A slim candle loses its glare before my eyes, lingering with only smoke and the smell of flowers. My eyes trail to the letter beneath it, snorting at the ‘gift’ sent to me. It’s written in fancy writing with eloquent grammar, something only one woman would do.

Happy 41st, Lennon! We’d come to see you and celebrate, but you’d kick us out. So, I sent you a letter. I know you probably won’t even read this…

But I hope you're doing okay. The Heartsword is growing unbelievably, but it’s not you. I don’t think you’d crumble under the weight of a school; still, it’s not all that’s wrong. It’s okay if you can’t swing a sword.

We’re your friends. And if I’m not, Wyatt is. You can come to us. It’s okay.

I know you, Lennon. I know you very well. I know you would never take the coward’s way, which is why I must tell you this.

Happy birthday. Wyatt is working on something to help you. I know he's failed in the past, but just... you gotta believe in someone other than yourself, okay? Oh, and please don’t kill anyone today.

With great love,

Elizabeth Graves.

I crumple up the paper and toss it aside, annoyed by what I have to read. Those damn two always prying where no one wants them to. Can't I just live my life?

Things aren't what it used to be. It's been years. Years since we last fought together. Since we bled together. Times have changed.

Though... Wyatt doesn't think like that. I know he doesn't. Exhaling with a spike of pain from my chest, moving too quickly in anger a moment ago, I reach for the cane residing beside my desk. Then, I take it and hobble to my feet.

"Fucking..."

A slight curse comes from my lips while I stagger over to the door. A moment later, I stride down the hallway of my academy, the place built gloriously in tandem with multiple governments. Every new nation after the Second Collapse wanted a piece of the pie that was Heartsword.

Well, the piece of the pie that was keeping me settled down. Gods can be tracked quite easily if one follows their connections, but...

Me?

Like the Wraith, I cannot be tracked, yet unlike the Wraith, I cannot be tamed. The point of pride burgeons into an array of emotions as I stand on a fifth-story patio to find the students training at their morning spars.

I set this school up to allow for any to join should they prove themselves. Talentless? Bah.

Heart is what matters.

It is all that matters.

Every man or woman I graduate from here will be an Angel. That is what I decided when building it from the ground up. Those are my true students, for they are those that carry my heart.

I can see a few of those candidates on the grounds right now. Of the several hundred, spread out amongst their years, my eyes lock onto a specific individual.

A demon by the name of Tiranus. He's lithe, hardly over five feet tall, with a spindly tail at his rear and leathery skin. Reminds me of tanned leather, to be honest.

But his heart?

The tremors in my hands steady ever so slightly as I witness him fight his opponent. Tiranus, the first year against Leanne, is a third year. The woman, faster and stronger than her match, is talented in the blade, too. But she doesn't have the heart.

Tiranus is outsped, but he performs one of my favorite moves, blocking with the edge of his hilt. It's prohibitively dangerous, something I only teach the higher years, yet the little demon learned it on his own.

Twisting his body, he diverts the swing while going in low and twirling his Claymore straight for Leanne's throat. And as I taught them, they always go for the kill, stopping only at the last moment.

Steel nicks crimson from the human as she gasps in a retreat, sweeping her blade outward. Her eyes are both incredulous and embarrassed, but she is not done quite yet.

"Don't feel bad, Leanne! Tiranus ain't normal! Go all out, and you might get him!"

A second-year, Jona, who had his ass kicked previously by Tiranus is the catalyst that provokes Leanne's Ether to rumble dangerously. It's pitiful compared to what I could combat at my peak, but it's impressive for her age and Sigil.

With a shared nod and a devious smile from the demon, the two begin anew. I smile, sensing them dash at each other with blistering quickness, but then that sensation within my mind rings with alarm.

It is the perception that I've always found to be infallible. If it could sense the Phantom Pain at his best...

My eyes scan the horizon, every inch of my academy, frantic for the sign of danger. Yet, I do not see anything. Not a lick of what my periphery believes to be out there.

