Power is True Beauty

West Gate. Makeb.

The heavy iron gates groaned as they opened, the sound scraping across the cold air like a premonition. Captain Abagai tightened the reins of her giant boar, its tusks gleaming faintly in the half-light of the breaking dawn. Her warriors moved with precision around her, securing their gear and double-checking their supplies, their boars snorting restlessly as if they, too, could feel the weight of the moment.

"Are all supplies in order?" Abagai asked, her voice steady but sharp, the wind tugging at her cloak. Her eyes scanned the surroundings, the city of Makeb still cloaked in darkness as the first hints of light filtered over the distant horizon.

Yekal, her squire, stepped forward, his eyes narrow with focus. "Aye, Captain. Everything’s accounted for. The rest of the Zuun’s holding position by the Garuda River, where we found the princess and her caravan. We're ready to move as soon as we—"

The boar beneath Abagai suddenly stiffened, its massive head snapping toward the darkness beyond the city walls. Abagai's ears twitched, a sharp twinge of unease crawling up her spine. Something was off. Her grip tightened on the reins, the familiar leather now feeling like an anchor in the midst of the unknown.

A faint noise reached her—so quiet it almost seemed like the wind itself. But it wasn’t the wind. It was the unmistakable sound of a muffled groan, like someone struggling, forced to move against their will.

Her warriors froze, each one of them suddenly alert, ears swiveling, eyes narrowing. The hairs on the back of Abagai’s neck stood on end, and her pulse quickened, her instincts kicking in.

"Do you hear that?" she murmured, her voice low, just above a whisper.

Yekal’s expression hardened as he shifted his weight to the balls of his feet. "Aye, Captain. Something’s not right."

Another groan echoed, a faint scrape of metal on stone, followed by a soft shuffle—like someone dragging themselves unwillingly across the earth. The sound grew louder, unmistakable now, as if a struggle was unfolding just beyond their reach, concealed in the heavy shadows that clung to the city’s edge.

Abagai’s boar shifted uneasily under her, its hooves scraping against the cobblestone as the iron gates of Makeb began to close with a groan. Despite the rising tension in the air, the gate guards were in no mood for hesitation.

"You’re already past your allotted time, Captain," one of the guards called out, his voice edged with impatience as he waved toward the open road beyond the gate. "Captain Tilun’s orders were clear—get moving, now."

Abagai’s eyes narrowed, her steely gaze shifting between the two guards who stood at attention, their eyes locked on the city beyond. They seemed oblivious, even dismissive, of the unnerving noises that had reached her ears just moments before. She could hear the distant groans again, the faint sound of a struggle—metal scraping against stone, heavy breathing, and the muffled drag of something heavy across the ground.

“Did you not hear that?” Abagai asked, her voice low but firm, her sharp ears twitching. She turned slightly in her saddle, trying to catch the sound again, but it seemed to fade as quickly as it had come. “The sounds by the wall. Someone’s in trouble.”

The guard gave her a flat look, his expression unreadable. “Not our problem, Captain. We have our orders.”

Abagai frowned, the disquiet creeping up her spine. She was used to the cold bureaucracy of the city, but something about this felt off. A hard edge lingered in his tone as if he were actively avoiding acknowledging the situation.

“Not your business,” the other guard muttered dismissively, turning his back to her and tapping his spear against the stone with an impatient rhythm. “The Captain of the Khan's Chosen wants you out. No delays.”

Abagai looked over at Yekal, who was sitting tall on his own boar, his brow furrowed in thought. She wasn’t sure if it was concern for the sounds she’d heard or the same creeping suspicion she felt gnawing at the pit of her stomach, but his gaze was distant, studying the darkness at the city’s edge with a sharp wariness.

“Yekal,” she called out, her voice steady but tinged with frustration. “What’s in that direction? Near the wall?”

Yekal’s eyes flicked in the direction she pointed, where the shadows deepened and the uneasy sounds still lingered in the air. He shifted slightly in his saddle, his boar’s snout twitching as it sniffed at the air, and for a moment, his gaze flickered back toward the city gates, then to the gate guards, before answering.

“The city’s entrance to the sewers should be there if we hug the wall,” he replied, his voice low but clear, as if weighed down by the realization that what they were hearing might indeed be more than just an innocent disturbance.

"The sewers...eh?"

Abagai clenched her jaw, eyes flicking back to the guards. She knew there was more going on in that direction than they were willing to admit. 

"Captain...?" Yekal asked, "What shoud we do?"

"Tilun’s orders are clear," she said calmly. "It is time to leave for now. I do not want to cause more trouble by defying him."

Yekal gave a slight nod, sensing her unease, and the rest of her warriors began to fall into formation, the giant boars shifting in preparation to move out. The guards didn’t seem to care either way; they were focused on their duty, indifferent to whatever might be lurking in the dark beyond the gate.

