Clove. Barley. Tess.

  All three of them laid dead and rotting at Remus’ feet.

  His legs shook. If Remus hadn’t been carrying Koa on his shoulders, he would have collapsed to the ground and joined them.

  A scream grew wings and took flight out of his throat. It was the equivalent of jumping up and down, dancing and singing directions leading right to them, like the self-sabotaging jester he was. Alas, Remus was too numb, too pulled out of his immediate surroundings, to care. Part of him hated himself for it. His failure to keep himself together could spell the demise of more people he held dear. But he needed to mourn, and his feelings didn’t care that the Paladins could swoop in after them any second. All those roiling emotions could focus on, all he could focus on, were the three empty shells of people growing cold below him.

  Clove might have been a drunk. But he was a loveable drunk. The kind of person you could tell your deepest secrets to in good faith, for it was almost certain he wouldn’t recall them by the following morning. Now a deep cut split his jaw in two. Remus didn’t even want to know who or what had killed him. He just wanted to tear them apart, limb from limb.

  Barley. A soul too pure for this world, so it seemed. His body was split in twain, his face caught in a tableau of torturous agony, and a stream of Ichor emerged out of his mouth. Remus cringed, remembering how close he had been to denying the man entry into the rebellion. Back when the Talents of the Future was still in its inception. An idea. Nothing more. A stupid, infantile idea, yet to develop into the bloodbath that now ensnared them.

  Remus lit the first spark that day, and now the woods were burning all around him.

  That exchange had been the pivotal moment that saw Remus taking his vision of rebellion seriously. He had to wonder, what if he had made the other choice? Perhaps, if he had let go of his delusions of grandeur, then he wouldn’t be looking down at three corpses right now. They would be alive and well, refugees taken in by Eclipse.

  It would have been a tough life, but under Remus’ care, how had they benefitted?

  Nova, Damosh, and Enos. The villains that Remus despised. Yet, as the years went on, as Remus fell deeper and deeper into his own desires for power and radical change, his hands became as stained as theirs. Strip away the labels of good and evil, and all you had left was a pile of dead bodies.

  The blood of innocent people dripped from his fingers.

  If not for her long locks of greying hair, Remus wouldn’t have been able to recognise Tess. His heart tore itself apart all over again, at but a glance at her desiccated body.

  Remus' face was moist with tears. With a shaky arm, he wiped them away.

  How sick must the Paladins be, to kill an old woman?

  The thought undid all of his arm’s hard work, his aching cheeks more tear-stricken than ever.

  Aziel audibly swallowed, before placing a hand on Remus’ shoulder. “Remus-”

  “Don’t.” He flinched at the touch. ”I’m sorry. But don’t say anything. If I bring myself to think about it too hard, I’ll end up leaping straight into Ash’s and Edmar’s hands. I’ll die in a fit of rage before I can save our men.” He winced, a terrible pain shooting through him. It was hard to distinguish the emotional from the physical. “Violet is perfectly capable of buying our men time to flee while we’re gone. Mason’s tent is not far from here. Let’s . . . let’s head over there.”

  Koa was limp in Remus’ arms, as the pair of them hoisted him higher over their shoulders. Remus had to stop himself from taking one last look at the trio. He gave a silent prayer, urging Tanish to guide their spirits well, in whatever came after this. Clementine, the deity of Feasts, had lost good people today. They would be sorely missed.

  Remus rushed ahead.

  You should be fighting. A vocal part of him screamed out. Men die for you while you rush to save your own hide. You're a coward. You’re despicable.

  Remus stopped several times, itching to activate his Mark at each instance and run into the fray. He was powerful now. Powerful enough to kill at least a hundred Paladins in a fit of rage, blood, and hot tears. He would die in the process, undoubtedly, but for some terrible reason, he found the thought comforting. The void called for him.

  He could die a martyr.

  But that would also mean dying a coward.

  Mason. He had to reach Mason, organise their troops, and abandon Gold’s Bane. They had spent so much on this outpost, but it was better to lose it here than to die, kicking and screaming.

