Tunde hadn’t been there for Joran’s Heaven’s Crucible, and his own had been forcefully canceled due to his missing a second affinity. Now, as Tunde was plunged into a darkness so thick it seemed tangible, he began to reassess his need for a second affinity. He could see nothing, smell nothing but the overpowering scent of ink, and his aura struggled to push out of his body, as if trapped.

  The darkness lasted a few minutes before receding, replaced by another stench that filled the air, causing Tunde to gag. He stumbled to his feet and shot backward, moving to the entrance of the cave to get fresh air. Opening his void space, he grabbed large containers of water he had packed for the journey.

  Miria lay on the ground, unconscious and breathing heavily. Tunde doused her with water while holding his breath. She sputtered to life, hacking, and dry heaving as the smell reached her, struggling toward the door. After a few deep breaths, she grabbed the containers and went to a secluded corner to clean up.

  Tunde spent the time cleaning the filth from their part of the cave, aware that the smell would no doubt chase away any creatures for miles. When Miria returned, the first thing he noticed was her deep black eyes, devoid of irises.

  The tattoos on her skin seemed darker, and although Tunde was rooted to the spot, he couldn’t help but notice that they made her eerily more beautiful.

  “Shocked by my new look, I see,” she said softly.

  “I heard the Lord stage changed the looks of cultivators, but I didn’t see anything like that with Varis or Alaric,” he said.

  “You thought it was a myth, same as I did,” she replied.

  “Well, it looks good on you,” he said as she rolled her eyes, or at least he thought she did.

  She squinted out at the landscape. “Feels like the sun is brighter all of a sudden,” she said.

  Tunde glanced at the sun, then back at her. “Not really, unless it’s a side effect of your concept,” he said uncertainly.

  She sat on the ground, cycling as Tunde watched her aura pour out of her like thick smoke, wafting around her.

  “How does it feel?” he asked.

  “Strong,” she said.

  Her aura coalesced into limbs; her technique now more tangible as they floated lazily behind her. Tunde used his Ethra sight, finding her core in her lower abdomen—a small orb of pure liquid black power. He heard her take a deep breath, her Ethra lines now pure black as well.

  “Drawing Ethra from the air feels so much easier now,” she added with a smile.

  She was on her feet in a flash, hopping around as she smiled. “Is this what you’ve been enjoying as a Lord?” she asked with a laugh.

  Tunde shrugged. “More or less.”

  She shook her head. “Now I see why I couldn’t land a hit on you.”

  She paused, a wide smile spreading across her face. “I want to test my strength,” she said.

  Tunde glanced warily behind him. “No aura or Ethra, we can’t afford to give our location away,” he said. “Assuming we haven’t already,” he added.

  She nodded enthusiastically. “Just physical strength, no techniques.”

  Tunde sighed, Ethra sight on as he gestured for her to come at him. Ethra sight flashed, showing him her next move only for the prediction to vanish. Frowning, Tunde deflected her first attack on pure instinct. Miria laughed, bouncing backward before coming at him again, her eyes alight.

  They traded blows, some coming dangerously close to Tunde, others he managed to deflect at the last second. Her body was faster and deadlier than when she was an adept. Something about her concept shrouded her in a way it hadn’t for the assassin who had come after him.

  Twisting away, he slapped one palm aside, watching as his hit seemed to slide off her skin. Miria responded with a hit to his chest, causing Tunde to stumble back a step, wide-eyed. Miria paused, eyes wide as well, then laughed.

  “I did it,” she whispered joyously.

  She swayed on her feet, and Tunde caught her as she sat down carefully. His eyes went to her core, startled to find it translucent, as if her Ethra was empty.

  “Seems like you used up your core,” he said.

  She blinked at him wearily. “That quickly?”

  Tunde shrugged. It was surprising for him too; he’d never seen or heard of Lords losing their Ethra so quickly unless they were using techniques in rapid succession. He let her recover slowly, giving her an Ethra elixir and watching as she downed it in one gulp.