As the last of the warriors passed through the gate, Abagai’s eyes lingered one final time on the distant shadows by the wall. Her mind then jumped to Tilun. Those guards sure behaved in the same drunken way as their capt—

"The sewers?"

"My lady?" Yekal asked once more.

"Captain Tilun mentioned something about General Akrumei being obsessed with the sewers..."

Without warning, Captain Abagai rode towards the eerie sounds, into the darkness.

"Let's go men!" Yekal ordered, pressed to follow his leader.

The guards were left astonished as the boar riders galloped next to the wall instead of following the road, their path dimly lit by the torches they carried. Finally, Abagai stopped, and so did her warriors.

Abagai's eyes narrowed, and she gestured to her men. "Form up. Keep your eyes sharp."

The boars, sensing their rider’s tension, pawed at the ground nervously, their nostrils flaring as they too caught the scent of something unnatural in the air. The quiet was shattered by a low, strained cry, a voice that cracked with pain and desperation. Abagai’s steely gaze locked on the source of the sound, but the darkness refused to give up its secrets.

"Who’s there?" Yekal called into the murk, his voice cutting through the tension like a blade. No answer came, only the continued rustle of movement. It was as if something—or someone—was being dragged toward them, forced to move in a way that left its struggle raw and exposed.

Abagai’s fingers tightened around the hilt of her blade. Her warriors tensed their bows with arrows. 

"Prepare yourselves," she commanded, her voice unwavering though the uncertainty gnawed at the edges of her resolve. "Who's there?"

Her warriors readied their weapons in silence, their breath mingling with the sharp scent of the wind. The darkness ahead was thick, but Abagai could feel it. The quiet, uneasy tension in the air… and the unmistakable presence of something—someone—who wasn’t supposed to be here.

With a single command, the group slowly edged forward, their boars snorting in agitation, their hooves clattering against the stone ground. Each step felt heavier than the last, as if the very earth itself was trying to hold them back from what lay ahead.

Abagai's ears twitched as the sound of a voice called out from the shadows, a figure emerging from the gloom with his hands raised in a calming gesture.

“Hold! Hold, riders!” the figure called, his tone low but forceful. He was clad in the distinctive armor of the Khan's Chosen, his face partially obscured by the hood of his cloak. "We’re only transporting a prisoner to the dungeons of the old city. No need for alarm."

Abagai’s eyes narrowed in disbelief, her mind racing as her fingers instinctively gripped the reins. "There are no dungeons in the old city," she replied sharply, her voice edged with skepticism. "Not ones that serve any purpose for the Khan’s people."

The warrior paused, looking between the riders and the shadows, his brow furrowing. "It’s… an older facility, far beneath the city. The Khan has sanctioned it for special cases—"

Before he could finish, a loud crash echoed through the air, followed by a deafening grunt. The earth seemed to shake beneath them as a reddish blur launched itself from the shadows, tackling the Khan’s Chosen warrior and sending him sprawling across the ground in a tangle of limbs and dust.

The torchlight flickered as the figure’s identity became clearer. Abagai's breath caught in her throat as she recognized the man being dragged across the ground—Captain Tilun.

Her mind spun, her stomach tightening in disbelief. Tilun, a decorated captain, once among the Khan's most trusted leaders, was now shackled in chains, being dragged like a common prisoner.

"What is this?" Abagai’s voice cut through the night like a whip, her grip on her spear tightening. "Why is Captain Tilun being dragged in chains like this? What has happened?"

The Khan’s Chosen warrior, still struggling to regain his bearings, pushed himself to his knees, his hands raised again, though this time with a hint of desperation. "He’s been accused of treason," the warrior explained, his voice strained. "Disobeying direct orders from General Akrumei. We are taking him to the old city while he waits for proper judgement."

Abagai’s eyes flashed with fury. “Judgement?” she demanded, taking a step closer to the prisoner. "What for? He’s a decorated captain and your commanding officer. What treason could amount for this treatment?"

But the warriors merely shook their heads, unfazed. “Orders are orders. The General has spoken, and his voice is the Khan's voice during these times of crisis. You must return to the city, Captain Abagai. The General will explain everything in private.”

Abagai’s gaze flickered toward Tilun, whose eyes, wide with panic, met hers. He shook his head violently, his lips barely moving as he mouthed one word: Don’t.

The moment was interrupted by the thud of another blow, the warrior from the Khan’s Chosen striking Tilun across the face to silence him. It was enough to ignite the flames of Abagai’s temper. Her jaw clenched, the full weight of her command settling over her. This wasn’t right. Tilun was a scumbag in her eyes, but he was no traitor.

A brief silence fell over them, the crackling torches and murmurs of the guards adding an eerie tension to the moment. Abagai’s mind raced—there was only one way to protect Tilun, and it was a dangerous one. She turned to Yekal, her voice low but resolute.

"Archers!" she barked. "Fire!"

A volley of arrows launched from from the riders, whistling through the air with deadly precision. Several of the Khan’s Chosen goblins holding Tilun were struck down, their bodies collapsing in a heap. The surviving goblins scrambled for cover, shouting in alarm.

