The Gorteauan Army, already wide awake after being roused by the explosions Menikos created, were running back and forth between the tents, working to put out the fires that had sprung up there. There were even more injured to tend to now, and several dozen dead. Thankfully, the casualties were far lower than they could have been. Samuel’s quick action had saved a lot of lives, dragging the fight away from the men and to a more secluded location.

Nobody knew where the Archmage had gone, but that was far from the top of their priorities. The scouts of the army, which had remained at their posts while the others recovered from the brief attack, sounded an alarm. Nearly every soldier, from private to Captain, froze in terror. The Mitene Union was approaching their position. They broke the pact made with Samuel and were marching to attack. Worse still, the general army was out of formation and completely vulnerable.

Sergeants began screaming for their men to form up, drawing their weapons and directing the men to form one mass. They had to protect the core of the army, the commander’s tent where the King rested. If the Mitene Union broke though, it was all over. Their country would fall without the central lead group. In clumps of two or three, men flocked to the safety of the rapidly growing battle line, while some rushed to the defense of the scouts. The temporary barriers they’d constructed there wouldn’t last long, they knew, but it could serve the purpose of stalling the union.

Someone in the ranks shouted a warning, pointing up at the hill. Dozens of soldiers looked up just in time to see the light of magic. Several mages were standing at the very crest of the hill, seconds away from firing attack spells down at the men. They released their magicks, and the men at the core flinched, expecting the impact of over a dozen spells, and the pain of mana scorching them. But the pain didn’t come. One solider, braver than the rest, glanced up from behind his shield.

A thin wall of mana was hovering in the air above them, presumably summoned to stop the attack spells. The soldier looked back to see Aren Gorteau, brother of the King and Prime Magus of the College, hovering above the heads of the army. His face was twisted in concentration, and he let out a grunt of exertion as another round of spells slammed into his barrier, but it held. The royal had saved them from a crippling hit. Further behind his position, a regiment of archers had formed and began loosing arrows at the mages, cutting them down quickly.

A roar of gratitude and approval rose from the throats of the fighting men, a roar in honor of the man who had saved him. He didn’t seem to notice, but rose a little higher, fire coating his hands. Just then, one of the fortifications fell, letting a swarm of enemies through. Gorteau didn’t even hesitate but began raining destruction down. He roared for the others to follow his lead, shouting, “For Gorteau!”

“For Gorteau!” The answering cry came from nearly three hundred throats, and the men charged forward. The Mitene Union, expecting to find a broken and disheartened force, instead froze as the defenders rushed at them with reckless abandon. The foremost of them tried to turn and run, but they were too late. The wall of charging soldiers swallowed them whole, knocking them down, trampling them, passing over them to the bulk of the enemy fighting men. Their last impressions were that of noise as the pack flowed over and around them.

The Gorteauan army flowed through the gap of the now ruined sheltering wall, swarming past the injured scouts and slamming into the Union’s ranks. The sound of metal screeching against metal rang through the night, counterpointed by small explosions as spells rained down from both sides. Healer mages were already pulling the scouts back on both sides, picking up those who still lived and retreating quickly. They came under heavy fire at once, of course, but were mostly protected by their support mages, who showered a barrage of magic at any enemy foolish enough to target them.

-Samuel-

The roars of the clashing armies reached Samuel’s ears faintly, and he felt a surge of gratitude throughout his body. The men and women of Gorteau were a tough breed alright, he thought to himself. Even the surprise attack and explosions weren’t enough to break his spirit. There was still a vicious fight ahead of them, of course, but he had the utmost confidence in their survival. With Issho-Ni as backup, they could survive. It was as much a plea as a belief, but the thought gave him hope.

Menikos was laying before him, conjured mana spears holding him down. He seemed lifeless, but Samuel could detect the faint sign of mana in his body, slowly rebuilding. Much longer, and he’d be able to heal from the damage Samuel had caused. Not that he’d won the fight unscathed, of course. He was fully drained of both mana and Ki himself, and he had several wounds, ranging from mild to moderate, all along his body. Menikos hadn’t gone down easily.

