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The nightly desert spooks the hell out of me. That total absence of sound, of color, of life—it’s what I picture the underworld would look like, if there was one. Perdition. Knowing there are thousands of especially deadly monsters lurking barely out of sight does not help me feel braver now. But at least there’s Lieselot.

My best friend in tow, we quietly jog along the dunes westward, towards the wrecked tower of the gods.

I feel a little sorry for the Flame Tribe. They’re still there, standing guard at the city hall tunnels, without a clue, while their chief is held hostage. We can’t exactly tell them what the deal is. They’re dragons. Of course they’d want to fight. But it’s not only the Elder Wyrm Yaoldabath can throw at us. Anyone who has heard Three’s song may have fragments of his rituals in them. In theory, the bastard can drive the dragons into a frenzy and against each other. And pity any mortal fool who gets caught in that.

We’re on our own.

In my heart of hearts, I’ve already written off the core as lost. Unlike Lieselot, I’m not completely delusional. We're not going to pull enough power of friendship out of our asses to beat somebody like old Yaldie at his own game. Really, I knew he was supposed to be tough, but I didn’t think he’d be this deep in the bullshit zone. The difference in mileage, I'm really feeling it now. But maybe, just maybe, he’ll be happy with only the core. Happy enough that he’ll let Zandolph go, or at least lower his guard by enough that we can snatch her from his dirty fingers. Maybe he'll honor his word. I’ll bet everything on that.

At the same time, a voice in the back of my head says I’m a fool.

He’s trying to destroy the world. Why are you expecting honor from somebody like him? That guy doesn’t give a single fuck. He’ll kill us. He’ll kill Zan. He’ll kill all the dragons.

Oh well. At least we’ll make him put a bit of extra effort into it.

So we run. We come to the sheltered vale with the township built over the lonely gorge, the thin black line drawn across the ash with a wavering hand, and further up from there rises the base of the celestial tower. So much running today, damn. We navigate past the dried shells of old houses and the ginormous fragments of the broken Pillar, wary of every shadow.

“So, what’s the plan, Zero?” Lieselot asks, marching ahead of me.

“Now you want my plan?”

“I said we’d think on the way. I trust you’ve been thinking?”

“Yeah, I’ve been thinking about tarts. I’d really like apple now. Still hot, straight from the oven. I missed the open hours when I was in town.”

“Funny you should mention. The last thing I did before leaving was go and have an apple tart at Mrs Aimes’s. You know, she opened a cafe last year too. They built a big terrace right outside the bakery. It’s only open in summertime, though. You should definitely go see it the next time you’re there.”

“Damn. Can you not give me more reasons to live when I’m about to die before sunrise?”

“If you want your tart, then use your wits to think up a way to win this.”

I look at the strong back of the young woman walking in front of me. Christ. Is that really-really Lieselot? Her voice might be similar, but she’s gotten tougher. Not physically, but as a human. Tough enough to smile in the face of Hades. Tough enough to cheer up her friends, even as she knows she’s out of her league. No, does she actually know that?

“I know you have a plan,” she says, ignorant of what I’m thinking. “You always do. So how will we turn this around?”

Maybe she’s adult enough to face the facts now.

“We don’t,” I tell her. “Here's the plan, my overgrown sprout: you hide in a crack somewhere, while I go pick up the ball, and trade it for the redhead. Then I’ll create a showy diversion, during which you'll pick up said redhead and run, as fast and as far as you can. Then, you’ll hitch a boat back to Orethgon and tell Irifan the score’s 3-1, after which you’ll hold a somber, symbolic funeral for me. The band plays Show Must Go On, and there’s a lot of weeping, and only the good things I did are remembered, and nobody brings up my mistakes ever again. Is that clear?”

“Zero, that plan sucks. Come up with something better.”

“Well, alternatively, they could play Stairway To Heaven, or Komm, Süsser Tod. That’s fine too. But for all that is holy, no Celine Dion. Or I’ll rise from the dead to slap you silly.”

“I meant a plan that doesn’t involve us losing!”

“I know what you meant, but—really, did they tell you nothing about this guy?”

“Here I hoped you'd picked up some courage along the way.”

“Ha. The road has taught me, more than anything, that being a chicken is the best way to extend your lifespan, while the brave people usually—”

“—By the way, Zero, who’s that?”

We’ve come to the canyon that divides the vale from south to north. What looked like a hair-fine scribble from the distance is a very respectable canyon up close, about a hundred meters wide, and so deep you can’t see the bottom. The gap has to have been here already when the cruleans still inhabited Crulea, seeing as there’s a big bridge built across. Dragons aren’t into engineering. What would they need bridges for when they have wings?