  Remus had to keep reminding himself that he was here, alive and breathing. His body felt distant, as if he was merely an outsider observing his surroundings. Maybe not even that. Everything was a foreign blur, his mind desperately trying to block out the current moment, to dissociate from the harrowing sounds of his army being butchered. Even now, the cutthroat noise of flesh being cleaved from bone made his arms shake in sympathy. None of it felt real. How could it? Just hours ago, Violet had been reassuring him that this was all for a good cause, that he was doing the right thing. Now the irony of her words wouldn’t stop ringing in his mind. Like accidentally smashing into the side of a church bell, an echo of ignorance rebounding back and forth inside of his skull. Taunting Remus until madness befell him.

  He put a hand to his mouth, swallowed back down his sick, and marched on.

  Mason’s tower oversaw Gold’s Bane. It was a simple structure, made up of one large shooting expanse that housed narrow walls, and a rickety ladder. Up those rungs, Mason could be found on any typical day, lost amid his many dusty books. For a man of war, he was quite the bookworm. Theories on battle strategy, journals from great war tacticians, and exchanges between the different stations of their rebellion were all stacked in a disorganised mess. Last Remus had visited, the walls were covered in maps. So many maps. Maps of First Rite; maps of each of the city’s Districts in intricate detail; maps of the sewers below; and maps encompassing all of Descent’s supercontinent. He even had charts detailing the loyalties of each clan in the city, and how likely they were to turn on Damosh and his Wealth Clan, given the chance. That was one board Remus had liked to look at, whenever feeling particularly low.

  Three figures were the only obstacle between Remus and the lone hill where Mason’s tower stood.

  Paladins.

  Remus caught one whiff of Enos’ scent, and something primal was activated inside of him.

  He shot forward. Lightning marked the grass in a straight line behind Remus as he crashed into the first of his assailants. There was the sound of metal whooshing through the air as he blasted ahead, a sensation Remus only faintly registered. He hardly recognised the blood splattering across his cheek either.

  Though he did notice the man’s head falling to his feet.

  As for the remaining two Paladins . . . if only their fate had been as merciful.

  Fires surged out of Remus, raising the cold air around them by a thousand degrees. By the time he bothered to look backwards, all that remained were two charred husks.

  Aziel had no trouble carrying Koa aloft in one arm, being the stocky young man he was, but he paused at the corpses. The man was no stranger to death, but Remus couldn’t remember the last time Aziel had seen him kill so ruthlessly.

  Remus couldn’t look into his friend's eyes. There was no time for stopping. He tried to focus on his breathing, but nothing would settle him, his entire body fidgety with the compulsion to move.

  Three people killed without a thought. Remus didn’t feel any different. What had he expected? For the score to suddenly be setted? Three Paladins in return for his three dead friends.

  What did it matter? They weren’t coming back.

  It meant nothing. Nothing but more bodies to litter the earth.

  Remus often talked about his luck running out, about whatever fiasco he’d found himself in being one too many. Yet he would always slip away at the last moment. Something miraculous would happen. He would suddenly realise that surmounting the next Rank was within reach, or that he knew just the ploy that could amend things, or one of his ever-trustful companions would come rushing to his aid.

  But luck wasn’t one who bargained at a loss. No, Remus had been working up a debt all of his life, and fortune had been waiting, biding its time, seeking out the perfect moment to pull the rug out from under him. Luck was nothing if not patient. Now it was finally calling in its debt. Remus had nothing left to offer, so now? He would be stripped of everything.

  Remus shook his head. No matter how dark his thoughts got, no matter how close the hands of despair drew, he had to keep going. It was just getting harder and harder each time. Like an old friend he was forced to cut off, the desire to give up brushed up against his skin. Remus bit his tongue, the pain jolting him back to the present.

  His eyes settled back on Mason’s tower. A set of plain windows showed him nothing but a wall. It was pinned full of the man’s crabby handwriting, which, as far as Remus was concerned, was illegible. With writing like that, no one but Mason himself would be able to understand what the man wrote — not even the wisest interpreters of the Scholar Sect.

  He took a half-second to examine the room a little more closely. Nothing that Remus could lay a finger on was wrong. The chair and table that Mason could sometimes be seen eating from remained in the same exact spot. The piles of paperwork hadn’t moved a smidge either. Everything was exactly as Mason always left it.

  So why were his spiritual senses, gut feelings, and every good instinct Remus possessed all screaming out in alarm?