  The elixir flowed into her, invigorating her channels as her core began to swirl with Ethra again. Tunde watched it slowly refill.

  “It’s a bit unnerving, realizing you can actually see inside people,” she said as Tunde snapped out of it with a blink

  “I apologize,” he said, shutting it off.

  She rolled her eyes. “I’m not complaining, it’s been useful.”

  Tunde said nothing, turning to the entrance and staring into the distance. The sandstorms had died down to a whisper. He was eager to get on the road; the stillness of the area unsettled him, even though he could see the creatures swirling beneath the sands in the distance.

  “Where to now?” she asked.

  He pointed north. “Most of the bandits who made their way said the king’s forces were coming from that route. We should head that way.”

  Glancing back at her, he paused, shaking his head before opening his void space again. “Before I forget,” he said.

  With a thought, the coiled whip-blade emerged. Tunde grabbed it by the hilt as Miria’s eyes widened. Handing it to her, he spoke. “Got Draven to help forge something.”

  She grabbed the hilt, running Ethra sparingly through it as the weapon unfurled, becoming stiff in its sword form. Tunde had no idea what she did, but he watched as the weapon broke back into segmented fragments. Miria stared at the weapon with adoration.

  “How much did this cost?” she asked.

  Tunde waved her question away. “Irrelevant. Anything to help you during this task.”

  With a flick of her hand, it became stiff again. Miria strapped it to the side of her robe before hugging him tightly.

  “Oh,” Tunde said as she stared at him. “It’s laced with toxins as well,” he added sheepishly.

  ****************************************

  Within a large mountain hollowed out into sections, a figure sat in one of the uppermost regions, eyes closed, legs folded. Yumar Shard, First Claw of the Wasteland King, occupied the brightly lit room, two figures standing behind him like statues.

  They resembled a rough amalgamation of monsters and humans, draped in leather skin with eyes that glowed yellow. Black carapaces jutted out from sections of their skin, revealing their true nature, unlike the smooth skin of their Highlord who seemed at peace, unmoving.

  The earth aura and Ethra in the room obeyed his every wordless command, swirling around him as he absorbed it. A slight tremor drew the attention of the two Lord-tier creatures behind him, Yumar seemingly oblivious to it.

  The first figure, the one closest to a male form, stepped forward to the edge of the room that opened into the air, watching as a large Sandshard that had climbed to the top peered in calmly, as if afraid of the beings within, as it rightly should be. The male Lord creature placed its hand on the carapace-helmed head of the Tier 3 Sandshard for a few seconds before releasing it. The creature scrambled down the mountain.

  Turning, he knelt before Yumar. “My lord,” he said, his voice guttural as if learning speech for the first time.

  “Speak,” Yumar's soft yet strong voice replied.

  “Disturbance along the path to the Empire,” the Lord said.

  Yumar’s eyes snapped open, bright yellow rings glowing as the Lord bowed lower, head pressed to the ground.

  “Finally, they make their move,” Yumar said. Tapping one finger against his thigh, he pondered for a while before snapping his fingers. A piece of parchment was handed to him by the second figure behind him, a female form bearing the same half carapace-looking humanoid appearance.

  With aura on the tip of his finger, Yumar began to etch words onto the parchment softly but steadily. A few seconds later, he handed it over to the Lord. “Get this across to the Second Claw,” he ordered. “Gather your Corespawns and push them in the direction of the disturbance,” he finished.

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  The male figure bowed again before grabbing the scroll and vanishing in a blink. Yumar’s superior sight followed him as he leaped off the mountain, landing and dashing towards the distance.

  Releasing his aura in a tightly controlled manner, Yumar sent it towards the uppermost part of the mountain. “My king,” he simply said.

