“Help him,” she exclaimed.
Seraphina nodded grimly and turned, fingers crackling with energy.
The sensation of his fist nearly caving in the side of Zouka’s face was one Nevick believed he could never tire of. The Gorram general’s destruction had been high on his list of priorities. Now though, armed with the world-destroying news that he had also slain Mitchell and Michael, Nevick saw the general through the eyes of single-minded, revenge-soaked obsession.
Zouka needed to die, right here in this time and in this place. And he had to die at Nevick’s hands. Nothing else mattered. Not even the destruction of The Eye took precedence over this all-consuming goal. Zouka stumbled back, wiping a mixture of slobber and blood from his lips and chuckling wickedly. This unnerved Nevick.
In Kahntran, Zouka had allowed Nevick to assault him, knowing that he need only to transform into his musclebound, mana-altered, hulking state to completely dismantle the warrior of Casid. Now, here they were again, and once more, Zouka was allowing Nevick to get his licks in, to pummel and punish him, expending energy and fury in a mindless quest for blood. So, what was the general’s game this time?
Zouka likely did not know Nevick had mastered the mana transformation. He would not be prepared for it, and Nevick was looking forward to watching the confidence die from the general’s icy stare.
Zouka’s beefy body smacked hard into the black stone surface of the fortress roof. He rose to one knee, casually wiping a trickle of blood from one eye.
“Bravo,” he remarked, standing once more to his towering height and glowering at Nevick. Despite his defensive posture, Zouka had managed to keep himself firmly between Nevick and Deana, who still lay helplessly off to the side. “You continue to improve despite my rather meager expectations.”
“I’m not here to impress you,” Nevick spat back.
“No, you’re here to die!” The general unsheathed a small silver dagger from his belt and rushed at Nevick, hacking and slashing at the air between them. The warrior of Casid bent his body away from the deadly edge of the blade, managing to predict Zouka’s seemingly random attack pattern effortlessly. The Gorram feigned a stab, then struck out with his empty fist.
Nevick anticipated such a deceptive tactic and knocked the behemoth’s arm away before smashing his fist into the creature’s thick throat. Zouka gasped and fell back, fighting to draw air into his lungs. Nevick followed him in, lashing out with both fists, landing a succession of hard blows to the face, chest, and stomach. The general reeled, teetering but never toppling.
Zouka caught himself with one foot and pulled the arm containing the dagger back as if to heave the blade at Nevick. The big man stood at the ready, prepared to knock the incoming weapon from the air. Zouka, though, at the last possible second, turned and, instead of tossing the knife at Nevick, hurled it at Deana.
Nevick’s heart stopped beating for a solitary instant as terror turned his muscles to mush. He ran, determined to stop this horrid event from unfolding before his eyes. He locked his gaze on Deana, who stared at the coming projectile in horror. Nevick shocked himself at the true extent of his speed as he reached the soaring instrument of death in under one second, grasping the dagger by the handle.
The warrior of Casid gasped in relief, but no sooner had this gratifying exhalation left his mouth did Zouka’s armored fist slam into the side of his jaw. Nevick crashed to the ground, the dagger skittering from his grip. As he attempted to rise, Zouka was upon him once more, smashing his iron fists into Nevick’s back, chest, and face. The Gorram screamed in rage, pouring every ounce of his fury into each strike.
Nevick fell beneath the avalanche of Zouka’s assault, wordlessly attempting to fight against the plummeting hailstorm of rocketing pain. He managed to turn away several strikes, but many more were landing. A hard shot to the temple sent his equilibrium into a whirling tailspin, and Nevick enacted the only defensive tactic his frantic mind could come up with. He wrapped his arms around Zouka’s, pinning the general’s limbs to his own side before stepping up and smashing his forehead into the Gorram’s nose.
Zouka attempted to fall back, but Nevick held him tightly. The warrior of Casid screamed out his pent-up rage and pain, bashing his forehead into Zouka’s face again and again and again. The momentary disorienting pain this caused was a far off and distant haze. Zouka bent with the stony fury of each head-butt before bringing his massive knee up into Nevick’s midsection, driving the wind from his opponent’s lungs and weakening the big man’s grip just enough so that he could wrench himself free. Zouka rolled forward, creating some much-needed distance before rising once more.
