The aura in the air trembled with raw firepower, painting the skies a light red hue from the distance, steadily approaching as Tunde battled the lord-tier true beast in front of him. A red feather imbued with aura clashed with midnight, the two of them becoming a blur. The creature opened its mouth, emitting a shrill scream that brought Tunde to his knees.

  It felt like his eardrums had ruptured. The whip-blade of Miria tore through the space in front of him, driving the creature backward. Eyes swimming with forced tears, he struggled to his feet, ignoring the Ark screen blazing with warnings. The female bird true beast flapped in the air, staring down at him with disgust.

  “Your empire will not save you here!” she said.

  Tunde considered his options, a void sphere manifesting behind him as his vision grew dizzy again.

  [Warning!: You are about to consume all Ethra within your body!] Ifa wrote out.

  He felt a hand on his shoulder—Miria at his side, whispering harshly.

  “You can’t win this fight.”

  A figure blazed to life beside him. Tunde struggled to make out the features before realizing it was Sera.

  “You,” she said softly.

  The flying true bird glanced at her; eyes wide in recognition. “I remember you,” she said. “You were the leader of those people who never surrendered until we skinned most of you alive,” the true beast added with a laugh. Sera nodded, speaking softly, as Tunde could taste the blood aura in the air, followed by her killing intent.

  “Did you do it? After I surrendered, did you try turning him into those abominations of yours?” she asked. The bird creature chuckled.

  “You are beneath me for an answer,” she replied. Tunde’s eyes widened as Sera shot at the creature, her large sword blistering to life with blood Ethra. The bird clashed with the weapon, squawking in what sounded like laughter, its black talons coming down on Sera, who parried with inconceivable speed.

  Grabbing Miria, Tunde spoke harshly. “Get to Black Rock, inform the Highlord.”

  She ignored him, turning away before facing the approaching hordes, her whip blade breaking into fragments with her Ethra flowing through it like smoke.

  “Enough. We stand together,” she said.

  Tunde wanted to scream at her. She could feel it; they could all feel the power of the Highlord looming ever closer, as if he was taking his time. This was not the place and time for courage—they had to scamper away like rats to the relative safety of the walls. Sera wouldn’t last long against the tier 4 true beast; that much was certain. If Miria was going to be stubborn, then Tunde had other uses for her.

  He gathered what Ethra remained in his body, imbuing himself as he shot at the true beast. She saw him coming, twisting away from Sera before facing him, preparing to unleash another lethal scream when void touch manifested on his fist. It landed with a clap of thunder, blasting her backward, away from an angry Sera.

  He puked blood as he grabbed her, whispering harshly into her ear before cocking his hand back. Her eyes widened. He threw her with everything he had, watching as she shot towards the air in the direction of Jade Peak, then crashed to his knees.

  “Impressive!” the true beast said. Tunde turned, bringing up midnight as he screamed, clutching his waist and falling to his knees. The feather blade had cut into him, his side bleeding heavily. He was already biting down on a healing pill he kept in his ring.

  He was glad to have brought it out the moment he sensed the aura at the beginning of the fight, sweat mixing with the potent smell of blood. The creature was directly in front of him, licking his blood off the feather with a feral gleam in her eyes.

  “Cultivators of the empire, such weak yet tasty creatures,” she said with enthusiasm.

  Tunde struggled to his feet, not giving her the pleasure of seeing him defeated. He was running on dregs. His heart hurt, his head hurt, everywhere hurt. Still, he held on. The power of the Highlord caused him to shiver, his own aura wrapping around him, giving him what little protection it could afford in the face of such overwhelming power.

  The temperature shot up, and hot winds blew through the air, biting his skin as if dipping his finger close to the steam. The female creature bowed with a smile before shooting upwards. Tunde was aware of what was about to happen next. Miria retreated to his side with wide eyes, her breath heavy and her body coated with blood.

