by Dante King
I summoned a pillar in the middle of the Wysaro front lines and sent enemies flying. As I’d hoped, it made a gap in their formation, but that gap was filled with my planks, leaving no opening that the guild could exploit.
Hamon burst through my wooden pillars, and I jumped back as his sword lashed out. His blade made a narrow incision on my chest, but I’d moved just before it would have gutted me. I recovered quickly and kicked him in the chest before he could strike. He waved his arms as he tried to stay balanced, but a roundhouse kick launched him backward. He fell over the stands and landed on the arena floor.
Before I could leap down to finish him off, an intense wave of heat hit me as Master Xilarion and Lord Wysaro hurtled past, the two of them becoming a single ball of flames as they flew through the air, battling with spells and weapons. Xilarion managed to get his staff past Wysaro’s defenses and hit him in the face. The fire around Wysaro flickered, and he fell from the sky before crashing into a pile of broken seating.
“Ethan!” Xilarion shouted as he drew something from inside his tunic. “Catch!”
He threw the item, and I leaped to catch it. It was a roll of paper, tightly bound around a bamboo stick, sealed with a dollop of red wax.
“What is it?” I asked.
“Your prize for winning the tournament.” Xilarion had already turned his attention away from me. He readied himself as Wysaro took flight once more. Fire flared in the lord’s eyes, and his face was filled with fury. Then, Xilarion hurtled toward Lord Wysaro with his weapon raised.
I cracked the seal, fragments of soft wax falling away beneath my fingers, and unrolled the scroll. As I did so, I could feel power radiating from the page, as it did from the cores of beasts and from Augmenters using their powers.
“Summoning of Greater Fire Golem,” it read at the top of the page. Underneath was a swirling trail of ink, its curves and angles precisely inscribed, a Vigor channel transformed from flesh into paper.
I ran my finger along the ink, followed its pattern, and summoned the power locked within. As I did so, I could feel the Vigor swirl around me. Although the fire itself was familiar, this shape was not, and I was stunned by the sheer force of the spell. Even after months of training, I wasn’t sure that I could have channeled this through my body, but Master Xilarion had channeled it through his pen onto the page.
As my finger traced the symbol, the trail of ink turned to one of fire. The paper burst into flames in my fingers, then fell away in ashes as I reached the end of the Augmentation.
From those flames, a figure appeared, small at first but growing larger with each passing second. Its raging heat forced me back as sweat streamed from my every pore. The air tasted of ashes.
At last, the fire golem stood before me. It was a figure of pure fire, like the ones I had fought to gain my powers but more heavily set. Nearly nine feet tall, it towered over me.
“What is thy will, master?” it asked in a voice like the crackling of a house fire.
I looked down at Hamon on the arena floor as he struggled to his feet. Fear coiled in his eyes as he stared at my summoned golem. With this creature at my side, I could easily beat him, ensuring my own survival. It was the obvious choice.
But what sort of man would I be if I saved myself while my friends were in danger?
“The men in green tabards.” I pointed at the Wysaro soldiers in the arena. “Fight them until they are beaten or flee.”
“Yes, master.” The golem left scorched footprints on the battered planks as it strode down the seats. The giant launched into the middle of the Wysaro forces and lashed out with flaming fists. The guardsmen’s line waved, then collapsed as the tide of battle turned once again.
“Fool,” Hamon snarled. “Now, I’ll destroy you.”
Fire flew from his weapons, from his eyes, from his mouth, until it was hard to see the body beneath the flames. Augmentation was no longer a tool under his control. It had taken control of his body and now rode him like a beast.
Against such an inferno, I had one answer. I closed my eyes and called upon the power of ash. It ran through my flesh, as cold and lifeless as a corpse. My skin went pale at the chill, then gray as the ash Vigor filled it, making me immune to fire.
Hamon slammed into me, his swords discarded, his whole body a weapon and a channel for his rage. I fell hard, and my skull bounced off the edge of a seat. Hamon landed on top of me and pinned me down. The Sundered Heart Sword fell from my hand and clattered against the planks before it fell through a gap to the ground below.
