Rushi lapped at his palm, the familiar warmth of her tongue rooting him in that terrible moment. Dumhvala had reigned supreme all throughout the day. None but the god of chaos and vengeance could have blessed so much pointless slaughter.

  Ashurai stood vigil at Marek’s shoulder. The mage’s power terrified him more than anything he’d seen in his long travels. No Sorcerer, no corrupt and fallen Knight could have impressed him more. He was certain that many existed throughout the Coherent Realm that outstripped Marek in power—he wasn’t invulnerable by any means—yet on a battlefield like this, the young man’s potential was staggering. And in a year’s time? In three? Srahesh save us if he lives that long. I must believe Marek will find a way to cure his madness. Otherwise he’ll be the end of kingdoms.

  The black daemon floated nearby, recalled by his master. Then a burst of energy flowed out of Marek and into the creature, and before Ashurai’s very eyes, it grew. Jagged spines sprouted from its back. The daemon’s arms grew long and stout, and the claws that extended from each cursed hand transformed into curved daggers.

  He’s gained levels, Ashurai reminded himself. Damn, but the Classed never cease growing in power.

  “I’m going to fight them myself,” Marek said suddenly. “Keep an eye out for Mags, will you? Yuze should protect her. He’s certainly capable. But just in case.”

  Ashurai’s anxiety spiked. He had the urge to hold Marek back or to slay him then and there with Gela. He’d decided his course already, though, and so the Basari merely bowed his head. “Remember who you are, Marek of Misthearth. Do not forget those you fight for. All will be lost if you succumb to the madness.”

  Marek gave him a sad smile and squeezed his shoulder. “I will. Good luck and don’t die. I don’t think Mags would appreciate it if you did.”

  Ashurai looked on as the mage faced the scene of battle and stepped from the tower. Falling twenty feet to the ground, the man land gracefully, whatever power he possessed to protect his body easily withstanding the fall. Then Marek unsheathed that ugly sword and ran toward the monstrosities in the near distance.

  Turning northward, Ashurai found Mags and Yuze battling atop a small rise against the base of a cliff. Haikini warriors flanked them. Yuze’s movements were hard to track, but with his heightened senses, Ashurai could manage it.

  Few warriors could move like the old man. None fought with as much skill. Like a sentient storm, Yuze cleaved down the enemy with seemingly little effort. He shifted direction, feigned attacks only to withdraw and slay another. None of the Graysouls could land a hit on the monk, for when they came near, he would divert their course with a splash of bright energy.

  Mags possessed no such ability. She did fight admirably, however. Her shortsword had been lost, apparently, but she’d recovered a bone-tipped spear from the battlefield. Mags had the harsh movements of a soldier, efficient though lacking grace. It hindered her little, and time and again, she cast down one of the enemy. She’d gained considerable power; that was plain to see even from where Ashurai stood a quarter-mile away. Is she truly a cultivator now? Praise the holy ones, but I never thought I’d see the day. And Yuze… I’ve known him for years, and never once did I suspect his origin.

  A roar split the sky ahead. Ashurai turned to see the greatest of the compound Graysouls wreaking havoc on the group of mages Marek had summoned. It towered above all else, fifteen feet tall at least. Its body was composed of various creatures, only some of which Ashurai could identify. Its legs… Have the Graysouls slain a true giant in their conquest? I didn’t even know they still existed!

  The recluse race had been slaughtered and hunted down hundreds of years ago. Gorb had told Ashurai of their famed strength around the campfire when he’d first joined the caravan. The giants were primitive folk but commanded speech as well as magic. It had claimed they alone grew taller than the golemites, though none were so massive.

  Legs of a giant, body of a bear. Heavens knows what it has for a head and arms. The limbs were wreathed in shadowy power. Only the enormous claws could be discerned clearly. Atop its shoulders lay the head of a fanged beast. Whether Druskin, bear, or mountain cat, Ashurai couldn’t be certain. The skin and fur covering the skull had torn in several places in its unholy growth.

  Spells pelted the monster, and it roared again. The group of casters froze in place, apparently stunned. None recovered quickly enough to save themselves. With a single swipe of its claws, three of the mages died. The rest followed soon after.

