I ran through the streets, heart pounding with every step, my small squad of Sorcerers and their Dead fanning out around me. We were clearing ground well enough, but I feared we were still too slow. There were two possible targets for us: the temple, where the standard entrance into the tunnels was, and the fortified 'archive' building, where the second entrance was hidden. The latter was supposed to be blockaded, according to Eudoxia, but it was closer, so I took the risk and directed us there, knowing Maecia would not waste time, particularly with a Behemoth at her command.

Where did she get it? And where did she manage to hide it? I thought as we went. It made little sense. Such a creature was slow to traverse the battlefield and would certainly be spotted, so that left the possibility of it appearing from somewhere inside the city, emerging to force open the gates. But no, the gates were broken from the outside going in… If I were executing this plan, I would have it hidden among the fields to emerge when the time was right, mitigating the Behemoth's weakness of a slow speed. She had likely done the same, knowing my sister.

We reached the stone archive building, and as expected, the door, frame, and much of the front wall were smashed in, leaving a pile of rubble and a seven-foot-diameter hole in the ground.

"Inside, expect to face trained Sorcerers, Reavers, and a creature called a Behemoth. It shall be slow but extremely strong and resilient to physical damage and Sorcery," I said, approaching the hole to peer down inside. A dusty darkness lay below. "Most dangerously, we shall face Maecia, one of the most powerful Sorcerers in history. This will not be an easy fight."

"To the death, Returned One," Eudoxia said, bowing. The others bowed as well, Soulborne standing still as a king's guard.

"It may very well be so." I nodded ahead. "Half the Dead in an advance guard, the rest to the rear. Leave Maecia to Eudoxia and I, focus your attention on eliminating her Sorcerers as quickly as possible." I wished to say more, to prepare them further, but there was little time and even less to communicate in a moment such as this. It was win or die. Everyone knew this.

And so, we descended into the darkness.

…

Sovina had known death. Sovina had known defeat.

She had even known fear, but never for herself. She was a weapon, tamed and humanized by the wonder that was Emalia, given a life far greater than she deserved. A life of trials, yes, but of comforts, of understanding, of love and joy.

And yet, all that time, she had not forgotten what she was.

This was her purpose. Her destiny from the very day she was cut from her mother's womb and thrust into the Column's arms. When she was taught the sword and devotion. When she met Emalia, and knew in her heart that she would die for this woman.

In the depths of the bowels of Novakrayu, she faced evil.

Greyskins and Sorcerers and evil monstrosities torn from Hazek's Soul pits in the dark distance. Yet she sat upon the stone with her saber across her lap, focusing her breath as the priestly Sorcerers paced behind in fear. She was not the wild warrior or green recruit, frightened by the prospect of failure and death.

She was a weapon. A blade's edge, sharp and true. Ready.

Feel the breath of the gods flow through. Feel oneness embody her. In. Out.

Rotaal—or, as Em would say, the great symbolism of Rotaal—filled her. She was the vanquisher of spirits and the great divider. A hair's distance between life and death. One she lived in. One she divided.

Sovina stood and took a ready stance, for the Greyskins were approaching, outpacing the others. "Defend us from the Sorcerers," she said, letting her weight sit on the balls of her feet, mobile, powerful, and ready.

A weapon. A blade's edge. A guardian.

Two before her, side-by-side. The first of many to dedicate themselves to sacrifice at her feet.

She lunged forward and swung down, slicing through the fingers of an outstretched Greyskin's hand, blade exiting at the bottom of the thumb. She moved with the stroke, ducking low and sidestepping the creature's attack. The other was out of position due to the aggression of the first. Sovina redirected the force of her swing into a horizontal cut, slicing below the Greyskin's shoulder, severing muscles all along its arm. The creature did not howl or show pain. The Dead were relentless enemies, and yet, she had trained for them. So, before it could attack with its other hand, she dodged back to the center of the hall and continued her strike across the uninjured Greyskin's belly. It opened and spilled blackened guts, withered and half-rotten. But this movement exposed her, for she was not fast enough, and the opened Dead fell upon her with a sudden lurch, mouth gaping wide with fangs and broken teeth ready.

