“I don’t care what the Sept says I’m not moving from this spot!” Yyvinay said.

“The Blesser herself ordered the pull-out, you White idiot,” Jerard bit back. “If the people of Soul are stupid enough to blow themselves up then the Sept says let ‘em blow.”

“I’m not going to abandon this installation.”

“This isn’t even a target! The city’s three kilometers away — you’ll only get a residual blast.”

“And after the radiation kills the workers here the cooling rods will be utterly stripped and useless.”

The White Prophet set her hand against the strangely cool surface of the only nuclear power plant on the planet. Even then, Jerard could feel the subtle vibrations of the generator pumping enough electricity to supply Soul’s needs thrice over, with enough left for a small city on Prosper. When it exploded, the only people to hear its blast would be those already dying from radiation poisoning. Jerard imagined the aftershock nuclear blast would be a mercy.

“Do you hear the telepathic warnings? Do you hear the Sept yelling at every Prophet on this planet to leave?” Jerard said, his hand on his dagger as two hard-hatted workers rushed past to fix a clog in the power plant’s backup exhaust fan. They made sure to keep their distance and not run too fast when they neared the screaming Prophets.

Yyvinay twitched her head. No White could ignore the telepathy completely. Her eyes twitched as she held them on the sky. A glowing streak was silhouetted against the setting sun. “The rocket is falling. I will not abandon this planet to barbarism — I don’t care what the Sept or Blesser says.”

“You will shield their electricity while they die in the city?”

“Another Prophet is shielding another city.”

“What?”

“Dozens are doing this.”

“Dozens!”

“They are giving up in droves, or are succumbing to foolish captors like you.”

“Fool am I?” Jerard said as his short sword made a scraping sound against the leather tip of his belt. Yyvinay’s eyes were still on the sky.

“Go back to Sevens, Jerard. Run away like the others. I am going to save this planet.”

“Like the other traitors?”

With that, Yyvinay turned toward Jerard. Her shield held firm around the instillation as Jerard saw the white streak fall through the thinning clouds.

“In a thousand years, the Prophets and the people of Soul will remember we few who stood for righteous—”

“You’re coming with me, now!”

Yyvinay blinked. “The Blesser herself called me to Sevens by name. What makes you think you—”

“That wasn’t a command,” Jerard said, and grabbed Yyvinay’s arm, holding his glowing Red short sword against her skin. The flat of the blade rested on her forearm, a twitch away from cleaning bone of skin and meat and stopping the White’s heart.

Yyvinay grunted and said, “I have to hold the shield.”

“You will lower it.”

“No.”

When the shield winked away, Jerard felt the surge of energy from Yyvinay as she created a shield around her body, shoving Jerard away and knocking his sword to the ground. As Jerard stood, the dust exploded in fire and an unbearable light erupted behind the power plant.

“You fool! I have to save them!” Yyvinay said, and lowered her shield.

Jerard leapt and brought his short sword to his hand in mid-stride. In the half-second it took Yyvinay to lower her shield and create one around the instillation, he struck her with his bare hand then through the neck with his short sword. Jerard drained enough White energy to open his senses to another city of a name he didn’t know. Yyvinay was dead, and Jerard shifted before the shockwave could reach the nuclear power plant and radiate every last worker, screaming over a pain they didn’t see coming.

The first thing Jerard saw when he escaped the nuclear blast was the narrow-eyed stare of a White named Jit. His shield was small, only protecting one building. It stank of iron and burning wood.

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“A steel forge?” was all Jerard could think to say as he used his drained White power to scan past the roof. A round object had just been dropped from a passing plane.

“Jerard? What are you doing here?” Jit said, “How—”

“We have to go to Sevens, Jit. We’re being called back.”

“I have to save this building.”

The clanking of giant pistons striking red-hot iron reverberated through the box-shaped building.

“A forge?” Jerard asked.

“It’s not just a forge it’s a factory! They make planes, engines, steel for the parts. When the rest of the world is destroyed they must have industry to recover,” said Jit.

“Is this the capital of the First Empire?”

“Yes.”

“No. No, Jit we’re going.” Jerard grabbed Jit’s arm and attempted to use his White power to shift both of them to Sevens. Jerard felt an unfamiliar block that severed him from a metaphysical connection with his White friend.

“What are you doing, Jerard? Where did you drain White power from?” Jit asked.

“From another fool,” Jerard said, and drained Jit’s power, just enough to break the block and get them out of there. He could already feel the bomb approaching.

“Jerard, stop!” Jit tried to jerk his arm free but the Red’s grip snapped a bone as he drained too vigorously. “Gah!”