  Two more of the compound Graysouls cut a path through the Haikini. They headed straight for the largest group of healers in the allied army. These creatures weren’t nearly as powerful as their leader, but at ten or twelve feet tall, both wielding war hammers, few could so much as slow them.

  A figure flashed into existence near one of the monsters. Marek’s purple and black mana was easy to identify as he reached the first of his intended targets. Ashurai tensed as Marek engaged. It’s you who cannot die. Mags loves you more than anyone. Do not let her down.

  Marek flashed away from the sweeping hammer and appeared directly in front of the monster’s face. Tiny bolts of shadowy mana crashed into the creature’s eyes. Marek teleported again, and this time the enemy couldn’t stop his approach. With one swing of the black sword, the compound Graysoul was beheaded.

  Its companion howled in anger, then hefted its hammer and lunged at Marek. The mage flung out a hand at the same time and a coil of dark chains emerged from his palm. They draped the Graysoul and bound him in place. Each length sank deep into the ground. The monster fought against the restraints but failed to break free. Wisely, Marek left the Graysoul to its fate to seek others nearby. In half a minute, countless Spells, arrows, and Haikini spears brought the monster to the ground.

  Ashurai watched Marek dispatch or subdue several others. The mage’s trajectory was made evident. One defeated compound Graysoul after another, Marek worked his way toward the greatest threat. That will be an unholy match. May Srahesh guide you, Marek Kaiteras.

  You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

  Rushi headbutted Ashurai’s leg and whined, anxious for some reason. Then he remembered his task. Peering north, he found the hill Mags and Yuze fought to control. All those that had stood with them were gone now, and three compound monsters covered in plate armor faced them. Yuze’s attacks seemed slower than before and, against these enemies, were far less effective. The monk is tiring, Ashurai noted. He’s pushed himself. Without his protection, Mags can’t survive on her own.

  One of the Graysouls stomped the ground with a fist. A spike of stone erupted beneath the woman’s feet a half-second later. Mags flew into the air and landed on the ground a short distance away.

  Ashurai’s mind sped up, and his body moved on instinct. He took two vials of Kamena Powder, more than anyone should ever take, and snorted them in turn. His lungs burned, and his vision turned red. Power surged through his limbs, giving him the strength he needed. “Stay!” he shouted to Rushi before jumping from the tower.

  He landed with a roll and sprinted toward the hill. As he weaved across the battlefield, he drew Gela and slashed his inner forearm, sundering one of his forbidden enchantments. Puissance, the sigil read, or so the carnal Sigilist had told him. Strength exploded within him, and he doubled his pace. Two more slashes destroyed Speed and Agility, the two enchantments he favored most. Their destruction amplified his attributes, Dexterity, Strength, and Constitution rising to incredible heights.

  Surrghi spare her, he prayed. May I be swift! May my blade’s edge be sharp enough!

  The crowd of combatants thinned, and Ashurai entered the clearing surrounding the hill. One of the Graysouls had been wounded, it seemed. Yuze flew into the air above the fallen creature and swung downward with his staff. A great arc of white energy emerged, cutting deep into the Graysoul. Its wolf’s head parted in two, the steel helm it had worn insufficient to defend against such an attack. The Graysoul beside it swung its club at the monk a moment later. Yuze diverted the attack but hadn’t acted swiftly enough.

  Ashurai’s stomach dropped when the monk tumbled across the grassy slope.

  One more. I have nothing to lose, he thought. If I fail now, what purpose do I serve?

  He slashed a fourth sigil, tapping into more nascent power. He’d surpassed his limit long ago, and as another flood of energy was released, he screamed out his challenge.

  The Graysoul nearest the two lifted its massive war hammer. Yuze stood shakily and erected some kind of shield. The hammer shattered the barrier into pieces, and Yuze staggered on weakened legs. The monster prepared to swing again but lacked the time to deliver the blow.

  Ashurai entered the fight like Dumhvala himself. Dashing behind the Graysoul’s back, he spun, using his momentum to cleave through the back of the Graysouls leg. Hesshana, his priceless longsword, cut all the way to the bone. The monster’s hamstrings were rendered useless, and it pitched forward to its knees. Beautiful Death, he’d named her in Basari, and she deserved the title. Climbing the monster’s back, Ashurai found another gap in the Graysoul’s armor between the helm and its gorget. Hesshana sank through an oversized spine, and the monster fell limp.

