The lord of Shadows peered down at Blessing.

  Upon his throne, the bearded man sat silently at the front of the audience chamber. Rows upon rows of Shadow clansmen kneeled before the Old One, the raw strength of at least one hundred Foot-Soldiers permeating throughout the room.

  “I hate to overstep, my liege.” Blessing put it as delicately as she could, her flame body a sheer contrast to the engulfing gloom. “But have you considered adding some decorations to the place? You could really spruce things up with a painting or two. To tell you the truth, I didn’t get the featureless black cube design at first, but we can totally work with that! If we just-”

  Four black tendrils spiked out of the floor. The Old One didn’t lift so much as a finger, and Blessing had to lean back, one sharp point moving towards her nape. It stopped barely inches away from her exposed yellow skin – normally protected by a fiery aura. The piercing light, clearly, didn’t have the slightest effect on the God-Graced.

  He slumped backwards into his stone throne – a position that couldn’t possibly be comfortable – and sighed. “My advisors informed me this meeting was of the utmost importance – and I wouldn’t have bothered obliging your request, if not for the fact you originate from that girl Violet.” His voice took on a darker inflection. “However, if you simply intend to criticise my home decor, then I see no purpose for your being here. And let me tell you, demon, I value my time very highly.”

  Blessing smiled, bowing at the waist. Even when threatened with death, she found it hard to not to grin wryly. As if the muscles in her face were paralysed.

  She took a second to try and frown and – nope, it was impossible.

  “Of course, your highness.” The man wasn’t King of Eclipse – that title went to the Lightning Clan – but it wouldn’t hurt to show courtesy. “My thoughts got away from me. Though, if you just added a plant pot in the corner there-”

  The room rumbled.

  “Enough!”

  Every muscle in Blessing’s body tensed like a compressed spring.

  “You have approximately ten seconds – maybe shorter if I lose my temper – before I pulverise your Unbounded form back into the Infinity it was birthed from. Speak your business. Now.”

  Despite the first trickle of blood now running down her neck, no unbecoming feelings stirred in Blessing. Sure, she was well aware of the immediate danger, and did have the basic self-preservation implanted into all living creatures. It was screaming at her to get out of here. But, to Blessing, negative emotions were like foreign capitals sown into a map. Sadness, rage, despair. Blessing could understand the concept behind each of those feelings. But like someone who knew enough geography to grasp the basic details of a faraway province, she couldn’t grasp the culture, the thoughts and feelings of its people, without actually experiencing it for herself.

  And she never would. As Violet’s heart magnified, Blessing was detached from the Warlord’s darker self. Like excess fat cut from the meat.

  And Blessing liked it that way. Leave Violet’s tumultuous side for Mystique and Ferocity to deal with. Besides, the fat was the worst part of the cut anyway.

  “I wouldn’t dare insult your intelligence by asking if you knew of the business in First Rite.”

  “That’s quite the delicate way of putting things. You mean the civil unrest? The King intent on eating his own city? The machinations of an Unbounded overlord infiltrating royal ranks?”

  Blessing nodded fervently. “Quite the succinct summation! Now, your highness, I bring with me a humble request on behalf of the Talents of the Future. Help us challenge Damosh’s authority over First Rite’s Divine Ground, and bring the fight right to him! In return, you, of course, will have a seat on the table, as we decide how to govern the city after him.”

  When she finished, Blessing half-expected for the rows of clansmen to erupt in muttering. Maybe for a few of them to start brawling, or yelp out their pleas to deny or accept the request. Though, of course, the clansmen of the Old One were far too disciplined for all that ruckus.

  If silence had a weight to it, Blessing felt the pressure of the world crash onto her shoulders.

  The Old One rubbed his chin, and said nothing.

  He tapped his fingers.

  He rearranged his beard.

  He did anything but speak.

  Until, finally, like a cave forming in the face of a mountain, he opened his mouth.

  “I was looking forward to dismissing whatever you had to say out of hand. Despite my scepticisms of Violet, killing the girl outright would only cause an outroar. To my great dismay, an Unbounded on humanity’s side of the fight is considered by many God-Graced as quite the advantage.” The Old One clasped his palms together, the clap reverberating across the airy chamber. “Not even I would get away with destroying her. But you! A fragment of Violet – a Projection! I could crush you to ash, and no one would lift so much as a finger. Gods, I doubt even Violet would notice.”

  Blessing continued to smile.

  “Your constant grinning sickens me, and allowing an Unbounded to stay alive so long inside of my palace brings a shiver down my spine. But.”

  That was what she had been looking for. That but.

