Marek had seen it all from atop the makeshift tower, watching the tumult of a great battle unfold. He saw the seemingly endless sprawl of the opposing army’s advance. He witnessed the initial clash, which had gone favorably despite the fears of the War Lords and High Priestesses. And he observed the chaos with which Yuze and Mags interfered. Their brief work had done a great deal to destabilize the front line. By the time the two armies clashed, the Druskin couldn’t match the Haikini order and discipline.

  Hundreds of the enemy fell in the first quarter-hour alone. Yet they did inevitably recover. Several thousand Graysouls and Druskin fighters drove past their fallen and crushed the Haikini front lines.

  The tactical retreat began as planned. Volleys of arrows and Spells pelted the opposition, the Haikini giving ground before turning to reform the line all the while. Repeating this many times, they drew back up the slope, inviting the enemy in.

  This part, most of all, had been agonizing to watch. Sitting idly by while allies were slaughtered ate away at Marek’s heart. His presence needed to be hidden, though. His part would come, and so rather than claim the souls of their dead, he was forced to watch the Graysouls refresh their ranks by possessing the dead Haikini. The enemy soon gained momentum and drove up the long slope efficiently, forcing the rabbit kin into the field below the cliffs.

  Just a little longer, he thought. A few more minutes at most.

  Allon circled Marek’s legs endlessly, hissing and ranting, eager to taste the tainted souls. The daemon was so distraught he didn’t seem capable of speech. Marek comforted him through their link—something that would have disturbed the mage not so long ago.

  He’d come to know his familiar well in a short time, however. Marek understood the creature’s hunger. He empathized with Allon’s longing for power and the chaos of battle. They were of the same ilk; he could see that now.

  Flashes of light and colors emerged from both armies. Most of the Spells and Abilities were Haikini, but the greater Graysouls had shown themselves at last. They’d pushed forward in the Druskin ranks, seeking violence. The battle had begun but an hour ago, and already the Haikini had lost over two hundred of their finest. If not for the elaborate protection wards and the hidden ranks of healers situated in the rear of their forces, that number would have been several times higher.

  Rifga and the Haikini leaders would consider their progress successful. Losing close to a fifth of their forces in order to draw the enemy into position was justified, Marek knew. This aspect of leadership would never be easy for him. With his Abilities as a Soul Knight, he would soon be capable of fielding an army on his own. An army of willing souls, already dead and beyond the concerns of pain or loss.

  So like a hawk with clipped wings, he stood atop his perch and waited. The Visionary had cast a Spell of obfuscation to hide the tower made of cedar trees, allowing him to go unseen while also providing a position from which to command his forces when the time was right.

  The Haikini pulled back until the entirety of their army was ringed in by the cliffs. Druskin and Graysouls pressed ever nearer, striding over corpses and the crushed grass of the field.

  And then, finally, it was his turn.

  The enemy was in position. They howled and yammered and cursed, unaware of the trap they’d walked into. Closing his eyes, Marek contacted the ten Squad Leaders arrayed across the battlefield. Each in turn signaled the spirits that followed them. And as a tide of death, fifty spirit soldiers rose from their shallow graves. Six squads were Rogue-led, each squad containing four Rogues and a single Berserker. These had the most profound effect, and in seconds, the enemy felt the bite of Marek’s presence like a dagger to the heart.

  With enhanced critical attack damage, the Rogues killed dozens of the unwary foe in moments. Marek channeled his ether and triggered Command Spirit as rapidly as possible. His ether reserves drained swiftly, only to be replenished by Ether Siphon. Alternating between the two, Marek raised a hundred newly recruited spirit soldiers within the first minute of his ambush.

  These joined the souls he’d bound at the Haikini graveyard. The beast kin were hesitant at first, but the spirits pleaded on their own behalf. They wanted to avenge their people.

  Inevitably, the ratio of ally to enemy slowly began to shift.