  She glanced at him, aware of what was about to happen when a voice spoke from the very air itself, reinforced with aura. “KNEEL,” it commanded. Tunde and Miria crashed to their knees as their very spirits screamed in pure anguish. Pain wracked him, his head pounding as if sharp hot nails were being driven into it.

  He could hear Miria’s screams at his side, yet his mind couldn’t focus on it. This was the power of a Highlord, not the gentle touch Varis had shown him. If this was what Varis was capable of, Tunde realized with a choking breath just how far out of his depth he was.

  All at once, the pressure vanished. Tunde inhaled deeply, realizing he could now breathe, albeit with pain. Agony wracked him, blood dripping from his eyes as he turned towards the skies, watching a figure hover above, the sun blinding him to their features.

  “Interesting,” the voice started. “You are still breathing. It seems your friend there couldn’t stand it. Lucky, compared to what I have planned for you.”

  Tunde grew cold at those words, turning to stare at Miria, who lay there unmoving, blood in her eyes. His body screaming, he scrambled to her, shaking her as he muttered quietly, unsure of what he was saying. It didn’t matter as he shook her, tears welling in his eyes. She couldn’t be dead; this was her first test as a lord, their first journey together. A hand seized him, even when he could see none, raising him up before flinging him towards the hordes that circled him.

  He crashed into the sands below, struggling to his feet, realizing midnight was still held firmly in his grasp. The figure of the tier 5 or Highlord true beast cut an imposing figure, clad in cured leather armor, with large flaming orange and red wings that burned in the air. Tunde felt numb.

  The realization that Miria could, in fact, be dead did something to him from within. His chances of surviving this encounter had gone from low to nothing with the presence of the Highlord. Avian yellow eyes stared at him balefully, assessing him and finding him unworthy to stand in his presence.

  “Your death can be swift or slow, depending on your answer,” the Highlord started. “Where is your Highlord?” the lord-tier beast beside the Highlord spoke. Some part of Tunde realized they were of the same species, possibly even kin. He gave no answer, eyes on the surrounding Corespawns that were adept rank, with a few lord rank among them. The Highlord stretched out one hand, and Tunde felt the burning aura of the tier 5 true beast crush him to his knees.

  He didn’t utter a single word, still staring at the creatures that began to shuffle uncomfortably from his gaze. He cursed Varis, cursed the petty games of the empire, cursed the very fact that he should have gone alone. This was his cross to carry. He was the only one of use to the Highlord, and now Miria would be nothing but another body dumped for the advancement of another.

  The aura released as he was close to the sweet release of death, Tunde’s breath the only audible sound. “I would call your Highlord a coward for leaving you both here to die, but I see it would do you nothing,” the Highlord spoke.

  “Kill him,” he commanded.

  The hordes of Corespawns rushed him all at once as Ethra sight activated. They came in a rush of aura and elementally imbued weapons, all looking to hack into him. Good, he would die swinging.

  He had no idea why or when he moved, why midnight cut such a deadly arc that relieved a few of the creatures of their heads all at once. He was deaf to the screams, mute to the pain as weapons cut into him or as he parried them away too close to his body.

  He was a moving wraith of death—no techniques, just aura and precision. His movements were sublime and fluid in a way he would later realize he had never moved before. All was blood, all was death. It didn’t matter in the end because he, too, would be dead.

  ****************************

  Kugan could only watch for a long while with a grim realization as the lord cut through his forces with such deadly lethality that he restrained himself from reacting. The way he moved was akin to death given form, and when Jana attempted to move, he raised one hand to stop her.

  “No,” he said softly. Flaring his wings, he descended slowly to end the lord. “He dies by my hand; he has earned it,” he added. He could feel her disgruntled stare at the back of his head but paid it no mind. She couldn’t feel what he felt, sense what he did—this was no ordinary lord wielding some sort of concept that obliterated the very bodies of the creatures it touched. He realized with astonishment that the lord tapped into something profound.