  Remus crouched down, leaned forwards, and called on Tanish to provide all of the Ambition he could offer. It was a potent presence, supercharging his muscle fibres, replacing the marrow of his bones, and reaffirming his will with steel.

  He shot out like a rocket, reaching the door of Mason’s base in the tenth of a second. Gravity possessed no hold on him, and Remus sprinted up the side of the cobbled walls. He was a living bolt of energy, hair brushed back by the raging wind.

  Mason’s window shattered at the first impact of his flaming fist.

  Five people Remus didn’t recognise filled the chamber. And none of them were Mason.

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  He took another half-second to ensure the general was nowhere in sight. Good. Now he didn’t need to hold back.

  A maelstrom of flame enveloped the interior, incinerating the hundreds of pages stuffed into the room. And, just like that, thousands of hours of hard work were burnt to a crisp, not even their ashes left to signpost Mason’s ceaseless labour. Remus felt a stab of guilt for dishing out such devastation, but Mason’s research would mean nothing if the Talents were defeated here. The battle-general would have the plans memorised to a tee. He could write them down again, but they couldn’t bring soldiers back from the dead. Being swift was all that mattered, regardless of the collateral damage.

  The hand of a molten giant crushed the room, and Remus flew past the dying clansmen. Their techniques fizzled out before they could fully materialise, lost within the shadow of his behemoth.

  He knocked a door off its hinges, used another streak of lightning to cross the only other room in the tower, and stopped in his tracks.

  Gods. Gods no.

  A fight had clearly taken place here. Evidence of such could be seen everywhere.

  It was a meeting room, or had once been. A chamber that Mason sometimes requested to meet Remus in, whenever he wanted to discuss something more sensitive, with a little extra privacy. The space was sparsely decorated, the furniture hardly more elaborate than a simple table, and some cushioned chairs. They had been knocked against the floor, legs snapped and surfaces beaten and dented.

  The walls were charred with a sooty black. It was none of Remus’ doing. His flames flickered quietly behind, as if equally paralysed with fear.

  A window facing away from the front of the tower was shattered. Whoever had been here was gone, though everything pointed at the damages being recent. Remus had to stop himself from slipping after Mason’s attackers, certain they were someplace nearby. With his keen senses, Remus would easily be able to pick up on their trail. And if that path were to go cold? Regardless, Remus would stop at nothing to find the perpetrators.

  For there was no way in hell he could ever forgive them. For what they had done to Mason.

  Limp in a pool of his own golden blood, there was no doubt about it. Remus took one glance at the man’s glassy eyes, and his heart too fractured to feel anything, his very soul knew him to be dead.

  Pincers stabbed out of Mason’s knuckles, the last of his Mark’s power still active in his body. But it was nothing more than muscle memory, no different to a muscle spasm, shortly after the heart stops beating. The insectile weapons withdrew slowly into Mason’s fists. Then the power of the Insect god left his body forever.

  Remus dropped to his legs, the weight of the loss crushing him.

  He placed his hands on the man’s chest. No heartbeat: he had been foolish to hope.

  Our general is dead. It was a harrowing realisation. Remus had the highest post in the rebellion of course, but he had entrusted Mason to deal with all of the technical affairs of what was, essentially, running a loose army. This wasn’t just a major blow to their morale — and the loss of a dear friend — it was a major blow to the very infrastructure of the Talents.

  Without Mason here to enact their emergency plans, Remus was left to pick up the pieces. He felt far from qualified, but now wasn’t the time to bask in insecurity.

  It was pathetic. There was no other word for it. A leader who relied on other people to lead his people. Suddenly all those words of wisdom Remus had entrusted Damion didn’t seem so wise.

  Remus stopped trying to find any vital signs from Mason’s corpse. However, when his fingers withdrew, they grazed against something solid in the process. Something metallic.

  His mind suddenly empty of thought, Remus held up a coin.

  Writing was imprinted upon the Inkling. Instead of Damosh’s face, Remus found a sight somehow more uglier staring back at him.

  Edmar. His robotic gleam was perfectly captured in the artwork, delicate writing etched under his stoic face. Remus rubbed against the imprint, wondering how adept Edmar’s abilities must be now, for him to include details so fine.