And so she thrust her dagger through the open maw of the creature, piercing through the roof of its mouth into its brainstem. Immediately, the body slumped and stumbled. She withdrew the blade quickly enough, pivoting to put her dominant foot forward again, using the power to whip the saber down, flicking the tip across the thumbless Greyskin's face. It took an eye and a section of the nose. Sovina danced back as it clawed out for her, half-blinded.

I am not fast, she thought idly, repositioning as if to retreat, drawing the Dead in further. Nor am I strong. But speed is not the objective, nor is strength. It leaped for her, powerful and vicious as all Greyskins were. And predictable.

All she needed to do was keep the point forward and put her weight behind it. The monstrosity did the rest, falling upon it. The steel whispered its way between the enlarged rib bones and into the lungs. Missed the heart. Not a killing blow. She side-stepped and ripped the saber out, shredding tissue and spraying ichorous blood. She had to raise her sword to block a blow that sent her stumbling back, wrist aching. Against a human, she might toss the dagger to buy time, but that would do little here. Instead, she flexed her back leg and kicked out with the front, catching the creature at the knee when it was locked out, sending it stumbling with a satisfying crack. Again, she had to dodge its claws as it fell, swiping at her, but it was vulnerable once on the ground, slowed, and scrambling.

Sovina moved around it, slicing its hamstrings, dodging back from its thrashing, then she lunged back in and chopped into its skull. The creature flopped down, dead.

She pivoted, expecting the other, but it was half-limp on the stony ground, writhing toward her without much success, with black blood seeping through its teeth. The larger picture, she chided herself, and looked up for more enemies.

Sorcery fizzled in the air as the priests dueled off against the handful of Sorcerers slowly closing in. Maecia was among them but uncommitted. She seemed to be focusing. Controlling Dead. She likely had multiple groups of dependent Greyskins to direct, forcing her attention away. Good. While a few Greyskins lingered back with her, three more were rushing forward, and with them, that slow, hulking monstrosity, larger than anything Sovina had ever seen.

A difficult, perhaps impossible fight. Nevertheless, her duty was here. Each moment earned was a step toward victory.

She ended the crawling Greyskin's struggles with a stroke to the neck, mostly decapitating it, then took a defensive position near the corpses. Ideally, they would limit the enemy's movement.

A presence appeared behind.

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She glanced over her shoulder, preparing for another fight.

No. It was Protis.

"Ignatia is finishing Sorcerers in the tunnel," the Soulborne growled out.

"So you've come to help." She faced forward. "Good. Can you handle the big one?"

"Yes."

There was no more time for talk, for the Dead were soon upon them.

Sovina breathed in, then out. She floated in the space between life and death.

…

"This makes no sense," Emalia muttered, prying the tiles away in one large section of ground, trying to think past the death echoing in from outside. Some man screamed so loud his voice cracked and ended in a whimper. "How can this bone do so much? Is it invested with Souls? It is no Portal."

Wracen's head was bowed in his work, devoted as she was to the tiles' destruction. "No one knows. We dared not investigate the chamber too thoroughly."

"Why? It is not holy."

"No, just dangerous. This Sorcery is beyond our understanding."

Of course. And now, when it matters, all are ignorant, she thought, perhaps unfairly, but nonetheless annoyed. This is how it always was. Caution and obliviousness in times of peace meant death in times of war.

Below the bone was dirt, not stone, as she suspected. They were deep enough that finding compact dirt was odd. She paused, then tore free a few more tiles and began digging with the point of her knife, once more wishing for better tools and planning in this quest. Her blade hit something solid. Not stone, for it didn't glance off. Rather, it bit into the surface.