A gentle green light broke through his concentration, and he turned to see Grimr rising out of the ground. He looked to be in a great deal of pain, though the wound in his side was healed. He shook himself a bit as he appeared, then walked over to Samuel. Again, he grimaced, as if fighting back a wave of pain. It took a second, but Samuel understood.

“You destroyed your Divine Enchantment,” he guessed, sure that he was right. Grimr nodded his confirmation. “So now the Corruption is starting to take hold again.”

“Yes,” Grimr said, his voice almost a growl. “But it was worth the risk. If I hadn’t done that, he could have maintained that dome forever, and eventually overpower you.”

“Thanks for that,” Samuel said quietly. “It was just what I needed to get him to lower it prematurely. Why did you have to stab yourself to do it, though?”

“I had to give the corruption a chance to infest the wound,” Grimr explained. He dropped to his haunches beside Menikos’ head. “Then I could turn that energy into natural, and use it to break the Divine Enchantment, which quickly turned corrupted. Then I threw it at you. Minus the corruption, of course.”

“Of course,” Samuel said smoothly as if it were a normal thing to do. Grimr let out a low chuckle at that, then hissed as his face screwed up again. “Well, in any event, I just have to wait for a bit of my mana to come back before I can finish him off.”

Grimr glanced up, scanning Samuel’s body. “Yes, I can imagine. The last time I saw you empty was after the fight with Neratas.”

“Isip’s gift keeps on giving,” Samuel retorted, lifting one arm and twisting it. “He nearly got me in one, Grimr. If it hadn’t been for the runes the wild mages had given me, I would have died.”

Grimr didn’t reply to that statement, but judging by the darkened expression on his face, he understood all too well. As if to give him a reason to change the subject, he gestured at the wounds in Menikos’ body. “This all you?”

Samuel nodded in confirmation. “I may have gone a little overboard. Having half my body destroyed wasn’t pleasant. I wanted to, err, return the favor.”

Grimr let out a dark chuckle. “Well, I’m glad someone was finally able to put him down. I’ve been frustrated at my limitations for centuries about him. He’s been careful to not provoke me, or I could have dealt with him long ago. No, I had to wait for the mortal mages to seal him away. But I was sure he’d be back eventually.”

“Yeah, that never seems to work in the fables,” Samuel said with a laugh of his own. He turned to face the direction in which he knew the men were still fighting. “I wish I could return to the fight.”

“In your state?” Grimr asked, incredulous. “You’ve got no magic left!”

“I don’t need magic,” Samuel said. “I’m a competent swordsman, I’ll have you know.”

“Ah, right,” Grimr said, looking a little uneasy. “Sorry, forgot you picked up a few extra skills. What are you going to do about this one? Destroying his body won’t be enough, you know.”

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“What?” Samuel whipped back around to stare at the small Ancient. “It’s not? But when I was nearly killed, I could tell that it was enough.”

“You’re different,” Grimr explained, poking at one of Menikos’ wounds. “Your body was constructed using energy. For Ancients like us, the soul must be destroyed too. Otherwise, they’ll recover. It may take years, but he’ll return.”

Samuel cursed aloud and began pacing. “But I’m not a maser of spiritual magic. Hell, I’m not even competent. How can I damage him if I’m so weak?”

“By using the mother’s tongue, I imagine.”

Right, Samuel thought. It was astonishing how little that answer seemed obvious to him. He crouched down himself, chewing the nail of his thumb as he picked through the words that he would need. There were many to choose from, of course, but he already had an inkling of which ones could work. The tricky part was that he couldn’t afford to experiment. Each individual word in the ancient tongue carried a great deal of power with it, and misspeaking could provide nothing but disastrous results.

“What about mabulok?” He asked, more for something to say than any other reason. “Or maybe pagkabulok.”