The insides of my stomach rumble, for the times have changed. I'm not as strong as I once was. The injuries I was given against Usen and Vincent aren't something that could be walked off.

I'll live with them for the rest of my days, however short they may be.

But who could this be? What could it be?

The seas are stable, for now, with Autumn sailing them. Most of the new nations are without turmoil. All the strong are accounted for except... for the missing.

Eight powerful individuals vanished.

Vincent's grandson is the only one I can remember by name to be among the missing, a vanished 8th Sigil. But why would he come here?

After me? This doesn't make sense.

A voice enters the sky, however, and quickly fills me in on the cruel joke.

"Lennon? Lennon Hull!? I've come for our second round!"

The sound is familiar, from a Nahullo that I had once fought. He was good. Really good. A young 7th Sigiled when we had our first bout. He even participated in the Second Collapse, surviving through the chaos.

As his figure appears on the training grounds, several teachers I have on payroll emerge, but I can instantly tell they are not his match. Most of my teachers are 5th and 6th Sigileds. A few are Angels. Even still...

I drop down from the height of my patio, falling to the ground heavily, and forcibly suppress the pain of doing so. Wobbly ever so slightly as I fail partially, I wave away the teachers and calm the students.

"It is fine. Stand back. This will be... a learning experience, to say the least."

In the corner of my eyes, I watch Tiranus' eyes light up into a roaring flame. It gives me the tiniest bit of strength, and I stride up to this Nahullo.

Karn, the Devouring Spear. The one, the only mortal to ever match me in skill. Yes, I did surpass him, but...

For a moment, we were rivals.

And few can say that. Fewer still are living.

Yet, to my words, Karn's face droops in disappointment. He sees something... weak about me.

"You've fallen this far? Already? I... I was told... you'd hang on to your strength for another decade. But... already...?"

With each word, my heart sinks deeper and deeper. But that second 'already' riles up the monster within. I take a step forward and quickly stumble, but the movement is too much.

Still, the Ether within begins to move. It is slow. It is stagnant, for my soul is irreparably damaged, but it flows nonetheless.

Nonetheless, I can sense that I may not be enough to fight this Karn. Perhaps the old him, I could end. Maybe even the one that participated in the final battle, but this Karn?

Something is wrong. He's not normal.

His Ether... it roils with something...

Foul. It's more than Ether. The way it flows before pausing, the way that it smells like putrid meat...

Wait... is that even Ether?

I don't know what I'm looking at anymore.

"What have you done, Karn? What being did you find?"

A cackling laughter answers me as he reels back, his lengthy spine bending atypically. Then, twisting back with an eerie speed, his jaws extend more than should be possible.

"I found power. Isn't that what you found years ago? This universe, Lennon... It is endless. Limitless. We must only take it."

The way his words creep out brings a shiver to my bones, and I can hear those behind me retreat in fear. Karn wasn't ever the most sane individual, though neither was I.

We both craved battle, and it seems... that Karn and the other seven missing must have found something in the cosmos. Wyatt ventured out with Virgil and discovered vast reaches of space, unknown Gods, and impossible places.

Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.

They must have walked on the same path, but only the eight weren't strong enough to stay themselves.

I lower my head as Karn walks closer to me, his steps jittery and his voice excited despite his despair. His eyes breathe past me and see those behind my back.

"If you're here, though... one of these must be good, huh? Any of them like you?"

The threat is veiled behind maddening laughter, but I can recognize his meaning. He wants a good fight. And he'll do anything to get it, even slaughtering the teens and young adults behind me.

Shaking my head, I respond honestly.

"They're good, but you're here for me. Draw your spear."

Anodra calls out from behind me, one of the earliest signees for my academy. She is concerned about my condition, knowing just how bad it is.

"Lennon! What are you doing!? Stop. Let me handle this."

I shift slightly, coughing as I do so to glare at her. She freezes the instant my eyes hit her figure like a cat caught in the night. Then, I turn back to Karn.

"I am fine. Let's let the students see what true power looks like. It should help their advancements."