Wood.

"Wracen," she muttered. "I've found something."

Together, they worked to dig away the dirt and expose a section of boards crudely sealed. Emalia licked her lips and glanced about. How could they break in with only a knife and their hands? The room was empty except for candles and broken tiles. Nothing heavy or…

Her eyes lit up. "Grab the candles! We can burn an opening and break through!"

It was possibly quite foolish, but what choice was there to be made? Quickly, they snatched a number of candles and held the flames to the splintered wood. Old and dry as it was, the timber caught on relatively quickly, but the burn was slow considering the density of the boards. Too slow. Emalia attacked it with the point of her blade, making little progress against the thick timber. She stood and paced, then returned to the small fire and did something risky. She jumped up and slammed a foot down on the flames.

"Emalia!" Wracen said in shock.

"We need to break through!" She jumped and landed again, slamming her foot into the weakened section of wood. The heat seared her skin and singed her clothes. She jumped once more. Something cracked. "It's old. The wood is weak!"

She pulled him in, and together, the two of them slammed into the board. This crack was even louder. Once more, they timed their jump and hit the board, and Emalia's foot smashed through the old length of timber.

Emalia gasped, catching herself on the floor before yanking her foot back up. The hole was dark below. Wracen dropped a candle in. The flame whooshed down, hitting the bottom perhaps ten feet down. The flame quickly flickered out. He dropped a few more candles until one stayed alight at the bottom.

The room was large, so she had to lower her face to the hole and peer in. Perhaps as wide as the chamber—no, wider. There was no portal stone at the bottom like in Drazivaska. Instead, there was a strangely ordered collection of statues of gold lined in rows, perhaps fifteen in total. No. Fourteen. There's a missing spot…

Emalia sat upright in horror. She stared at Desirdus, whose face reflected her own feelings.

"Saem protect us," he muttered. "These are… Artifacts."

"Duplicates of the kind we found in the palace. The weapon made of Demetria's Sorcerer guard. But there are more here than there were guards…" Emalia trailed off. These were likely of more Sorcerers they'd managed to capture and utilize, possibly Pethyans. Likely some from the country's destruction. This doesn't matter. The point is that there is enough here to destroy us. Or to give Maecia the power necessary to collect and transport a city full of Souls. Of course! How else could she manage it all? The city's population was fuel, the chamber the siphon, the Grand Observatory the flame, and the storage of Artifacts the pump to push the fuel out, igniting in a horrible fire that was her Spell.

The bone chamber was still important, but was it essential? Could she not use all these Artifacts to brute-force her way to the Grand Observatory? It would cost her dearly, but it might just be doable. Emalia stood, dizzy and shaken, staring into the shadowy room below. She couldn't simply destroy these, for that might ruin the city with Necromantic death anyway!

The only way was with a Sorcerer. Someone strong enough to drain it all and redirect the excess, if such a thing were even possible.

She needed to find Daecinus.

…

Protis was born of death, forged of it, grown through it. And yet, the creature before them was something beyond any kind of death Protis knew.

Behemoth, a distant memory whispered. Clumsy in use. Liability. Tall as the tunnel ceiling, nearly as wide as the confines of the walls, and far more powerful than any Reaver could be. Protis kept out of its reach to delay. But the line of retreat was finite, and soon, they would have to fight.

Sovina was engaged with the Reavers as the Sorcerers held off their counterparts. But this was not all. Maecia was approaching, ever encroaching upon Protis's ground. This Behemoth would have to die soon.

It smashed the ground with a great fist, scattering fragments of rock, dinging off Protis's armor, and nicking flesh. The large creature's muscles contorted as it pulled its hand free from the dent in the stone, distant candle and sunlight casting shadows off the contours of its thick sinews pressed against flesh. It reared back to swing.

