Cedric fell from the chimney into a low crouch. The soot fell down the shaft in eager pursuit.

A torrent of flame burst from his hands before the dust hit the floor, shot like a cannon through the door at the end of the hallway.

Cedric rushed forward.

Salvatore kicked through the side of the double-door which was still erect, flaming at the top. “SERKUKAN!”

Cedric spun a flaming greatsword out of thin air. It cleaved through Salvatore's throat before he had a chance to react.

Then the spike of the blade met Arobella's throat. Her eyes went wide as Cedric pinned her in place against the wall.

65.

HOW IT SHOULD HAVE GONE

Cedric lowered his imagined sword and the wartent came into view around him again. It was dark and quiet, abandoned since the morning, when he'd sentenced his own men to death. He took a deep inhale, took in that scent of damp grass and rain—a storm was fast approaching. But not one that could eclipse the torrential winds of his own guilt.

“Hunters died. Because of me.”

“But I can't trust you. Everytime I give you an onze of control, you lash out! What you did in Calamon—”

“Everywhere we turn, you kill. In Cromer, in Calamon!”

He shuddered. The serene light of amber sunset flickered in as the tent flap swayed open and shut. A weary Ekzire stood at attention, in salute. “Is this a bad time?”

Cedric swallowed hard. “No. Come in.”

X

Queen Arobella rounded a corner into a room, quickly swung the big door shut most of the way so she could just peer out from a small sliver. She watched as Ekzire and Viltar charged past, both of them smeared with blood, and smiled. She pressed her hand into the warm skin of her chest, felt her heart race.

This is exciting…! Yes, it is!

She spun back, alarmed by the sudden voice in her head. “Rykaedi!”

I’m back! Did you miss me?

“...I’m not sure how to feel about you. I’m having fun, but…” She lifted her head as though a cold finger had gently prompted her chin.

Is fun not enough?

“There are greater things…”

What were you accomplishing before me?

“...Nothing! I was getting drunk every day, waiting for Heji and my mother to die so I could take the throne. Waiting. I had to do these fucking dances, these speeches, always peforming, always playing somebody who I’m not!”

So who are you?

She frowned, averted her gaze. “A petulant little girl.”

And is there anything wrong with that?

“Not for some… but for me—”

She staggered back with a gasp. A daemon of purple-stained bone, a skeletal monster shaped inhumanly, like a centipede built of twisted ribcages and arms, twisted through the darkness, hid in the shade like a vagrant in moonlight, like a cockroach evading death in its ebony shelter. It stood on its hind legs, let the femur antennae rise up and twitch, squirm in place like writhing corpses. Arobella felt sick.

The head beneath the antennae… it was like the giant head of a man, a gaping mouth and screaming eyes, perpetual misery ingrained. Arobella quivered at the sight, held a hand over her mouth. “I…”

The voice was now androgynous and somber: “You wanted to fuck Castelbre, so I made it happen. You wanted Kylinstrom, so I’m making it happen. If there’s something else you desire, you need only let me know—the greater the synergy between us, the greater our emotions amplify…!”

Arobella murmured, “You just like the adrenaline. You’re just a junkie.”

The centipede hissed; “And you aren't!? Why do you think I picked you as my first living pawn in more years than you could possibly count? I could have just killed you, taken your body as my plaything like I did for Cass and Miriam! I spared you that we, together, could live our best life!”

Arobella winced. She felt like she might cry. “Who are you?”

The howling face did not smile, though the voice sounded gleeful. “I’m the ancient Goddess of Bone, Rykaedi. Algirak’s violet Queen. The dictator of death in Etheria—the only one with the ability to sentence my kin to execution, the only one who could truly eradicate an Etherian from the plane. I am eager lust, I am carnal desire… I’m a good time. But you can’t be scared—you have to surrender yourself. Close your eyes. Deep breath.”

Arobella shut her quivering eyelids and breathed in the sulfuric rot, the deathly stink in the room. It smelt like a rotting well, a basin left unattended with food now composting with the help of maggots and hunchbacked flies, like a creek of fermenting human piss and shit formed over decades in one of the lower towns. She gagged, but tried again, began to let her guard down.