“Under attack!” one of them screamed toward the city wall, his voice carrying across the night, "We're under attack!"

The first wave of chaos had begun. Arrows flew, clanging against metal shields and splintering against stone walls as the skirmish broke out around the gate.

“Cover me!” Abagai shouted, her voice cutting through the din. Without hesitation, she surged forward, her hand reaching out to grab Tilun’s arm. She hauled him roughly to the back of her own boar, the heavy weight of the chains dragging at him as he was pulled into position.

"We’re retreating!" she ordered, her eyes scanning the darkened road beyond the gate. "Into the shadows, now!"

Her warriors followed her command without question, their boars charging forward in a blur of movement. As they disappeared into the night, arrows rained down from above, striking the ground with a chilling thud, but not enough to slow them. Abagai’s eyes burned with determination as she led her group through the darkness, barely visible against the deep shadows that clung to the city’s outskirts.

They moved quickly, silent as phantoms, the morning light still hidden beneath the distant horizon. The sound of arrows and chaos grew fainter as they ventured deeper into the wilderness, leaving the city behind them—at least for now.

And in that moment, as the tension ebbed slightly, Abagai’s heart thundered in her chest.

As they rode through the darkened outskirts, the distant sounds of alarm bells still echoed from the city behind them. The thundering of hooves and the rhythmic snorts of their boars filled the silence, but the tension remained thick between them.

With a frustrated growl, Tilun reached up and yanked the cloth from his mouth, spitting onto the ground. His voice was hoarse but laced with fury.

"Idiot!" he barked at Abagai. "When I told you to leave, you should have left! You had the perfect chance to get out of there without raising suspicion!"

Abagai barely spared him a glance, her eyes locked on the dark horizon ahead. "Shut up, Tilun," she snapped, pulling the reins of her boar to steady its pace. "You're lucky to be breathing right now. If I’d left you behind, you'd be rotting in a ditch before dawn."

Tilun gritted his teeth but fell silent for a moment, his breathing still heavy from the escape. His hands, still bound in iron shackles, clenched as he gathered his thoughts. Finally, he exhaled sharply and muttered, "Worse... I would not be myself... It's Akrumei."

Abagai's ear twitched. "What?"

"Akrumei is behind all of this," Tilun said, his voice low but urgent. "The chaos in Makeb, the unrest in the Khenet lands—he's been orchestrating it from the start... somehow... I don't know how he's doing it, turning my men against me and kidnapping people from the city... He’s using the Khan’s absence as a cover to do something big in the city."

"The Khan's absence? Khenet Khan was about to receive his tributaries in a few days, why is he not at Makeb to tie Akrumei on a leash?"

"It's the general, I tell you! This whole situation is so out of hand that Khenet Khan himself rallied his warriors leaving me and a few others behind to deal with the threat himself—all to bring security to his empire."

Abagai’s jaw tightened. She had her suspicions about the general, but this—this was worse than she had imagined. "If that's true, then we need to—"

"We need to warn the Khan," Tilun interrupted, shifting on the back of the boar. He turned his head toward her, his eyes dark with urgency. "If we don’t, by the time he returns, Makeb might not be his to rule anymore."

A chill ran down Abagai’s spine. She locked eyes with Yekal for a moment, who gave her a single, firm nod.

Then she clicked her tongue, tightening her grip on the reins. "Ride hard," she commanded. "We reach the Khan before Akrumei makes his next move."

Abagai turned to Tilun, "Where to?"

"North," Tilun replied, pointing the general location, "Last reports say he was rallying the orc warbands in the border with the tundra."

"Ah, it'll be good for you to feel at home then!" Abagai scoffed.

Tilun rolled his eyes and hissed.

Without another word, the riders spurred their mounts forward, vanishing into the night. The sky to the east was beginning to lighten, streaks of deep orange bleeding into the black. As they rode, the first slivers of sunlight crept over the horizon, casting their shadows long against the earth.

********

A dull ache pulsed in Mesui’s skull as she stirred, her senses sluggish from whatever had knocked her out. The air was damp, thick with the scent of mold and stagnant water. Faint torchlight flickered against weathered stone walls, casting long shadows that twisted across the cavernous chamber.

Groaning, she blinked her heavy eyelids open. Her body was stiff, but as her vision adjusted, she found herself lying on the cold ground, her hands shackled in rusted iron.

A sharp rattling sound broke through the fog in her mind.

Narwa.

The stoat girl snarled, her arms straining against thick chains, her feral strength evident in the tension of her muscles. Yet the captors had planned for that—multiple locks and reinforced bindings kept her pinned, her breath ragged with fury.

Nearby, a whimper caught Mesui’s ear. Her heart clenched as she turned her head.

The cubs.

The three spirit-bound rodents were tethered by thick ropes around their necks, bound to a crumbling section of wall. Their eyes flickered with a dim green glow, their bodies shivering with suppressed energy.