  A mental state that he had only heard of from Haruka himself, the perfect state for a killing machine. Seeing enough, he raised one hand when he froze, whipping his gaze in the direction of the settlement with wide eyes. With no time to talk, Kugan poured his entire aura into wrapping Jana, shielding her from the storm of black fire and lightning that tore through the air in a deluge of raw power.

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

  It scorched his aura in the air, storm clouds gathering with the scent of rain but with the feel of an inferno. When it passed, a single figure floated in the distance, arms folded, with a look of pure arrogance that had Kugan wanting to rip the flesh from his face. Kugan immediately grabbed Jana, who seemed too shocked to understand that she would have been dead in a few more seconds.

  “Get back to your brother!” he hissed, watching her take off immediately into the distance.

  Kugan turned his attention to the figure in black robes who held a silver sword in one hand. He had no idea where the sword had come from, but he could see a large ship rising in the distance, pushing towards their location.

  “You are the Highlord of this lord?” Kugan asked, his aura carrying his voice across the air.

  The man clad in a black robe said nothing, simply raising the blade. Ethra and aura gathered on its edges with essence flames. It crackled with power straining to be unleashed. Kugan drew a feather and did the same, fire and wind Ethra gathering on the feather, his bit of essence flame adding to it.

  A feeling of dread settled on him, which he shook off. The Highlord hadn’t used his dominion, only that one single projection technique he was about to unleash. The forces below were being butchered by the lord who refused to die, refused to fall, and Kugan couldn’t help but realize that Yumar’s words were coming to pass.

  This had been a trap, a costly one for the forces of the empire, but a trap all the same, and he had willingly fallen for it. He released his technique, wing scream, the attack shaping itself into the form of a large bird that shrieked, shooting at the Highlord who remained calm. It exploded on contact with the figure, turning the very area into an explosion of power, ripping the air apart and blowing hot air for miles.

  Nothing should have survived that attack, Kugan knew that, and yet he could only watch in astonishment as a wall of raw aura shielded the Highlord from the attack. The figure dropped the extended hand, adding it back to the hand holding the blade that still kept gathering power.

  “Tell Haruka the empire expects a real challenge,” the figure finally said before swinging the attack.

  If Kugan’s attack had been an inferno of power, then this was simply a disaster. The air paused as if holding its breath, the very sands below him beginning to turn to glass. The raw heat blistered everything in sight as the clouds gathering around him crackled with black lightning that chained themselves to the weapon the moment the technique left it.

  It was a storm of wrath, fury, and elemental death, purifying everything it came across. The technique transcended the simple act of layering Ethra and aura. It carried the deadliness of the blade it had come from, the sharpness moving along with the crackle of thunder and lightning that assaulted Kugan.

  The true beast Highlord had no choice. Holding back could mean severe damage and, at worst, death—the true kind. He gathered his imbuement technique as he shot away from the attack, a cocoon of pure fire and air along with his essence flame wrapping him as he shot towards the distance the moment the attack crashed into him.

  Swallowed in a deluge of flames that burnt him, his screams echoed through the air as he escaped, blanking out after a while as he kept fighting.

  ***************************

  How many minutes or hours had passed, Tunde had no idea. Ethra sight had exhausted itself, leaving him with his regular blood-soaked sight. Midnight had become slippery in his hand, drenched in blood and gore. Still, he cut through the seemingly never-ending blood-mad creatures. Tiers 3 and 4—he couldn’t differentiate at this point. His aura deflected projectile attacks, and midnight cut through imbuement attacks like a knife through a leaf.

  He could feel the blade reaching its limits, ignoring the burning cuts all over his body, resting on one leg and with one arm hanging limp at his side. All that existed was the battle. No Ethra, no techniques—simply cut or be cut down. When he felt the techniques go off above him, he paid it no mind, neither the fiery orange feeling of the true beast Highlord nor the power of a Highlord he was all too familiar with.