  “Putting my personal distaste for Violet aside, if there was one person who truly had to be destroyed, then it would be Damosh.” The old one locked eyes with Blessing. “If you’re rallying support against the Wealth Clan, it’s inevitable that you’ll gather up quite the force. Most of us God-Graced are looking for any excuse to crush that man’s bones into dust, and even a spark as small as your humble rebellion will trigger a mighty blaze. You . . .” he paused, as if there was something lodged in his throat blocking the words. The Old One spoke through gritted teeth. “. . . can trust the Shadow Clan to meet your call when the time comes. Our might alone will cast Damosh’s heart into darkness.”

  The Old One rose in his seat, perching forward. His eyes widened unnaturally, his mouth elongating as if he was suddenly in terrible pain. Blessing flinched, wondering if the shadow-lord had somehow been poisoned. Yet the Old One continued for an uncomfortably long time – long enough that she knew it was on purpose.

  “What . . . what are you doing?”

  The Old one grunted. “Trying to smile.”

  “Please . . . “ Blessing wondered if this is what disgust felt like. “Don’t do that again . . . “

  The man frowned.

  “Eliane, am I hearing this right?” Christopher sipped on his tea, all the while keeping a watchful eye on the Unbounded sat on its hindlegs in the centre of the Hall of Thrones. The chamber had only recently been rebuilt after the travesty of Maris’ death throes, and Ferocity was dribbling all over their crisp red carpet. The same carpet they’d only just installed.

  Eliane sighed, regarding the two strange figures before them. “I’m afraid you are.”

  The first of Violet’s Projections was peculiar indeed. It walked around on all fours, barking its head off, and by the very nature of its radiant glow, made it impossible to have any guards on watch. Not if they wanted any watchmen left with functioning eyesight. Only the unparalleled sight of a God-Graced allowed the two rulers to convene with the walking strobe; anything less would instantly be blinded by the light of a sun radiating from the fiend.

  And next to this creature was, arguably, a stranger sight still. An entangled mass of limbs, all with unblinking eyeballs placed in the centre of their palms. This Unbounded had introduced itself as Mystique, but how the thing spoke without any obvious sign of a mouth, Eliane hadn’t the slightest.

  At least that Projection had the courtesy not to dribble over her carpet.

  “We’re planning an attack on First Rite, and never will a greater opportunity grace us. “ Mystique, at least, spoke some sense. “We’re set on uniting a force the likes of which Descent has never seen. By joining our coalition of champions, you not only guarantee yourself victory, but a stake in the prize of First Rite.”

  Eliane locked eyes with Christopher. The pair of them said nothing and everything with but a glance. For all his idiosyncrasies, and the disturbing alteration of webbed hands the man insisted on maintaining at all times, he was not a bad leader per se. Perhaps the greatest compliment Eliane would ever bestow the leader of the Amphibian Clan. All he seemed to care for was the protection of his sect in this age of madness, and for the most part, the two could agree on things.

  This proposal, however . . .

  “No way.” Christopher said first. “This is hardly a formal dialogue in the first place, and by joining this attack, we leave ourselves open for other enemies lurking in the dark. While I agree with the sentiment behind the Talents, I must speak on behalf of all of Hybrid when I decline-”

  “Since when could you jump to decisions without first consulting me?” Eliane scoffed, shooting a leer Christopher’s way. “We both know First Rite cannot continue as it is. Hybrid is the closest city to the dying capital, and it would not bring good tidings for that settlement to collapse. Who’s to say the chaos won’t bleed over to here? No, we must defeat Damosh and, in the process, earn ourselves some political influence. Influence we can leverage to have a say in how First Rite will be governed during the fallout, and to guarantee our own kingdom’s protection. The only way we can accomplish that is by lending a hand here.”

  Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

  Eliane must have been speaking the Unbounded tongue, for Christopher’s eyebrows didn’t drop the entire time she spoke.

  “Do we rule over the same city? Hybrid is hardly a paragon for world peace! Must I remind you how we earned this throne? We’ve already helped the Talents out tremendously by allowing any Foot-Solider in our city to join their cause, but participating in that conflict ourselves is very different indeed! You more than anyone should know that Hybrid is barely a step away from becoming as bad as Hell’s Floor. Our political system hinges on royal upheaval! If we leave Hybrid without a monarch sitting on its throne-”

  “Fine then.” Eliane relented. “You remain here. I’ll ensure there aren’t any bones left of Damosh to bury. Then we’re both happy. You’re free to oversee our kingdom, and I’ll take care of foreign affairs."

  Chrisptoper stared blankly at Elaine. Mystique shuffled gawkily across her many hands. Ferocity slobbered on the floor.

  The King placed down his teacup. The chink of china on china was like an avalanche in the otherwise silent room.

  Eliane was gambling here. Of course, she thought that she could trust him, but there was always the chance that the Amphibian Sect leader had tricks up his sleeve that she had not foreseen: that he could become the very usurper he spoke so negatively of.