The first-years had only been in the academy for two months at this point, so they had seen little of the power possible by a living creature. Still, apparently, my confidence is not enough.

"Lennon... you can't do this. You'll..."

"ENOUGH! I will fight. This... will be the most fun I've had... in years."

My voice cracks at the end of the sentence, but I won’t let them see the doubt swelling inside me. There’s no room for it.

Not now.

Karn's lips twist into something that could almost be a grin, though it’s more like the snarl of a beast who's been caged too long. The foul smell reeks off him as it warps his body bizarrely, shifting with a serpent's grace.

His steps slow as he closes the gap between us, and I can feel my old instincts stirring, shaking the rust off bones that shouldn't be moving like this anymore. It's only been a half-decade or so, but to me, it's been...

Scars age people worse than the sandy river ever could.

“You think you’ve still got it, Hull?”

Karn hisses as his words are laced with bitter amusement.

“Let’s see it, then. Let’s see what’s left of the great Lennon Hull. The Godslayer.”

A part of me hates him for those words. Another part—the part that’s survived on the edge of a blade for longer than most men live—thrives on them.

It is the challenge that provokes my blood. It is placing me on the same pedestal as Wyatt. Only he and I possess that title. Others have killed Gods, yes, Bonfire, Abraham, and Virgil, to name a few, but they are not Godslayers.

It is an honor only we bear.

The students stand silent, their breaths held, waiting. Some are too new to understand what they’re witnessing, but my Angels, the ones who’ve seen the Collapse, know. They know that this is more than a spar. It’s a lecture, one that will be written in blood and sweat. Mine, most likely.

Karn’s spear gleams in the morning light, its edges coated in something brown and distorted. I don’t recognize the substance that mimics Ether in some way, but I don’t have to.

I know enough to understand that it’s dangerous, maybe even lethal. He twirls the spear once, and it hums through the air to leave behind trailing rust.

For a second, just a second, my prosthetic hand trembles as I reach for my blade.

The handle is familiar—too familiar. I’ve seized it a billion times and felt the way it responds to my touch like an extension of my own body. And yet, today, it feels heavy.

Too heavy.

These years have taken more from me than I’d care to admit. I can walk through these halls all I want. I can teach and demonstrate all I want, but...

One day, I won't do it anymore, just as one day, I won't swing my sword anymore.

I face downward toward Dia. I've lost my momentum. Literally and physically. But... I still have her. My perfection.

The weight of the sword gradually settles in my palm and a strange sense of calm washes over me. She tells me that this is a fight we must take.

I turn my head slightly, just enough to catch the wide-eyed gaze of Tiranus. His ghoulish, sunken eyes are fixed on me, burning with that familiar hunger, the same craving I once had. He wants to see if I can still do it and if I can still stand up to a force like Karn.

"Observe."

I murmur to myself, not loud enough for him to hear, but enough for the words to hold me accountable. The words exist only for me.

And then I move, tossing aside the cane to fall against the sands below.

The first clash is akin to being thrown against a wall of flame. Karn’s spear whips toward me with a speed that shouldn’t be possible, not even for an 8th Sigiled. But I meet it.

My sword deflects the blow inches far enough for me to sidestep the brunt of it. Pain flares in my side as the spear grazes me, but I grit my teeth.

Not yet.

The ground under my feet feels as though it's shifting, but I know it’s merely my body. It struggles to remember the way it used to move, the way I used to breathe, the way I used to fight.

I force it to listen, to obey, even if it costs me every ounce of strength I have left. Karn’s eyes widen slightly as I come in close, too close for him to use the full reach of his spear.

A spark of something reignites in his gaze. Respect? Maybe. Maybe not.

"You’re slower."

A snarl weaves between our movements, his breath hot and sour as I dodge another thrust, barely.

"Maybe."

I grunt, locking my sword with the shaft of his spear and twisting my body to shove him back. He stumbles back only a few feet, my physical strength not the peak of the world that it once was.

Once upon a time... Not even Wyatt could match my blade with his fists. Now... that is gone. Yet...

"I’m still better."

