The Deadmage was very kind. He took his good time getting up, letting the dirt cascade of him and the air scythes build around him slowly. The dust in the air seemed to be interfering with his ability to create more scythes, and he was busy clearing them from the air. All good. It gave Riven all the time in the world to meet up with Viriya.

“It’s not safe to leave those two alone for long,” she said.

“I know.” Riven stared at the Deadmage, wary of the first sign of him looking to attack them. “We need to get him as quickly as possible.”

Viriya stared behind them. The battle between the Spectres and the military was dying down, but there was no hint of anyone coming to their rescue. “We’re not getting any help.”

“None.” Riven scowled. Where had Rio gone? It was a horrible thought, but he might be smooching it up with the Arnish. That was the best political decision after all. It wasn’t right to think uncharitably of Rio with so little to go off of, but still. “We’re on our own.”

“The Chasm do you expect either of us to do? I’m running out of firepower.”

There had been that sudden dizziness for Riven too. Maybe he was overextending himself, or however this strange power worked. “I’m… not exactly in the best of conditions either.”

He grimaced even as he said it. Whatever had gone on with him, he hadn’t faced the Deadmage head-on like Viriya. His shirt wasn’t torn, his boot wasn’t missing, his hair wasn’t a giant mess, and what few wounds he’d suffered, those little cuts and slices courtesy of the Deadmage, were all nothing compared to what Viriya had suffered. Too many wounds peppered her all over, too many bloody dots and red abrasions on her arms, legs, face, and any exposed skin. That nasty cut on her neck was going to take ages to heal, and thank the Scions it hadn’t hit an artery.

“Any ideas?” he asked.

Her eyes darted everywhere, noting the dust, the funnelling air. “His Spirit is air.”

“Like the last one’s was fire?”

“Heat, specifically, but yes. In this case, it’s more specifically pressure, but to do that he needs to control the flow of air.”

“So air. That’s all we need to take away.”

“Air… that’s everywhere.”

They were taking too long to discuss. Riven frowned, hands clenching to fists as the dust around the Deadmage finally cleared and he turned to face them. At least he was ignoring those who couldn’t put up a fight anymore. Though that was worrying on its own. If Secondmarked Rose and Firstmarked Glaven, two of the most powerful Essentiers in all of Severance Frontier, couldn’t do it, what chance in the Chasm did Riven and Viriya have?

Air swirled around faster and faster around the Deadmage. A whizzing sound filled the air, wind spinning fast enough to slice at the slightest contact, the air so compressed the witch was now fully obscured behind his spinning curtain of death.

“Shit,” Viriya muttered. “We need to survive before we can attack.”

Survive. Riven’s hand tingled where Rose had squeezed it. It’d be fine. He’d have to remember that. “I’ve got this.”

As the air spun even faster, Riven focused. Survive. Maybe that was his Essence, for surely this power, this impossible ability, could be nothing else. Riven had to be an Essentier. He stared at the razor wind, every hair on his arms standing on their end at the imminent prospect of being shredded to nothing. The only way to survive was to use that strange ability that made whatever occupied the space around warp into a shield.

But nothing happened. No familiar pressure. No pins and needles, no rush, no sensation like he was being filled up from the inside. He was empty. Empty, and powerless.

“Riven…” Viriya stared at him, eyes sharp with expectation.

He tried again, but nothing came. Maybe he’d exhausted his tank of Essence. Which was strange, since there was so much Sept lying all around. “I—I can’t do it. It’s not coming to me.”

“Well, get a grip fast, we can’t—”

She didn’t get to finish. The Deadmage blasted air scythes, dozens, scores, hundreds, a barrage of air that filled the entire sky. They couldn’t run either. After waiting this long, they’d let the Deadmage get too much of a head start. But he had to survive. Somehow.