The realization sent a surge of anger through her veins.

Then, she heard the voice.

Akrumei.

He stood at the far end of the room, half-illuminated by a cluster of torch-bearing guards. His words were low, commanding, but they blurred together—unintelligible to Mesui’s ringing ears. He gestured sharply, issuing orders to his warriors, who responded with sharp nods.

The ruins around them were vast, stretching into shadowed corridors and archways lined with ancient carvings. The stone was rough, worn by time and water, its surfaces etched with sigils and reliefs of long-forgotten denizens: Ogres.

The truth settled over her like a weight.

This was no ruined goblin city.

This was something far older, buried beneath Makeb’s foundations, hidden beneath layers of limestone and the remnants of the Great Flood. And the Khenet clan, in all their conquests, had built their empire above the ruins, never knowing what lay beneath.

Until now.

Akrumei’s voice lowered to a murmur as he finished speaking with his warriors. His golden eyes flickered in the dim torchlight, cold and calculating as he turned toward his prisoners. He studied them in silence, his expression betraying neither satisfaction nor disdain—only quiet curiosity.

“You’re awake,” he mused, slowly stepping forward. His dark cloak swept behind him, the sigil of the Khanate barely visible beneath the dust and grime. “And still untouched by the Eye’s blessing, I see.”

Mesui’s body tensed. She glanced at Narwa, who only growled in frustration, the locks and chains refusing to yield to her strength.

Akrumei tilted his head, his gaze sharpening. “Curious,” he murmured. “Most who fall under its gaze succumb within moments. Yet here you both stand, unyielding. I suppose it makes sense… You already bear the patronage of other gods.”

Mesui met his gaze, her voice steady. “If you realize that, then you must know we will never serve Cycloth.”

“Serve?” Akrumei chuckled, shaking his head. “Oh no, little princess. You are not meant to serve. You are to be offered, as we all are at some point, to fulfill my master's vision.”

Mesui clenched her fists. “You—!”

Akrumei ignored her anger and walked further into the chamber, his voice shifting to something almost reverent.

“You misunderstand Lord Cycloth, as so many do,” he continued. “You see a monster, a terror in the skies. But I have seen beyond that. Cycloth came to me in dreams and visions, long before his arrival. He showed me the truth of the world, of the cosmos beyond. He does not seek destruction. He seeks to remake everything in his image—to bring forth his grand design, his one true beautiful vision.”

Mesui’s stomach turned. “Everywhere he touches, he warps all life! He turns people into madmen and beasts into abominations, hollow shells of what they once were.”

Akrumei waved a dismissive hand. “Power is true beauty. What you call madness is merely transformation. Those who cannot wield Cycloth’s gifts properly are simply humbled by the weight of his might.”

His gaze darkened, his voice lowering as he took another step toward them. “But you, Princess… you will not need to understand yet. Soon, you will be part of something far greater than yourself.”

Mesui's eyes burned with fury as she pulled against her restraints, the iron biting into her wrists. “You were the Khan’s greatest general,” she spat. “The most feared warrior of the steppes. The legend who broke the ogre walls and shattered the northern orc warbands. And now you throw it all away—to grovel at the feet of some sky-born abomination?”

Akrumei sighed, almost as if he were weary of the conversation. He stepped closer, his posture relaxed yet imposing, like a man utterly assured of his place in the world. 

With a furious snarl, Narwa wrenched against her shackles, her muscles coiling like a spring before she lunged at Akrumei with all the raw strength in her body. But the general barely shifted—his fist lashed out like a striking serpent, slamming into her mask with bone-cracking force. A sharp fissure split across the ceramic surface, and a dark trickle of blood seeped from beneath it. Narwa staggered back, her breath ragged, yet her icy-blue eyes still burned with undying defiance.

Akrumei shook his hand. Mesui noticed dark smoke fading into thin air as he did. “You speak of my past as though it holds meaning,” he said. “Yes, I was the mightiest of the Khan’s warriors. I bled for the Khenet. I won his wars. And yet, for all my triumphs, I remained just a servant, shackled by birthright and tradition.”

With a furious snarl, Narwa wrenched against her shackles, her muscles coiling like a spring before she lunged at Akrumei with all the raw strength in her body. But the general barely shifted—his fist lashed out like a striking serpent, slamming into her mask with bone-cracking force. A sharp fissure split across the ceramic surface, and a dark trickle of blood seeped from beneath it. Narwa staggered back, her breath ragged, yet her icy-blue eyes still burned with undying defiance.

He scoffed, his lip curling in disdain. “Lineages, dynasties—they are chains for lesser beings. Blood alone does not grant worth. But that is what the Khanate clings to, isn't it? The rule of those who inherit power rather than those who earn it.” His gaze grew distant as if he were speaking less to Mesui and more to himself. “It should have been me. I deserved the throne. I crushed the Khan’s enemies, shaped the world with my own hands, yet I was expected to kneel before weaklings simply because of the blood in their veins.”