  At the pinnacle of the mountain, where roiling yellow clouds gathered with streaks of aura and Ethra flashing within them, Haruka, the Wasteland King, sat in a lotus position, giving no response.

  ***************************************

  They pushed even further this time, Miria’s advancement to the Lord stage allowing her to keep pace with Tunde. They tore across the landscape, pausing at a rocky region when they sighted a stronghold in the distance, figures atop the walls on patrol. Ethra sight revealed them to be disciples, and Tunde found himself reluctant to harm them, knowing they’d be dead with a single flick.

  After watching for a few seconds, Miria spoke up. “Push ahead or around them?”

  He chewed on it for a few seconds before responding. “The strongest of them could hardly be a Lord, probably one, the rest adepts.”

  “Odd that they still hold onto their stronghold instead of fleeing,” she replied.

  Tunde nodded slowly. “Either that, or they are working for the King.”

  Miria froze at the realization. “Corespawns?” she asked tentatively.

  Tunde shrugged. “We’re about to find out.”

  “How well can you veil your aura and presence?” he asked.

  Miria stared into the distance. “Let’s find out,” she replied.

  In the blink of an eye, she crossed the distance between the stronghold and their position, incapacitating the rankers on the wall. Tunde watched with profound appreciation. To the eyes of the disciples, they would have felt or seen nothing, simply awake one minute and unconscious the next.

  She turned towards his location, nodding to him as Tunde leaped, bounding across the distance in less than ten steps before landing softly on the wall. He stared down at the smaller buildings sprawling across the landscape.

  “Well, they don’t look like Corespawns to me,” Miria said, staring at the bandits moving around, some simply lying down with weapons gripped to their chests.

  Tunde turned his gaze to the most constructed building within the stronghold, a slightly larger one where his Ethra sight pierced the walls, making out the form of a Lord seated with three adepts. He had never wished more for sound Ethra at that point, to at least pick up what was being said.

  Nevertheless, he pointed at it. “One Lord, three adepts. Ethras look a bit murky, the Lord seems to have newly advanced,” he stated.

  Miria nodded. “Reveal ourselves to them or spy?” she asked.

  Tunde glanced down at the roaming bandits who were still oblivious to their presence, his aura tightly leashed. “Spy for now,” he said calmly.

  Miria nodded, vanishing in a burst of speed as she made her way to the building, blending in with the shadows. His Ethra sight clearly picked her out. It was surprising to him how seamlessly she had fused with the shadow affinity, making it her own. Perhaps her ink affinity had some effect on it.

  Putting it out of his mind, he watched as she reached the building, blending in with the shadows again. He tightly wrapped his aura around himself, dropping soundlessly into the stronghold, and began moving towards the building, weaving around the slumbering forms.

  He silenced a single bandit with a smack to the neck who somehow realized his presence before dashing towards the two bandits guarding the doors of the building.

  Calmly leaping onto the roof, he crouched and stared down at the Lord and adepts. The latter were three mature men, dressed in light brown robes common in these parts. He could pick out Miria in a corner, calmly watching them—a testament to the dulled senses of the Lord and adepts, something Tunde found oddly amusing.

  “When do we march?” one of the adepts asked.

  Tunde didn’t bother noting the differences between them, his eyes fixed on the Lord whose Ethra core seemed too muddy for his liking.

  “Patience. We have received the blessings of the King. We move at his convenience,” the Lord replied.

  Tunde had to admit, they had just made his work easier. Turning towards Miria, who shook her head a fraction, he frowned. What else was there to learn from them?

  “The Second Claw moves towards the east, to cut off any routes merchants might take after the convergence. We are part of the King’s vision. Our rewards will overshadow the other lesser bandit sects. The rise of the Stone Heart sect will soar to the very heavens,” the Lord continued with pride.

  The adepts raised small cups filled with alcohol, the smell potent from where Tunde crouched.

  “And how fares the promise of advancements?” another adept asked.