Both warriors were panting in exhaustion as they glared at one another in smoldering hate. A silent promise passed between them, a dark declaration of intent. The warm-up was over. It was time to get serious.
“Transform,” Nevick growled, goading the general on. “Let’s see what you can really do. I’m through with this playing around.”
“You first,” Zouka spat back, a cruel smile playing upon his lips. Nevick was only momentarily startled by the general’s admission. This did not go unnoticed. “Please give me some credit, fool. I am the general of the most powerful nation on Terra. You don’t think I’ve been following your exploits? Studying your progress? Your lack of insight makes me ill.”
“I’ll make you dead before this is over.”
“Promises, promises.” Zouka’s body began to glow a pale yellow, and Nevick could see the iron armor upon him straining against his increasing muscle mass.
The warrior of Casid took a long, slow breath, focused on the sleeping power within his own impressive musculature, and watched as the glowing, green energy of mana began to spread along the raised veins of his biceps. It was time to fight with nothing held back. It was time to kill.
It was time to win.
Vahn had grown up hearing stories about the awe-inspiring and terrible power of the Rosinanti dragons. He had always believed them to be overblown, as many stories often were. Surely the power of these dragon-gods could not possibly be the force storm of pure adrenaline-fueled fury they sang about in the stories.
He had been wrong.
As twin mountains of dragon flesh, ebony and alabaster alike, collided in a booming shockwave that threw him off his feet as he continued down the mid-level of the arena, Vahn realized the tall tales from his childhood did not do the raw force of the Rosinanti justice.
His children rolled together along the ground, a meshing mass of tooth and tail and claw. The titanic lizards jockeyed for position, each trying to gain leverage on the other as their bulky bodies careened across the battlefield. It was Valentean who gained the advantage, vaulting Kayden’s scaled, ebony form off, sending his dark counterpart smashing into the arena’s east wall. The entire structure shook at the overwhelming impact of Kayden’s colossal landing, and Vahn pitched forward, falling over several rows of benches, knocking lifeless corpses from their positions.
Vahn had to bite back the stinging burn of bile as it crept up his throat while he pushed two bloodied, putrid bodies off him. He rose in time to see Kayden, unfazed by the dramatic slinging, bounding back at his brother, with purple eyes aglow. Vahn knew the bubbling chaotic energy that had so affected Valentean up to this point was playing similar havoc on the mind of the white dragon. Its eyes continued to burn with the same flickering crimson might as they had the moment Valentean had murdered Landon, and Vahn knew not what he could do to get his son back under control. It would be all the harder now that both of his boys had transformed beyond the realm of humanity.
Kayden dove at Valentean, claws first. The white dragon absorbed the blow, allowing his brother’s razor-sharp talons to dig into his exposed neck. Vahn momentarily believed that the battle might have shifted more to Kayden’s favor, but a deepening flash of red along the stare of Valentean showed him that even as a beast, his son continued to employ grand stratagems. As Kayden reared up, claws pushing deeper into dull white
scales, Valentean let loose with a red and white burst of energy from his mouth that struck Kayden at point-blank range.
The resulting explosion lit the entire area in a blood-colored hue. Kayden was forcibly thrown away and smashed into the south stands just to Vahn’s right by several hundred meters. Dragon flesh pulverized the pale bodies of the dead Champions beneath its girth and cracked the stone like rotten autumn leaves. Vahn fell once more but righted his momentum into a forward roll, which took him to the edge of the seating area just above the arena floor.
He turned with melancholy sadness to watch the enormous black dragon that was his son attempting to rise as smoke rose and blood fell from its scorched and torn flesh. The beast actually whimpered as it tried to stand and failed, crumpling back onto its stomach.