At least, it was a big bridge thousands of years ago.

Time has shaved off the balustrades, sidewalks, lamp posts, most of the support pillars too, and the lion’s share of the surface.

Only a narrow, rounded and irregular, Khazad-dum-style crossing is left to connect over the depths. It’s a miracle it’s still up.

On the bridge ahead of us stands a lone girl clad in black plate.

She doesn’t have a helmet. Her pale face catches the faint moonlight well, making her blue eyes glimmer. Her sable hair is braided in a clean, long tail. Sheathed on the hip is a short, curved sword, a black wakizashi. In silence, she confronts us with a steady, apathetic look. Not in any way changed from memory. The ninja of Nikéa. My angel of Death.

My heart picks up with a heavy beat.

“Thirteen…”

So she was alive. I’m not seeing things, am I?

“A friend of yours?” Lieselot asks me.

“It’s a kind of love-hate relationship we have.”

Love from me, hate from her.

Out of nowhere, destiny has given us another chance. This time, this time—I’ll get myself a girlfriend!

Then I twist my head out of the way to dodge the spinning shuriken coming at my face. With no advance warning, the fight is on.

Has she gotten even faster than before?

“Lis, buy me some time!” I tell my friend.

“What?” Lieselot looks back at me in confusion. Then she pushes my shoulder, hard. “Look out!”

I stumble to the side as the slim tip of the oriental sword nicks my rib from behind, where the foe has warped for a backstab.

Definitely faster than before!

I tumble on the edge of the bridge. There’s no sharp corner, like I've come to expect my bridges to have, and I almost slip over the smooth curve into the abyss. Scraping my palms, I barely stop myself, and glance back. There's a cut coming down at my exposed back and I throw myself rolling sideways.

Going after the mage first, eh? It’s so hard, being popular!

I scramble to my feet and turn around, retreating, too slowly. A horizontal cut comes with a thin whistle and my guts are on the line. I suck in the belly in a hurry to avoid an assisted harakiri, but lean my head too far forward in the process. I can practically hear Master Gunlau go “tut-tut” in my head, but I can't help it! The cut was only a feint. The black knight reads my body language like a picture book for preschoolers. She lets her cut go by unstopped, spins around, and her heel swings up high, aimed at my stuck-out head. Click. It’s a homerun.

I leap along in the last instant to reduce the force, but for a passing second or two, see only blinking lights.

My body is light like a feather. Like lying on a fluffy silk bed. I'm so tempted to sleep.

“—Zero!” Lieselot’s startled cry brings me back to my senses, coming from above me.

Above? Yes. I’m falling, falling from high, knocked off the bridge.

“Keep her busy!” I yell back and swing my arm up.

A Chain of Light connects my hand to the bridge and, like a certain webslinger kid from Queens, whom we don't ever mention by name, I swing around the bottom and back up on top over the other side. Though the landing is not as graceful with regular human legs.

“Guhh…!”

Oh Moses, I hate high places.

I’d like to take a minute to catch my breath, but my friend’s fighting for her life in the background. Every second is precious. I need to dispel the brand. Only slightly reluctantly, I pull myself back up, roll up the figurative sleeves, and raise my hands. Let’s do this—

“Whaheeet...?”

I can’t link to the curse. I can’t sense it.

As a matter of fact, my Third Eye can’t perceive the ninja at all. Physically, I see her just fine. She may be my dream girl, but not that kind of dream, and certainly not an illusion or a doppelganger. But my magic sense shows only blank space where she should be. A pure void of data. A blind spot in the middle of the field of view.

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Now how the hell is that possible?

Everything that exists must have parameters to define that existence. You can’t be here without actually, you know, being. A non-existence couldn’t interfere with the material, and the kick I just ate was very much tangible. My temple’s still painfully throbbing too. She has very clear physical presence, even if my senses are blinded to it. But what could throw off extrasensory perception?

I can think of only one answer that makes any sense…

“A ward? Are you joking? You wore protection just for me? You can’t cover your one obvious weak point! That’s against the rules!”

Great. Now what?

I stand dumb and watch the faceoff of the superpowered girl and the superpowered vegetable. Lieselot’s gauntlets and boots have been enchanted courtesy to granny’s arts. They can guard against Thirteen’s likewise touched-up sword. You’d think two hands and two legs are better than one sword, but there’s a generous difference in live combat experience. Then again, Lieselot has received master-level training since childhood, while the opponent is mostly self-taught. What Lis loses in speed and cheats, she makes up for with brute force and principles. They’re surprisingly even, both giving it their all. It could go either way, really. Our hometown carrot-top has come such a long way. Brings a tear to my eye.