“Let go, Jit! We have to get out of here!”

“My shield’s breaking! Jerard the bomb—”

“Will do what they want it to do — our duty is to leave!”

“Have to…fight…”

Jerard twisted again. This time the crackling bone didn’t solicit so much as a whimper from the White as his face turned a haunted gray.

“Jit! Stop the block!” Jerard said.

The shield dropped from the factory ceiling.

“Jit, let go!” Jerard said.

The block remained.

“Jit!” Jerard screamed.

The bomb exploded.

As Jerard drained the last of the White energy from his friend, he shifted away with the light from the explosion blinding his eyes.

When the ringing in his ears cleared and he blinked away the sears in his eyes, he was staring at a White woman surrounded by men and women of Soul in a steel-lined chamber with gold bars stacked in erratic piles. A Gold Prophet stood by the door.

“Who are you?” the White asked.

“One chance,” Jerard said, his short sword glowing in his hand. The people of Soul screamed but stayed leaning against the piles of bullion. “Go to Sevens. Or I stop you.”

“I’m not going to Sevens.”

“Fine.”

The arc of Jerard’s swing was enough to graze the White’s forehead. The tiny streak of blood that trickled down her face bubbled out as death seized her. With a shout, the Gold rushed the Red with his halberd glowing, while another light glowed through the door.

Jerard shifted before the White’s body hit the floor. The money and all those protecting it were broken down into base molecules in one brilliant moment. Even the Gold Prophet was seared to nothing, though his power gave him the privilege of watching those around him burn before his eyes melted.

“I—” was all Jerard let the next White say before he thrust his blade into her throat. A nuclear shell from mobile artillery blew apart the university a moment later. The Gold protecting the woman didn’t even see him.

The White shielding the harbor, Jerard didn’t even let speak.

When he decapitated the next White standing over the imperial family in their brass-lined home, Jerard had to put a shield around just himself to stop the blast from incinerating him. He caught a brief glimpse of the crown duke, thirteen, in brass-lined steel with a sword held in two small hands. The crown duke turned to ash inside his blackened metal skin. By the time Jerard shifted to the central square of Soul’s second largest city, the White he met was crying as she held her shield. The blast had receded, and the fires were spreading, but over ten thousand people of Soul were surrounding the White near a columned statue at the square’s center.

“You idiot!” Jerard said as he stabbed the White through the heart. She didn’t resist, and a calm settled on her face as her already weakened shield winked out.

As the White’s body tumbled from the base of the column, the people gathered cried in pain and fear that their savior had been killed in front of them. The blasts going off in the back of Jerard’s mind were killing people on other lands, other nations, other continents. All but a handful of them were unshielded.

“I didn’t get them all. Cursed Whites!” Jerard screamed to the people surrounding him. “I know it! Half a dozen, maybe ten! Even if one White shielded you fools from killing yourselves it’s more than you deserve!”

Eyes watered before the Red, words nowhere to be found.

“You all should be dead!” Jerard roared. “The bombs you threw at each other should have killed you! But these Whites, and the Golds and Reds protecting you, they tried to save you. As if you were worth saving.”

Jerard hopped off the column’s base and picked up the pure White glove on the dead Prophet’s hand, throwing it to the pitiful people. “Accept the fate you chose,” Jerard said as he shifted away.

A White Prophet leaned against an equestrian statue in the middle of a park, surrounded by droves of crying people. They cried because the city surrounding them burned, and the only thing protecting them from the fires was the White’s weakening shield.

“Who are you?” a Red Jerard didn’t recognize, his double-bladed axe glowing fiercely with the Prophet’s fury, asked as Jerard shifted near the statue.

“You protected her! You protected them!” Jerard screamed.

“Are you here to arrest us?”

“No.”

Jerard blasted crimson energy at the Red. The unknown ax-wielder absorbed the energy with his own Blessed weapon and shot it right back, missing as Jerard closed the distance. As the Red held his axe to protect him from the coming blow, Jerard screamed and shifted directly behind his opponent. He stabbed him between the shoulder blades before the Red realized Jerard was behind him.

With a scream that sent the people of Soul running for the still green trees of the park, Jerard charged the gasping White. With short sword glowing above his head, he thrust toward the White’s shoulder and felt a stinging pain shudder through his hand as his blade struck cold metal.

The hatchet’s blow sent Jerard’s short sword flying across the grass. Before Jerard could reach out to retrieve it, a hand clasped tightly around his throat. He barely got a look at the Red’s stone-like face before his vision blackened. Right before Jerard lost consciousness, he saw the Red’s hand reaching for the frightened White.