There was peace in knowing that death was a finality. He wouldn't wander the world like the Withered Shade. He wouldn't watch as a ghost. Whatever might happen, eventually he would die, and that would be the end of it.

The only question that remained was the timing and level of pain of that death.

Vondaire collapsed against the grand window. Blood and bile dribbled down his chin and stained his once-white shirt. He was more embarrassed by how he looked than how he was losing the fight against Phoenix.

Nobody would fault him for losing to an Omen.

Every story, every fairytale about a chosen one or a prince or princess always involved an Omen. Sometimes they were written as generous, gratuitous beings, but more often than not, they were portrayed as evil spirits roaming the seven towers.

There was a story Vondaire read as a child, again and again. A favorite, one would say. It focused on Oberon, King of the Fairies, as a love interest for the main character, Tascilla, the elven princess.

Vondaire wiped his stained glove across his mouth and pushed himself off the wall. His shoes were partially torn and partially melted, which meant they were wholly useless. He kicked them off, unbuttoned the top of his ruined button up.

With the Phoenix Omen so wrathfully tearing through clones, Vondaire couldn't help but wonder what Oberon would do. Was he as kind as he was in those stories? Was he a gentle lover?

Vondaire chuckled to himself. He spat blood onto the floor.

Outside the palace, the Storm King hovered close. It wasn't a cathkabel, demon, or Omen, so it had no true memory, but regardless, it watched with fascination.

Two Vondaires remained, and neither was in good shape. He had hardly been healthy when he made the clones, and now with less than a quarter health, his time was running out. He had never been one to give up easily.

Death was final, but that was no reason to welcome it.

The other Vondaire ducked under a swing and looked hazy as it avoided another flurry of Phoenix swipes. With a ghostblade in hand, Vondaire slashed across the Phoenix's abdomen. At first, the spectral knife passed through, eating mana, then it caught flesh and tore. The spectral kunai hit a burning feather and dissipated.

Vondaire waited, watching. He pulled off his gloves, wiped his hands on the last clean parts of his trousers, and prepared himself.

"We're both nearly out of mana," the other Vondaire said.

Phoenix slid a claw over the gash in its abdomen, burning it shut. The blood sizzled away from the intense heat. The Phoenix said more insults, nonsense meant to weaken Vondaire's resolve. It wouldn't work, and the Omen could tell. There was the briefest lull, which gave Vondaire the much needed time to ready himself, both mentally and physically. He clenched his jaw, fighting the pain burning in his stomach, and watched for his opening.

As soon as the Omen moved, Vondaire fell into a Spectral Step. It brought him directly behind the Phoenix as the bird-headed man skewered the last clone.

Vondaire couldn't help but smile as his vision finally cleared. Before the Phoenix could turn, Vondaire wrapped an arm around the Omen's neck and placed his hand directly on the bird's face.

Light flashed, and he felt his body collapse, hitting the cold stone floor of the Storm King's palace with a thud. No amount of his presence could focus on what was happening to his body. As soon as his hand made contact, his mind was warped away, and all sensation, all pain was gone.

Instead of the palace, he found himself in a small home with warped floorboards and hanging lights that never seemed to stop swinging. Birds called in the forest outside. Vondaire stood in the entryway, looking directly into the living room. A place meant to spend time with one's family.

Five coffins, lids open, filled the space. No furniture, no toys, nothing of fun or comfort. Just corpses. His five siblings lay in various states of death. Rotten, decapitated, mauled. They had each died in their own unique ways.

Vondaire approached and touched the edge of a wooden coffin. His eldest sister was, surprisingly, the last to die. Three massive claw marks had torn her chest open from shoulder to hip. Her organs, ravaged as they were, still spilled from the wounds. Her face was contorted in agony.

Seeing his siblings was meant to break him. If his spirits failed, so did he. The Phoenix would consume him, as it had probably consumed others in the past.