  Marek called to the throng of champions awaiting orders at the base of his tower. “Go! Spread out along the front line and support the Haikini!” Ten Sir Rhinweld champions pushed forward. While they advanced, Marek focused his efforts on elevating them to the second tier of power, one at a time. With an endless supply of fresh souls, and Ether Siphon to replenish his reserves, the task was quickly done.

  Soon, the presence of the hulking champions was felt. Exhausted Haikini warriors were allowed to withdraw and recover while others fought on at the champions’ sides.

  He had one more tile to play. “Now, Allon! Feast to your heart’s desire! Ignore all but the Graysouls that emerge from the slain! Devour them!”

  His daemon rushed from the tower, diving into the sea of combatants. Seconds later, Marek felt the cool rush of ether that flowed from Allon’s core to his own. For every soul the daemon consumed, a small portion of its life force would leech away in twin streams, one empowering Allon himself, the other Marek.

  The influx of power exhilarated Marek. His blood became a river of ice. The Remnant Mage reaped his harvest, and his army grew. Ether Siphon and the power gained from Allon’s feasting filled his Spirit Core to bursting. Another hundred, and then two, the ranks of his ethereal army grew.

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  Marek indulged himself and raised a half-dozen more champions. All constructed from the Tinrick archetype, they became vengeful ghosts among the throng. He cast Elevate Champion on all six, and then, because the influx of ether was endless, he raised them not one but two ranks higher. As tall as the second-tier Sir Rhinwelds, they gored the enemy with immense spears, becoming so powerful they could challenge even the greater Graysouls.

  His vision grew hazy as shadows filled his periphery. Nothing could stop him, not with so many resources, so much richness to be found. The battle raged, and Marek became giddy at the prospect of the thousands of spirits he would soon command. In half an hour, he’d become general over a small army—one that swelled exponentially.

  “This is my birthright,” he said, voice barely above a whisper. “This is my domain.” The field of battle swam with shadow. He could no longer feel his arms or legs, the icy ether flowing through him sapping all sensation. “How foolish they are. Don’t they know who I am?”

  “Marek,” a voice spoke beside him. He ignored it, a minor annoyance that might distract him from his conquest. “Marek, listen to me!” Someone grabbed his arm and shook him.

  Raising his opposite hand, he released a Phantom Bolt in the annoyance’s direction.

  Then his vision flashed, and a sting lit up the side of his face. “Marek, it’s me, damn you! It’s Ashurai! Calm yourself!”

  He touched his cheek and stared at the Basari. Some of the haze had lifted from the edges of his vision, and Marek could clearly see the reality he found himself in. “I’m sorry,” he said, unable to think of anything else to say. “I… Principalities, but I nearly lost myself.”

  Ashurai gripped him under the arm and said, in a soothing tone, “This is why I accompanied you here. I can join the fighting when the time is right. For now, I need you to keep hold of your mind. Look, the battle has turned! There’s no need to lose your sanity. Pace yourself, Marek. If things continue as they are, the battle will soon be over.”

  Marek breathed long and deep. His core was filling with more and more ether as his daemon drank in yet another Graysoul. The spectral army stood strong, easily withstanding the Druskin might. Ashurai was correct: Marek needed to slow down and remain grounded. If he lost himself entirely, he could very well end up destroying both armies. He shivered, remembering that had been precisely his desire before Ashurai had intervened.

  He nodded to the warrior beside him and surveyed the field below. “You’re right. I’ll be careful from now on, I promise.”

  His connection to Allon was suddenly lost, and the daemon returned to his mind. Summon me again! the creature screamed. I was killed by the wretched, twisted one! Summon me to drink again! Sssummon me!

  Marek pressed his will against the familiar’s presence. Calm yourself, Allon. The battle will go on for a long while yet.

  But Master!

  No! Marek chastised. Your emotions sway my own. Calm yourself or I will not summon you again. We must remain in control of ourselves—is that understood?

