Zyla:

  It all goes to shit when the iron bear dies for the third time. Their more elite soldiers find a way to swarm him—using ice to freeze and fire to rapidly cool, weakening the metal enough to break. I try having the spirit save our failed cavalry charge up the hill, but Masaru manages to head the bear off.

  The Elder kills the damn thing with a single swipe of his sword.

  I push on regardless, my forces wilting, my mind weighing heavy with the losses. My brain works rapidly to reposition our forces, but we’re dying quicker than Saegor can revive us.

  The shields overhead are flashing. Some break too rapidly, allowing the enemy’s airforce to rain fire upon our exposed force. Kiren is not as quick to regenerate the shields. His own mana is no doubt waning. The ones at our flank—those hexagons that keep the plagued at bay—also show too many cracks.

  I hack and hew with my blade, using the ice raven to fly slightly over their cavalry. My master is in sight. I almost reach him before an arrow thuds against my shoulder blade, jutting through to pierce the ice raven’s right wing.

  We fall amongst a slow pile-up of dead soldiers.

  But I crawl forward, through the mud and guts and horror, hands reaching for master’s form.

  Saegor is trying now.

  I can see it as he summons all manner of blood, bugs, eldritch darkness, and fire to flay Thraevirula’s pillar of monsters.

  The soldiers around who try to attack him—they all die screaming.

  Saegor’s one eye is now completely void black. I’ve only seen that happen once before. He’s at least a fourth stage fire mancer from what I know. Maybe even higher for the other elements he wields.

  And yet…

  Thraevirula’s not coming out of the cocoon.

  I finally reach him, still bleeding from the shoulder, nails dirtied with blood other than my own.

  I gather the strength to kneel. Then, I grab onto his shin.

  He turns towards me, hand upraised and from a slit of darkness in his palm, more human hands come forth, skittling like cockroaches. Then, the blackness fades from his eye as he recognizes me. The hands retreat into the darkness of his palm. Saegor breathes heavily, voice hoarse.

  He looks at me.

  Look once more at Thraevirula’s encapsulating spiral.

  Then, gritting his teeth, my master curses.

  “Zyla. We have to retreat.”

  “But—”

  “You’re injured. And she’s not coming out—no doubt she’s just waiting for me to wear myself down attacking her and then—”

  “Actually, that’s where you're wrong, Saegor,” a dreadful voice interrupts. Thraevirula steps out of her cocoon, using a stairway of bats and locusts. A halo of rats now spins around her head, with palisades of blood spiking up, hovering weightless in the air. The witch raises her Meteor Blade high as she flutters her eyes at us mockingly. “I was just waiting for this thing to work. It takes a lot of mana to actually activate it—especially for someone not attuned to the weapon. But what do you expect? I’m not exactly Afrasiyab.”

  She chuckles to herself as if having made some great joke. I look at my master, eyes pleading for him to attack. But he just stands there, frozen.

  Thraevirula continues. “Now, I suppose you’ll finally understand this is called the Meteor Blade.”

  And from the sky, comes a screaming of space, fire, and rocks. I look up to see five meteors streaking down from the heavens, opening orange wounds in the horizon.

  My heart sinks as those great balls of fire arc towards the shields. The whales clear a path.

  Masaru rides up towards us from the bottom of the hill.

  Thraevirula points the blade at the two of us. I use Saegor’s arrested form to hoist myself up. And I put my body between the two of them, my own blade shaking in my right hand. In my left hand, I begin weaving lines of Aether to blast her.

  But before I can do anything, black smoke billows below, brushing against our ankles. I look at Saeger, eyes going wide as I realize what he’s doing.

  What was the point then?

  Why did we even—

  A tentacle reaches up, coils around both Saegor and I and takes us into the darkness.

  Seconds pass. Minutes.

  My mind is a haze, but I can vaguely feel the loss of connection with my spirit slaves. The bonded connections remain and I order them to take charge of the battle.

  Cover our retreat.

  Because that’s what this is: a retreat.

  I don’t understand.

  When we emerge from the backend of Saegor’s escape portal, somewhere near the edge of the briars, I wheel on him.

  My tone is frantic, and sorely lacking in any of the respect I usually hold for him.

  “Why? We could’ve fought them. You said it yourself: as long as we kill the three of them, then we win—”

  “We’ve lost Zyla. We need to go. Now.” Saegor isn’t even looking at me. He’s just packing his things, checking himself for wounds, eyes searching the briars. “Order your spirits to cover our retreat.”