Vondaire was not a meal. It would take a lot more than his dead, horrible siblings to break him.

A glass clinked.

Vondaire's breath caught. He looked up slowly. Two people sat with their backs to him, facing out a window at a homemade bar. A couple. The woman set a half-filled bottle of vodka to the side, nearly spilling it in her clumsiness. The man nearly slumped over as he finished off a glass. He mumbled something that made them both chuckle.

Having his dead siblings spread before him was one thing. They had all been dead for a long time. But the drunkards stumbling in the back of the room were completely alive, and completely capable of doing better. He could have been at his childhood home for real and they still wouldn't notice. His siblings' bodies could all be presented, as they currently were, and his mother and father would continue their selfish, useless lives without the slightest idea of what was happening around them.

Both parents turned. Brown eyes bloodshot. Faces red with alcohol.

His mother picked up the bottle again, took a swig, and tried to set it down and missed the bar. Glass shattered across the wooden floor. "You," she said.

"Mother."

His father scratched his face, burped, and looked like he struggled to keep the contents of his stomach down. "What are you doing here?" His words slurred. An untrained ear would've missed most of it.

"Passing through," Vondaire said calmly.

His stomach twisted. Without a connection to the real world, he knew the discomfort was purely mental. The actual wounds to his stomach didn't exist. Not at the moment.

Mother gestured to the coffins. "Should've been you." She stepped off the stool and crunched glass beneath her bare feet. "Coward of a son."

Father turned sluggishly, looked for more liquor, then gave up and faced Vondaire again. "Real heroes die in dungeons," he mumbled.

Vondaire moved his gaze over each of his siblings. All had died in the dungeons. What he was seeing now was likely the real cause of their deaths, though it would never be confirmed. Bodies weren't often retrieved from those that fell inside a tower. He had never seen his siblings after their deaths, and neither had his parents.

Perhaps, just maybe, if they weren't all absolutely horrible, contemptible people, Vondaire would feel . . . something.

He sighed and passed between two coffins. Things were never really that simple. He looked back at his eldest sister. Even in death, she hadn't found peace. And how could she when a beast like the creatures before him still existed?

"Whether you like it or not, I'm still here," Vondaire said, sticking his arms out. "I intend to stick around for a long, long time."

Father stumbled off the stool. "What are you doing here?"

Vondaire crossed his arms and waited for the real question.

"Why are you still alive?"

Vondaire finally noticed he was wearing his jacket. He uncrossed his arms and turned his gloved hands over in front of his face. "Ah." A quick tug of the sleeves, an adjustment of the cuffs, and he was looking as pristine as ever. "To spite you, I suppose." He walked forward and stopped just in front of his drunk mother.

She jabbed a finger against his chest. "Loser."

"This is where you misunderstand me, Phoenix." Vondaire yawned as his mother continued poking his chest as she said insult after insult. He had heard it all before. "They cannot harm me in here or out there."

Phoenix, in its humanoid form, appeared in the doorway. Its glittering, burning feathers illuminated the home. "This is them now," Phoenix said. "What about before?"

Vondaire shrunk as his parents loomed. Their red, drunk eyes seemed to glow like a monster as his father's fist raised in the air.

"Coward!" his mother screamed.

His father's fist came down and—

Vondaire appeared beside the Phoenix. "Our past can hold many of us back." He bowed, just slightly. "I am not one of those people. I needed their support when I was younger. I yearned for it. And once I took money from the Unity Force and joined their Special Division, I never looked back. They get a monthly allowance to keep to themselves until they hopefully drink their way to their own graves. Life, death, it doesn't matter. They've earned none of it."

His father had transformed into a monstrous form of himself, like something from Vondaire's childhood nightmares. He charged, leaping over the coffins, and swung a fist.

Vondaire leaned aside, grabbed his father's face, and smashed the drunkard into the floor. A single stomp of his shoe was more than enough.

"I knew you were worthless!" His mother ran at him.