  The daemon whimpered. Sorry, Master. I’m so hungry. I only wish to feed and grow strong.

  I know. So do I. Steady yourself and you’ll have a chance to hunt again. Marek waited until his familiar fully understood, and only then did he summon Allon a second time.

  With Ashurai at his side, Marek reassessed the battle. Many of his spirit soldiers had died in the short time since the warrior had intervened. Regardless, Allon had consumed dozens of tainted souls, none of which were able to refresh the Druskin army as they otherwise would have. Hundreds more of the enemy had fallen as well. The tide had indeed shifted.

  Scanning the chaos, Marek tried to think more tactically. It was obvious he couldn’t immerse himself in his powers, so he fell back on old habits. He analyzed the number of enemies, their types and abilities, and their position arrayed on the field. Then he did the same with his own forces. Forming queries, he used Intuit several times in a row. In this way, he learned which of his forces might aid the cause the most as well as where they were needed.

  In the southern portion of the field, along the cliff wall, a large force of Druskin bearing war hammers had broken through the Haikini front line. He focused on this area first, binding a total of twelve souls. He siphoned several more to raise a half-dozen Sir Rhinweld champions and an equal number of Defender-type specialized spirits. No sooner had they arrived than the front line was restored. The Druskin hammer wielders were pushed back, and more of the Graysouls died with them. He commanded Allon to feast in that area alone.

  Marek then moved on to the next greatest threat. A cluster of mages stood roughly a hundred strides from his position. They were ringed by greater Graysouls tasked with protecting them. The mages hurled deadly Spells that were quickly thinning out the Haikini forces in the center of the front line. They needed to be stopped.

  Command Spirit. Command Spirit. Command Spirit. He bound twenty newly slain souls and ordered them into a large group. All were specialized as Archers before he promoted them to Squad Leaders. Focus your fire on the mages, he commanded. Shoot only them until all are dead. Then harass the enemy at will.

  Marek watched as his orders were promptly carried out. Two of the souls died while grouping up, but then the volleys began. At first, the mages defended against the spectral arrows, throwing up a wall of fire and then a sheet of ice. Eventually, however, the continual storm of arrows broke through. First one and then another of the enemy mages died. The arrows continued to fall. And seeing a new resource revealed before him, Marek greedily claimed it.

  He bound the mages one by one and raised them to champions. This quickly unlocked several new archetypes. Soon, it was Marek who commanded Thristen the Frost Mage, Hargo the Pyromancer, and Reshi Varr the Stone Slinger. Dranhesh the Mender excited him the most, for the mage was capable of healing not only the spirit soldiers but the living as well. Casting his awareness across the battlefield, Marek raised ten Dranheshes, and the Haikini injured were restored.

  Glancing back to the small island of magic-using champions, Marek summoned three Defender-type squads to take up position around them.

  The enemy ranks shattered.

  “Stay with me,” Ashurai said, squeezing Marek’s arm.

  Mark placed his hand on Ashurai’s. “I’m here,” he said, breathing slowly until a few of the shadows lifted from his ever-darkening vision. He blinked a few times, and then realized some of the haze wasn’t coming from his madness. “Ashurai… you see this too? The gray fog?”

  The Basari grimaced. “That I do. I think you should conserve your energy. Something terrible is coming our way.”

  At the back of the Druskin army, now less than half its original size, a storm of thick gray fog cloaked the rear guard. The air crackled with mana as it drew nearer, and Marek could taste something foul on the wind.

  And then he saw them. Compound Graysouls, dozens of the hulking creatures lumbering forward. All towered over ten feet tall, impressive and macabre, more powerful than the one he’d faced in the cave.

  Ashurai had a point. Marek organized his spirit soldiers into squads, then gave their leaders orders. He assigned Attribute Points, all to Willpower and Dexterity, from the levels he’d gained so far.

  Then he waited for the fight that would soon come.