I open my mouth to refute her, to say something to contest her, but I don't have the knowledge to do so. And when it comes to higher-level information, including that of Gods, I figure Aniwye is a pretty trusted source. After all, she was close to a man she called to be upon the Paramount, my father. Virgil, however, does have a word to say. His tongue is sharp, and while he usually holds it back, the man can't anymore.

"Then what would you have us do, demon? Let our only hope of salvation die? Condemn us to Hell? We need a God. How else will we combat the soon-to-awaken beings?"

Aniwye chuckles, her large body shifting as she takes in our response and returns something I was not expecting. She is brutally honest in her reply while her cleaver rests upon the stone, digging effortlessly into the hard rock.

"You have one thing wrong there. The Gods have already woken up, barring the Allmother. They are simply... sleepy and are not at full power. The thing is that a man holds the Gates Of Hell on the other side. I found your father, Wyatt. He is within Hell, boarded behind the Gates by the Devil to hold them until he wastes away. And I believe it is better we rely on him than Vincent. I do not care for most lives in the world, but the loss of life from what is to come will pain even me. The disappearance of millions of beings with their own minds, independent of thought, chills me. I am not heartless. Not anymore."

My eyebrows raise as my heart accelerates and my mind runs rampant with questions. She found my father? How? He's in Hell? That means... when he was found to be passing through the Underworld, he went all the way to the Gates and beyond... Why? What need would there be for that? And she actually cares for those who will die? Even the humans?

A thousand other questions run through my mind, but as battles wage not far away from us, I focus on the most important one.

"Why Killian Graves? What makes him better as opposed to Vincent? Is this to do with your obsession with him?"

I can visibly see her expression harden with anger as she grunts out a no to my questions. She doesn't like me questioning my own father.

"Of course not! He's better in every way! Strength-wise, sure, the eldest Harvey edges him out, but Vincent is too old. Even advancing to a God will buy him a decade or so at most. Godhood only increases the time you have left if born with flesh. It is not immortality. True immortality does not exist except for the beings born only of Ether. So what if he rises? He'll fight for a few years, run out of steam, and die. Even if he manages to live long enough, his age will prove the difference between Gods born before written or verbal history. Crumpled like a piece of paper, he will fall."

Aniwye grows in volume until she's practically preaching to the air, proclaiming to the world how my father would be a much better choice for Godliness. But even if he is, what then?

"How do we get to him them? How do we free my father?"

At this point, Aniwye's face falls, her single eye drooping heavily. It's obvious this is where she slides short.

"I... don't know. I know how to get to Hell, of course, but the path is long and arduous. I couldn't do it alone. No one could... except..."

"My father."

Aniwye nods as I finish her running off words before continuing. She gradually gains confidence out of nowhere as she speaks, and I feel a hint of Ether gathering within her mind. Is that false emotions? Insane.

"We just have to reach him, though. With you, and some of your... what's the Chero word? Ah, friends. With some of your friends, I believe we could traverse the darkness to reach Hell."

The battles just beyond the ruined buildings near us only grow in fervor, but I can tell that Aniwye wants to have this conversation NOW. Not in a minute. Not in an hour. She wants this now.

So, I give her my focus. As I speak, Virgil remains quiet, but I can feel his gaze burrowing into me, questioning me for every word to this demon.

"Then, what do we do? Trying to stop Vincent, even with you, is a foolish gamble. We'd be joining the demons, making enemies of every human in the world. Not to mention, I doubt we'd even win. All my life, I've heard the legends of the Wastelander. The strongest mortal. The one at the pinnacle of the Paramount. The only one beneath heaven's gaze. He has many titles that have nothing to even do with his Sigils. What hope do we have?"

Aniwye points at the sky, far toward the west, where the brigade of demons, Pygmies, and Nahullo came from. Several Nahullo and Pygmy are shifting dangerously in the army behind her, only holding back from attacking Virgil and me due to her reputation.