It came all of a sudden. The pressure filled him, then shot out in an array of golden lines merging everywhere and with everything. Another wave of dizziness made his vision waver, but his sight fixed itself just in time. Right in front, the air solidified in a sheen of gold and created a shield. The scythes crashed into it. They all disappeared, but the shock burst through, waves of force rippling through faster than Riven could react. He flew back, rolling across the ground, pain flaring all over at the impact. Groaning, he tried to get up. Tried to ignore the jolts of agony ricocheting through his bones and muscles. Holy Scions, the pain was blinding.

“Riven!” Viriya was here, pulling him by the shoulders. “Come on. Move.”

Somehow, Riven was standing. The Deadmage was creating more air scythes again. His swirling air had formed another twister around him, a funnel that rose towards the heavens. They were supposed to fight that? “I can’t do that again.”

“I’m well aware.” She pushed him, and the two of them rushed along the broken ground.

“Where are we going?”

“Shelter.”

Viriya glanced at where the Deadmage was, then pushed harder. She grabbed Riven’s arm and dragged him along when he resisted. He looked over. More scythes had formed. A lot more. Damn it.

He pulled his arms free, then dashed forwards, ignoring the pain shooting up in too many places to count. “No time. Run!”

Viriya complied, charging in and passing him with ease.

The same whizzing sound from before thrummed in the air, and Riven’s head turned against his will. They were coming straight for him and Viriya. All those innumerable air scythes. He stared forward, begging his legs to run faster, eyes smarting at the dust that still clogged the air. The rocks! Of course. Genius Viriya aimed to use the rocks as shields against those vicious scythes of razor-sharp wind. But then, hadn’t the earth been torn apart when the Deadmage attacked Glaven much the same way?

“It won’t work, Viriya,” Riven said. “His scythes can tear through rocks.”

“Doesn’t matter?”

“What?”

“We’re not going to hide.” She contradicted herself as she dived behind a rock and beckoned Riven to join her. “We’re going to distract him.”

Riven was too panicked to argue. The whizzing had restarted, the Deadmage ready to tear them apart along with everything else in the vicinity.

“Let’s go.” Viriya shuffled off, bent low to keep herself hidden from their adversary.

“Where are we going?” Riven hissed.

“Doesn’t matter. Anywhere. Just got to keep him guessing too.”

Oh, of course. With the two of them obscured by the rocks and the cracks and holes in the broken ground, the Deadmage had no exact location to strike. Riven held himself back from slapping Viriya on the back. Damn genius that she was, she wasn’t one to appreciate things like that. Maybe he could vocalize his appreciation instead. Riven was about to do so when the whizzing grew louder all of a sudden.

The Deadmage had struck.

As they trudged along, faster than before despite the danger of tripping, the first of the scythes struck the earth. Rocks burst apart and the ground shattered. Pebbles pelted him from behind. Dust clouds wrapped the area in a blanket of gloom. Unbelievable to think Riven’s powers had protected him and Viriya from that kind of force.

Viriya jerked to a stop and Riven collided with her, nearly throwing her into a hole. Then she turned, face grim. “Back.”

“What?”

“You heard me. Let’s go.”

Riven protested but he might as well have been reasoning with the broken rocks for all the good it did. Maybe he’d judged her too quickly. Or maybe that saying was true—insanity and ingenuity were often impossible to tell apart. They’d be shredded back there. Even as she pushed him back, more air scythes slashed down, and Riven was peppered with stones and dirt. “Viriya, you’re—”

“Duck!”

Riven didn’t hear any quacks, but Viriya pushed him harder than she was already doing. He fell. His arse lit up in pain and his resulting was lost in the barrage of air scythes, only one of which made it in but miraculously missed them both. The spray of rocks and dirt was still quite painful. “Are you insane?”

Viriya spit out a wad of dirt and Riven grimaced. Disgusting. “Might as well be.”

“We might die if we get hit.”

“We’re not going to!”

“What? There’s a shit ton—”

“Look outside, idiot. Lightning doesn’t strike the same spot twice.”

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Riven shot his head out of the hole and peered everywhere like a gopher. Viriya was right. There was too much dust to see much, but it was clear the Deadmage’s volleys were focused on smaller areas rather than hitting everything all at once. Once he’d hit an area, he moved onto the next and forgot about the ones devastated already, as evidence by the fact that they were no longer under air scythe fire. They’d be safest back at the initial spot they’d started within the field of shattered rocks. He really should have learned to trust her more by now.