Grimr made an expression of distaste. “And return him to the earth? I said his soul had to be destroyed as well. You can’t rot a soul.”

“You could with corruption,” Samuel mused quietly. Grimr glared at him but didn’t comment otherwise. He knew that it wasn’t a serious suggestion. Corrupting Menikos would just make the problem worse. Samuel hummed to himself, eyes occasionally flicking over to Menikos to make sure he was still not moving. “Oh, I know. What about kumupas?”

“Fade?” Grimr translated, his eyebrows raised. He appeared to think about it for a second. “Could work. But the Chaos will surely try to protect him from that.”

“Maybe,” Samuel replied slowly, thinking quickly. “But I’ve spent a fair bit of time with Chaos. It doesn’t act in one’s interest, one way or the other.”

“But you can make it do what you want, can’t you?”

Samuel shook his head. “You can bully it out of the way if it’s not restricted. But in a person, you’d have to go along with any random inclination that touches it.”

“But how would you know what the Chaos inside him wanted?” Grimr asked. He stared directly at Samuel, and understanding seemed to set in. “No. You can’t be serious.”

“I am,” Samuel assured him. He rose to his feet. “But just to be sure, can you do anything to act in my defense?”

Grimr seemed to take an age to think that one through. “Well, if you were to die, that would negatively affect Isip. That’s enough of a power upset that I could justify acting. What do you want me to do?”

“Destroy his body,” Samuel explained at once. “I’ll pull him out. The second I’m clear, don’t give him any chance to get back. Rot his body, and I’ll deal with the rest.”

He knew Grimr was less than fond of the idea, but the smaller Ancient didn’t voice any complaints. After a short pause, Samuel moved to crouch over Menikos’ body, one hand on his forehead. “You’ll have to be fast.”

“I know that,” Grimr snapped. “I’ve been doing this much longer than you.”

Samuel smiled at that, then shoved his mind at Menikos’. Though unconscious, his enemy’s mind replied at once, raising a wall to keep him out. He ducked around the wall and dove in without hesitation. It was breaking the first rule in contesting minds. The stupidest thing you could do was refuse to leave an anchor behind you because you risked being swallowed and crushed by your foe. But, as Samuel had noticed in the past, sometimes you had to break the rules to make progress.

The instant he dove into Menikos’ mind, he felt the connection to his body fade. A solid, endless wall of Chaos sprung around him, surrounding him. Well, he thought, it wasn’t an entirely unfamiliar sensation. The chaos was denser in this case, however, as if more Chaos was contained in Menikos’ mind than the entire Ethereal Plane. It must be an effect of devouring so many Enari. He propelled himself through the chaos, only hesitating long enough to check that his magic still function. A bit late to consider that, perhaps, but he needed to act quick, or he’d have to incapacitate Menikos all over again.

It didn’t take him long to find what he was looking for. In the center of the sea of Chaos through which he glided, was a figure. He wasn’t immediately recognizable as Menikos, because the energy that made up his body was purer. Here, at his core, he wasn’t affected by Chaos. It merely surrounded him, suffocating him while it controlled his actions. Samuel changed his angle slightly, heading straight for the figure. Menikos, who was curled into a ball, lifted his head as he felt Samuel’s approach, and immediately went on the attack. He hurled a ball of fire at Samuel, who ducked hastily out of the way.

“Get away from me!” Menikos shouted, sounding slightly hysterical. “I already told you I’m not giving in to you!”

“What?” Samuel asked, thrown off completely. “I’m not here to attack you. I’m here to take out the Chaos that’s inside your mind.”

“Sure,” Menikos hissed back, conjuring another ball of flame and throwing it. Samuel dodged this easily. “I can smell the Chaos inside you, poisoned Ancient. You can’t fool me.”