The fire flaring around me should have been agonizing. Even through the Augmentation, I could sense its heat, could tell that it should have been blistering my skin, boiling fat, and burning muscle. But I felt none of that. Even my robes were untouched by the heat. Fire Immunity had encased me in a thin, protective barrier made of ash.
Though the ashen armor kept me safe from Hamon’s fire, it didn’t protect me from his strength, which had been been vastly increased. He hit me in the face, and my head spun as stars danced across my vision. I raised my arms to fend off the next few blows while I regained my senses. He had the advantage from above and delivered punches where my arms couldn’t block them. My ash armor held, but pain flowed through me as swift and intense as any magical power. I hoped like hell that the worst I’d face afterward would be bruises.
Once my vision had returned enough to see what I was doing, I threw a punch of my own straight into his face. It was hard to get my full force behind it while lying down, but I caught him right in the nose. There was a crunch, and blood sprayed from his nostrils as it landed in dried, black spots as flames evaporated the liquid.
Hamon howled in pain and rage, but there was no letting up in his attacks. He pounded at me remorselessly, and it was all I could do to fend off the worst of the blows.
Beneath us, the seats had caught fire from Hamon’s magic. Wood was consumed from the edges in and fell away in blackened chunks. The bench beneath us creaked, bent, and then, gave way.
We fell through the seats before we landed on the ground in a shower of ashes and broken timber. The fall knocked the breath out of me, and I laid gasping for a long moment, too long to take advantage of the opportunity. By the time I got moving, Hamon was on me again with his fists flailing.
I couldn’t win this by force, not with such power flowing through him. Worse, the heat was becoming uncomfortable against my skin as Fire Immunity started to fade. It took too much Vigor for me to summon it again so soon. Another minute, and I would be frying like bacon on a hot pan.
I forced myself to stay calm and reached out with another of my powers.
Hamon gasped as a cloud of ash appeared around his head. He waved his hands through it as he tried to brush it away, but more ash came back in to fill the gaps. With a cry of frustration, he jerked to his feet and emerged from the cloud.
This was my chance. I scrambled clear of where he had trapped me and grabbed a fistful of ash as I went. Hamon lashed out with his foot and kicked me in the ribs, but I rolled with the blow and landed against one of the poles that held up the arena.
I focused on my hand as my fingers and Vigor squeezed tight around the ash. As magical energy flowed into the substance, it compressed into something new.
Hamon strode over, his cheeks smeared with soot. He kicked me again, but this time, I was ready. I grabbed hold of his foot, pulled, and dragged him down to my level.
“Pathetic peasant,” Hamon snarled. “You think you can beat me?”
I didn’t waste my breath, just swung my fist around and slammed a rough needle of hardened ash into Hamon’s side. Compress Ash had given me the weapon I needed.
Hamon screamed and fell back as he clutched at the wound. As his blood flowed, his concentration faltered and the flames with it, his reserves of Vigor finally starting to fade.
I staggered to my feet and cursed at the pain from a hundred bruises and scrapes. Hamon crawled away through the rubble of the stands, toward where
our weapons lay amid the ashes at the edge of the arena. He grabbed hold of one of his swords, but before he could lift it, I trapped his wrist beneath my foot.
“I don’t think so,” I said.
I jumped onto his chest and pinned him between my legs. For every punch he’d landed on me, I gave him three. My knuckles started to split after the 20th punch, and I slowed my breathing to hold back my fury. He wouldn’t be getting up for a long while, but I had to make sure.
I picked up the Sundered Heart Sword and focused on what had to be done.
“My battered hero,” Nydarth said, her voice gently mocking. “If only I was there to tend your wounds.”
“It’s not over yet,” I replied.
“‘Yet’ is such an important word.”
Just holding the sword and hearing Nydarth’s voice revived my flagging spirits. I went over to Hamon and lifted my weapon above my head. Before I could drive the blade into his stomach, I heard a chorus of cheering. When I turned my head, I saw that in the time it took me to beat Hamon, the guild had triumphed.