His eyes gleamed with something feverish as he continued. “Cycloth does not see lineage. He does not grant favor based on birth. He sees only strength. He will unmake the old world, the broken one we live in, and forge it anew in his image. And when that moment arrives, all will see the truth of my vision. They will finally understand.”

Mesui let out a sharp, bitter laugh. “You really think everyone in Makeb will just bow down to Cycloth? That they’ll see your so-called ‘truth’?” She glared at him. “Not everyone will follow him.”

Akrumei’s smirk was cold. “Then they will be regrettably destroyed.” His voice held no hesitation, no remorse. “The weak have no place in the world to come.”

Mesui’s breath caught in her throat, but she forced herself to hold her glare. Narwa’s chains rattled as she tensed, her muscles flexing with the barely contained urge to lunge at him.

Akrumei gave them one last glance before turning away. “It is a mercy, truly,” he murmured. “To be erased by Cycloth’s will is a far better fate than living in defiance of it.”

Narwa snarled, baring her teeth as blood dripped from her lips. "You don’t get it, do you? Stinky is not like the rest of you. You have not seen him when he’s pushed, when he's got something to fight for! He will not stop! He will not break! He’ll tear through you, through all of this like a forest fire consuming endless trees!" Her body trembled with rage, muscles tensed against her chains, the flickering torchlight reflecting off the cracks in her mask.

Akrumei’s smile deepened, a glint of amusement in his eyes as he shook his head. "Ah, the human slave dressed in red," he mused, his voice almost indulgent. I have always been one to seize talent wherever I find it… and he—well, he will prove his worth soon enough. He tilted his head as if already looking beyond them. "One way or another."

The word 'talent' made Mesui's eyes widen. "Samina..."

"I told you when we met, princess, I have a keen eye for talent and strategy..."

********

The damp air of the mushroom forest faded behind them as Arsec and Ronai stepped into the clearing before the ruins. Before them, the entrance to the old city loomed—a towering umbral gate flanked by two massive rhino statues, their stone hides weathered by time yet still imposing. Cracks and creeping moss marred their once-proud forms, but their presence remained defiant, guardians of a forgotten past.

Ronai slowed his pace, his gaze lingering on the statues with a furrowed brow. In one hand, he held a sturdy branch, its tip burning with a bright flame—Arsec’s red fire, conjured and gifted to light their way through the choking dark. The flickering glow cast long, wavering shadows over the statues, making them seem almost alive. 

"Ronai?" Arsec asked, aiming the torch toward his ogre friend.

"My people built this," he murmured, half to himself. "Lived here... ruled here... and then abandoned it, like dust swept away by the wind." His fingers brushed against the deep etchings on one of the statues, tracing the faded script of his ancestors. "How could we leave all of this behind?" His voice carried a rare note of uncertainty, a man glimpsing the weight of history and finding himself adrift within it.

"It was a long time ago... right?"

"Right."

"Come, they must be near."

Arsec took a step forward, but a crackling energy forced him back, the static humming through his bones. 

"Arsec!" 

The young human shuddered and knelt before the electric surge, but he shook his head after a few moments as he lit up the torch again and aimed it toward several places, looking for his attacker.

Before him, Samina hovered with eerie grace from the umbral's top to the top of the steps. Her once-vibrant golden complexion was now ashen, her violet eyes clouded with unnatural light. The sight hollowed his chest.

"Lady Samina! Seize your attacks! It's us!" Ronai shouted.

Arsec realized and let his guard down in regret, his eyes opening before Samina's new state.

"No..." The word escaped him, raw and heavy.

Samina tilted her head at him, an almost pitying smile forming beneath her veil. "So-sha-nim," she greeted, her voice carrying a lilting amusement. "I had hoped you would arrive." 

"What is going on?" Ronai asked, "She seems... off..."

"She's way off, keep your distance," Arsec said.

"Surrender now, and this will all be much easier."

Ronai tensed beside him, his grip tightening around his now glowing blue weapon. "She’s turned?" he muttered, his sharp eyes tracing the blackened veins curling up her arms.

"Samina," Arsec called, a plea laced within his voice. "You are not in your right mind. This is not you."

At that, Samina let out a soft, breathy laugh. "Oh, but it is," she mused, spreading her arms. "I should never have resisted. I see that now. I was blind, So-sha-nim, blind to the path Cycloth laid before me." She lowered her head in mock reverence, her tone thick with regret. "I misunderstood the dreams, fought against the inevitable, against the call of something greater than myself. But now, I am free."

"You are shackled," Arsec countered, taking another cautious step forward. "Cycloth has played you—us—since the beginning. The dreams were a scam! You still have the chance to break away."