“Good… It's been good, hasn't it? Am I wrong?”

With Arobella's acceptance, the visage of the centipede began to fade.

“That's what I thought. Now let me in.”

You wanted something greater—do you know why I’m doing this?

“No…” Arobella lethergically muttered as she walked at a snail’s pace down the halls of the palace.

A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

There’s an artefact, an artefact that would make the both of us into gods if we should finish it.

“...Dyosius Stabilis.”

Good! You learn quick. You’ll need to, if we want to have any chance at killing Serkukan.

“Who? Oh, Cedric. His red Etherian…”

Dyosius Stabilis will grant us ultimate power. If we can acquire it, we can awaken Evra.”

Arobella stopped before a bright gold stained-glass window, stared up at it. The sun was right behind it, illuminating it as though touched by heaven itself. She asked, “...God?”

That’s right, Evra is the same being. But… How do you know that name?

“Heji told me. He told me about the Rings of Fate, the Hierarchy. He told me that there’s another plane in which Azafel resides, then a higher plane with things like hell, heaven, and God.”

More or less correct. But that won’t matter on our journey. What matters now is attaining this new Dyosius. The old one was a mess, but this one… It’s architected by Etheria’s greats. And the last piece missing is the soul from one powerful motherfucker.

“Cedric—no, not him. He wouldn’t surrender his soul, he still has room to grow.”

We could take him down if a fair fight ensued between us, but his willpower has a capacity not yet reached… Going head-to-head with him can go awry if his soul has a breakthrough during the battle, as it did during his bout with Algirak.

Arobella’s face tightened, resolute. “But not Faunia Vleren.”

Yes! Vleren is the one for now. We split Cedric and Vleren, kill her in her sleep... She’s already reached her maximum potential. She killed Tartys in a single stroke, she nearly had Hemah, too!

“So what are you thinking? We just rush into their camp at night, slit her throat?”

No… I’m thinking we finish a fight they’ve already started.

“HEY!” came a shout from behind her. She spun, and there were bloody Viltar and Ekzire both, panting with their big swords held high.

Viltar lowered his head. He roared out as he charged. Ekzire froze up again—but he forced himself through it. He sprinted forward with his own frivolous battlecry.

Arobella smirked. Then she leapt back, threw herself like a stone through the window behind her.

X

“I’m sorry, King Lorik.” Ekzire bowed low in the dim wartent.

Cedric twisted his lips disappointedly at him. “It’s okay. I don’t blame you. Rykaedi is a tricky bitch. I should have chased her down once Serkukan was done…”

“My Antithesis debilitated you… I should have sent one of my men in my stead.”

“No. I’d rather have had you. You had some semblance of experience with Etherian Knights.”

“Not much before the second wave happened. But I appreciate the sentiment.”

“Are you… fit to continue?”

“What do you mean?”

“You froze up in there. Viltar had to rouse you. I know you’re not new to combat like this, but… If you’re suffering from combat reaction…”

Ekzire looked away, winced.

“I think maybe it’s best if I dismiss you.”

“I’m sorry I let you down.”

“You didn’t, Ekzire. I want you to be better. Hell, I can imagine what it was like. For you to lead the Etherian Knights for less than a week, to know they all died in the same day…” Cedric watched Ekzire’s face further develop into anguish. “...Yeah. It’s time for you to leave the battlefield.”

“But sir—”

“I won’t hear it. Don’t worry about me, it was Faunia’s own choice to try to control my Etherian, and that was before she knew my plan anyway. We’ll pay you a good severance. Maybe you could find employ as a royal guard or something similar…”

“The only royal family in Calamon is…”

Cedric smirked slightly. “Would that be so bad a job?”

Cedric left the wartent with a deep sigh. Uncomfortable conversations from a position of leadership were completely foreign to him—when he was a Sylvet commander, they would just kill anybody who wasn’t up to par. He was almost surprised he didn’t have combat reaction just from that. He walked toward the river, specifically toward the hill where the tents thinned out and obscured the water rolling beyond. The amber hue of a firepit seemed to dance off the water as he reached the zenith of that point, up close to the gleaming stars. He was so glad they'd returned.

