand it. So before that happens-

Raymund’s eyes narrowed in recognition. I observe, for the opportunity to liberate my tragic brother.

“Alana-” Raymund began, but when he turned to the spearwoman, she was shaking her head.

“I would assume command, but the Ghosthound wants me to personally greet an old acquaintance,” Alana said, her eyes fixing on a single individual in the mass of Swacc Family fighters. Raymund nodded and looked around. Charlotte Wick needed to be at the front, stabilizing the situation. Which left-

“Shit, don’t look at me like that,” DiOrtho Vant’s eyes widened as Raymund’s gaze settled on him. He raised his hatchets, as though to ward off the oncoming order. “Look, while sitting here safe in the middle is fun, the weird thing the Ghosthound added to my weapons is so interesting, and I’d love to just muck around in the melee-”

“Do not struggle,” Elhume said. “The First Fist: Dominance.”

Raymund frowned in rebuke. As DiOrtho paled and groaned, Charlotte patted him on the shoulder. Vizzeret Clamman, the obsidian wolf from the Vulpis Squad who had been moping since Vant had been chosen to receive the emotional ghost and he had not, strutted smugly past the miserable demon-man toward the front of the group.

Yet as the pressure in the air changed, everyone moved quickly to their positions without a further word. Opposite them, the Swacc forces roared and swarmed forward, aiming to use their superior numbers to overwhelm the Vulpis Squad.

As another fist formed above the confrontation between the two armies, Randidly waved his hand. His cloak of darkness appeared to intensify around his shoulders. But then the cloak bulged outward as Randidly shifted to one of his image physicalization forms.

The left side of his face vanished, engulfed in a swirling maelstrom of darkness. The event horizon turned his features unbalanced and monstrous. His limbs elongated, sharpening at the fingertips and joints, the Dread Homunculus covering his skin and empowering his muscles. The bulge of the darkness cloak grew and then the whispering barrier slid away, revealing two wings of bare roots and craving, twisting and reaching for the sky.

The image of Randidly Ghosthound spiked upward, clashing against the fist that rolled to crush him. All the disparate kinetic force of the previous blow whipped back around, settling across Randidly’s body and empowering him further. He blazed above the battlefield, their silent sentinel.

On the ground, Charlotte Wick roared and crashed against the leader of the Swacc forces, a four-armed humanoid wielding two bastard swords. The rest of the Vulpis Squad surged around her to support Charlotte, protecting her from attacks from the side while her image grappled with the Armaments of the foe.

And my role… Raymund’s eyes narrowed as he locked onto Techetadore’s figure. More blood seeped out of his nose after the second blow. His blood pounding in his ears, Raymund settled down to watch and wait.

His image hissed and seethed, reacting to the power of his desire.