Samina’s eyes burned with fervor. "Scam? Break away? No, So-sha-nim, I have found what I was always searching for—a master worthy of my devotion. I thought it was you,—don't get me wrong. Your power is truly something—unrefined—but something. Lord Cycloth, however, is truly worthy of me. You see, he does not call to the weak. He calls to the strong. And we..." She placed a hand on her chest, her smile turning wistful. "We are strong."

Arsec’s eyes hardened, his jaw clenched as he faced the altered figure of Samina, her once vibrant form now a shell of gray skin and hollow eyes. “I’ve seen what Cycloth’s touch does to the world,” he said, voice steady but filled with anger. “Every place he lays claim to, every soul he twists—he doesn’t remake them. He warps them. His vision is nothing but corruption.” His fists tightened at his sides, fighting the anger rising within him. “I won’t stand by and watch as he turns more lives into nothing but empty shells!”

Samina’s lips curled into a faint, mocking smile. Her voice was cold, detached, as if speaking of a truth long accepted. “Perhaps it’s the world itself that is too polluted,” she said, the words sharp and resolute. “Cycloth’s vision may be shocking to you because it challenges everything you’ve ever known. But the world is sick, and only through his revelation can true beauty be realized. All will bow to his splendor in time. Your resistance to him is... still an enigma, but futile nonetheless, So-sha-nim.”

Arsec opened his mouth to argue, but Samina raised a hand, silencing him with a single motion. “I have no more interest in your words,” she continued, her tone commanding. “Surrender to me, or I will make you regret the choice.”

Ronai, ever brash, took a step forward, his voice daring. “And what happens if we refuse, Samina? Will you strike us down where we stand?”

Her eyes flashed with cold intent as she met Ronai’s challenge. “If you refuse,” she said, voice low and venomous, “I will offer you both to Cycloth as a gift. Your very essence will be consumed, and in return, I will rise to even greater power. It will be the last thing you ever do. So please, So-sha-nim, would you help me one more time?”

Arsec's heart sank, the weight of the situation pressing upon him, but he didn’t falter. Samina had already chosen her path.

Ronai scoffed, shaking his head. “If not for that pale skin, I’d just call her completely insane—seriously,” he said, then turned to Arsec with a firm nod. “Come on, Arsec, if she’s standing here like this, then that means the Princess and the stoat-girl are in real danger. We don’t have time to hesitate—we'll have to get past her!”

"Get past her?" Arsec asked. "She's a spellsword. They're supposed to be elite warriors, yes?"

"The greatest in the Mosasa Desert, beyond the great sea," Ronai confirmed, raising his enormous sword. "But... you've fought her before. You know her moves."

"She was testing me—and I still got stabbed! Horribly!" Arsec shot back.

"Well... You haven’t seen what a Paladin can do yet."

Arsec glanced at Ronai and immediately noticed the telltale signs—the tensed frame, the barely-contained energy. Not fear. Excitement.

He sighed. "You just want to try out that new power of yours, don’t you?"

Ronai didn’t even look back, his gaze locked onto Samina with fierce anticipation. "Tell me you weren’t like this when you got yours..."

Arsec smiled with a subsequent sigh escaping him. He then glanced back, glaring straight at them with no emotion. 

"I'm sorry, Samina." Arsec said.

"Well, you are bringing this upon yourselves," Samina replied coldly as she stretched her hands.

With a sharp exhale, He lunged first, thrusting his spear straight at Samina. In a blur, she twisted to the side, evading with inhuman grace. Before he could recover, she struck—a palm to his chest, charged with crackling energy. The force sent him hurtling backward, crashing into the ground with a grunt.

Ronai was already moving. He swung his massive sword in a wide arc, forcing Samina to step back as he pressed the attack. Unlike Arsec, Ronai’s movements were disciplined, deliberate—each strike measured, no excess motion. Samina’s golden eyes flickered with recognition as she adjusted, meeting his blade with deft parries and weaving around his blows in a deadly dance. For an instant, their duel became a blur of steel and motion, neither gaining the upper hand.

Then, with a sudden surge of electricity, Samina pushed off, flipping backward to gain distance. Before she touched the ground, a surge of magic flickered at her feet, suspending her just above the surface before she landed lightly.

Arsec was already back in the fray. He swept his lance in a wide arc, forcing her to jump again. This time, Ronai was waiting, closing the gap with relentless pressure. His style was a fusion of brute strength and precise execution, every movement calculated. In contrast, Arsec fought with raw instinct—fierce but untamed, lacking the refinement of training.

For a moment, Arsec’s heart surged with hope. They had her on the defensive. She was dodging, repositioning—surely that meant she was feeling the pressure.

But Ronai’s brow furrowed. “We haven’t landed a single real hit,” he muttered under his breath.

Samina smiled. “Good. At least one of you understands.” Her gaze landed on Ronai with something almost like approval. “A Paladin with awareness—your training hasn’t been wasted. That’s rare.”

Then she raised her hands. A jagged arc of lightning split the air, tearing toward them. Ronai braced, lifting his massive sword like a shield. The moment the electricity met the ice-forged blade, it crackled and dispersed, absorbed into the weapon’s enchanted surface.