Karn's laughter is manic now as if he can’t believe the words I’ve said. But there’s a flicker of hesitation in his next attack. It is the slightest morsel I need to pounce on.

I twist and contort his spear away from my neck, then counter. My Claymore cuts through the air, a simple, clean stroke aimed at his throat. Yet, it doesn't matter, for Karn suddenly grows another pair of arms and a secondary spear.

Faster than he was before, he blocks Dia. Despite my surprise, I push onward, flinching as I instinctively reach for my Dominion, but it fails me. The wounded soul brings about Godly pain to my chest.

He swerves around Dia, the blade missing by inches, and then he’s on me, his spear driving toward my chest.

I retreat through the agony, the pain focusing my mind, but not quickly enough. The point of the spear slams into my shoulder, and the force of it sends me stumbling back, gasping as crimson blossoms from the wound. I hear gasps behind me, but I can’t afford to acknowledge them.

Not now. I bet they only saw me retreat, too. Regardless of my wounds, I still move faster than most of them can see.

Glancing down, I find blood dripping down my shoulder and onto the prosthetic, staining the ground beneath me. Karn nearly amputated the limb, but I didn’t drop my sword. I won’t.

"That all, Hull?"

Karn sneers, circling me like a wolf. He must be enjoying this, even through whatever has taken him hostage.

"I thought you’d at last provide a challenge."

I respire through the pain, forcing myself upright. My Ether surges, sluggish but steady, a river uncovering its path again. Karn’s laughter falters for a moment as he feels the subtle shift in the air around us.

"No."

I whisper to myself, steadying my grip on the hilt of my sword. This... is my home. I haven't had one since Edmund gave me that room in his cabin. I...

I am these kid's Edmund. And... that damned old man never lost in front of me. I once saw him kill a 5th Sigiled demon after slaying its child.

Who does Karn think he is to stop me? To kill me? In front of my students?

"You misunderstand something, Karn. I am not the challenger. You are."

For the first time, Karn looks uncertain.

I won’t win this fight. I know that. Edmund knew that, too, when he stood up for Wyatt. When he stood up for me back then.

But that’s not the point. It's never been the point.

It must beat it into their heads, my students, that even when your body is broken, even when your strength is fading, you don’t stop fighting.

Because fighting is all we have. And... there is always a chance, no matter how slim, that you turn it around.

Karn lunges again, dual spears flashing in the shadowed light as he reaches impossible speeds. Despite his swiftness that leaves trenches in the reinforced ground, I raise Dia to meet it.

This isn’t about survival.

This is about one last battle.

And I’ll make damn sure it’s one to remember.

The spears strike like lightning, but I meet them with all the Ether I have left to shift and all the power left in my muscles. The clash rings out louder than it should after several seconds of constant back-and-forth, and its force drives me to my knees. The sand beneath me shifts, betraying my weakening stance.

My prosthetic arm groans under the strain. Earl's creation is incredible, able to match the strength of a Demigod, but... It isn't enough.

The gears inside howl louder than our contest as I deflect Karn’s relentless assault. Each hit sends a jolt of agony through my chest, where my soul is shattered, and my body, scarred beyond repair, threatens to give out entirely.

Most Angels, Demigods, and even Gods have spent most of their lives strong. Or, at the very least, they spent very little of it weak. It is the weak who are constantly fighting, proving themselves.

I may not have Vincent's resume, but I'd be willing to bet I'm not far off from his number of scars. I don't have an Endless to protect me, after all. I just have my sword.

And it's not enough.

Blood drips freely from my shoulder now, pooling at my knees and soaking into the sand. The crimson mud loosens my footing, adding insult to injury.

I’m slipping. I can feel the weight of my injuries pulling me down, the darkness at the edges of my vision creeping closer. This... this might be it.

Karn rushes at me again, and I split to the side, defending myself with Dia, only for a startling crack to ring out.

A sword falls to the ground, still held in a metallic hand, and my eyes meet Karn's. He is so much stronger than the last time we met. A proper Demigod. But... I don't have that anymore.