  Stop that. She chided herself. It was Maris’ more manic tendencies that led to her downfall. We must allow ourselves to trust.

  To tell the truth, putting her faith in others had never exactly been Elaine’s forte – it was something she almost prided herself on. While perhaps not the greatest asset when it came to making allies, suspicion was a trait she attributed much of her success to. But sometimes, even old dogs had to learn new tricks.

  “I can trust you, can’t I, Christopher?”

  Christopher struggled to detach the cup from his slime-ridden hands, before finally turning to Eliane. “Civil unrest will most certainly grow with only one monarch on the throne, but something tells me you’re not going to give this up, are you?”

  She shook her head.

  Christopher sighed, eying the Silver Throne seated between the pair of them. They had their own seats, specially created for their sects. Eliane’s throne was almost intangible – camouflaging into its background like the tricky skin of a chameleon. From a distance, it looked like Elaine was levitating.

  Christopher himself rested on a rather grotesque creation. Like the half-monarch seated upon its oily surface, the chair was enveloped completely in a layer of white-green slime. Eggs were nestled in the corners of the throne – almost as if the thing was an incubation chamber, containing enough budding life to populate a small pond.

  But at that moment, Christopher stared down the seat that couldn’t be split into two. The only part of their kingdom Eliane hadn’t found a way to divide evenly between them. The greatest treasury of Infinity in all of Descent: the Silver Throne.

  A construct of Supreme Steel so pure, it had brought the Water God-Graced Maris to her fell end.

  A small part of her wondered what the man was thinking. If their truce really was only a superficial agreement to grant him a powerful political position. One that could easily be broken. Alas, Eliane espied no greed in that man’s eye.

  Only fear of what was to come.

  How much longer could they call that throne theirs?

  Christopher sighed, and with his next words, Eliane felt the winds of fate blowing in a new direction.

  “Do what you must.”

  Repose strolled through a sea of dust.

  Never – not once in all of the front line’s sprawling history – could the place have been described as beautiful. That statement held especially true this late into the Celestial War.

  A moshpit of blood and demons was not picturesque, and though Repose hated to discriminate against her own kind by comparing them to devils, Unbounded like herself – the kind that generally didn’t advocate for genocide by principle – were hard to come by. She was a diamond in the rough; a guardian angel amongst fiends of the lowest variety.

  Yet, like that same diamond refusing to crack under pressure, Repose’s resolve was unshakeable. Despite the front lines having never looked worse, she trodded on.

  The sight of the earth cratered into portions, then stained golden by the blood of the fallen, hardly added a fault to her step. Even when strolling past carcasses dried and rotting in the humid air for days, she didn’t slow, arm pressed against her nose to keep the stench of death at bay. She couldn’t determine what species those bodies belonged to. Human or Unbounded, it mattered little. It was all just Infinity in different flavours.

  During her long travels, Repose refused to rest. No, the fiend marched stoically onward, for she had people to meet.

  Her spiritual senses were quite adept. Despite walking merrily straight across the bloodiest battlefield on Descent, the Projection kept well away from any actual fighting. Her instincts were like a net spread out in front of her, forewarning Repose of any Unbounded laying in wait, or, perhaps even more dangerous for a being like her, clansmen sick and tired of fiends cutting down their fellow men. Humans hungry for vengeance.

  At length, she came to a stop.

  One lone silhouette emerged through the shimmering sandstorm. Nowadays, there always seemed to be some kind of filth polluting the air over the front lines. Yet, even as Repose squinted through it, her body of stone resistant to the chafing effect of the atmosphere, she was disappointed to see one figure in place of the expected three.

  Only a single Pillar had deigned to show up.

  The figure disappeared, and the fiend flinched. Repose worried for a moment that she had mistaken the shadow for an ally, but it was far too late to move back now.

  There was the sound of a string being cut. With nothing but her Unbounded instincts carrying her, Repose tossed her body aside, landing hard.

  An arrow struck the sand inches away from her feet.

  And from that arrow, a woman sprang up into existence.

  A woman with silver hair, and a woman who had replaced that one arrow with two hundred.

  All hovering mid-air, points turned to Repose.

  Well. The Unbounded silently scoffed. That certainly escalated quickly . . .

  “I came here agreeing to speak with a messenger from Violet. I sense your aura from her, but I just have to be sure.”

  Something about understanding the danger at hand put Repose at ease. No longer did she shiver with trepidation. You could send a thousand godlings to destroy her body of earth and rock, but as long as she was protecting someone else when putting her neck on the line, Repose could face down any known threat. It was the core of who she was: as if her own life didn’t matter in comparison. The Unbounded silently reminded herself of what was at stake – the people relying on her – and steeled her resolve. Besides, from her access to Violet’s memories of interacting with the God-Graced, Eshika appeared to be one of the better ones.