“If you’re alive then help me!” Lieselot growls at me, while fending off a lightning-speed flurry of consecutive cuts.

“Silence, please,” I answer. “I’m trying to think.”

“Think faster!”

Now that I think about it, since she turned into a recurring character, we should come up with a new, catchier name for Thirteen. I know I’m not one to talk, but the current one is a touch clumsy. A mouthful. Thirteen. T. Thirsty? Tris? Tessie? Nah. Too American.

“Zerooo!”

I’m observing. Observing very closely.

What could block the transmission of information? I'm not even sure how it's transmitted to begin with. It's not radiowaves we're talking about now, but abstract concepts that can't even be mechanically observed. Strictly speaking, they don't move or radiate, they simply are. I’ve never seen anything like this before. We can rule out the physical means right off the bat. A tinfoil hat isn’t going to do a thing.

Guess the answer must be magic, huh?

Is it her own skill? No, whatever this is, it's way too high level for a ninja's arsenal.

It has to be Yaoldabath's handiwork again. Could he write new techniques into people after they’ve been made? Not likely, not a skill this advanced. The target wouldn't survive having their soul reconfigured to such an extent, and T's not a zombie. It has to be done before the spirit is bound to the flesh. I’m fairly sure he would need the Mirror for that. Then how did he give such a cheat skill to a living person?

If it’s not a method innate to her, then there must be an outside medium that houses the function.

A mythical-class sorcery tool.

“Uhh, do you see any accessories on her?” I ask Lieselot.

“Accessories!?” she parrots, busy countering another cut with a preemptive kick. “Like what!?”

“Like amulets, necklaces, rings, earrings, nail polish—anything that’s obviously not part of the character design.”

“And why do you want to know that!?”

“I was thinking about getting a matching set.”

“Like I care! Can’t you just hit her in the back with a spell!?”

“Uhhh no? Gosh! What are you saying? I’m shocked you would even suggest such a terrible thing! I’m really disappointed in you, Lis! I didn’t raise you to be such a twisted coward!”

“You didn’t raise me at all!”

“Well, that explains things.”

I’ll make sure to do a better job with my own kid.

The fight rages on. We’ve seen the ninja’s tricks before. She stings quick and sharp like a wasp, and, if that doesn’t work, takes distance to use projectiles, before coming back for more. A nonstop storm of surgically accurate critical hits. Those tactics might work on most foes, but not on Lis. In the field of battle, a monk is a fortress on two feet that a light breeze won't topple. She parries the cuts and picks off the kunais, not even sweaty.

Repelled once more, the black knight leaps back, crouches low, the sword close by her side, and mouths a strange word.

“—Kamaitachi.”

She cuts skyward and a triplet of magically-charged wind sickles lashes out at Lieselot, carving the face of the bridge as they go.

Wow, that's a new one. Another badass trick from our ninja. Never stops surprising, that one.

Unfortunately, thanks to playing with my Shockwaves, Lieselot learned how to deal with invisible attacks already when she was twelve. She doesn't even think about dodging.

“Haa—!”

Lis punches the air hard and pours her generous pool of mana into the resulting air burst. The result is an improvised one-use barrier. Short-lived, but good enough, if you can nail the timing. The incoming air filaments are pushed out of alignment, buffered by friction, worth only cat scratches.

Thirteen glances at me. I’d be the easier target. But Lis has speed runes etched on her boots, and she crosses the gap in a blink, planting her heel on Thirteen’s foot, before the assassin can turn my way. Her only choice is to dispatch the monk first. Untroubled at close quarters, her blade swims up at Lieselot's throat like a silvery serpent. Unafraid of sharp edges, Lissie thwarts it with her armored hand no less quickly, and retaliates with a punch, the punch offset by the reversed blade, the blade cutting back. The fist. The blade. The fist. the blade.

The mesmerizing exchange doesn't tast long. A seasoned warrior won't suffer a stalemate.

“Hmph!”

True to her style, Lieselot wrests control of the flow with barbaric force. She stomps quick and hard on the bridge between the two. The stone arc cracks and shudders under her supernaturally reinforced foot. Does she plan to send us all to hell? The tremor throws off Thirteen’s poise, creating a short gap in her attacks. Like a crossbow bolt, a clean straight right finds that gap and lands square on the assassin’s chest plate. Bang.

Not even an elephant could shrug off a direct hit from the knuckles of Lieselot Elise Maria Gunlau when she gets serious. A few millimeters of enchanted plate is no big deal. The force of the shot passes through the armor like winter wind through an Arcadian village. The black knight is knocked off her feet, blasted far back along the bridge. That's it.

“——!”