  “I already did, but—”

  “Zyla!” he snaps. I shrink back for a second. He sighs. “I miscalculated. I thought I could—I could show her that it was futile that we could just go back and…”

  He stops talking. Growls at himself. “I knew the cost. I would’ve ended it. Killed her after she showed no signs of going back. But Tia’s also grown far beyond what I could’ve imagined. I can’t beat her in a battle. Maybe a duel, but not while my mind busies itself with reviving your spirits.”

  There’s a tone of accusation in that. It hurts me. Angers me.

  Saegor places a hand on my shoulder. “We’ll withdraw. Gather a new army. A bigger one. I’ll use my connections. Place traps. Draw her out. Then we can try again.”

  I stay silent. The arrow in my shoulder still burns—a hot, furious pain.

  The sounds of war are distant now.

  “What about Raiten?” I ask.

  He stiffens. Then, he shakes sadly. “He’s too far. And I’ve already used the backend—can’t reuse it. Besides, maybe this is for the best. You heard what he said at the campfire: he was compromised by the witch. At least here, he can redeem himself by hopefully taking out the shogun and lessening our problems.”

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  I want to protest. For the first time in my life, I want to tell Saegor that this is wrong.

  And I open my mouth to do so.

  And then I close it.

  And I close my eyes.

  I know it's wrong to leave him… however, I need to think about Kiren as well. Raiten’s position is too far out. If he can make it out, then he’ll have to do it on his own—I can’t risk myself, nor my brother, to venture back into the glades.

  I just have to pray that Raiten can recognize the battle is lost. That he can retreat.

  “We’ll get Kiren from his spot and leave. Alright? But we have to go now. Do you understand me Zyla?”

  Saegor shakes my body.

  There’s a crashing sound that echoes throughout the valley. I look beyond the eye of the woods to see fire blooming across the shields, breaking through them.

  “Right,” I mutter.

  “Then let's go.”

  Saegor grabs me roughly by the hand and drags me with him, deeper into the woods.

  And though my mind is so fatigued, though my body burns like hell, all I can think is…

  I’m sorry.

  Forgive me, Raiten.

  Forgive me for leaving you to die.

  …

  Raiten:

  When I was about to die in my fight against Baroth, all I knew was pain. Brutal, physical, tearing pain. Soul burning agony.

  In my fight against the Lady, the pain was mental. Opened chasms in my mind, spilling forth memories of old—both good and bad.

  But right now? As I die my slow death, I feel…

  Peace.

  The boy still fights at the fringes, too scared and too smart to get close. He smites with well-chosen strikes of lightning at my blind spots. The Elk is the slowest—but also the most powerful. He bears into me when he can, stretches his antlers, uses his wealth of blue fire, his eyes. But really, it's the Lady who has changed the game: she provides the most pressure, keeping up with me at every instance. And unlike the boy, she fights without care for her life. She fights like me. Meets me at every clash, blow for blow.

  Blood sprays. Lightning burns. Fire chases my soul. I hit myself to keep it at bay, twist my hips to dodge a tri-bladed thrust of the Lady’s, flip to fire back at the boy who runs across the fields below.

  It's not like the wrath is gone. Rather, rage has many different forms. Cold. Warm. Static. Building. Breathing. Living.

  Baroth roars, pushing the Lady aside and charging into me. I wrap Meteorfang around his antlers and swing onto his back, kunai upraised. The Lady strikes with her hammerhand before I can bring the blade down. I go flying into the clouds.

  It's hard to be in a constant state of red hot rage. That’s cheap. An emotional reaction. But real rage… the type that has depth? That exists deep in the soul. And it stirs in quiet moments, in crowds, and even, in the happiest of times. Persistent. Insistent. It plagues all facets of your life.

  The Lady zooms through the clouds towards me. I whip the ball against her body, caving in her torso. She falls. I chase. The boy rips through the cloud, opening a gash along my back. I spin to kill him, but Baroth’s blue fire also comes from beneath and I must spew all my lightning towards that pillar of azure.

  And yet, despite that pervasive nature of wrath, it brings peace. Peace in knowing your goal. Your motivation. Peace in having a clear understanding of your purpose.

  My lightning wins out against Baroth. He’s as surprised as I am—usually, his element overpowers mine in sheer volume. The dust is dwindling, and yet, as my mind contends with death, as my body works against it, and as my ruminations on rage take hold—I notice my lightning becoming… stronger. Attuned.

  Maybe even… immersed?

  I’m on the cusp. I know it. Something is happening within that is allowing me to claim the crimson as my own.

  As my lightning hits Baroth, the Lady and the boy whirl on me once more. We fight a short battle atop the clouds. I lose. They send me flying back to the ground, the Lady’s blades pressing against my chain, the boy hounding after like a dog.

  I look at him and scoff. In the moment where I threatened to kill his Uncle, he felt that red rage which has often taken hold of me as well. Yet, he could never understand what it feels like to deal with that for more than mere, fleeting moments.