I glance back at the students, their faces frozen in shock with rising terror. They want to help, to prove themselves just as I would have. I can see it in their gazes, especially Tiranus, who trembles with barely contained fury.

But they can’t. They’re not ready for this. They’re not ready to face a monster like Karn.

“No. Stay back. This... this is my fight.”

I rasp with spittles of blood, my voice barely more than a whisper, but it stops them in their tracks. They would only die. Maybe Anodra could do something, but... the rest would die in less than a second. If the grounds weren't so reinforced, craters would be all that remained beneath our feet.

I don't have strong enough teachers. I need some... Fuck...

My back bends forward as I struggle to stand, the legs beneath my feet shifting ominously. Karn circles me with the gaze of a vulture.

“You’re done, Hull.”

Karn chuckles, his voice filled with glee as he finally grasps his victory.

“Look at you. You can barely stand.”

He’s right. I can’t. My vision blurs and my grip on my sword is nonexistent.

I have no arms left. Perhaps I should have taken that second one. Maybe I should have bent my pride. I can’t do this. I’m not the warrior I used to be. My body is broken, my soul wounded beyond repair. Every battle, every scar, has brought me to this point.

But then, somewhere in the haze of pain and exhaustion, I feel it.

A pulse.

It’s faint, almost imperceptible, but it’s there.

The Ether around me stirs, sluggish at first but then stronger, a distant drumbeat growing louder with every passing second within the depths of my skull. The roaring of a steam train emerges upon the brink. I blink, forcing my eyes to focus, and then the world around me sharpens, and for the briefest moment, I feel something—no, someone.

Wyatt.

He’d ventured out into the unknown, beyond the boundaries of what we thought possible. And now, somehow, that door, the one he opened, is calling to me. Before, the Limitless could not reach me, for I had delved down another path.

But...

Perhaps... I just didn't try hard enough. Of course, that's the case. When has anything ever been easy for me? Recuperation? How could that end with simple old time?

No. Blood must be shed. Death must be called.

The Ether inside me, broken and sluggish, begins to stir, moving faster now, faster than it has in years, oiled by the sanguine sacrifice. I feel it, not just in my body but in my very soul.

The scars that once chained me, the wounds that held me back—they loosen, if only for a moment. I can breathe again. I can move again. I can... fight.

Wyatt... It's a damn good birthday present.

Karn’s eyes narrow to a slit.

“What are you doing?”

Without arms, a blade is formed, and my wounded soul stretches to its peak for a split second. Struck by my own Dominion, skies blur with the resounding screech, and my feet slide against the sands behind Karn.

Immediately, I swing the phantasmal Dia of my Dominion, slicing for his throat without quarter. His Ether—whatever foul thing he’s drawn on—begins to waver, its hold on him flickering like a dying flame. And I see it. The opening.

Karn swings wildly, his spears flashing in a wide arc to block the first swing. But it doesn't matter. I have many more. Dia hums in my hands as I drive her and a dozen other Slashes straight through Karn’s chest.

The world stills. Karn gasps, his eyes wide with disbelief as he stares down at the blade buried in his heart. His hands tremble as he tries to grip my sword, but he can't. Only I can wield my Heartsword.

His Ether, that twisted, foul energy, dissipates into the air, leaving nothing but the sound of his ragged breathing. The sudden evaporation of his strength is suspicious, but I don't have the capacity to worry about it right now.

Panting, I shuffle my feet inch by inch, blood still dripping from my wounds, but I’m alive. I’m still alive.

Karn stumbles back, his body convulsing as he falls to his knees, his spears clattering beside him as that foul energy evaporates. I watch it catapult away, unable to halt it. The Nahullo's eyes, once filled with maddened excitement, are now empty, lifeless.

Still, a stray thought wonders about the bizarre energy. Whatever, I'll just let Wyatt know. It's his job now.

With that, I rear back, letting my bloodshot eyes reach up into the sky. Behind me, I hear the students stir, their voices hushed and reverent. They all came here for my name, after all, to learn from me.