  “Patience, brother. Look at me,” the Lord said, getting up and revealing his true form, which left Tunde with no small amount of disgust. His body had patches of scales, his eyes now more reptilian than human, and his fingers ended in black claws that gleamed.

  “I have opened the way to the new age, among the vaunted Corespawns,” he said, his tongue slithering out.

  Tunde glanced at Miria, who still shook her head. He raised one eyebrow at her.

  “A pity some of the sects managed to elude us and escape towards the outer regions,” the last adept said, taking a full swig of the liquor.

  “It doesn’t matter. They would be dead by now. That stronghold cannot afford to let them in for risk of spies,” another adept replied.

  “Then we must be ready when Highlord Kugan calls for us,” the Lord added.

  Raising a cup, the Lord spoke. “To the King!”

  “The King!” the other adepts shouted.

  Miria nodded this time as Tunde dropped down into their midst, aura coating his hands. The first to react was the Lord, claws flashing only for the whip-blade to slice into his hands, spilling blood as he stumbled backward, shock all over his face.

  Tunde snapped the neck of the first adept, using his aura to cover the entire building, cutting off any noise. The second adept gathered Ethra into a projection technique, but Tunde’s hand flashed, slicing off the adept’s head before the technique could form. A void sphere took out the heart of the third, who stared at the hole in his chest before crashing to his knees, dead.

  All done in the space of three seconds, Tunde turned to watch Miria and the Lord dance around the room, the Lord’s fingers dripping with venom as he shot Earth Ethra spikes. Tunde’s sight anticipated the Lord’s moves with ease, evidence of a barely trained Lord and cultivator. He wondered how they had survived for so long in the wastelands, certain that even the adepts of Black Rock fought better.

  “Who are you people? Do you know what you have done?” the Lord shouted.

  Tunde simply stared at him. “Where are the forces of the King?” he asked.

  The Lord’s eyes flashed with recognition. “You don’t wear the colors of Verdan—imperials, then,” he said with a chuckle as his form grew bulkier. Tunde watched him cycle Ethra in a bizarre manner that flooded his lines. “I will present your bodies to Highlord Kugan! Your—”

  Tunde moved, slapping him forcefully. The Lord slammed into the ground, sharp canines broken and lying around him as he bled from his mouth. Tunde placed one leg on the Lord’s chest, Midnight in his hand, pointing at his throat, glad for his aura cutting off the noise around the building.

  “It’ll be rare for me to find another Lord to train with,” Miria said sullenly.

  Tunde gave a half-smile. “He’s not worthy of even Harun’s time,” he replied.

  “Please, don’t kill me,” the Lord sputtered.

  “Where are the forces of the King, and who is Kugan?” Tunde asked again.

  “Highlord Kugan leads the army of the Wasteland King, far to the east where the strongholds of the bandit sects lie,” the Lord confessed.

  Tunde turned to Miria, who nodded before turning back to the whimpering Lord. “Anything else that might help me consider sparing your life?” Tunde asked.

  “They plan to attack soon. I have no idea when, I swear on my soul!” he sputtered.

  “How large is the force in question?” Miria asked.

  “Thousands, thousands with the creatures of the wasteland as well,” he added.

  She nodded at Tunde as Midnight flashed, removing the head of the Lord, eyes still wide in shock as it rolled across the ground.

  “We don’t have much time. See what you can find around the building. I’ll need to settle things outside,” he said.

  Miria nodded as Tunde headed to the doors, opening them to see the bandits, all with drawn weapons, staring with no small amount of tension at him. He sighed internally, folding his hands behind his back.

  “Where are the adepts and the Lord? What have you done with them?” a voice shouted from behind the arranged numbers.

  Tunde felt a slight irritation at the noise, releasing his aura just a fraction. The initiates crashed to their knees, many passing out. The disciples weathered it a bit better, trembling as sweat marred their features.