“Viltar,” he asked, looked past the mound upon the big cat’s solitary campfire by the riverbank below. “We have unfinished business.”

“Did I do something to upset you, King Lorik?”

Cedric dropped down behind a log seat, stepped over it and sat down. “No. But I wanted to finish our conversation from earlier.”

“Ah—about Miss Vleren.”

The campfire flared. Cedric got a good look at the fresh, bloody wound over Viltar's eye. A raindrop struck his shoulder.

“What do you wish to know?”

Cedric took a deep breath. “You said that a relationship is what kept you here, on the battlefield?”

He smirked. “I fight to defend my family in Calamon. I fight for my country. You must needs a strong will to fight for big things—the same way Faunia’s will is built around you.”

He narrowed his eyes. “How are you so sure?”

“She made you king, Lorik. That much takes a significant amount of care.”

“I was just in the right place at the right time. Maybe it was fated by my Valenkir blood.”

Viltar raised an eyebrow. “Valenkir blood?”

“...I was born to the ruler of Cylenia. I was heir to a throne. Then came the Sylvet, when I was a child. Valenkir is the literal translation, but my last name would truly be something like…” Cedric desperately struggled for his decades-old Elven knowledge. “Cyvilei. I never liked how the language sounded, and I wanted to distance myself anyway… So I took up Valenkir.”

“Then, Lorik is—”

“My real name. I was born Lorik Cyvilei. My first name was derived from the ogre-tongue Siv. My father was an ogre.”

“You’ve a very fractured past, haven’t you?”

Cedric swallowed his trepidation. “Yeah.”

“But why are you opening up so far for me?”

Cedric’s eyes widened and the anxiety flowed through him. “You’re right, I… I haven’t told anybody about my father, nor my birth…” He chuckled grimly as he rustled his hair. “I was about to tell you how I… how I…” killed my own father.

Viltar smirked. The raindrops had begun to pick up around them, the smell bringing them an unexpected refreshment. “These aren’t the things you should be telling me. We both know why you’re here, King Lorik.”

“Because I want to tell these things to Faunia…?”

“Mmm…” Viltar hummed, looked up at the moon. “Lunus’ full bloom tonight spells a good destiny. She’s in her housetent if you intend to find her.”

Cedric nodded. “Can I ask you something else?”

“Go ahead.”

“Why are you out here alone?”

“I have always preferred the quiet. Adventurers are far too chatty for my liking.”

“Really? I always got the impression you were… boisterous enough yourself.”

Viltar’s smile fell limp. “Respectfully, your big words do not measure your stature, King Lorik. You must take action, and you know it too. The Way attends it."

The worn king smiled meekly. “Then that’s what I’ll do.”

It was dark and downpouring by the time Cedric reached Faunia’s tent. The moon was at its peak, it was midnight. There was no way to knock on a housetent, but—

“Faunia,” he spoke into the open flap. “Faunia, I want to talk to you.”

It took a moment, but she soon poked her head out of the flap. She looked like she’d been sleeping by the way her hair was a messy frizz. She croaked, “Cedric, it’s the middle of the night… It’s downpouring out here—”

“Can I dry off in there?” he asked, resting his hands on the tent's peak over her head.

She looked up at him with a startled expression. He couldn’t tell if she was blushing. But then, he hardly bothered to check—he had already pressed his wet lips against hers, pressed his body against hers in a sudden swell of passion...

Viltar quenched the fire once the rain had begun in tempo. He hid under the base of the mound, in the small opening of the shallow cave beyond. He looked up at that big moon in the sky, listened to the cacophony.

"Lunus permits it, then, the second of three. May the rain cleanse the sin of two. And may three spell out certain death."

Then he looked down at the wet dirt, at a worm slowly mustering his way through the slick mud, the worm giving all of his effort to weather the storm unscathed. He smiled.

「I make a foul therapist for somebody as knowing as I...」

And he stomped the worm beneath his boot.