"I am a leader."

The explosion shook the island like a tremor, the skies above becoming black with smoke as bits of flaming rock fell onto Yorktown and its surroundings. For the ones who were falling back to the Shaman's hunt, the terrifying event only solidified their fear. Yorktown would fall that day. If not by the orcs, then by the fires that threatened to reduce their homes to cinders.

Even Dahlia, who was currently aiding the injured at her hut, could see that the island was lost. The sky above was a mass of dark clouds, with embers falling from their heights as winds spread the flames like a sickness. They had lost. The only thing they could do now was hope to survive.

However, as what remained of the White Raven Clan scrambled for survival and the remaining orcs hurried to take what they could, a young, crazed woman was having the time of her life.

"Come on!" Kira shouted as she sent another trio of invisible blades, each one failing to make any meaningful cut into Blood-Irk's body. He just shrugged them off like they were mere glances, nothing more than a hindrance in his fight.

"You can do better!" Kira shouted, her grin wild and manic. She skidded on the wet cobbled ground, where some of the snow and ice hadn't melted yet from the flames that spread around the town. "Hit me already, you stupid bru–!"

"SILENCE!" Blood-Irk roared. He swung down his enormous club, which was just a smoldering beam he had probably scavenged from some burning building. Kira sidestepped it instinctively, her eyes casting Dodge again.

"I do have to admit, I'm not exactly playing fair," she said, her hand brushing back the stray strands of wild hair that had set on her face. "But I fear if I went easy on you, it wouldn't exactly do much for your pride, would it? I mean, would you be happy if you won a fight against someone who held back?"

Blood-Irk just grunted and ran toward her faster than any orc Kira had faced before. She jumped, casting two more spells as she avoided the orc's swing. She flew over his head, her hands swiping once more.

Two normal slashes against his back, and one Cleave toward his head. Blood-Irk took the hits, his body jerking from the sudden strikes. He turned with a speed that surprised Kira, his free hand grasping for her cloak. Kira instantly cut a section of that cloth away from her, saving herself from the orc's grasp. With another command, she sent down a set of three arcane bolts, all of which shattered uselessly against Blood-Irk's armor. Still, it was enough of a smokescreen to allow her to retreat to a safe distance,

Kira looked to the source of that massive explosion from earlier, her enhanced vision catching the smoldering crater at its peak. Whoever had cast it must've packed some serious power in their veins. She almost regretted not going after the senile Wizard with Eilif. Perhaps then, she'd actually have a challenge to look forward to.

'But then again, this Blood-Irk fellow ain't so bad.'

She turned her attention back to the orc chieftain, who stared at her with a look of pure hatred. He stepped forward, his burning beam of wood raising high for another strike. Kira smiled and stepped forward, her eyes growing warm with anticipation.

Blood-Irk roared a mighty war cry, his beam swinging down on Kira. She dodged it, like usual, fully expecting to see the damn thing break in half when it struck the cobbles. Only it didn't. Instead, Kira watched with dawning realization as Blood-Irk suddenly changed its direction, the wooden club gaining a reddish hue.

'You have to be—'

"Power Strike! Cleave!" Blood-Irk called, his voice booming with power. Kira tried to cast Dodge again, but it was too late. She braced, her Advanced Carapace buckling as it tried to soak most of the impact. It broke not even a second later, shattering in a shower of bright purple. Kira felt her ribs crack and her lungs compress, blood escaping her lips as she was thrown back.

The young woman's world went black…

…and returned with a blinding flash of pain, her vision tinted red as her body tried desperately to stay alive.

'Mend.'

Kira gasped, her lungs expanding as her spell took hold. She instantly burned a reserve of Life, healing the wounds that Mend couldn't. With a shaking hand, she tried to pick herself up from where she lay. She was inside of a building, the window shattered and the furniture a broken mess. Kira coughed blood as her body healed, her vision becoming clearer. She saw through the broken window how Blood-Irk ran toward her.

'Dodge. Feather Weight. Advanced Carapace.'

Kira jerked to the side as the orc trampled through the wooden walls of the house, his bulky figure tearing through as if the building was made of sticks and good intentions. She raised her hands toward the creature before her, her eyes flashing as she cast her Blessing's third form.

'Rend.'

The immediate area around Blood-Irk was shredded into rubble, multiple slashes cutting at his body with ferocity. It did nothing. Kira cursed and backed away as the orc tried again to strike at her. As she escaped the collapsing building, the young woman's mind clicked with realization.

'His resistance… It's not natural,' she thought as she ran into the street, where a couple of orcs were standing in awe. Kira instantly cut their throats with her invisible blades, which slit their flesh with ease. It only served to prove her theory about the chieftain.