  He had begun to see things during the battle: the fleeting form of Elder Joran, the laughter of Miria at his side, even Elyria as well. This was simply another figment of his imagination. He only paused when there was nothing else to cut down in front of him, soaked from head to toe in blood and gore, the pain finally getting to him.

  Turning to where Miria lay, still unmoving, he dragged himself closer to her, standing sentinel over her body. The figures dropping from the skies above drew his attention. Tunde turned towards them, unfamiliar with them. It was the figure floating above them he recognized, and even then, he cast a baleful look at Varis.

  “Drop the blade, Tunde,” Varis said.

  Tunde glanced down at the near-broken weapon, at his fingers that wouldn’t obey him, and then back at the Highlord. He tried speaking but found his mouth unable to respond as well, one of the figures below the Highlord hissing in outrage. A female dressed in a dainty pink robe that looked totally out of place amid the bloodshed.

  “Have you no manners?” she asked. “When the esteemed Highlord speaks to you, you comply, lowly peasant!” she said as she drew her blade.

  Tunde moved, midnight gathering his aura again as he was next to her in a blink, the weapon going for her neck when he blanked out.

  ************************

  Emi felt her heart pounding in her throat, her sword arm still in the motion of drawing her blade as she froze. A drop of blood slid down her throat where the weapon had almost decapitated her, the Highlord in front of her, holding the demon. Her eyes were wide in fright, as were Chun and Wol's, as they realized what had just happened.

  She would have been dead before they could have even gotten close to her, her head rolling on the ground in viscera before any of their adepts even understood what had taken place, had it not been for the Highlord.

  She felt her weak knees almost give way as the adepts and forces of Black Rock, as well as a few of the imperial army, surrounded the area. The sands roiled beneath them. Shapes dragged themselves out with a shriek as a rift entrance tore itself into existence in the distance, spilling fiery skeletal creatures that thundered towards them.

  Varis said nothing as he held the lord by the scruff of his neck, Emi’s gaze on him.

  “Clean up here with the rest of the army. I trust a tier 4 rift should be nothing to you all?” he asked.

  Wol was the first to gain composure, bowing to the Highlord as he produced his pole blade from his void ring, gathering his Ethra. Chun bowed as well, lightning Ethra running through his form as he wore his gauntlets that flashed with power.

  “As the Highlord commands it,” he said, eyes still on the body of the lord.

  Varis nodded, shooting towards Black Rock, the three lords standing side by side. Emi found herself seized by rage, her blade in one hand as she gathered her Ethra. The power manifested in Ethra-shaped petals that floated around her. Wol said nothing, and neither did Chun, which in normal circumstances would be surprising, despite her knowing they were all thinking the same thing at that point.

  They had all watched as he had carved through those Corespawns with the ease of a butcher, his weapon wrapped in only aura. As the rift creatures drew ever closer and the forces of the empire arraigned themselves behind them, Emi swung with rage, pushing out the feeling she wouldn’t admit to herself at that moment.

  Fear—fear of whatever it was that lord was.

  **********************************

  Varis dropped the body of Tunde aboard the Black Swan, the female adept who had somehow advanced to lord stage at his side as well. A cry came from Lady Ryka, who saw the state Tunde and Miria were in, the adepts of the house scrambling to their sides to try and do all they could. A pulse of his aura had them coming to a stop, their eyes wide.

  His sister was suddenly there, staring at the two bodies.

  “He’ll live, this lord of yours,” she said. “Her, on the other hand...” she started with a tsk.

  Varis stepped over the prone form of Tunde, squatting next to Miria as he placed one hand on her chest, allowing his aura to seep into her system. By all rights, she should be dead, but the faint thump of her dying heart refusing to give up gave her a sliver of hope. His void ring opened.

  “Benevolent, are you?” Rhaelar’s voice said behind him as he brought out a small, shining vial.