"The other Dominions are coming. This, you know. Even the Grayskins' king from far south, beyond the Pygmies, may come to Leviathan's call. Though, that is not yet confirmed. But... even they aren't confident. Vincent's giving this his all. He either dies today or loses his wings and gains a halo. We just need to disrupt him. Attack those trying to help him. The small things could make a difference in such a major war. And then, when he dies, we rush for the nearest Confluence so I can build a Crossroad. From there, we journey across the Underworld to Hell."

I nod along with her, but I still can't imagine Vincent dying. He's virtually Marshall with twice the experience, a thousand times the power, and a million times more the weight under his shoulders. For him to die...

Is that treason? To plot and aim for the death of the Prime? Probably. But... he's never done anything for me. If Aniwye truly believes that Vincent will kill so many with his ascension... I mean, even Vincent said it himself to Johnny. The cost will be dire.

"What if Vincent doesn't die? We have to prepare for the worst. This is the strongest human to ever live we're talking about here. I know you demons look down on us, but—"

Aniwye shakes her head, cutting me off. She is a demon, but she's different. She recognizes potential where there is some, despite the differences in race.

"No. I no longer look down on you all. Or any race. Vincent. Killian. Kai... you... I have been shown the truth. Power comes from conviction. That is why only those with the most potent wills become Angels. The wings are rare amongst your kind, but those who gain them are equal to my eyes. I eagerly await the day you join me, little one. Your wings will be beautiful. There is a chance we will fail to stop Vincent. If that is the case... then we can only run for the hills of Gravecross and rush for Hell anyway."

My mind peaks at her wording, and I press on it. Eli kept mentioning running to Gravecross, and now, her, too. What is that all about? And even if Vincent raises, she would still want to find my father? No. That actually makes sense. She's utterly obsessed with him. What the hell did he do to her?

"Why do we have to go to Gravecross? Is there a reason why that place is so important?"

Aniwye shrugs at my answer, seemingly unsure of herself.

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

"I don't know. Leviathan simply ordered all Angels to go there for safety should we fail. She has precautions upon precautions. According to Gimt, a really fucking old demon that came with her, Vincent's rise may leave behind entire Territories of space uninhabitable and dangerous to traverse, even for high Sigileds. Even for Angels. The high cliffs of Gravecross should be enough to block whatever he will bring."

I nod, wanting to answer with an affirmative, but Virgil whispers into my ear. His hand grips lightly into my shoulder as if to drag me away.

"You can't be serious. Allying with a demon? I mean... I know who she is, but seriously? Why should we believe her that Vincent will kill so many? What if this is just a ruse from Leviathan to help turn us against him?"

I consider his thoughts for a moment but shake my head. She wouldn't lie to me like this on her own, meaning the only way this is a ruse is if she were being controlled in some way. Aniwye is a Virtue, and even as a Power, she was incredibly mighty. For her to be manipulated by Leviathan... I find that hard to believe, especially regarding matters with Killian. My father is a sore spot for her. Something that brings her untold willpower. I don't think anything or anyone could break her will upon that hill.

"No. It can't be. I believe her. She's telling the truth. Trust me. If she says millions will die to Vincent, we should believe her."

Virgil groans but nods, leaving behind a warning.

"Fine. But I can't follow you with this. I need to make sure my family gets to Gravecross. I—"

I pat him as he still holds me standing, my legs weak, with a laugh.

"It's okay. I'll figure it out. Hell, I don't even know the plan yet. I can always back out. Aniwye! I agree! We should ally and stop Vincent. If so many are to die and there is a better way... then we have to try and stop it."

Aniwye smiles back at me, her teeth spreading into a malevolent grin as she twists around, brandishing her cleaver. I hesitate, unsure if I made the right choice for a moment. But I quickly realize that my false mother is not aiming her cruelty at me anymore. The demons, Pygmies, and Nahullos practically shriek as they prepare to either run or fight.

"Little one! Go help your... friends! I'll have some fun with these morsels still tainted by the mind of another."

****************************

Lennon 'Bladed Monster' Hull

My grin finally shatters as I feel a crack in my leg, the backswing from Karn's spear sending me hurtling. Rock, stone, and even the bricks of a building collapse as I land on the other side, a half-dozen dead Pygmies around me from the impact.