“Come on.” Viriya started clambering out of the hole.

Riven did his best to follow, but she was much faster. She was out before he was even halfway up. When he raised a hand for assistance, she ignored it and grabbed him by the shoulder, hauling him out bodily before dumping him back to the ground.

“What’s next?” he asked, rushing along after her shadow in the dust cloud. Always after. One day he needed to catch up.

“I’m going to move the rock spar your brother shot out. That gives us our grave. All that’s left after is to bury that arsehole in it, which I’ll take care of as well. Your duty is providing cover while I go about it.”

“And if my tank is running empty?”

“Won’t be empty for long.”

With a jolt, he realized where they were heading. They were going where they had first started from, where Riven had last expended the last of his power to shield them from the barrage of Sept bullets. “Viriya, we’ll be exposed there. Out in the open, he’ll see us.”

“The dust. It’s spread out all over. The fool hamstrung himself and now he can’t see anything at all.”

Riven was finding it increasingly difficult to fathom her level of ingenious recklessness. To leave so much up to chance was… insane. So much could have gone wrong. Still could, in fact. Besides, it was hard to converse with all the dust trying to get inside his mouth at the lightest opening.

But nothing dangerous happened. The Sept shots from before appeared from the gloom, dotting the expanse of the ground like an array of suns, while the Deadmage kept up his barrage back at the area with the ruined area.

Viriya halted again, and Riven managed to not crash into her this time. “This will be our stage. The spot from where we take him down. You ready?”

“How can you tell where he is in all this dust?” Riven asked, still needing to shade his face with his forearms.

She pushed a hand into the pouch at her belt, drawing out two preloaded magazines. With one hand, she emptied the spent one from her gun, and thrust in one of the preloaded ones. She out the other one back in. Her star grew, turning the dust into clouds of emerald. “Easy. It’s easy to tell where the Deadmage is. Just have to listen to the spinning sound. And from there, extrapolate to where he fell from that spar.”

“Spinning sound? Oh the whizzing!” If Riven focused, he could make out the intense whizzing of the whirling tornado, though it was difficult over the crashing of the air scythes.

Viriya aimed her gun past Riven, then slowly drew it across the horizon, judging the distance with supreme concentration. That, and a look on her face that assured she’d tear him in half if he disturbed. She stopped, a smile growing on her green-daubed face. “Found it.”

She fired. The golden-green tunnelled through the cloud of dust. Her aim was true—the shot hit the broken base of the rock spar, and it was enveloped in her emerald glow. More green lights bloomed up all around all over the area, and the spar exploded apart, all the viridian charging towards each other. Rocky clashes blasted through the area. It had to have been that giant boulder had made, the one the Deadmage had torn to nothing in seconds with the same blast that had reduced Rose to her current condition.

Rose. Riven stared around, but he had little idea where he himself was. Finding Rose was impossible. Stabs of worry gnawed at him, but he could take solace in that the Deadmage hadn’t shot his scythes anywhere near. Glaven could piss off. He’d be fine.

“Won’t he fire at us now?” Riven asked.

“Not yet. Those rock crashes confused him.” She fired again, her bullet flying at the same exact spot. This time though, it disappeared. There was a hole where the base of the spar had been and a green glow turned deep within. “Now though…”

Riven swallowed. They both looked into the dust to the right. The Deadmage’s barrages had stopped, and the sudden silence was eerie. It crawled along Riven’s spine, spider legs with its many spikes poking like tiny needles. All they had was that eternal whizzing.

“Ready!” Viriya shouted.

“Why are you shouting?”

“Here it comes!”