  “I’m a Projection of Violet’s. She apologises for not being able to convene with you in person, but things have been a handful at our current base of operations.”

  With a pinch of reluctance, Eshika dispelled the projectiles. “I heard about what happened to Gold’s Bane. I’m sorry for your loss. Glimat and Griffin also bring their condolences. The pair of them offer their sincerest apologies for not being here, in attendance with us.” Eshika frowned deeply, standing at an angle. Her silver hair was like a sheet of metal reflecting the desert heat, a gash of light blinding Repose in one eye. “Leaving the front lines unattended at any time would be unwise, but now more than ever. It posed a great risk even for myself to come here.”

  “We hope that you’ve considered our request at least, God-Graced.”

  Eshika nodded. “That I have. I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but I’m afraid I’ll be unable to provide your forces with any support. The emergence of the Paladins has opened up a new frontier to this war we didn’t foresee, and our enemies are more intelligent than they first appeared. There’s no telling what tactics they could throw at humanity’s armies in our absence. No, now more than ever, I must be with my clansmen.”

  “I came here in person to show I cared about your fight. What’s happening in that city is a travesty, but to leave my post would be negligent of my own responsibilities." The God-Graced bowed. “We wish you the best of fortune with restoring peace to First Rite.”

  With that, and before Repose had a chance to reply, the God-Graced turned her back on the fiend.

  Repose balled her fists. In the span of a single second, the sediment that made up her body seemed to be replaced by a fiery igneous. The violet streaks through her rocky form began to boil, like hot rivers of lava burning her from the inside out.

  The faces of the common people of First Rite flew through Repose’s mind. All impressions of people Violet had met, or seen, or merely been in the same city as. For all of them, from the very bottom of her rocky heart, a parental instinct of protection overwhelmed Repose.

  Eshika’s footsteps resounded through the dusty plain, each footfall like the firing of a gun, and Repose couldn’t afford to hold back anymore.

  “That’s bullshit!”

  The Archery God-Graced froze in her tracks. Without turning around, she leered over her shoulder at Repose.

  But she didn’t say anything. Almost as if she were trying to find out how Repose had the gall.

  “If you didn’t want to fight for First Rite, you wouldn’t have bothered coming here!” Repose disregarded her own safety, prepared to invoke Eshika’s wrath. She pointed one stony figure at the woman. “I know you care about the thousands of people huddled inside of that dying city. All they’ve ever known has been turmoil, and their own home is intent on swallowing them up! There may be soldiers you need to look after Eshika, but the people of First Rite? These are innocent people, most of them not bred for war. Which ones really need protecting?”

  The God-Graced’s lips twitched.

  If this had been the complete Violet speaking, and not her protective nature amplified, the very inconvenient things known as ‘dignity, respect, and honour’ would have probably kept her mouth shut. Shame to say, Repose was not Violet.

  “No, I don’t believe for a second someone as noble as you could let that slip by without doing something about it.”

  She took a defiant stride forward. “So do something!”

  Eshika stared at Repose dead-in-the-eye. The sand beneath their feet shifted, as if the great tectonic plates below Descent were moving a hair’s width. The clouds above parted slightly, and the eruption of warring fiends and mortals was a sombre music to Repose’s ears.

  At last, Eshika drew an arrow.

  So it had come to this. Repose sighed, raising a fist and taking a step backwards. She was going to die against Eshika – some fights just couldn’t be won – but her erasure wouldn’t be in vain. This death had meaning to it, for she intended on sending a message. Besides, by her very nature as a Projection, Repose was designed to be dispensable. If the fiend was lucky, Violet would manifest Repose again from another bundle of Infinity.

  And so, every muscle poised and ready to face the end – at least for now – Repose awaited for Eshika to throw the first blow. With any twitch of the wind, darkness would devour her reality.

  But, even as the God-Graced knocked an arrow upon her bowstring, and drew it back . . . something about her manner changed. Slowly, she lowered the bow, and it dispersed into dust.

  All the tension escaped Eshika’s body. As if it had been a show she was putting on.

  “Take me . . . take me to First Rite.”

  Repose paused. A smile spread on Eshika’s lips – the equivalent of a sun rising into view behind a mountain range. The truest omen of good fortune there was.

  And it was that moment, out of all moments, that Repose realised something very important. She had never allowed herself the liberty of believing. Of thinking for even a second that First Rite could really, well and truly, be saved. Sure, it was ingrained into her very being – was her being – to want to protect as many of that city’s denizens as possible. Yet sometimes, you fought a losing fight. Not because you hoped to win, that was out of the question, but because of what there was to salvage.

  Yet now, with one of the very pillars joining their war efforts, not to mention the Old One and the city of Hybrid itself! Repose dared to believe.

  They could do this.

  You had better watch your back Damosh, she thought wickedly. For the world is coming.