  1-0. How about we settle the score?

  Remus wasn’t sure who Edmar thought had won their last fight. Remus’s instinctual response was himself. He had left Edmar bloody, his body of metal brutalised like twisted steel in a scrapyard. But from another perspective . . . Edmar had escaped, had he not?

  Just that moment, Aziel arrived. His silence was uncomfortably long.

  Remus showed the man the coin without a word, not caring to puncture the veil of silence with any clumsy words. Then he squeezed the Inkling tight, the metal pressing painfully into his skin.

  Slowly, Remus rose to his feet. “Change of plan Aziel.” He said quietly, barely above a whisper. “I’m going to send off an emergency flare. I know Mason stores it here somewhere.”

  There, as if Edmar had purposely placed the thing in view, was a small gun. It seemed to taunt him. Go on, the strange metal invention rasped. Fire me. Inform your entire rebellion that their leader is a fraud.

  The flare was yet another invention from the Matter Clan. At this rate, the sect would become the most powerful Descent had ever seen. Maybe not in terms of their combative prowess, but in the coming decades, they would completely transform how all of the Mortal Realms operated. It reaffirmed to Remus that he was doing the right thing, at least in theory, if not practise, to have their support.

  Any flame Remus created himself would only be lost in the chaos, and the hundreds of techniques flying through the skies ensured that any man-made signals would be overlooked, or missed entirely. The flare would shoot out a blindingly bright light: a gigantic cross signalling their rebellion to retreat. They had been shown the symbol enough times to recognise it, and unlike a Mark-based technique, the icon would remain in the air for quite some time.

  Remus unveiled his chains. In the blink of an eye, he was already tying them back on his waist, the roof over their heads sliding to the side. With a creaking groan, the curved ceiling of Mason’s tower fell to the ground.

  The links of Supreme Steel wafted steam.

  Remus hopped onto the burnt wall top. His balance held true. “I’ll keep Edmar and Ash preoccupied. If enough of our men survive . . .” He wasn’t sure what.

  He held the flare towards the heavens, and pressed the trigger. Instantly, the emblem of their failure adorned the sky. Remus remained there for a time, perched on the walltop, feeling like there was more to be said. The words were stubborn, nestled deep in his throat. Or maybe they weren’t there at all.

  Aziel said nothing for a long time. It was urgent, but for that one moment, holding each other's eyes, everything was communicated between them.

  Remus launched himself into the sky, with all the excitement of a man walking to the gallows.

  Only when he was proficiently far away from his rebellion, did he draw on the full power of his Unbounded Mark. Plasma began to crawl forth from his flesh, great droplets of the burning stuff raining below him.

  He had barely summoned the midsection of his fiendish construct when Edmar slipped into view.

  “Using the same technique again! Why, it seems to me like you’ve become quite the one trick pony.”

  Remus immediately recoiled at the words. A sly comment like that, coming out of those golden lips, was almost alien. Edmar wasn’t one to joke around. That could only mean one thing: the man was radiating confidence. And for good reason.

  From his vantage point, Remus could now overlook the entirety of Gold’s Bane. Or what was left of it.

  Smoke disguised much of the land, but even through those mists, the utter insanity was clear to see. Corpses littered the fighting arenas, making places that should have contained only friendly spars burial grounds. Fissures sliced into the land, splintering it. From out of those depths, Unbounded sprung into action. These were no servants of Violet’s. With a bestial tendency they gnawed at the air, blood-shot eyes speaking of nothing but a carnal desire for violence.

  Remus spotted multiple Paladins riding the fiends: the wolf-like variety Remus had faced numerous times in the past. Yet now, they appeared larger. Nothing that a mortal should have sway over.

  Domesticating Unbounded was ludicrous. Like trying to get friendly with the devil, and inviting him over for tea. Yet the Paladins had accomplished just that. Violet could control Unbounded mentally, destroying their psychological defences. But this felt more to Remus like compliance than subservience.

  What was this? For the first time in all of Descent’s history . . . mortals and Unbounded alike worked together.

  “I’ve always thought you were a weakling, Remus. You hear me? A disgusting, snivelling weakling.”