  “I don’t have time to waste, so I’ll be frank with you all,” he said, his aura carrying his voice across the entire stronghold. “Your lord and adepts are dead, killed by me for defying the empire and working with the Wasteland King—something you all are guilty of as well.”

  They trembled with terror, and Tunde felt a distaste in his mouth, uncomfortable with the feeling.

  “Normally, I should kill you all as well, but it doesn’t have to be that way. Survival in the wastelands is all about following the strongest, and I understand that. So, I will give you two options,” he said, raising two fingers as they stared at him from where they knelt.

  “The first is to swear on your souls right here and now to renounce the King and head towards the stronghold at the border of the empire. You will not be harmed if you mention that the Dark Fist sent you and swear to serve the empire.”

  “The second option is to decline the first, and I’ll be forced to kill you,” he finished.

  The disciples all bowed their heads, swearing as they renounced the King. The initiates, rousing as he removed his aura, swore with trembling limbs. Tunde watched them bow gratefully, hastily packing their meager possessions before heading towards the stronghold.

  “Tunde!” Miria’s voice called from within the building. He made his way back inside, pausing at the sight of her standing over a body.

  The figure was heavily muscular, but its feminine shape was still obvious. Ragged long hair and strips of leather covered her privacy. Miria stared at him with concern.

  “She was locked up below the ground, a trapdoor there,” Miria said, pointing to the corner of the room. “She was alone.”

  “Barbarian,” Tunde replied.

  “What?” Miria asked, confused.

  “Barbarian,” he repeated. “When I first landed on these shores, I was taken captive by her kind—flesh and bone Ethra cultivators if I’m right.”

  “She could have valuable information,” Miria said.

  Tunde sighed, crouching as he opened his space, taking out a tier 3 healing and Ethra elixir. “This cost quite a significant amount of lumens,” he grumbled.

  “You’re a Lord, you can afford a hundred,” Miria replied.

  Ignoring her reply, he poured the elixir down the barbarian’s throat, watching as her body began to heal rapidly. Her eyes snapped open a few minutes later, and she was on her feet in a flash, a raw shout tearing from her throat.

  Glancing around, she took in the bodies of the dead adepts and the Lord before turning to them, Ethra and aura spilling out of her.

  “You’re wasting my elixirs,” Tunde said frankly.

  Miria shot him a reproaching look as she spoke. “Greetings, can you understand me?” she asked softly.

  The adept moved, attacking with obvious killing intent. Tunde moved swiftly, smacking her away from Miria.

  “I could have handled that easily,” Miria said, anger lacing her tone.

  “Not taking the risk, but I defer to your judgment next time,” he said, inclining his head.

  Turning to the adept female, who breathed heavily and stared at them warily, Tunde sighed. “If you can hear me, if we wanted you dead, we wouldn’t have saved you. Think about that before you do something stupid again,” he said.

  The female watched from where she knelt, her body healing rapidly as she stood slowly. “Who are you?” she croaked.

  “From the empire,” Miria replied softly.

  “Empire?” the female echoed.

  Tunde had the distinct feeling she had no idea what that meant.

  “Are you from the King?” she asked again.

  Tunde narrowed his eyes. “No, and neither are you,” Miria replied.

  “No, they took me and killed my people. I need to help them,” she said bluntly.

  Miria glanced at Tunde, who shrugged. “We can help. Where are your people?” she asked.

  The large woman pointed in the same direction the Lord had, causing Tunde to frown. That would put them in the crosshairs with whomever this Highlord Kugan was.

  “It is the same direction we’re heading as well,” Miria replied.

  The barbarian walked close to Tunde, kneeling in front of him with her head bowed. “You are strong. I beg your help and your strength,” she said as Miria sputtered.

  Tunde stared smugly at her for a second, basking in the praise, until the lady spoke again.

  “And in return, I offer myself to breed strong offspring for you,” she added as Tunde choked.

  Miria burst into laughter, her voice echoing around the entire building.