Watching me fight someone with a Demigod's strength while protected by me... It is not something they'll ever forget. Neither will I.

Because for the first time in years, I feel something I thought I’d lost.

Hope.

This doesn’t have to be the end.

Maybe... just maybe, I can fight again.

I am aging. But that does not mean I have to be dull. Until that very last day... when my soul finally gives out, I will continue to sharpen myself. It is then that I will prove to the worlds precisely who I am.

Broken? Yes. Shattered? Yes. Scarred? Yes. Armless? Yes. Momentumless?

Not anymore. I've found it again.

"Now, remember this, students! This is Lennon Hull's strength! He has grown old, but—"

I cut off Anodra as I clench my fist, the one formed within my Dominion. It is painful to use, but it is that difficulty that adds sharpness.

"No. I am just getting started. What you saw is the minimum for a Demigod. To graduate, you will have to be able to match just one of those swings. If you wish to go further... I will be waiting. As many challengers that come, I will accept them all."

Without listening to my first Headmaster's words, I walk away, each step filled with dripping blood. No one follows me. Not a single soul.

So, I continue to take steps, one after another, until I stand at the edge of a cliff. Heartsword is built atop a mountain, meaning... the new ocean reaches its ends.

Staring down, I see the waters crashing against the rocks below. Perpetual.

They will never stop.

Am I talking about the beings within the cosmos? Or myself? Or... the waters?

I don't know.

Crouching down, I sit at the rocks, only to hear another scrape beside me. With a glance, I find a young demon as my companion. Tiranus. Those sunken eyes stare into me with desire.

Not the mortal desires that many fall for. No. It is the desire of the warrior. He enjoys the rush of battle just as I.

"You are... incredible, Mr. Hull. Will you teach me? Personally?"

The hope and pride within his eyes are genuine. The dual emotions could be rivaled to that of a rising tide, the kind that would give birth to an Angel. But it's not enough.

"No. Tiranus. I can only teach someone who wishes to kill me. Because... otherwise, you do not have enough drive."

Tiranus' bewilderment is clear to see, and he tosses up his hands before realizing his error and bowing his head.

"Please! You won't regret it! I learn fast! And... I'm strong! You saw me beat Leanne, right! Who else can beat a 3rd Sigil as a 1st!?"

I nod, admitting his talent. He is good. Very good. But... it's the heart. I can only take someone personally who I believe will surpass me. Otherwise... they will only ever feel worthless.

Plus... with my momentum reignited... I wish to join the rush into the sea of stars.

And I don't want to do that to this young man.

"I am sorry. You can come back when you are stronger. When you have lived through more. If you still have the same desire at your seventh... then I will take you."

Tiranus' eyes sink to the depths below, heartbroken and shattered inside. Seeing his despair, I sigh and wrap an arm around his shoulder. The pain of doing so is ignored for the young demon.

"It is okay. I will still train you as I do all the rest. I will simply not take you with me. You are talented. And driven. At Heartsword, I believe you are the best that has arrived thus far. Fly high. Be the gold standard. You are Heartsword's future."

My words raise Tiranus' head, and I notice the slight grin on his face. Nodding, I turn back to face the ocean. He might not be my direct student, but he is still one of Heartsword's.

That means such a slight thing wouldn't shatter his heart. And if it did... it'd only reforge itself stronger. Because...

It's not about how strong they are. It's about when they are beaten into the dirt that they'll spit blood in their enemy's eyes and plan on dying together.

That's the meaning of Heartsword. We live, breathe, and die fighting. For what? Glory? Honor? Fun? Family? Ambition? Self?

Does it really matter?

No. No, it does not.

And it is that thought which brings a smile to my face. I've finally found myself a home. Even if I do venture out into those stars, I'll have someplace to return to. It's a... weird feeling, but not one that I dislike. I am almost looking forward to coming back after a break to see how far all the students have come. I guess I'll just have to find Wyatt and teach him a lesson, too.

I do wonder... Could I beat him? Those three?

Maybe. But I won't know until I try.