Samuel bit his lip, thinking quickly. He hadn’t anticipated this. But of course, given the purpose of expelling any chaos he met, Menikos would be able to sniff out the Chaos Samuel had absorbed. But surely it wasn’t enough that it could constitute a threat, right? He frowned slightly as Menikos attacked once more. His lack of reaction seemed to unsettle Menikos, who finally stopped attacking long enough to peer at him.

“I don’t know you,” he said slowly. “You’re not one of the Ancients from Gitna, are you? Were you recently born?”

“I wasn’t born,” Samuel said at once. Now that Menikos was talking, he was keen to keep him calm. If he attacked too much, Samuel would waste what little mana he’d brought with him. “I was created by Isip.”

“That weakling?” Menikos scoffed, obviously not convinced. “You expect me to believe that someone as weedy as Isip could create you? Your mana is incredibly dense. There’s no way-”

His voice trailed off, and his eyes widened. “Wait. You’re carrying his mana. That’s Isip’s essence wrapped around you.”

Samuel didn’t say anything, but he did nod slowly. It was marvelous, he thought, how Menikos could remember something obscure like that from so far away. He wondered how the man could keep information like that in line. His line of thought was cut short, however, as he realized that Menikos was glaring at him suspiciously. Samuel blinked, wondering what had caused that.

“I can hear your thoughts,” Menikos said, his voice a little calmer but still very much aggravated. “I remember Isip’s mana quite plainly because I was one of his guards. How do you have his mana wrapped so tightly around you?”

Instead of waiting for an answer, Menikos seemed to pull it directly from his mind. His eyes widened. “I’ve been gone that long? Isip is dead?”

“Not dead!” Samuel exclaimed, worried the thought would send Menikos over the edge. He was teetering close to it as it was. “He’s ascended to the Divine Isles. I’m his Champion, and I took on his essence so that he could survive.”

“The Divine?” Menikos asked, perplexed. Then he scowled. “Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

He extended a hand, and Samuel’s mind suddenly clouded over. Images, hundreds of images, were flashing past his mind’s eye. Under Menikos’ guidance, he was forced to relive every moment of his life in the space of a single heartbeat. From the first time, he opened his eyes, to his mother’s death, to meeting Grimr and killing Neratas, to the Ethereal Plane, until this very moment. His vision cleared, and he could see Menikos properly. He looked aghast, his face horrified.

“I’ve been locked in my mind so long,” he whispered, looking down at his hands. “I’ve failed in my purpose. Why has Grimr not struck me down?”

“He can’t,” Samuel gasped, almost reeling with the sensation he’d just experienced. “Chaos is being very careful, and not breaking the balance. The best Grimr can do is destroy your body, and that’s only in defense of me.”

“Of course,” Menikos whispered again. He looked up at Samuel, finally understanding. “You have to live. And by throwing yourself into my mind, you’ve risked your life. Grimr must aid you if you are to survive. If you fall, the Mind falls. Mother falls.”

The very thought seemed to infuriate Menikos. “You don’t understand what you’ve gambled by coming here.”

“I understand perfectly well,” Samuel retorted, his temper flaring. “I know perfectly well what my purpose is. And I can handle the Chaos.”

Menikos shook his head slowly. “You put too much faith in the Ancient tongue, young one.”

Samuel’s heart skipped a beat. “What could you possibly mean by that?”

Before his very eyes, Menikos was weeping. The knowledge of what had transpired in the world, the knowledge of what he saw in Samuel’s immediate future, and the knowledge of what he had done all came crashing down in the same instant. He made no sound, but his eyes wept. He lifted one hand slowly, gesturing to the Chaos that surrounded them. “This is not Chaos, Samuel. It is not one enemy of the Mother. It is two.”

Samuel gasped, glancing around himself. He didn’t know why he hadn’t noticed it before. Chaos wasn’t dense. It didn’t follow order. It flowed when and where it pleased. This was Chaos, yes. But it was also something more. He heard Menikos sigh.

“I will gladly sacrifice myself for you,” he said. “I recognize it is your only chance now. You can manage the Chaos, I can see that now. But how will you manage Corruption?”