Blood-Irk's unnatural durability was not the result of either advanced enchantments or a genetic trait passed down from his brutish race. It was the combination of both.

Kira waited in the lone street as the orc chieftain tore his way out of the dilapidated house. She could see how his armor was attached to his dark flesh, the burns fusing the steel with his body. This was the reason behind his enhanced resistance.

'His body has no doubt developed magical talents and skills from years of fighting. And judging from those Physical Castings he used earlier, there's no doubt that he's engraved a few buffs and passive skills into his skin.'

Usually, that wouldn't have been a problem. Kira had dealt with people like the orc. The issue, however, was with the orc's armor. Enchanted with Improved-grade runes, the steel plate was decent at deflecting spells and projectiles. Good on its own but irrelevant against a Beholder Eye's magical prowess.

However, if that armor was fuzed into the flesh of a powerful orc whose magical skills targeted on making him tougher and harder to kill, then it'd be a different story.

'I've read of the topic,' Kira thought. 'Tricking the body's magical skills into stacking with and improving enchanted armor, enhancing it beyond its limits. The problem Wizards always ran into was the how. I guess they never considered grafting it onto one's flesh.'

Skills accepted grafted armor as part of the body, meaning that it enhances the runic engravings upon said armor. Said armor also accepts the body as an extension of itself, and the runes work to shield and protect. Thus resulting in a stronger host.

It was strange to see it work. From what Kira could remember of the accounts, Wizards and Warlocks alike had stopped experimenting due to ethical concerns and fear of retribution from Delphine's Inquisition since the prospect of it all was seen as heresy.

'I wonder what they would think of Blood-Irk,' Kira thought as she watched Blood-Irk stomp his way to her. She gave him a bloody smile, her hands clasping together. Yes, this orc was a special case. Perhaps she should just give him a proper sendoff.

"I wish I could toy with you a little longer," she called to him. "But I think I've overstayed my welcome. I—"

"Power Strike!" Blood-Irk swung at her, roaring his casting. The beam didn't make it far, as it was sliced into pieces before it could even hit anything. Kira grinned at his shocked gaze, her hands raising.

'Fly.'

She rose into the air before the orc could grab at her, her cloak's remnants flapping around her body.

"I applaud your strength, Blood-Irk," Kira called to him. "For that, I'll give you a little something you can remember me by." Her eyes flared bright purple as she formed the runes manually, her voice whispering the words.

"Storm of Daggers."

"There is a common misconception about speaking words of power to cast a spell. Many think it is a necessary component, as speaking the name of the casting gives it life. That is simply not true. Spellcasting doesn't need a vocal trigger. This stigma of requiring one to cast their spells with the cantrip's name stems from the time of the Mad King. The stories like to claim that the Beholder Eye's main power was to cast spells with mental commands, the spells not needing any vocal confirmation. While that was an ability the eye provided, it was not its main strength.

If anything, most records suggest the Mad King, before he was called such a name, had actually mastered the ability to cast spells without words of power. This rules out one of the reasons for his deal with the Beholder demons.

Still, even with these facts, many people—Wizards included—have defaulted to see wordless spellcasting as dark magic. Unless, of course, the caster is vetted by the Lumen Militant Church. Then, he is seen as more of a weapon rather than a talented scholar. This is what happened to Edward Tavish, Last Herald of Delphine.

Some might be confused on the topic, as they have been raised all their lives to fear such a unique way to use magic. Let me clarify this. Spellcasting is something that requires intent and a strong will. Words of power, common as they are, are not necessary to use this form of power. The display of wordless casting is a display of natural talent and hard work.

A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

Of course, that's not to say it is perfect. Casting a spell without a vocal trigger can be impressive and is usually the sign of someone with great power. However, the practice is actually inferior to the more traditional way. As I've mentioned earlier, casting a spell requires intent. The stronger the intent, the more powerful a spell can become. Using one's mind to cast can be useful in a pinch if one wants to summon magic with quick ease.

However, should you need to display your full strength, then a vocal trigger is almost always required. For there is no greater intent than the weight of spoken words."

-- "The Advances of Spellcasting: Volume 2," page 67, by Wizard Alfred Leary, Royal Court of the Lumen Kingdom. Excerpt pulled by Scribe Rederick Brensworth, Lumen Academy of Spellcrafting.

Used for studies regarding the Norum Incident.

The air buzzed with magical energies following Kira's words. She continued to smile like a maniac as her domain spell took hold. There was a moment of silence after her casting, both her and Blood-Irk watching each other with expectant looks. Then it all came crashing down.