  Wrath is not a singular emotion.

  My wrath is love. Love for my mother, love lost with Hui, and what could have been love for Sorina.

  The Lady presses deeper, blades biting into my chest.

  It is hate. Cold, iron hate for Daichi. For Renji. Masaru.

  I headbutt her. My brain pounds as it rattles against metal.

  It is fear. Fear of Kai’s lessons. Fear of losing Dandy, of losing the little life I built on that farm. Fear of dying before I can complete my task.

  She swings her hammer-hand at my back. I squeeze out of her embrace and fall away, watching the Lady almost hit herself. Of course, she stops before that happens.

  I try to lasso a cloud with Meteorfang, but Souta strikes the chain out of the air.

  I fall to the ground. Feel that same leg snap again. Baroth crashes next to me, swinging his antlers up. One pierces my shoulder. He raises me. I kick down, breaking the antler, then, stick the kunai in his head. He screams and bites into my leg. I roar and feel the bone jut out of my ankle. Meteorfang falls limp from my hands. He starts laughing.

  So I hit my leg. The bone snaps further out, into his inner jaw, scraping against the mouth. I scream blood at him and hit it again. The bone pierces into his cheek.

  Again. The white bone punctures through his mouth, snapping out from his jaw like a bloodied dagger.

  He lets go, spitting me out to the ground.

  Blue fire on his antlers, erupting, about to decimate me.

  I raise a hand and fire off a quick bolt. It sends him sprawling back into another hill. But he recovers quickly, snorting fiercely out of the smoke like some storybook devil.

  The Lady slams down next to me.

  The boy slinks behind me.

  I pick up Meteorfang and stand again. Scream as my leg buckles under the pain.

  My body shakes.

  I try to not look at the injury, instead, steadying my breathing. Doing my best to focus on my enemies rather than myself.

  Most importantly, wrath is…

  Acceptance. Accepting the task ahead. Accepting the odds against me.

  And raging on nonetheless.

  The lightning in my soul bellows.

  Sparks behind my eyes.

  The boy pauses as he circles me, studying how the red dances across my body.

  It doesn’t matter. Whatever’s happening to me… it's too late.

  I’m too injured.

  He seems to understand that much as well. The three of them close in at once. And I accept what’s to come. Only… it never arrives.

  For my enemies hit an invisible force, bouncing off its transparency in surprise.

  No. No no no. You should've just left me to die.

  Why did you—

  My eyes search for him frantically. Then, I witness Kiren standing at the top of a near hillock, hand outraised. He smiles down at me and winks. Then, he charges.

  My enemies catch on quickly, and two of them abandon me to deal with the shield user. The Lady ignores him, still running her blades along the shield. A familiar sight for her. I hope it invokes some bad memories.

  Baroth leaps high and aims down with his taloned hooves, hoping to stomp on my friend. Yet Kiren just places a hexagonal shield above him. Baroth’s talons break through, but he can’t fully shatter it. The hooks snag on the shield, getting the Elk stuck. Kiren slides under him, making his way towards me. Souta tries firing off lightning at Kiren while running parallel to him, but the mancer shoots fire to counter. His fire is much weaker, but it does create a smoke screen for him to pass through and reach me.

  When he does, the Lady finally deigns to attack him. But he just dodges away from her blades and makes a small opening in the shield.

  And he’s in.

  He closes the opening behind him and pants heavily, sighing with relief

  Baroth roars out, breaking his talons away from the shield and attacking our dome. Souta arcs down with his blade upon the shimmering transparency. And the Lady begins to hammer against it.

  I just stare at Kiren.

  “Why?” I ask, gritting my teeth. It hurts to talk.

  He looks confused. “Umbrahorn told me you were in trouble. Of course I came to help—”

  “And where is he?”

  Kiren hesitates. Then, he shakes his head.

  I don’t have enough anger to spare. Yet still, I hope that hammerhead dies as he runs—

  “Don’t blame him, Raiten. He was so scared. Did the best he could. Brought me to the glades at least.”

  I bite back my curses and just stare at the three beings who pound our shield.

  “Kiren,” I sigh. “Look at them. We’re outmatched. And I’m on death’s door already. You should run if you can. I’ll give them one last fight and I’ll cover your escape—”

  “Raiten. Remember what I told you back at the ruins?”

  I pause. Then, I resign myself to just nod. “We’re a troop?”

  “Exactly. But now, we’re much more than that.” Kiren turns to the three assailers beyond the shield, studying them. “Brothers?”

  I nod, wrapping the chains around me once more. “Till the end.”

  One oath to the Light. One mark of the Devil. Zero room for error.

  Being good is harder when Hell signs your paychecks.