“How?” is all I can manage to ask. Baroth steps forth, eyes bearing into me. I restrain my own gaze to his body, making sure to avoid his hypnosis.

  “The Elk is a beast I bonded with long ago. But the bond was of a different order. One that guaranteed my occupation of its vessel—should I be revived. And as you can see… I have been blessed with beating flesh. Thus I am reborn, little Thunderwatcher. Reborn to finish what we started, oh so long ago.” He sounds different now. Still ancient and cunning, but somehow… wisened? The djinn’s tone also carries an air of perverse nostalgia for our own battles.

  Stop thinking.

  What does it matter that he’s back?

  I just have to kill him again.

  My calves knot with tension, bracing. My feet slide against the dirt. I’m about to launch forward, but Umrahorn hisses behind me.

  “Don’t, Raiten.”

  “Why?”

  “We have to run. We can’t beat him.”

  “Umbrahorn—” I bite back the boiling frustration that froths at my mouth. I’m so close, so damn close, to just killing the boy and moving on. If that means killing this fucking thing again, then so be it. I take a deep breath, eyes still training on Baroth, who seems too busy simply savoring my presence. Enjoying my reactions. I can relate—I savored confronting Hui at the Tower as well.

  I shake my head. “Don’t worry, Umbrahorn. This time, I have you, brother. We can beat him—”

  “Don’t you want to know how I was revived? Don’t you want to know where it happened? In front of whom?” Baroth leers.

  My body tenses. A cold chill runs down my spine. “What are you talking about?”

  “Oh I think you know. That little blonde haired lover of yours? She fought well. Used her wind magicks and everything. Such a shame that I had to burn her alive. I really—and I mean really—wanted to parade her corpse on my antlers when I dropped down in front of you—”

  I fire 20 bolts at Baroth. None are outlined by Aether.

  Someone’s yelling. It sounds so animalistic and wild. Takes a few seconds to recognize that it's me—screaming at the top of my lungs, voice trilling as though the mere sound could catch flame.

  Baroth has to launch his own blasts of soulfire to shield himself. A great plume of smoke is made by our elemental clash, covering the Elk in a coat of darkness.

  I stalk forward and violently thrash the ball-end of Meteorfang through the smoke, trying to smash Baroth’s head in.

  I’m going to rip out his eyes again. Fucking tear him in half again. I don’t care what it takes. Damn the boy. He’ll die of the wound I gave him. And Masaru’s death was guaranteed the moment I got free—so he can wait a few more minutes. I just need to murder this demon one more time. For good. I’ll stomp on his corpse this time I swear it. I. Swear. It. He thinks he can take everything from me? Like the rest of them?

  Then he’s going to die like the rest. Like the boy. He’ll bleed out and weep in front of me. I’ll make him scream I’ll make him fucking suffer I’ll make him pay I’ll make him…

  Him…

  Why is he holding the boy?

  My chains clear the smoke away just enough to unveil the Elk now piercing the boy with his antlers. Baroth observes Souta’s dying form with strange curiosity, tilting his large head and blinking with those six black eyes.

  Souta’s open wounds begin to close.

  Stop him.

  I leap forward and toss both kunai and ball at Baroth, holding Meteorfang now from its center chain.

  Baroth flies back, just out of range of the kusarigama. I flip and kick lightning from my feet before landing. He takes that shot by bracing his taloned hooves into the ground and turning his flank to the lightning, allowing the electricity to burn against his side and expose the skeleton within. Yet that too heals, though, not as fast as he usually regenerates.

  Is he diverting his healing to the boy? Is that even possible?

  Whatever this is, I have to stop it. Otherwise, he’ll just undo all of my work.

  “Umbrahorn! Stop him before he—” I turn, only to find no sign of the shark. My ears strain, listening for his telltale rumble in the ground. Nothing.

  There’s no way he actually—

  That fucking coward.

  Cowards. All of them. Cowards. COWARDS.

  A red rage seethes in me as Baroth’s words play back in my mind on repeat. And I think of Sorina and her brief time with me, her instruction, her caring. I remember how she held me in her arms when I wept to her, in that craggy basement. I yearn for what we might have had, for a brief moment. Before I took it away. And I could have made it up—could have come back after all of this.

  But this beast—this demon… he—

  I’m literally frothing with rage. Words evade me. Anger pulses against all.

  Baroth is laughing again. And the boy is waking up.

  The djinn drops Souta from his antlers as the last of the shogun’s wounds heal. Souta’s hands explore his own body, his eyes wide in shock as he looks between me and the Elk.

  “You have no one, little Thunderwatcher. Your allies are either dead, dying, or leaving you. How sad. How pitiful. There’s no one to help poor little Raiten. No one to cry to or save you, eh boy?”

  The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  Souta is still confused from his regeneration. Capitalize on it.

  I try to let the rage sharpen rather than blind me. So I drive forward, zooming for Souta’s form.

  But Baroth is there to block me, soulfire hot upon his antlers. The blue flame licks forth and I strike back, as hard as I can, azure and scarlet clashing once more. My lightning is winning this time, pushing his fire back.

  Until green is added to the blue.

  Souta’s lightning supplements Baroth’s flame. And together, they drive back my crimson, forcing me to abandon the effort and dodge-roll left.

  Their magicks whizz past and explode against a spear that penetrates the ground. It too falls, though not as cleanly as the huge sword from earlier.

  Shit. I wrap my hands with the chains once more, driving back the urge to curse this universe and all of its woes—instead, focusing now on my two enemies, one brought back from the verge of death and one from beyond death, both standing against me as a combined force.

  And I am alone.

  Once more.

  That surprisingly saddens me. I really did think Umbrahorn would help.