Vondaire lifted a hand. "So, what do you say? Why don't we finish this properly? I won't be giving up so easily." He cast Spectral Ray, sending a beam of apparition magic through his mother's skull. She collapsed on the coffin of her favorite child.

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"Fascinating," Phoenix said. The Omen opened the door and gestured to the forest beyond. It didn't look quite right for the Izylian forest Vondaire knew. It was like stepping outside a boundary wall in a dungeon.

Vondaire walked through some underbrush, pushing aside ferns and branches, then turned to face the Phoenix. The Omen hadn't walked far outside the door, choosing to stand patiently.

"How does this work?" Vondaire asked.

"I wouldn't know."

"I'm the first?"

"You will not be the first hero I've killed." The Phoenix's feathers shone brilliant shades of yellow and orange.

Vonadire was certain he wasn't the first hero to attempt fusion with the Omen, but he was perhaps the first that would succeed. The Phoenix might not know how fusion fully worked only because he was used to winning so quickly.

"If we're simply battling again, then I am sure we already know the results," Vondaire said.

Phoenix nodded and walked closer. Plants shriveled from the heat before some dry leaves and sticks fully ignited. The fire spread quickly as Phoenix walked closer, soon leaping to the trees and onto the house.

The Omen stopped just before Vondaire and held a hand out. "Let us keep it simple. Will against will. I have seen your prowess. I have seen your past. Show me the strength of your willpower."

Vondaire pulled his glove off and took the Phoenix's hand. Its heat was enough to singe Vondaire's skin, and if it was his real flesh, he would expect it to blister, bubble, and peel away. He gave a firm squeeze and looked into the bird's fiery eyes.

Many unexpected things had appeared throughout Vondaire's life after leaving home. The Special Division, Kuri, Chorsay and the Nimble Hogs. Each one a step. A friend. A support.

He was well aware of the effect he had on people. Of the disdain he could cause. Ernie's punch was a good reminder of the unsavory things he had learned in his youth.

Becoming a better person was like climbing a ladder full of grease and spikes, but it was still climbing a ladder. One rung. One step. One improvement.

Being the most famous hero in all of Verdantallis was a single step, a rung, toward the real goal. Images of Owin, Kuri, and Chorsay appeared in his mind. There were people he could help. People who depended on him. People who expected greatness.

Not people who wished him dead. Not people who hoped he had died instead of a sibling.

Vondaire had climbed through it all, and nothing would stop him.

He squeezed and pulled toward himself. The Phoenix, helpless, fell into Vondaire and vanished inside his body.

Bright lights were blinding, forcing Vondaire to squeeze his eyes shut until he felt himself on the cold stone floor of the palace. A moment of rest was never a bad idea, so he stayed on the ground, eyes still closed, under a burst of thunder flashed, strong enough to shake the entire floating island.

Vondaire sat up and looked at the Storm King, still outside. The dragon seemed satisfied and flew above. It landed heavily in the courtyard where it would wait for Vondaire's arrival.

His reflection, as faint as it was in the window, was odd. His clothes were dirty and torn, his shoes and gloves were gone, and his jacket had been sacrificed for a Power 6. To top it all, he had a damn bird head.

***

Owin watched the other goblins dig. They were a disorganized mess, throwing bits of sand, dirt, and rocks over their shoulders no matter which direction they were facing. Without being on an isolated floor that reset with each new hero, they likely would never make any progress at all. Rocks and grains of sand bounced off Owin's chitin helmet without any damage.

"Digging for undead treasure," the Darkblade said.

There was only a rickety ladder made from old, warped shovel handles to get in and out of the steep sides in the channel. Some rocks, weathered bricks, and random unidentifiable things protruded from the sides of the pit.

"What is an undead treasure?" Shade asked. He had already paced back and forth across the channel, and was apparently not happy with what he saw.

"Bones and stuff."