Ronai’s eyes widened. He grinned. “It worked!”

Samina’s brow lifted with curiosity, but she didn’t stop. More arcs of lightning erupted from her hands, crackling toward them in relentless waves.

Arsec watched, gripping his spear tightly as Ronai and Samina clashed in a battle far beyond the raw brutality he had faced before. Voidmaw and his rodentmen had fought like ravenous beasts—biting, hacking, tearing. Their attacks had been wild, driven by primal instinct rather than skill, and Arsec had been able to match them, to outthink their feral aggression. But this—this was different. Ronai and Samina moved with a deadly grace—their strikes precise, their defenses calculated. Every motion was purposeful, every exchange a test of discipline and mastery. Arsec gritted his teeth as Ronai absorbed yet another wave of lightning, his newly transformed blade crackling with stored energy. But he was slowing. Every impact sent searing jolts dancing across his skin, leaving charred lines across his arms and face. He held firm, but Arsec could see it—Samina was wearing him down.

Ronai roared, straining against the relentless assault, his massive blade trembling under the sheer force of Samina’s lightning. Sparks danced across his skin, searing marks into his flesh, but he planted his feet and forced himself to hold. His strength alone wouldn’t last much longer.

Arsec inhaled sharply, his pulse pounding like war drums in his ears. Then, with a guttural cry, he surged forward, spear gripped tight, his body a blur of motion. Samina’s reaction was effortless, almost dismissive—she flicked her fingers, and arcs of lightning snapped toward him, crackling with lethal intent.

“So-sha-nim.”

The name barely left his lips before a torrent of flame erupted around Arsec. The lightning that should have struck him vanished into the inferno, swallowed whole by the sudden burst of power. Samina’s eyes narrowed behind her veil, a flicker of surprise breaking through her usual poise.

Then, Ronai moved. With a roar, he hurled himself forward, his titanic blade an unstoppable projectile. Samina leaped back, her feet skimming the air, but Arsec was already closing in beside Ronai, their combined assault tearing through the crumbling ruins.

The ancient city trembled as their pursuit crashed through walls and pillars, scattering debris in their wake. They stormed through hollowed-out buildings, their steps hammering against stonework untouched for centuries, until the chase spilled into on the verge of an open plaza. The ground here was paved, though fractured by time, with luminescent mushrooms clawing their way through the cracks, bathing the area in a ghostly glow.

Amid all the chaos, Arsec’s eyes locked onto a fleeting opening—Samina’s hands were fully occupied, one blocking the crushing weight of Ronai’s massive sword, the other parrying his secondary blade. The three of them moved in unison, leaping onto the rooftop of a crumbling building, the ancient stone trembling beneath their clash.

Instinct took over. Without hesitation, without thought, Arsec gritted his teeth and swung. His pitch-black spear carved through the air, its pole wreathed in a roaring crimson blaze. The strike came fast—too fast. Samina barely had time to react before the fiery blow connected squarely with her belly.

A sharp crack rang through the darkness.

The force of the impact sent her hurtling across the plaza like a meteor, her form attempting to absorb the hit through the air before she crashed into the distant rooftop, shattering stone beneath her. Dust and embers billowed in her wake as the battlefield fell into a momentary hush. 

During that fleeting moment, Arsec's and Ronai's eyes traced the carvings adorning the buildings and appreciated the old city—intricate figures locked in frozen myths and forgotten legends, whispers of a time long past.

Then, from across the way, the rubble stirred. The moment of awe was shattered as Samina twisted her hands through the air.

A blinding surge of electricity erupted, crackling in a perfect circle around the plaza, sealing them in. The air grew thick with raw power, humming with violent intent. Samina landed effortlessly on the far side, her fingers weaving intricate symbols into the air. The arcane energy pulsed at her command, forging a prison of pure lightning.

Then, she smiled—not in amusement, but in irritation.

"That flame of yours…" Her voice was edged with disdain, her violet eyes gleaming in the cavern's dim light. "I suppose offering your souls to Lord Cycloth is no longer an option. Most unfortunate."

She raised a hand, and high above, her indigo crystal hovered—so high that its eerie glow illuminated the vast rock ceiling of the ancient city. The crystal pulsed, humming ominously as it built up a massive charge.

"General Akrumei will have to content himself with your death."

The crystal's glow intensified, turning into a searing orb of unstable energy. Arsec and Ronai barely had time to react before the static in the air thickened, rooting them to the spot. Every breath stung, their muscles twitched with the electric charge creeping up their limbs.

"It's going to fire!" they shouted in unison.

They tried to move, but the energy locked onto them, tracing their every step, sapping their strength with every twitch. Ronai, battered and worn, could barely keep himself upright. Arsec's mind raced—there had to be a way out!

His fingers tightened around his spear, still wreathed in flickering red embers. A desperate thought surged through him.