Spitting out a tooth, the second one lost in this fight, I push myself to my feet. I peek down at the weapon in my hands as it's inlaid with cracks and fractures along its edge. This Claymore... it won't last much longer. Sequester's blade has been wonderful. The winds and tempests born of it are easy to manipulate, even for me, not to mention the rigidity of the steel itself. But in the end... all my tools break before my will does.

I shuffle from my right foot to my left, hinging on the least wounded limb. Karn is good.

Very good.

At the start of our fight, he outdid me in strength and speed as expected, while I outclassed him in skill and technique. But... the Devouring Spear is not a metric of horror. It's one of honor. Karn learns from each opponent he faces, devouring their techniques for himself. It's something I admire. Something that I hung onto when I was young and in training.

It's a skill I've mastered to a lesser extent with other swordsmen. Edmund simply called it sword logic. Just as one might come to a conclusion using intuition and logic, I can do the same with a blade. Yet Karn's devour transcends mere combat; he's even copying how I move despite wielding a weapon that couldn't be more different. Gradually, he's growing faster, mimicking my footwork while learning how to counter my blade.

I quickly glance around at our surroundings as I realize what we've done. It's been a cataclysmic clash that threatens to tear apart the very foundation of this city. Open sewers are revealed from split or punctured streets, and one towering building even has a suspiciously round spear hole the size of three horse carriages.

But I only worry about the city shortly. I've spent long enough protecting others. Now it's all for me. I can be selfish. I've earned that right. I've earned my right to want—to desire. Those that I've left behind can not push me any further ahead, but I can let them watch as I rise into the sky. My eyes harden and focus on the figure hurtling toward me, the very air compressing from his speedy fervor.

Karn's grotesque form is an unsettling sight. His yellowish-sickly skin seems to crawl with spite, and his muscular physique embodies raw power. His body reminds me of a twisted combination of Marshall's muscle and a leper's illness. It doesn't frighten me. I've fought far more horrifying foes, but it does put me off a bit and bring me some pity for the Nahullo.

He's honorable. Not in the traditional way, but he's solely focused on our fight. It is between us. No one else is allowed to interfere. At the start, he was ridiculing and antagonistic, but after I proved my strength... I'd say we have become friends, even if still enemies. That is our honor among Sigiled. No... we are more than Sigiled. We are warriors, testing our mights.

"You've given me quite the education here, Hull. I see why you deserve such a title. It is respectable. I will allow it. A human named a monster... not the first time it has occurred, but it is one of the few wherein it makes sense."

Karn slows as he steps through the rubble of the bakery he sent me through with a clever counter of the edge of his spear's butt to my backswing. It was good. Something he could have only come up with after our time of battling and devouring my skills.

I return the favor.

"I have to say, you are probably the most pleasant Nahullo I've ever interacted with."

He smiles, his sickly skin curling in on itself with a plethora of wrinkles. His head is small but not so petite that it lowers his threat. In fact, it only makes him more bizarre as he twirls his spear around him, the wind from the act cutting the stone beside him.

"Indeed. Not all are as pleasant as me. A duel to the death is simply the most pleasant act the living can engage in, hmm? Let us continue. I shall remember your name, and I shall place your head upon my mantle alongside the other legends that lie there."

Karn's words are not meant to be a threat, but instead, they are a promise he declares to me as he points his spear at me. It's a simple thing, made only of a material so tough and hardy that it refuses to even be scratched. It possesses not a single Sigil, unlike my current Claymore. Yet, that brick of forged Heartstone is called Skullstealer. I don't want it, but I do want to break it.

I grip my blade tighter as I check myself inwardly, just as Edmund instilled into me. Only when I understand everything about my body can I operate optimally and account for all variables within my muscles. Four broken ribs. Shattered right femur. Dislocated left shoulder. Punctured left lung. Arythmatic heartbeat. Cracked skull. All my fingers on my left hand are broken as well from a strike to my hand.

Karn uses that spear like a staff and a gun; the stabs are just as vicious as a bullet.

Alright. No more games or fun. This is it. Do or die, Lennon.