Protis struck, diving under its arm as it cut through the air. A torso exposed, unarmored and vulnerable. The Soulborne set upon its target with a furious deluge of attacks, claws ripping into its gut and side, tearing free fistfuls of flesh before ducking back, avoiding a backhand. Before the Behemoth could reposition, Protis leaped up, clawing into its upper arm and shoulder, hand finding its neck for grip as the other wrapped around, digging claws into its eye socket and cheek and pulling. Wet sounds of popping and ripping were cut short as the Behemoth righted itself, smashing Protis against the ceiling of stone. Caught between the unmovable Dead and the rock above, Protis was ground against it, slowly crushed. And yet, this provided the opening necessary to find a new grip in the exposed openings of the Behemoth's face. Protis renewed their effort, digging in and destroying one eye, ripping open the mouth, and scoring significant damage to the ear. Yet, it was insufficient, and soon, Protis felt their ribs being broken, inner organs flattened to dangerous extremes. Unnecessary for bodily function, but essential to maintaining bodily form to keep its Soul bound.

So, Protis dug their heels into the Behemoth's legs, barely reaching, and pulled as they simultaneously pushed with their hips, trying to buckle the creature. It resisted, pressing harder, crushing more of Protis's body, straining the metal armor, bending and denting it in.

So Protis snaked an arm around the Behemoth's head till the chin was in the crook of Protis's elbow, other hand on the shoulder, and twisted. Muscles popped, tendons strained and snapped, and even the feel and sound of cartilage ripping as Protis twisted the Behemoth's head to the extreme. Protis pried, face caught in some kind of animalistic snarl, eyes wide and sharp teeth bared. As their ribs snapped and flesh scraped off against their deformed iron chest piece, Protis heaved.

A pursuit to death. Both chasing their prey with abandon. A true fight of the Dead.

And then something vital broke, and Protis went limp, arms falling from the Behemoth's head, body slumping down and sliding to the floor. They smashed into the stone. Some meager movement returned just in time for Protis to push themselves aside, barely dodging a deathblow stomp aimed for their head.

"Daecinus!" a voice screamed out, cutting through the din of battle. Emalia! "Hurry here! I found them! It's more than just the chamber—there's a reserve of Artifacts!"

The Behemoth paused as Protis shifted to its forearms and knees, black blood spilling out, slopping off its broken armor onto the floor.

Why call to Daecinus? Protis wondered, prying itself away. The Behemoth shifted as if by command. And why stop from ending me?

"Reach the room," Maecia said, voice far closer than before. "Secure it. Kill any in your way."

The Behemoth left Protis to run forward.

Toward Emalia.

"No," Protis growled out, pushing themselves up, almost collapsing.

Whoosh. Whoosh. Whoosh. Something flew overhead in a blur. THWACK!

A large two-handed axe slammed into the back of the Behemoth, nearly toppling it.

"Arm yourself!" Protis stood and looked toward the voice past Maecia and her Sorcerers. Daecinus stood in the distance behind an unarmed Soulborne, outlined in torchlight. "This fight is not done yet."

He was here!

Life filled Protis in one brief surge close to the thing called hope, and they leaped forward, snatching the axe's shaft, tearing it free. The Behemoth turned to swipe Protis away, but the Soulborne swung first, blade connecting with their arm, shearing into flesh and smashing the bone, splintering it. The Behemoth's hand still connected with Protis, but it was limp and weakened, sending Protis toppling briefly before they caught themselves.

Fiery emotion raged inside the Soulborne, impossibly human, captivatingly foreign, pushing them beyond death with a roar that tore through the tunnel. They swung the axe as the Behemoth recovered, coming in to kill with its teeth. The heavy axe blade connected with a resounding CRACK! The Behemoth's head exploded into two sections, one smashing against the wall and the other still attached to the limp body that thunked to the floor with a gurgling finality.

Protis collapsed, no longer able to stave off the darkness, Soul dangerously close to separating from their form. An empty stillness swallowed them up as all went quiet and black.

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