The white dragon regarded its downed prey with stoic silence, broken momentarily by a long, low growl. “Valentean, stop!” Vahn screamed at the top of his lungs, so forcefully that his throat ached. But Valentean either could not hear the tiny human or just did not care enough to acknowledge him. Vahn suspected the latter.
Kayden’s eyes rose to meet those of his brother, and Vahn was shocked and amazed when, somehow, the black dragon found the fortitude and resiliency to rise. Its split and cracked lips pulled back, baring broken fangs. Vahn watched the creature’s entire scaly body twitch and tremor with the exertion of remaining upright. It took a few slow shuddering steps into the center of the arena, but it was clear this battle was over.
Valentean watched Kayden stand for but a moment, taking in each tiny sway of his foe’s weakness. Then, he opened his mouth once more and unleashed another white and red burst of energy that utterly engulfed Kayden’s body.
“No!” Vahn screamed, leaping over the railing to land in the arena. An explosion ripped out from Kayden, the force of which smacked Vahn like a fist and sent the elite warrior flying back-first into the tall wall separating the arena floor from the stairs. The world erupted into bright colors and stars before his eyes as the rough impact rattled his aging body. Vahn fell into a seated position as the light died, and he saw Kayden, once more human, before the might of a great dragon, much as his many victims had been before he had eradicated them. His dark robes were tattered and his face a mess of bruises and lacerations. Vahn noted even from this distance a steady patter of blood falling down Kayden’s arms and legs.
The dark-clad Burai pitched forward, striking the dirt face-first but still moving. Kayden braced his palms beneath himself and pushed up, trying to rise to his knees while continuing to glare at Valentean. His eyes flickered on and off with dimming purple light.
Vahn fought to stand through the renewed ache in his chest, using his son’s resiliency and pride as a shining example. Something had to be done. He had to stop Valentean from ending this battle with crushing finality. Vahn would face down a dragon if need be. Because to lose one of his boys would be tantamount to losing the entire world.
Valentean felt that it was a shame dragons could not smile, because the long, slow satisfied grin that wanted to overtake his face would have been a sweet punctuation to his greatest victory. It was laughably pathetic how small and insignificant Kayden appeared to be from this height. He was nothing, an insect, a worm. All of his best laid plans, all of his world-destroying power was naught more than a minor inconvenience for the might of The Rosintai.
“Val, you’re amazing,” the voice of Seraphina rang in his ears. “I was wrong. You are truly the superior brother. Now, prove your love to me. Finish him.”
The thought of giving into this command filled him with a bubbly euphoria. It would be so easy. One slam of his mighty tail and his hated rival would be pulverized into an oozing, gooey mess. One snap of his jaws and he would taste his brother’s blood. It was so easy…too easy. White light exploded from Valentean’s scales as he felt the bulky dragon body melt away. The jarring deflation and loss of power smacked him like a fist to the mouth, but a simple clench of his jaw and flex of his iron will hardened Valentean’s composure. As the light faded and he stood in his more familiar human body, there was no shaking of the knees, no unsteadying faraway look in his eyes. He had complete and total control.
“K…kill…you,” Kayden muttered past his swollen lips. His eyes were flickering with purple energy on and off like a campfire right before it dies. The smile that had been impossible for the dragon’s foreign mouth now spread over Valentean’s lips. Kayden quivered as he took a labored step.
“Kill me?” Valentean remarked, smirking at his brother’s weakness. “You can barely stand.”
“I’ll do much more than stand!”
“Will you?” Valentean spread his arms out wide, opening his midsection to attack. “Let’s see then.”
Kayden’s face twisted in a slew of emotions that simmered beneath all of that proud rage. He knew his brother well enough to discern the war of conflict raging within his heart and mind. There was anger, of course. Scores of it. But there was a haunting wave of desperation, a flood of sadness, and the terror of knowing that this was the place in which his story ended. It was pathetic. The time had finally come. Kayden’s humiliation had reached its zenith.
“He is weak,” Seraphina’s voice whispered in his ear. “How could I have ever believed he was the one for me? You are so strong, Val. You are perfection. You can prove your love to me once and for all by ending Kayden’s pathetic life right here and right now.” Valentean smiled at the assertion of the voice, no longer trying to remind himself that it was not Seraphina who was speaking. The adulation felt amazing, and he wanted to revel in it.