My Ether accelerates as I force Monster for only a moment. After the recent fights, I've forced myself to be more conservative of my Power. Short, minute bursts are all I can manage. Otherwise, I will die as I cannot possibly keep up with Karn.

At the start, perhaps, with my wide valley of skill against him, but not anymore. I knew he'd be a challenge, though—a massive one, more significant than any other I've ever faced. Everything leads to something. All roads I've traveled have led to this.

I grin so widely that I worry I'll reopen a cut on my face as Karn moves, his foot kicking out and shattering the street beneath him. I twist my blade as I sidestep, Monster activating just long enough to drive me into position. I deflect the blow as I tumble backward, barely managing to regain my balance before he strikes once more. I quickly fall into a rhythm as I struggle to gain even the slightest edge.

Every exchange of blows is a symphony of devastation. The speed of our strikes is a blur to my eyes when unfocused by Monster, leaving shattered buildings and toppled structures in our wake. All the other beings in the city run from our battle, unwilling to even come close, including other Angels. Kate, Johnny, and Tomas, alongside their foes, retreat when Karn and I come close, preferring to fight somewhere we're not. Only Edward doesn't run, but I can sense that his foes, two Angels, are shaking in their boots from Karn. Even still, it's a relentless back-and-forth, with each clash of our blades sending shockwaves through the very ground beneath us.

Despite my skill, Monster, providing me untold might, Karn possesses an overwhelming force that threatens to overpower me at every turn. His speed is unmatched, his strength titanic, and his skill fast devouring mine. I quickly find myself pushed to the brink, the sheer passion of his attacks driving me back.

A particularly gruesome strike pierces through my thigh as I fail to deflect his thrust, and I rip away to save myself from the follow-through, tearing out muscle and bone from my leg.

The relentless assault leaves me battered and exhausted, but I refuse to yield as I stumble to a half-knee. My stamina wanes, my body aches, but my resolve remains unbroken. I reach for my Power, the only skill I've ever truly known, as Karn rushes for me, again, his spearpoint aimed at my heart. Yet, this time, unlike all others, no reply comes. No power, no enhanced senses, no speed.

Monster is...

It is gone.

I was so engrossed that I went past my emergency five seconds without even noticing, leaving me with nothing but my flesh and bones. The tip magnifies itself in my vision until it becomes nearly all I can see, my whole being focusing on my encroaching death.

"You ain't dead till I see a coffin. Get up, Lennon. Show 'em who is the best with that blade."

A long, washed-aside memory resurfaces. The old man who guided me for many years shouts at me while I lay bleeding and broken upon a battlefield—my very first battle. Edmund was rarely kind, but he was caring, in his own way. He didn't coddle us, but he brought us to where we needed to be to survive in the world he saw. Few could keep up with the brutality and gave up. Those who left Edmund's shack with a weapon from him, however... each of us has made our mark. In fact... half of us have become Angels if you include Wyatt.

My heart shudders under the memory as I try not to disappoint him. He's the only one to ever believe in me. Without him, I'd be nothing but a poet's son, a useless penman while the world collapsed.

After a few years of his tutelage, Edmund would tell anyone worth their salt that I was the best swordsman. And if someone thought otherwise, he'd have me fight him. He never stopped calling me that, even after I'd lose.

And so, I fought more, and more, and more, and more, and more, and more, and more, and more, and more, and more, until... eventually, there was no one left to contest the claim.

Some Pillars use swords and blades like Clarence, Sylvia, Maddox, or Ed, but their strengths come from their Sigils and the actual blades themselves, not their skill.

My hand tightens around the hand as I feel a part of myself refuse to simply die like this.

Sure, Monster is gone. Sure, I am wounded. Sure, I am hardly even alive. So what if I can only use one skill?

Monster ruins the pathways of my body, straining the routes in which my Ether moves to the absolute limit. It's like flowing a thousand gallons through a straw. It'll burst if it moves all at once, but it's useless if it goes at the normal speed. The one-minute mark isn't a literal limit like some other skills. My flesh might explode, my bones might implode, and my brain might cease to exist, but I can still go further. Johnny's eyes go blind after too much of his Power, while my limit isn't so literal.

It's just a physical one.