Blood trickled down the white marble throne of Aeon, down each step like a king descending to his people. The drops would surely have been more thunderous than a crowd, if not for the sounds of crashing steel some fifty paces below, far beneath the place reserved for gods and kings.

Kogar looked at his bloody knuckles. No more will this world hold a place for men — not for their deceit, nor their wars, nor their fucking sin and crime. We will now be embroiled forever in the Age of Gods.

And a horrible grin ripped into his cheeks, his eyes bulged at the limp, unmoving body of King Heji thrown over the armrest of his magnanimous seat.

And then his crazed eyes fell upon Rykaedi's throne.

No. More.

52.

Age of Man. Age of God.

The guards were dead in only the blink of an eye — Cedric's reality-warping magic twisted their bodies all at once into an aerosol of blood, and it was over. It's that easy.

But that one still approaching, dark and sullen in the back, was yet unfettered. He continued his dull march forward in his black casket of heavy steel armor, his oversized axe sliding over the pauldron with every step. It looked dented there, like he'd lifted it much too greatly at least once. And yet, that arm and shoulder seemed plenty capable as his first massive swing began and concluded.

Cedric darted under the weapon and jabbed upward with his sharpened sword, through the gap in the arms. The blow slid up from the rounded helmet, only served to knock the big man’s head back.

But then Cedric's arm was locked between Thrum’s own burly arms. He struggled instinctively, then remembered: Serkukan is with me. And now…

His arm shifted through Thrum’s like it wasn't there, his other hand carved through the air with incredible speed.

For the throat!

A steel smashed against his, from out of the shadow on Thrum’s back. His fingers vibrated from the impact. And then a face revealed itself from over his shoulder, a freckled woman smiling a crazed smirk, an insane grin at him from that sequestered gap.

“Nasrya!?” he gasped. Her shimmering scythe had blocked his attack perfectly.

She leapt back like an acrobat and took a deep bow, almost kissing the floor. The tassels and long scarves from her tight black clothes fell loosely around her, skirted the tiled floor. That scythe she wielded was massive — the blade was at least the length of his leg, half the width of his torso. The staff attached to it was taller than any man he'd ever seen. However she'd learned to wield it was a mystery.

She swung that enlarged weapon, her body moved like a counterweight against it.

And the blade vanished.

“G-gah!” Cedric gasped, desperately sucking for air as the scythe blade carved down his spine. A splatter of thick, goopy blood slapped into the floor behind him in a singular explosion of pain, like bone-thin hands clapping together to a deafening blast. Her hand had entirely vanished into a floating black pocket.

Cedric fell forward, beneath Thrum’s risen axe. Down it went—

KRNCH!

Up went a shrapnel spray of sharp tile fragments. Cedric was warped up to his feet, behind Thrum. Nasrya pulled her arm back from the void and faced him, and once Thrum had turned, he was sandwiched, flanked between them.

“Why are you working for her!?” Cedric shouted at Nasrya.

The young and beautiful woman shrugged, her long curly hair bounced once with that delicate motion. “She's shown us a path to Azafel, she's shown us that he was within us all along!” Her voice was like crazed spikes, like daggers thrown all throughout his skin.

Thrum was already on the move behind him. He beckoned Serkukan.

But there was no shift in reality.

He's immune — use your head, snarled that daemon trapped within his mind.

Cedric glanced back as Nasrya charged at him. The axe was coming over horizontally — he ducked. The scythe was going for his legs, plunged into a black void again.

Now, that…

Cedric summoned Ithlo’vatis out of his back.

Time cannot be slowed, they're countering our every move.

The white dragon's greatsword slammed against the scythe’s blade from its diagonal arc toward his skull.

…I have no idea how to handle!

Nasrya lunged and withdrew her spatial attack, licked her fangs like a wolf.

Ithlo stepped out with a great swing at her. Cedric rushed up from his crouch with his dual blades slicing for Thrum’s armor.

Hammers. Hammers!

His Sylvet swords became giant bludgeoning maces in the split second before impact. There were two cacophonous, echoing thuds as they rammed into the torso of his armor. Blood spurted and dribbled out. His swing came to a halt and his arms twitched, faltered for just a moment.

And then Thrum swung again.

Ithlo’s blade swept twice for Nasrya’s throat. Her moves were too nimble, too unpredictable to counter. And without his ability to slow time… he was outmatched.

Nasrya slid back and came to a halt on her feet, grinning wildly all the way. Her hands came up and pulled her red and black amulet forward in pretentious display. “See this? A gift from my beloved Jirtu!” And she kissed the necklace.

Ithlo’s cool expression hadn't vanished. Seeing it had answered his questions, at least, of how they were countering so much. A red piece, a white binding, a black piece. The red one could be anybody… But I recognize that black piece. That's…

Her scythe swept. Ithlo predicted another void strike, another oblong angle to react to, and spun his greatsword around in preparation.

The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

But the scythe came true. Her mental feint let slide her sharpened blade right at his own throat. He lunged his head back, bumped his shoulder into Cedric's back.

Cedric was pressed back, all of his force was pressed into those two maces, crossed in a guard just beneath the horrible, horrible head of Thrum’s axe. By the gods, this thing is… heavy!

His foot slid beneath him. His legs and arms were shaking. Thrum only glared down. His armor was still fractured, but the blood had stopped. He had resisted death.