A cry of anguish erupting from Kayden’s throat drew Valentean’s attention back to his doomed brother. Kayden’s eyes were once more aglow with the purple glare of darkness, and he was bracing himself, straining against some incredible energy. What was he up to? What would his grand final act of defiance entail? Valentean raised an eyebrow in curiosity.
“You don’t kill me!” Kayden roared as a shudder passed through the entire arena. Valentean watched with interest as large cracks began to form along the black stone structure, and massive chunks of the arena erupted up into the sky. The walls and stands alike ripped apart in pieces larger than most Kackrittan homes. The bodies of the dead Champions Kayden had positioned throughout the circular structure were heaved into the air, forming a rain of death until they exploded against the ground.
Soon every last bit of black stone that once formed the arena was floating above their heads, converging over Kayden, and smashing into one another. Kayden’s face was a hardened mask of concentration as sweat fell down his forehead, intermingling with blood as he kept his focus entirely on the task at hand. It was a desperate last attempt at ending the battle on his terms, and Valentean found himself even more disgusted by it. It would be all too easy to simply escape the forthcoming avalanche and abscond to safety, but he was not going to give Kayden the satisfaction of killing himself. He had to die at Valentean’s hand.
With red eyes ablaze, Valentean extended an arm, pointing two fingers aimed perfectly at Kayden’s heart. Those extended fingers began to tingle with the power of chaos, and Valentean flashed a half-smile and nodded to his brother as if to say one final goodbye. A burst of orange flame erupted from his fingers and spun its way through the air, perfectly on target to strike Kayden through his black heart and finally put an end to him once and for all.
“No!” a voice bellowed. The world seemed to move in slow motion as Vahn Burai leapt between his dueling sons, his body perfectly positioned to intercept the lethal fire bolt. With a suddenness born of panic, Valentean’s heart seized, and his outstretched hand opened as if he could somehow force Vahn off to the side. But he could not. He stood frozen in place, mouth hanging agape as his father moved into range of his deadly attack, making eye contact with Valentean in the brief microsecond before the bolt would rip into him, extinguishing his life.
A blur of movement caught Valentean’s attention. Kayden had dropped his arm
s, the blaze of purple darkness vanishing from his eyes. His face shone with none of the emotions Valentean had noted earlier. Instead, there was only panic born not out of self-preservation or selfish pride but of love—a love Valentean had thought Kayden incapable of still feeling.
Kayden grabbed Vahn by the shoulder and roughly heaved him off to the side. As soon as Vahn’s body was clear, Kayden turned just in time for Valentean’s triumphal attack to smash into his breastbone. It had missed the heart, but the damage was still severe. It sent a burning burst of scorching devastation along the flesh of his chest and tossed Kayden back to the ground, completely unconscious. As Kayden landed with a thud, the debris he had been prepared to hurl at Valentean suddenly began to plummet straight down, set to bury him beneath a crushing tomb of his own creation.
As Valentean watched wide-eyed as the stone began to fall, the red light of chaos that shone on his stare flickered. Valentean felt the smack of dread, of guilt, shame, and unbelievable sadness. The light flickered once more, and he saw himself slamming Nevick into the wall of the Grassani throne room. Once more and he saw his brutal execution of Landon as he squirmed in fear, utterly unarmed and defenseless. Another flicker brought the sight of Emperor Tek The Magnificent burning to death before him as Valentean just watched. A series of erratic flashes of crimson along his eyeballs brought a score of further images swirling through his mind. How he had wanted to end Maura’s life, siphoning power from The Rosintai within the Dreamscape, and finally, burning Seraphina with his rage-filled touch.
“Let him die,” the voice commanded in his mind. But it no longer sounded like Seraphina. Instead, it spoke with the grating, slithering, gravelly voice of Ignis herself, and Valentean felt his stomach momentarily heave in response.
What had he done? What had he given up to come this far? What was he about to let happen?
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