Riven looked forward. Sure enough, the cloud of dust parted, revealing air scythes zooming at them too fast for Riven to ask what in the Chasm he was supposed to. Survive, that was what. How was he supposed to call his shield? What was he—

Impact with the air scythes became imminent, and the pressure arrived like it had never left. A Sept ball bigger than his fist died to a grey chunk at his feet, and a hundred golden lines shot out of Riven like linear sparks. They formed the same shield in the air as before, and the scythes crashed into them. Riven cringed, but he wasn’t thrown back like last time. The pressure didn’t evacuate and disappear this time. He’d dived off the cliffs of Engelark a few years back, where the ocean currents were liable to drag divers out and then wash them ashore onto a beach nearly a league away. It was the same now, like he was a caught in a current so strong it seemed to flow through him, caterpillars with nails for legs crawling all over skin.

Viriya fired her gun. The Deadmage had cleared the dust with his air scythes, and now she had a clear shot at him. But the bullet hit his tornado and disappeared, blown to nowhere.

“Shit,” she muttered.

Riven stared at her. “That… was your plan?”

She didn’t reply. More scythes were flung at them, and more of the Sept lumps faded as he kept up the shield of golden air.

Viriya growled, then fired again, her bullet hitting the ground just in front of the twister. A shimmering green carpet barely covered the ground before it exploded outwards. But the tornado was too strong, All the rocks and stones got sucked into the funnel and thrown up, likely following that bullet Viriya had shot earlier. She cursed.

Riven started collecting the Sept lumps and stuffing them in his shirt. “I’m going to create an opening.”

“How?”

“I’ll charge in and all this—” he waved vaguely at the golden miasma “—will give you space to shoot.”

Viriya scowled. “You idiot! You’ll die.”

For a heartbeat that panged in his chest, Riven paused collecting the balls of Sept. He would. He would rush headfirst at the Deadmage, and then he’d be eviscerated by the wind one way or another. But what choice did he have? If there was another way to get out of this mess, if he’d been shown a path where he could run with the guarantee of safety for them all, he’d gobble it up. There was no such thing. Fantasies weren’t easy.

“Get ready,” Riven said. Then he charged.

He jumped over crevices on the ground, skipped over stones, hurdled over rocks, swerved around boulders. All the while, his shield of golden air protected him from the barrage of air scythes. He cringed every time one made contact, but no more shocks came in. Even the wind wasn’t pushing him back, the golden shield ensuring a zone of calm surrounded him in the maelstrom.

This close, the Deadmage was visible despite the spinning column of air. A dark shadow, whose eyes glowed bright as coals in the furnace, and those eyes spelt nothing but death.

Riven hesitated at the edge of the twister. Then he pushed through. The base of the twister broke, and it disappeared from the ground up, the funnel higher up melding away into the sky, while the golden shield moulded to cover them in a hemisphere, so that it looked much like they were bathed in sunlight. His heart thundered. Impossible to tell who was more surprised at the simplicity of the intrusion.

The Deadmage stared at him. “Who are you?”

“Riven,” Riven said. “Who in the Chasm are you, and why are you attacking?”

“Are you an Essentier?”

Riven frowned at the question. The answer was obvious, but its relevance wasn’t. “Yes. Why?”

“Shouldn’t you give up and die, already?”

“What? No! If anyone’s going to die here, it’s going to be you.”

“But… it’s the natural conclusion, isn’t it?” The Deadmage frowned, cracks digging into his sky blue temples, more of which lined the rest of his emaciated body. Now that there was no wind to support it, his long white hair hung limp and dead. “Everyone dies. Everyone. And with the way the world is going, it’s far better to die and become a Deathless. You’ll even get an assured place in the Beyond, which is more than you deserve. You’re only wasting my time, when I could be doing important things instead of coaxing you fools into giving up.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Who would want to be a Deathless instead of passing on?”

He shook his gaunt head. “It is the only fate reserved for Essentiers. There is nothing else you can be when your time finally comes.”

Riven swallowed. “You’re wrong. You’re lying.”

“All that continued use of Sept, this Essence as you call it, do you think it has no consequences whatsoever. You’re too young to know, blinded by the newness. But know that you will die from this Essence you so live on.”

Riven tried to search the witch’s face to tell any signs of any lies. Those cracks told him nothing, those burning eyes held no clues, even his posture was inconceivable. There was nothing to be gleaned from any of it. No what was the point. He was here to subdue the Deadmage.