  Remus said nothing, allowing his wolfish behemoth to take form. He saw Edmar now, far above, a wall of coins slowly taking shape into something more detailed, like an artisan sculpting stone. That was how he had managed to send those coins raining down. It had been difficult to see over the blinding light announcing the Paladin’s arrival. A sea of trinkets lying dormant in the air.

  “But during our first fight, I have to admit, you surprised me. A Death-Marked bringing me to my limits! Ludicrous. Truly ludicrous.”

  Perspiration made Remus’ hands clammy. How many more elixirs had the man downed since their last encounter? Remus himself was perhaps marginally stronger compared to then, but true organic growth took time. In their last bout, Remus had scarcely managed to hold his own. If he couldn’t defeat Edmar here, he could at least buy his rebellion some time. Though that didn’t exactly bring his damaged ego any reassurance.

  But where was Ash? Remus’ eyes betrayed his intentions, flickering all over the place.

  “Oh, don’t worry about him. This fight is solely about you and I, Remus. A chance to put our grudges to rest.”

  Remus thought back to the coin that had been lodged into Mason’s chest. His hands shook with the urge to crush Edmar’s throat, but he focused on what had been inscribed into the metal. 1-0.

  “Who won our last fight?”

  The courtesy of conversation was the last thing Edmar deserved, but every second longer Remus could draw this out, was another moment for the Talents to escape. Besides, the question genuinely intrigued him.

  Edmar forced a laugh. “Is that all you have to say? If we ignore the first time we brawled in your slums, then our last encounter was our first true bout. Seeing how you were left trapped, and I escaped, I think the victor is obvious.”

  “I left that coin to strike a nerve. Settling the score? We’re not even on the same playing field. I just wanted to see that flicker of false hope in you. For you to think that you’d come even remotely close to winning our last encounter. That you, perhaps, have a chance of emerging victorious this time.” Edmar edged in closer. “Just like everything else you have Remus, I’m going to strip that hope away.”

  Remus shivered. He quickly steeled himself.

  “You won’t slip past this time.” Remus bared his teeth. “When I’m done with you, there won’t be any ashes left, nothing to send back to the Wealth Clan. The only imprint you’ll have in the history books is the fact I killed you.”

  Remus’ giant was fully formed. He was acutely aware that Edmar was allowing Remus to draw this out. Perhaps Edmar felt some sick joy in watching Remus sweat.

  Ash. Where in the gods’ names was Ash?

  Remus glanced backwards. The head of his titan copied the movement, a loud snap reverberating all around.

  More asteroids blitzed through the sky, though they seemed to be aimed towards the outskirts of Gold’s Bane.

  “Where is he?” Remus rasped, the lives of his rebellion seeming more fragile than glass. “Why are you working alongside the Paladins? Alongside Enos!”

  “Power, Remus. Power. I’m sure you can understand the desire to grow strong. Why, wasn't it that same ambition that caused us to cross paths in the first place?”

  “More power than your elixirs can provide? But why? What do you want?”

  Edmar said nothing for a moment. His own golden behemoth was completed. It was a terrifying creation, a construct of rage and metal that made his last titan look like a child’s play toy.

  Three heads looked down at Remus, regal horns of gold and silver offshotting from their brows. Remus suddenly felt very far away. In hell, perhaps, about to be sentenced for his life. His sins, good deeds, and dark desires all weighed up. Nothing would be left uncovered. And when they decided on their verdict? Justice would be delivered.

  “What do I want?” Edmar repeated, as if struggling to comprehend the question. He muttered the words under his breath a few times, like he was trying to discern their meaning.

  Right that moment, a volley of Inklings swatted into Remus. His titan was immediately overwhelmed, punctured in hundreds of places. One Inkling grazed past his cheek, instantly drawing Ichor.

  “To kill a certain man.” Edmar scowled. “To reclaim what is rightfully mine.”

  Remus paused. He felt like an important piece in explaining all of this had fallen into his lap. He was far too fatigued to place everything together at that moment, however.

  Look after my people as best you can. Remus prayed to Tanish, one of the only gods who had been yet to fail him. They don’t deserve to die yet. Let the errors of my actions fall onto my shoulders.

  Remus’ beast of flame took one firm step forward, and he prepared to lay down his life.