Owin nodded. That did make sense, but a bone was far from what he'd call a treasure. Unless they were Withered Shade bones. Somewhere, there would be an entrance to a boss room with the artifact.

"What's in here?" Butcher jammed his cleaver into a small gap between bigger rocks. He pried, ignoring the cracking of the stone and the screaming of the nearby goblins, until the cleaver snapped a section of rock fell away.

"Why don't we befriend mobs more often?" Shade asked. "If they can just find the secrets for us, what's the point in looking ourselves?"

"Is it a secret?" Owin asked as he stepped into the opening Butcher created and gestured up. A stream of black smoke rose through the center of the narrow, chimney-like chamber until it vented out the top where the grate had previously been. "We already knew it was over here."

"I stand by my statement." Shade slapped his hand on Butcher's shoulder. "Well done, my hobbest goblin."

Butcher shied away, then grinned and tried to look tough. "Finding the necromancer?"

"Something like that." Owin walked into the tall, narrow chamber. It was natural stone on all sides, only opening at the top where Owin had torn the grate free, and a tiny hole in the bottom where the smoke billowed from.

"Dig deeper?" the Darkblade asked. It pulled the shovel out of a different goblin's hands and marched over, pushing past the hobgoblin and nearly right into the smoke.

Owin caught his shoulder and held out his hand. The Darkblade reluctantly handed it over. Owin carefully approached, jammed the shovel into the stone, and pried a section up. The necromantic smoke burst from the new opening, pushing close to Owin, before fading back to its original stream.

He got onto his knees and crawled forward. The Darkblade and Butcher crawled up on each side, also peering over. Underneath was a sarcophagus with markings that Owin recognized.

"There's a scaltari in there," he said.

"A what in where?" Butcher asked.

"A lizard." Owin handed the shovel to Butcher. "Should be an undead one." It took a moment to position himself, then Owin jumped, avoiding the smoke, and landed in the single room. "Stay back. I don't know what kind of undead it will be."

"You said lizard," the Darkblade shouted. It wasn't far enough to need to shout.

"Lizard isn't a type," Shade said. He tripped over the Darkblade and tumbled into the plume of smoke. He bounced off the stone sarcophagus and landed on the spout that was the source of the black necromantic smoke.

"Good landing," Owin said.

Shade sat up. "I've had worse. What's in there?"

"I don't know yet. It looks the same as one in the Great Forest." Owin crawled on top of the sarcophagus, formed his metal hand into a fist, and punched with all his might. The stone shattered and fell in, revealing a desiccated scaltari. "See?"

The undead lizard snapped up and grabbed Owin by the neck. "Life," it hissed, breath whooshing through its long skeletal snout.

A shield formed around Owin just as a little luminous fireball hit the scaltari in the face. The lizard staggered, letting go of Owin, and thrust out its desiccated hand. Some withered, crusting flesh still connected its fingers together. Gray smoke poured off, washing over Shade, who just stayed still.

"It tickles," he said.

"It's a lich," Owin said as he jumped and ignited the Incandescent Blade.

The scaltari's head snapped toward Owin. It reached a hand up, readying a mind control spell, but the Darkblade fell right on top of it, smashing it back into the sarcophagus. Before the lich could recover, Butcher also fell from above and crashed into the stone container.

Shade climbed up, stood on the lip of the container, and jumped high into the air. "Watch out!" The skeleton cast Ironclad Stance and became significantly heavier while in the air.

Butcher and the Darkblade scurried out of the way as the skeleton fell and landed upon the scaltari lich. Bones erupted out of the sarcophagus, and Shade sat up, holding his decapitated head.

"How'd I do?"

The scaltari lich immediately reformed nearby.

"Flare Burst," Shade said, sending a luminous fireball at the creature. The blow immediately threw it off, sending mist cascading toward nothing. "What's this?" Shade asked as he climbed out of the sarcophagus and fell to the chamber floor. "Undead Demise." Luminous light shone brightly off the skeleton, causing Owin, the Darkblade, and Butcher to cover their eyes.