As if he’d broadcasted his thoughts, Viriya shouted from far behind. “Out of my way!”

Riven jumped back, the shot blasting through the air almost simultaneously. But it never hit its mark. The bullet paused as soon as it touched his golden shield, then clinked to the ground. Shit.

“Was that intended to kill me?” the Deadmage asked. He laughed.

Riven’s mind was rushing too fast to think of replying. If he let go of his shield, the Deadmage would pull in air and squish him to a bloody, meaty pulp. But if he didn’t, then Viriya would never get a clear shot at their target. Why hadn’t he seen this conundrum?

“If you are done, then can you please consider dying?” the Deadmage asked. “Stop trying to make me get my hands dirty. I’ve spent a whole lifetime doing it.”

Dry hands. Of damn course. Riven took a couple steps back, keeping his eyes trained on the Deadmage. Once he was far enough, he knelt down and picked up Viriya’s bullet. It still glowed golden and green. The witch didn’t react, even his face showing no acknowledgement of anything. He’d make a perfect ratskull player. Couldn’t tell what cards one had, when their face was as about as readable as a skull.

Riven’s heart was thumping fit to burst, his hair nearly pulling themselves off his skin. He clutched the bullet in his fist. This was it. All up to him.

He glanced back, but it was impossible to tell if Viriya had recognized his motion, or what he was doing. Riven raised a hand, splaying his fingers enough so that the glow of gold and green spread out its glittering wings for the world to see. Hopefully, it was clear through his shield.

Then he closed his fist, hunched over, and of course, charged.

One blink, and he just caught more cracks of surprise fissuring across the Deadmage’s face. One more, and he was halfway to the witch, feet flying, heart and stomach left somewhere behind. Another, and he was close enough to be struck. A final blink, and he rammed his fist into the witch’s jaw.

The Deadmage had barely got his hands up to react. That was what happened after too much reliance on powers. He fell to the ground, the bullet bouncing off his bare chest before skittering away.

Riven’s fist itched. The contact made his skin crawl—his skin had felt like ice but leathery—and he resisted the urge to check if he was infected with something. The green glow spread all over the Deadmage. He didn’t get time to react. As he started to rise, a severe scowl inducing more cracks on the patchwork of his face, he was pulled away.

“Wha—?” he squawked, as Viriya’s Essence dragged him across the ground with no heed for what lay on it.

Riven jumped out of his way. Damn it, he should have kicked the witch as he passed. The Deadmage tried to grab the ground, but Viriya’s Essence was too strong and he was pulled away. He even attempted to summon his air again. Now out from under Riven’s influence, he tried summoning his tornados and air scythes and who knew what else. Nothing stuck. The tornados withered before they could form and the air scythes fizzled out. Screaming, shrieking, clawing at the ground, the Deadmage was hauled into the hole that Glaven had made.

Viriya wasted no time shooting the ground around the pit, once, twice, three times at different points. Tiny green stars bloomed at the contact, then the ground spewed more emerald blood until a shimmering carpet covered everything. The whole area crumbled. Fractures spread out as the ground broke and enormous chunks fell into the pit, throwing up more dust clouds and smothering the Deadmage’s continued shrieks. A mound formed by the time the crashing of the broken earth had stopped. Nothing remained of their adversary.

“We did it,” Riven said. He stared at Viriya, who had slumped to her knees, head and shoulders bowed by some invisible weight. That rush of euphoria faded as quickly as it had arrived. He pulled himself together, then pulled himself towards her. “You all right?”

Viriya stared out over the field of battle, lingering on Glaven and Rose before settling on the dying battle with the Spectres. With the Deadmage gone, they were dispersing, their solid lines now easily routed. “We need to gather up your brother and sister. No point in winning if they end up dying.”

Riven paused in his stride once he’d reached Viriya, then plopped down on the ground. No point indeed. But for this moment, he could bask in victory, in triumph, and in hope. In strength and sheer ingenuity.

In survival.