My fire golem stood amid a mound of beaten Wysaro warriors, guards, and Augmenters alike, a monument to how powerful that scroll had been. The rest of the Wysaro Clan were fleeing for their lives, and only a handful still faced off against the guild members as they backed away. Few stood their ground, but among them was Lord Wysaro, who still battled Master Xilarion in the center of the arena.
I glanced down at Hamon, but he was gone. I saw him crawling through the stands and considered pursuing him, but my honor wouldn’t allow it. A few months ago, I’d likely have chased him down and impaled him on my sword. But I’d changed. He was defeated. His entire clan was defeated. Now, I needed to help my friends drive the Wysaro from the guild.
I went to join Kegohr and Vesma, who were fighting a pair of Augmenters stubbornly clinging on near the exit to the arena. As I arrived, sword in one hand and Flame Shield in the other, the Augmenters looked at each other, turned, and ran.
“Let’s go smash the bastards!” Kegohr bellowed as he raised his mace high.
He ran after the fleeing clansmen as other initiates, disciples, and even masters sprinted after him. They cheered as they went, exultant at their victory, determined to trample their opponents into the dirt.
I looked from them to Xilarion, still dueling alone against Jiven Wysaro. It was a tough fight, both men scorched and bleeding, but they still fought with speed and skill. The outcome seemed balanced on a knife’s edge, ready to tip either way.
“Come on!” Vesma tugged at my arm. “We need to go with Kegohr. The clan is almost defeated.”
I couldn’t turn my eyes from Xilarion and Jiven Wysaro. “It’s too close. I’m going to help him.”
“But—”
“I know what I need to do, and there are enough of the rest of you to finish off the clan.”
Vesma looked at me, her mouth half open, as if she was about to speak. Then, she shrugged. “Your choice.”
And with that, she ran toward the arena gate and joined Kegohr in pursuit of the fleeing enemy. Shouts of triumph and cries of pain sounded amid the thunder of footfalls as the pursuit headed out of the arena, across the courtyard, and beyond.
I turned to the golem, ready to send it in to help Master Xilarion. But before I could say anything, the creature spoke.
“My task is complete.” The golem pointed at the fallen Wysaro foot soldiers who littered the ground. “I fought them until they were beaten or fled. Now, I return to the inferno.”
The creature then pressed its hands to its chest. The air around it flickered and seemed to fold in upon itself as the fire shrank inward until it was a narrow pillar, then a small ball, then a single flame that hovered in the air before vanishing in a puff of smoke.
So much for that approach.
Almost no one was left standing in the arena. Plenty of people remained, but they were fallen—dead, unconscious, or badly wounded. Moans and whimpers of pain filled the air, broken by the occasional bout of violent cursing. But the only ones still on our feet were me, Xilarion, and Lord Wysaro.
“It’s over, Jiven,” Xilarion affirmed. “Surrender.”
“Never!” Wysaro replied. “You and your pathetic guild have defied my authority for too long. With you gone, the Ember Cavern will be mine to control. Only those who help hold our borders will have its cores.”
“Only those who serve your clan, you mean.”
“If no one else will do their duty, then we will.”
Wysaro lunged at Xilarion with his sword. The master stepped out of the way, but Wysaro was quick to adjust and turned the attack in. He almost caught Xilarion with the blade, and the master was forced back.
“Master Xilarion!” I called as I approached, sword raised. “I’m here.”
A look of pure fury crossed Wysaro’s face as he saw me approach, the Sundered Heart Sword in my hand.
“You!” he hissed. “You ruined everything. What demon brought you here, Ethan Murphy?”
“Death. She’s a real bitch,” I said, getting close.
Master Xilarion stood beside me. With one hand, he held his wooden staff, ready to do battle. In the other, he held a ball of fire coruscating between his fingers.
Wyaro’s face twitched. For a moment, I thought he would charge straight at me, as his son had. Then, flames shot from beneath his feet, and he hurtled into the air. He flew out across the arena and landed on a nearby rooftop.