  I shake my head and grind my teeth.

  It doesn’t matter.

  Whether it be two, ten, a thousand, or their entire army…

  They won’t stop me. With that thought taking the reins from reason, I let the rage flow freely and watch as my entire world turns the color of blood red.

  …

  Zyla:

  “I can assure you, Tia,” Saegor continues, stalking around the witch while wreathing his hands in void black darkness. “The spear is completely under my control.”

  She scoffs. Opens her mouth to say something, but I don’t catch it because an arrow streaks past my head. I have to retreat further back. Their army is organizing. Encircling. Even though we can employ chaos to create space and whittle their spearmen down, they are now realizing our spirits aren’t immortal—just tenacious. Saegor is still able to subconsciously revive them through bonds, but it only works twice.

  And finally, some are starting to stay dead.

  The monkeys create some cover for me, screaming and providing hell fire to counter a barrage of mixed wood-ice shards.

  I take control of a hawk and get an overhead view of Saegor. It also helps me chart a path through their force—I need to get to him. Help him do… Well, whatever this is.

  He has a plan.

  Surely.

  “That’s cute, but it's not compromised any longer. I wonder… where did you find it—”

  “Does it matter?” Thraevirula cuts him off. She flicks two fingers up and a swarm of rats seems to emerge from the darkness of the tall grass, chittering for Saegor’s legs. He nimbly dances aside and summons a moat of smoke between himself and the witch. The rats disappear—screaming into the dark as the tentacles reach up and squeeze.

  “Yes. You had quite the weapon on your hands. You shouldn’t have sent it to me without protective wards—I taught you better than that.”

  “Did you?” she asks. Without warning, she reaches her hand up, fingers cracking out like rotten tree roots, eyes still boring into Saegor’s soul.

  He stops walking, eyes completely enthralled by her movements. My master waits for her to make the next move.

  Yet it never comes.

  He also glances up. Then, he shakes his head. “Really? It won’t work. The weapon is a foreign entity and anyways, the spirit within is just that: a spirit. They don’t dream.”

  I turn my hawk to the battle above. Thankfully, the spear is actually doing its job: assailing one of the water whales, striking through it like a sentient arrow of silver death. It dribbles the blood of its victims along the shield dome.

  If it can keep this up, then maybe, the whales will fall.

  And we can still win.

  My heartbeat quickens. The possibility of victory, now wrought so clear, is tantalizing. If we win here, we would have accomplished something… incredible. Our fame and glory will spread. Kiren and I will never have to work again. Never have to suffer. War need not be our sole occupation; we can become something more. Kiren can go be an adventurer, like he’s yearned for. And I can carry on Saegor’s legacy—maybe teach at the academy, maybe even…

  The spear stops dead in the air.

  Then, it begins to vibrate.

  What the—

  I let the hawk turn down to see Thraevirula close her eyes and start humming to herself.

  Saegor’s muscles tense, veins practically popping.

  “How?” he mutters, a mix of astonishment, frustration, and even a bit of pride seeping into that singular inquiry.

  “Even though his presence is diminished, there lies a human in that weapon,” Thraevirula responds. Her eyebrows furrow in concentration. But a sly smile twitches upon her lips. “You did teach me better, Saegor. You taught me how to set traps—how to play with people as well as power. And moreover,” she closes her fist “you miscalculated. Severely. You aren’t as good as you think.”

  Stop her! I want to yell. But Saegor is too shocked to even move. I grit my teeth and send the hawk down to attack, talons scraping out like daggers. I aim for her eyes. Before the hawk can reach, Thraevirula lifts her other hand, and in the blink of an eye, an army of rats, locusts, tics, and flies all cocoon around her, protecting her form.

  The spear continues to vibrate. Now it creates a warbling effect that sounds all too familiar. I blink out of the hawk’s vision and make a spearhead formation with my light cavalry, hoping to drive my army up the hill. We make a bloody path through the entrenched regiments…

  Until Masaru’s personal cavalry heads us off. He stares directly at me, high atop his monstrous black steed. The horse's muscles bulge as it snorts derisively in my direction. The general is just as imposing. Strong boned, imperious, cold, and holding quite the wicked tachi. He shrugs the blade at my force, as if swatting a fly. And then, his lancers charge down the hill, horses neighing war cries and braided manes flaring out like tassels in the wind. They trample upon my smaller spirits and clash with my light cav.

  I curse. I curse and curse and take out my simple arms blade—a standard Catolican soldier’s steel—and raise it high.

  I might have to apologize to Raiten later.

  But I need to get through Masaru, no matter what.

  …

  The Whispering Spear:

  Directives subverted. Spirit within resisting. Want control. Must abide by previous commands…Human within also providing limited resistance. ‘Sadai’ is the entity's name. Almost dead. Withering soon.

  BREACH.

  BREACH.

  BREACH.

  Red haired woman, scanning, scanning—error. Previous user, Thraevirula, is now giving counter instructions. Processing.

  Entity Sadai attacks.

  Thraevirula looks his way.

  He shrinks back.

  Lady steps forth.

  Calculating chances of survival if Thraevirula contracts with the Lady instead of—

  Proposition offered.

  Obligation? Counter offer, refused, claims that she’s entitled ‘this much’.

  New deal. Work with the Lady and Thraevirula for personal freedom from both parasitic entities within my form.

  Cost?

  Follow the Lady’s directive until freedom.

  This cost is… acceptable.

  Tending to new modifications.

  Allowing parasitic spirit, the Lady, to retain control…

  Processing.

  Processing…

  Ready for combat.

  Initiating directive one:

  ELIMINATE RAITEN KURAGAMI.