I called it too soon. What rattles down onto the battered strip of granite is only an empty, crumpled chestplate of darksteel.

The wearer is gone. Where…?

There’s only one place where she could be, of course. Right where she should be.

—Crouched close behind Lieselot’s back, readying the finisher. A stab to the heart.

OH. MY. GEE! Did you see that—it was that thing! The classic ninja thing! Substitution! She made the piece of armor look like her body and dodged with a quick warp. Just how far ahead did she plan that move? She baited our Lissie's killer hit and responded with a split-second counter. Mother of god! Now that’s what I call an ace in the sleeve! I’m so glad I’m not the one up there duking it out.

Ah, I really want her.

Amazing effort.

But, too bad for Ms Thirteen...She should've taken distance and used a projectile instead. Sticking to close quarters was the wrong answer.

You’re not any safer behind the back of a master martial artist than you’re in front of her.

They don't use weapons; every inch of that body itself is a weapon.

The tip of the sword doesn’t find Lieselot’s heart. Instead, the curved blade winds up pinned under her left armpit, locked securely like in a vice by her elbow and steely upper arm. At the same time, her right arm has swung around the other side, her fingers snapped close on the gleaming medallion that dangles under the assassin’s neck. A disc of gold, inscribed with hundreds of microscopic runes, a big ruby fixed in the hollow middle.

“That doesn’t match your eyes,” Lieselot tells the stunned assassin as she yanks off the chain.

There it is. The source of the magical interference.

The spell stripped off, the ninja is back in full view.

It's my turn.

I had faith in her. Lis isn’t my BFF for nothing. I bet all my money on her and it was worth the gamble.

Which is why, instead of bothering with unneeded support fire, I spent the time solely preparing my own follow-up move. The architecture of Thirteen’s brand is already very familiar to me. I've been through it in my imagination hundreds of times. So I went and automated the dismantling procedure. It’s now a spell of its own, an “anti-curse”, if you want to sound fancy. Applicable only in this one case, because of the differences between the brands, but what better place to spend it?

“Bite the pillow—‘Cos I’m not stopping this time.”

I raise a hand and snap my fingers.

That’s only for drama, though. The gesture actually has nothing to do with the ritual, which is set off only by my mind.

“Hng...! Hrraaaaeehhhh…!”

The effect is expected and immediate.

Thirteen abandons her stuck sword, ignores Lieselot, and turns to me. Grinding her teeth, she fights the pain, stumbling, wavering, twitching, nearly blind. Every muscle in her body cries for help, for release. The messages flood her limbic system. The frantic commands to move, to run, to fight, get lost in the noise. Still, she forces one step after another with sheer strength of will, sparing no thought to how unlikely victory has turned.

But it’s no use. That pain isn’t going to stop. That ship has sailed. Once executed, the spell will run its course without my conscious involvement. Even if I died now, it would keep on ticking till completion, until the brand is fully unraveled.

I’m sorry, I really am.

I could’ve given you a speedy exit from this nightmare. You wouldn’t have had to cope with the fact that you’ll never be like the others. You wouldn’t have had to face what you’ve done, the things you never wanted to do, or the ghosts of the people you murdered.

But——I still want you to live.

Maybe it’s just for my ego.

I wasn't thinking about your future, I was thinking about mine.

Saving tortured souls feels good. It was only for my self-satisfaction.

Yeah, blame it all on me—and live. The girlfriend thing was a joke, half a joke, but I can’t deny I’ve loaded a lot of emotional meaning on this number.

There’s more to this life than just pain, if only you could see that.

If only you could have what I can't...Then I could be okay with any ending.

It’s done.

The black knight freezes mid-step. She’s not twitching, or staggering anymore, but goes all quiet. The cramping muscles slowly soften, shoulders relax. The stiff posture melts, back straightens. The closed fists open. Her breathing comes easier, freer. The clenched jaws part, mouth opens.

The young woman looks up at me, eyes rounded, her bloodless face startled, bewildered.

“You’re free now,” I assure her.

Free to do whatever you want.

I’m about to offer my hand, but she moves first.

Without a sound, she steps over to the edge and throws herself into the gorge. I watch her dive into the blackness under the bridge and melt into it, too late, too stunned to do anything. Who knows how deep this crack goes? Maybe the center of the world.

I collapse to sit on the edge, trying in vain to wrap my head around it.

“But, why...?”

“Zero…” Lieselot calls my name in an unusually somber tone, her hand on my shoulder. She passes me the ninja’s amulet. “You know, for someone who’s lived her whole life in a small, dark cave, there’s nothing more terrifying than the sight of open sky.”

I breathe out a long sigh.

“Did you come up with that one yourself?”