“This isn’t over!” he called out. “Hamon, where are you?”
“Father!” Hamon croaked from the stands. My punches had left his face a pulpy mess, and he could barely stay upright while clutching the wound in his side.
“I’m sorry to leave you, son,” Wysaro said. “But here’s a parting gift.”
He took a deep breath, then exhaled sharply, as if he was blowing out the candles on a birthday cake. Instead of putting out fire, this breath created a torrent of flame that hurtled down to his son.
The fire exploded as it hit Hamon. I shielded my eyes against the blinding flash of light. When I looked again, Hamon’s body was almost invisible amid a raging inferno.
“What the fuck?” I stared, incredulous not just at the power but at what Wysaro had done. His son might have survived this battle, but he was burning him alive. Didn’t he care for his own family?
The flames rose and fell as they writhed around the place where Hamon lay. The dark shape of his body faded from view, consumed by the raw power that Jiven Wysaro had unleashed. I had no love for Hamon, but seeing him die by his own father’s hand was brutal.
Xilarion seemed indifferent. He straightened his robes and watched Wysaro as the clan leader rose into the air once more, robed in flames.
“How could he do that?” I trembled with fury at what I had seen.
“Jiven Wysaro has always been ruthless,” Xilarion said. “He will do what he must to win.”
“But this…”
“I must go after him.”
He closed his eyes. Fire sprang from the ground around his feet, rose up his legs and across his body until it completely surrounded him.
“I’ll come with you, Master,” I said. “I can follow on the ground, and—”
“No,” he said. “You can’t keep up that way. I need you to stay here and deal with this.”
“With what?” I asked.
But Xilarion had taken off, lifted by the power of fire as he shot after Lord Wysaro.
I looked around the arena. Had he meant for me to help the wounded? I knew some first aid and what Faryn had taught me about using herbs. But after a long and bloody battle, the people here needed far more help than I could offer.
I knelt beside an injured initiate. “Show me where it hurts,” I said for lack of anything better.
He moved his hands to reveal a vicious cut down the outside of his leg. The flaming weapon that had injured him had cauterized the ends of the wound, but blood still ran from the middle.
I tore th
e bottom six inches of cloth off the initiate’s tunic and bound it around his leg to staunch the flow of blood.
“Don’t move,” I said. “We don’t want to make that worse before a real doctor gets here.”
Next to him lay a Clan Wysaro foot soldier with a bone jutting from her broken arm. Her face was pale with shock.
“That probably needs straightening,” I said. “You should get an expert to do that.”
“You… You can’t help?” she asked fearfully, and I realized how young she was—16 at most, too young to have fought in any sane world.
“I’ll stop the bleeding. That should buy you the time you need. Okay?”
She nodded.
“Hey!” the Radiant Dragon initiate said. “Why are you helping her?”
“Because she’s hurt.” I looked around for something to bandage the wound with.
“But she’s one of them.”
I thought of the flames erupting around Hamon as his father breathed fire at him, thought of someone destroyed by his own family.
“Them or us; sometimes, that’s not what matters,” I argued as I grabbed the tabard off a dead body and tore it into strips. “Sometimes, what matters is who we are.”
“What’s that?” the initiate asked in alarm.
“Compassion!” I snapped. “Maybe you should try it.”
“No, that!” he said as he pointed past my shoulder.
I turned to see what had drawn his attention.
At the edge of the arena, the flames around Hamon’s body had grown in intensity. But now, they weren’t just flames. They flowed in unnatural yet familiar shapes, forming first the pattern of fire channels through a human body, then the shape of a body itself. That body stepped away from the ashes where it had formed and became more distinct. It had slender, delicate features and hair tied back in a tight bun. Even made out of fire, I recognized the arrogant sneer of its expression, the disdain for everyone else in the world.
Now, I knew what Master Xilarion had left me to deal with.
Hamon Wysaro still lived.
Wearily, I raised the Sundered Heart Sword and prepared myself to fight Hamon again.