The scaltari lich wailed and crumbled to ash as Shade marched closer. The stream of black smoke ended as soon as the lich died.

"Skeleton is a mender?" Butcher asked.

"He's a lot of things." Owin, still covering his eyes, moved his foot through the ash pile. Shade pulled a wand and some coins out and dropped them in the bag, which happily accepted the items.

"A chest," the Darkblade said, pointing to the corner.

Owin left Shade to the ash pile as the skeleton dimmed to his normal dark gray self. The Darkblade waited until Owin neared before lifting the lid of the chest. Owin pressed his hands against the lip and leaned over with his breath held.

A single black gem and a dark gray bone lay inside. Owin grinned and grabbed both. He dropped the void gem into his bag and tossed the bone to Shade. The skeleton yelped, caught the bone, and poofed into dust.

"Uh," Butcher poked the dust. "Is he dead?"

"Not anymore than usual." Owin checked the rest of the chamber and didn't find anything other than carved, decorated stone. There was no real way to get back out without jumping or flying. No secret passages or stairs.

"What if I throw you?" Owin asked.

The Darkblade took a step back.

"No, it'll be fun." Owin held out his hands. "Trust me."

"What do I have to lose?" Butcher asked. He walked up and let Owin launch him out of the chamber. When the hobgoblin leaned over the ledge to confirm his survival, the Darkblade let himself be thrown. Owin gave them a moment to clear the area, then jumped out.

He landed to the cheers and celebrations of goblins and hobgoblins. They weren't sure what he did, but they were very excited about it all. With a shout from a hobgoblin commander, the digging crews stopped their work. Goblins streamed out of the pit, most choosing to climb up the random bits sticking out the side of the stone rather than trying the rickety ladder.

Owin let the joyous celebrations go on for a moment before the thought of Chorsay waiting on the third floor. He slipped away as the hobgoblins led the goblin horde toward the tents.

Summon the Withered Shade

Shade poofed into existence and watched the colorful mobs run away, shouting and jostling, and celebrating. "How'd it feel?"

"How did what feel?" Owin walked around the hole he had created and led Shade past the boundary wall toward the last building he had yet to explore.

"Being around your people. I know you have seen some other goblins, but have you actually spent time with any?"

"Not really." Owin looked over his shoulder. All the mobs had made their way into the tent. "It was interesting, but I don't really feel like a goblin. You and Myrsvai and Suta are my people now."

Shade nodded. "That's true. You're a skeleton."

"That's not what I meant." Owin walked into the last building without hesitation. A hobgoblin sat on a throne near the back of the room with a few goblin servants walking about with cuts of meat and overflowing mugs.

"Who?" the hobgoblin asked.

The room was a wide open space with only a few support columns keeping the crumbling ceiling from collapsing. Behind the throne, the stairs visibly climbed to the third floor with the exit nearby.

Shade caught one of the goblins and dragged him along as they neared the hobgoblin. "Do you like him?" Shade asked, pointing at the snarling mob.

"No."

Owin stopped. "Are you in charge?"

"Obviously," the hobgoblin said, gesturing to the room. "You're in my castle."

"This isn't a castle." Owin watched the goblin who squirmed under Shade's grip.

Shade, noticing the goblin's discomfort, let go and bowed to the hobgoblin. "Mighty ruler, how gracious am I to be in your presence."

"Huh?" The hobgoblin stood. "You making fun of me?"

Owin sprinted across the room and punched the hobgoblin directly in the chest with his metal fist. The mob smashed back into the throne. Stone exploded into the room, bouncing off every surface.

Owin brushed the dust from his fist and waved Shade over.

"You're all free," Shade said with his arms spread wide. "Enjoy the freedom!"

The goblins stood around, dumbfounded.

"Congratulations!" Shade shouted as he followed Owin up the stairs.

Owin smiled as he stepped into the void nexus.

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