  “Behind you!” Mags shouted. She’d gained consciousness, a good sign, and in so doing spared Ashurai a grievous wound.

  He dove from the Graysoul’s back just in time to avoid the club. The weapon still made contact, however, clipping his scaled armor hard enough to throw him a dozen feet further. Ashurai landed hard, and his right arm broke on impact. Hesshana fell from his grip.

  The warrior rose, dazed but self-aware. Common Graysouls had rushed the mound on the southern side. Yuze confronted them, weary but unbroken. Mags was standing as well, though her posture indicated serious injuries. She’d likely broken bones in her fall as well.

  The Graysoul stomped closer to Ashurai, its eyes burning with that terrible light, and opened its mouth. Ashurai expected spittle, venom, perhaps mana hurled in the form of a fireball. What he didn’t expect was speech. “Powerful soul,” it said in a chorus of voices. “We will harvest it when we finish you.” It lifted its hand, palm open, and spear of condensed wind flew at Ashurai.

  He dove forward, grasping Hesshana’s hilt in his left hand as he did so. The wind attack sliced through his precious armor and into the skin of his back and ribs. Ashurai growled as he forced himself to a knee. Shrugging free of his cuirass, he raked his sword across his chest. Three more sigils were destroyed: Constitution, Resilience, and the last of his Speed enchantments. The bone in his arm snapped into place and healed instantly. His skin knit itself closed, as did the cuts he’d made to rend his sigils.

  The Graysoul pounded its chest with a fist, activating another Skill. Its bulk trembled, and then a red sheen covered it head to foot. When it attacked again, it did so at incredible speed.

  Ashurai could have laughed. The club whistled through the air, the attack powerful enough to shatter a castle wall, yet from his perspective, it moved sluggishly. Seven sigils destroyed. Seven fonts of power that would soon burn through their energy. In that moment, he was nearly immortal.

  The Basari sidestepped and weaved under the club. He lunged after it passed, the tip of his longsword catching the Graysoul on the wrist. Flesh parted and gray ichor sprayed the air. Then he closed with his enemy in three strides. Ashurai slashed neatly through the side of the Graysouls unarmored boot before spinning behind it and drawing Gela from her scabbard, slamming the shortsword into the monster’s hip.

  It teetered to the side and caught its bulk with one hand. Ashurai danced out of the way and leapt skyward. Rising eight feet above the ground, he swept Hesshana up in an arc as perfect and lovely as could be desired. Some treasured pearls or trinkets of gold—Ashurai coveted only the sanctity of combat. As if observing the act of another, he saw Hesshana deliver a death most beautiful.

  Six souls screamed in torment as the Graysoul’s head slid free of its shoulders.

  Ashurai didn’t watch the spirits flee to seek more souls to inhabit. Nor did he clean his precious blade. He paused only long enough to recover Gela before charging up the hill. Two blades in his hand, he decimated what remained of the twenty or so Graysouls harassing Yuze.

  The hill was dappled with corpses. Blood soaked the green grass all around. Yuze collapsed to his knees, resting his staff in his lap, eyes distant.

  Mags stood beside her teacher, bleeding but not dead. Her face quirked into a half-smile as she saw the Basari. “Ash,” she said quietly. “You came for us.”

  He strode up the bloody hill, and when he stood before her, said, “No, Mags. I came for you.”

  Together, they surveyed the final moments of the terrible battle.

  A daemon forged of shadow consumed shrieking souls that fled in all directions. Marek raised hundreds of spirits, depriving the Graysouls of the hosts they required before clashing with a foe ten times his size. Leaving clouds of purple and black mana in his wake, he dismantled the monster, robbing the Druskin of their greatest champion.

  Last of all, they saw the Druskin War Lord who’d started it all surrounded by five High Priestesses, the Culling Blade he carried downcast and broken with their combined might.

  With the destruction of the blade, the demons could no longer abide the world of the living. The wretched were cast out, shrieking in pain and torment. The bodies they’d inhabited fell dead. The Druskin army surrendered immediately after.

  Mags sighed heavily beside him. “It’s over. Thank Querine, it’s over.”

  Ashurai frowned, one final anxiety disturbing his relief. “Perhaps,” he replied. “We’d better check on Marek. It may not yet be over for him.”