"Please, let me hit… HER!"

With a burst of raw instinct, he hurled the spear. The projectile streaked through the air like a comet of molten fury.

Samina flinched, her body tensing—but then, she relaxed.

The spear veered off course. It wasn’t even close.

"That was terrible aim!" Ronai bellowed.

"I've never thrown a spear at long range!" Arsec shot back, desperate.

Samina's lips curled into a knowing smirk beneath her veil—

BOOM.

A detonation of fire roared behind her, the shockwave blasting her forward like a ragdoll. The cavern trembled, sending cracks through the old city's foundations. The crystal’s stored energy ruptured in an uncontrollable discharge, arcs of lightning lashing out wildly, reducing nearby buildings to rubble.

Ronai barely had time to brace as chunks of debris tumbled from the ceiling. "What in the blighted sands did you just do?"

"Shut up and attack!"

Samina groaned as she staggered to her feet, but before she could recover, Arsec was already upon her. He slammed into her like a battering ram, locking her arms down with an iron grip. Her wrists burned under his strength, her attempts to weave another spell rendered useless.

Samina struggled like a wild animal, thrashing, kicking—her knee struck Arsec’s side, but he didn’t even flinch. What was a little pain compared to the spear he'd taken through his gut?

"We got her!" Ronai exhaled, his body swaying with exhaustion.

Arsec gritted his teeth. "Then do something, or she’s going to fry us both!"

"Knock her out!"

"You knock her out!"

"What?! Why me?"

"I'm the one restraining her!"

Samina's eyes flickered with fury. "You will never defeat me! You cannot stop what is coming!"

"You've been beaten, you—"

REEEE!

A sickening black ooze seeped into her eyes, and suddenly, they pulsed with eerie, unnatural light—black and white lightning coiling within them.

Arsec barely had time to react before a violent beam erupted from her gaze, tearing through the cavern. The sheer intensity of it sent Ronai reeling. Somewhere, deep in Makeb, an unsuspecting house might’ve just gained a hole in its roof.

"Ronai! RONAI!" Arsec yelled as he twisted his body, narrowly avoiding the deathly glare.

Samina turned, her shifting eyes locking onto him, the swirling energy within growing unstable. "You will perish here, So-sha-nim!"

A thunderous crack echoed as Ronai gripped his sword’s hilt and swung. The flat of the blade crashed against Samina’s skull.

The beam died.

Her eyes flickered once—then shut.

The only light left was the faint shimmer of dissipating particles, swirling in eerie harmony with the glowing mushrooms of the ruined city.

Arsec exhaled sharply, his grip loosening as he let Samina’s unconscious body slump onto the cold stone. The eerie light from her fading power flickered across his face, but his gaze remained fixed on her, unreadable. Then, he snapped his head toward Ronai.

"You hit her too hard!" His voice was a harsh whisper, barely containing his frustration. "I heard her skull crack."

Ronai winced, rubbing the back of his neck. "I—I panicked, alright?" His voice was hoarse with exhaustion. "She was about to fry you to cinders. I had to do something."

Arsec clenched his fists, his breathing uneven. He knelt beside Samina, brushing his hand against her veiled face, only to recoil as thick, black ooze seeped from the corner of her mouth. His lips parted, but he said nothing for a long moment.

"I didn't want this," he murmured finally. "I didn't want to kill her."

Ronai frowned. "Why? She was trying to kill us. She would’ve handed us over to Cycloth without a second thought."

Arsec's jaw tightened. "Because I thought… I thought maybe I could bring her back. That she wasn’t completely lost." His voice was low, almost ashamed. "It worked with Narwa. I had hope."

Ronai shifted uncomfortably, watching as Arsec stood and turned away. The cavern was eerily silent now, save for the faint crackling of dissipating embers and falling rocks unto the ruins.

Arsec exhaled and finally muttered, "Still… thanks. If you hadn’t acted, she might have killed me."

Ronai let out a shaky breath of relief, nodding. "Yeah… and sorry again. I really didn’t mean to—"

Before he could finish, a low murmur filled the cavern.

They both froze.

The sound grew, a deep, guttural chant reverberating through the ruins.

"Cycloth… Cycloth… Cycloth…"

Shadows flickered along the broken archways. Silhouettes emerged from the depths of the Old City, dozens of them—goblins, their eyes glazed over, their bodies moving in unnatural, jerking motions. The air thickened with something unholy, their voices weaving into an eerie, rhythmic pulse.

Arsec and Ronai exchanged a glance—no words needed.

They turned to face the oncoming horde, gripping their weapons once more. The fight wasn’t over yet.

As they charged and took the fight deeper into the city, the dark ooze dripping from Samina's mouth flooded her nostrils, then her ears, until the goo covered her face in a dark aura. Something was happening to her, but her eyes, no longer violet but pitch white, gleaming iridescently, she remained still, as if she let all that darkness consume her and fuel her rage, her frustration.