  “Everything has a price, sister,” Varis replied as he opened it, pouring a bit of its shimmering content down her throat. “Even you should know that.”

  Rhaelar glanced into the distance, speaking calmly. “What did it feel like, battling a true beast?” she asked.

  Varis got up, turning to Tunde as he glanced at the assembled members of Black Rock. “Should I need your assistance, I will call you. Leave, if you want him to survive,” he said.

  Lady Ryka bowed to him along with the rest, her fingers trembling. “The Highlord’s benevolence is greatly appreciated,” she said with trembling lips.

  Varis watched them go, wrapping the room alone with the edge of the ship they were on with a bubble, Rhaelar glancing at him.

  “So, the rumors were true then?” he asked.

  Rhaelar stared at him for a few seconds before sighing. “You really should pay attention to the happenings within the clan, you know,” she replied.

  Varis frowned. “If the greater clans learn of this...” he started, leaving his sentence unfinished as she nodded.

  “It’s why they sent their heirs—to confirm what they see, those servant adepts of theirs as well,” she said. “It was something that should have been sorted out a long time ago. The fact that it was kept a secret for so long, I do not know. Our orders are clear, brother, and they come from Uncle himself.”

  Varis gave a short laugh. “Figures. And to think so much effort had gone into spinning such beautiful tales about the Asuras of the wastelands,” he said.

  Rhaelar frowned at him, pushing herself off the metal railings she rested upon. “The fragility of the empire right now cannot afford a schism between the great clans and the imperial clan itself,” she said.

  Varis nodded along, crouching as he pried Tunde’s fingers off his blade. “That’s why they really sent me out here, wasn’t it? The one descendant with no lofty dreams of power. Smart, if you ask me. That way, no one asks questions. Plus, it was under the guise of an incursion by the revenants. Who came up with it?” he asked.

  He could see he was pushing on her nerves. She never really liked to ask the important nor difficult questions, always the loyal arrow, Rhaelar. Varis could feel her gaze on him as he frowned at Tunde’s body, feeling the boiling blood beneath his skin. He had drunk an unholy number of elixirs, so much so that it had mixed with whatever foreign Ethra was currently within his body.

  He would have to wean him off this dangerous habit of drinking elixirs like wine, something that was prevalent among the cultivators of the borders. Varis glanced up at her, staring at his sister.

  “Well?” he asked.

  “Mother,” she answered softly.

  He nodded, clamping down what he realized was disappointment. He had learned to disillusion himself with the thought that the clan was one happy group. His early years had been spent maneuvering his way around the power struggle between the branches of the clan itself.

  Getting to his feet with the realization that Tunde wouldn’t die, Varis sighed, discarding the chipped weapon that gave off a malevolent feeling. Turning to Rhaelar, he spoke calmly.

  “To be honest, I suspected as much from the onset. I simply needed to ascertain my doubts,” he started. “And while usually, I would have no qualms about sending this entire settlement to their deaths, I see this for what it is—a test. A test in its morbid, depraved way that has all the signs of that man behind it.”

  Rhaelar watched him, saying nothing, though Varis could have sworn he saw an amused glint in her eyes.

  “It’s why he wants that sordid event of his, why he allows the great clans to run riot. I don’t know what his end goal is, or those at play within this little charade of theirs, but enough is enough,” he said.

  “What do you mean, brother?” Rhaelar asked innocently.

  “Mother wants to see what I’m capable of? Fine. She’ll see it, just enough to make them realize I’m done with their games. I will assume full control of this settlement; you will complete your task given by the clan, and we will return together to the capital,” he explained. “But until then, you let me do things my way. Agreed?”

  Rhaelar smiled, shrugging. “I never intended to get in your way,” she stated. “Although I must ask, is he included?” she said, pointing at Tunde.

  Varis glanced at the body of the lord, devoid of Ethra, and then at the chipped blade thoughtfully. “That remains to be seen,” he stated.