“Ithlo, I can't…”

Then two giant red hands appeared to grab Thrum’s wrists from over Cedric's shoulders. The armor crunched beneath that pressing grasp, another spatter of blood danced out to the tiles. Cedric's face became a canvas of speckled crimson paint.

The axe lost its strength.

CEDRIC. RELEASE YOURSELF. RELEASE YOURSELF.

It was as though ten voices had entered his mind all at once:

Release yourself.

MAKE HIM BLEED.

Kill.

Let him die.

End him.

CRUSH HIM.

Sever his life.

PAINT THIS THRONE IN CRIMSON.

And then Kogar!

AND THEN RYKAEDI…!

Cedric's teeth slammed together hard, his whole face scrunched up as he let out a furious, air-rending battle cry. He pushed back.

Remember.

WHAT HE DID?

To Faunia.

VLEREN. THEY HURT VLEREN.

They would have killed her.

THEY'RE SELFISH.

They want your life.

YOUR SOUL.

HE WANTS US DEAD.

SHE WANTS…

“GRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH!”

Ithlo pulled his greatsword back from Nasrya’s scythe and cleared some distance. He pointed the blade down in the commanding stance of a trained knight. “Man cannot kill Etherian. Stand down — there are greater things at stake here.”

“Good thing I'm not a man, then!” Nasrya snickered, rushing with a sudden flurry of immense swings.

Ithlo stepped from side to side, back and forward, avoiding stabbing blades from every direction. His ability of Truth, at least, could provide some ability to dodge and block. The more he fought her, the more it understood. And once Cedric was concluded fighting Thrum, they'd easily corner Nasrya. In Truth, he knew that the fight would conclude as such.

He began, “Cedric—”

“GRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH!”

Ithlo’s mouth fell open in uncharacteristic surprise. His eyes darted back to the boy, now glowing in a fierce crimson light.

…Shit.

“Can't die, huh?” Cedric snarled like a ravenous animal, “Can't be killed, can't be stopped? Can't be warped, can't be slowed by freezing time!?”

He threw down the hammers. They silently dispelled. His fist rammed into Thrum's chest and shattered the armor into flakes of steel.

“A counter for EVERYTHING!? You'll just have to settle for a tomb of STEEL!”

His hands both swept up and gripped tight to the hulking man's helmet. He pressed. He could see Thrum’s violet eyes bulging as the pressure grew and grew beneath Cedric's shaking fingers.

And Cedric growled in a sickening tone, “I'd like to see you fucking regenerate this!”

The helmet slammed together, sprayed an arc of gibs and blood into his face, all over his clothes, all over the tiles below. Thrum fell first to a knee. Cedric could see Rykaedi's maggots writhing in his shattered helm, all throughout the mess of meat and bones between the steel. And then he collapsed.

Cedric's eyes went up. There stood Rykaedi. There she stood. There.

Blink!

Kogar stared at Rykaedi. He knew what was next — fights between the highest Etherians were so rarely material. It would be a battle of emotion, of willpower, of silent strife within each of their minds.

Her skull twisted inhumanly like a smirk. “Now… what was her name again? That woman you were harboring in Harth?”

His face twisted. Then he launched from his platform, crumbling the steps, destroying the throne behind him with the wave of his crushing power.

Rykaedi swept from his path like a dancer. “Ah — and so quickly does he lose the mental battle!”

He unleashed a flurry of fists akin to only Serkukan's in speed. Rykaedi was faster, bobbing and weaving around his swings with a sinister grin stuck to the shadow overlaying her face. "Too slow, much too slow!"

Then it was time for her counterattack. Kogar had never truly seen her lift a finger, he had no idea how vast her strength could be...

"Zol?" she asked, backpedaling and turning to reveal a black whirlwind of esera behind her. And out came a dark shadow — another Sylvet fighter.

"So that's the truth, " Kogar muttered, "you're just as feeble as Algirak was at the end of his days."

She feigned a pout. "That hurts." And as he came near again, she grabbed first the fist swinging at her head, then the one swinging at her chest. She held both of them tight enough that bone could break. And she leaned close. "Let me show you just how wrong you are!"

A sickening crunch of bone announced her changing shape — her cheekbones had begun to enlarge into oversized pincers, liable to snap through Kogar's exposed throat like a vampyr, like a guillotine.

He pulled his hands away, retreated as her bone form continued to mold. Her ribs crackled and split, grew and extended until they were long like the legs of an overgrown centipede, her skull spread wide, split in half to facilitate the new, abominable form.

And how she squirmed. Like a demon from true nightmares, she wriggled back and forth. Her Sylvet guardian took a few steps back, their longsword mounted for the very moment they would be called upon. Fear was struck across their face. Complete horror.

Kogar narrowed his gaze. "So this is what you really look like. Less a queen in violet garb, more a demon in a masquerade of flesh."

"Call it what you like, it's all semantics!" She stood on her hind legs, revealing her form in it's entirety to him. A platinum lock shimmered in the center of her split ribcage.

Nihil Maxim.

And he lunged, he reached—

The air vibrated. The whole world warped and twisted. His arm... separated...?

Blood sprayed in one massive explosion from the inside of his reaching elbow. His arm bent backwards. And then his whole forearm was ripped off in that same smooth motion. His mouth fell open in a sickened shock.

And there he was — a demon masquerading in the flesh of man. The Great Red One. Cedric Castelbre.

The Heretic...!