Surrounding buildings were dismantled right in front of her eyes, their roofs and walls splintering and crashing as thousands of invisible blades sliced through them. The cobbled street itself was turned into gravel alongside the destroyed houses, the orc bodies Kira left behind turning nothing more than red mush.

Blood-Irk, however, was not so easy to kill. Sparks of magical feedback flew as the magical blades struck and sliced at his body, failing to cut deep enough to kill. Still, Kira could see how her domain spell whittled at Blood-Irk's insane resistance, forcing him back from the sheer number of attacks.

"Still alive?!" Kira called to him. She bolstered her spell and reduced the range from fifteen meters to a close ten. The storm of blades increased in ferocity, Blood-Irk's body faltering as it took on hundreds of slashes in the span of a second. Kira laughed at his struggle for survival, her hands shaking as she formed another set of runes manually.

"You are something else!" she called, her heart thumping with adrenaline. She stopped when she saw the orc march in her direction. She had to give it to him; he was tough to kill.

"I'll send you off to Helheim myself," Kira called, her runes completed. She focused on Blood-Irk, who was helplessly trying to reach her within the storm. With a mental command, she ended her spell. There was a second of peaceful quiet that followed the storm's end, followed by Kira's ethereal voice.

"Shadow Lance," she chanted, instilling her will into the spell. Her eyes flared, and the runes at her fingertips morphed into a long lance of shadowy tendrils. It shot forth in a flash, too fast for anyone to dodge, orc or not. Kira watched as it struck Blood-Irk right in the chest, tearing through his armor and emerging from his back. Tendrils of black mist emerged from the wound, engulfing the orc in a flurry of darkness. He fell to the ground after that, twitching.

"Twas a pleasure," Kira said, her feet touching upon the remains of the street. The town all around her continued to burn.

"Almost forgot," she muttered as she walked past Blood-Irk's corpse, her focus moving to the far end of the street. Despite their destructive fight, both of them hadn't strayed too far from where Kira had left Seamus.

She stopped when her gaze found nothing but a trail of blood that led away from the battle-torn street.

Dirk grunted as he dragged Seamus to safety, his eyes fearfully glancing about for anyone who might've spotted them.

"Don't worry about the orcs," Kate said. The fellow Raven was currently looking out the end of the alleyway they hid in, her expression pensive. "That crazy bitch from earlier is garnering most of their attention anyways."

"That's a good thing, right?" Dirk said as he rested Seamus' unconscious body against a wall. "She's killing them anyway. Might as well let her do all the dirty work for us."

"Yeah, it might seem good for the time being. Until all she has left is us," Kate pointed out. "You didn't see how she fought with Seamus. Those strange cuts she made…"

"You said they were invisible?" Dirk asked. "How is that even possible?"

"I don't know," Kate admitted. "But I don't tend to find out. Come on, let's get Seamus to the others. If we can make it to the tavern, maybe we'll be able to stop that bleeding."

Dirk nodded and moved to pick Seamus up again. He resisted the urge to complain about the weight and followed Kate out of the small alley. They crossed tight streets and narrow passages, avoiding orcs who were either looting or hurrying to where that crazy woman with the glowing eyes was. Dirk didn't really want to think about what would happen if either she or the orcs caught them. He wasn't really sure which was worse.

The three crossed one more street, this one being near the town center. They were getting close to the tavern. If they could just…

Yells filled the darkening day, inaudible but clearly from orcs. Dirk felt his blood run cold as he turned around, his eyes catching the distant figures of brutish creatures.

"Shit!" Kate hissed. Dirk didn't need to say anything. He only hauled ass, his legs burning with adrenaline as he hurried with Kate to carry Seamus. More shouts rang out from behind them, all orcs. Dirk tried to control his breathing as he hefted Seamus' arm over his shoulder, doing his damnedest to carry the man properly as they ran.

"We're not going to make it!" Dirk said, realizing their dwindling chances for survival. More orcs appeared from around them, their hungry gazes fixed on the humans, who were clearly easy prey. Kate said nothing, her breathing growing ragged as she tried to hold Seamus up.

"Just keep running!" Kate shouted, her teeth gritted with clear pain. Dirk did as she suggested, running as fast as he possibly could.

They only managed to reach the town center when they realized that they were truly doomed. Orcs surrounded the three, the flames of the nearby buildings giving them all a truly hellish appearance. Dirk watched as more came from every street from every direction.

'We're dead,' he realized, his shoulders slumping. Kate seemed to come to the same conclusion as her own knees faltered at the hopeless sight. Still, she managed to keep standing, her hand even brandishing her short sword. Dirk watched her with a pained expression, knowing full well that the three would not be able to hold off the horde, let alone survive their combined strength.

"Kate…" Dirk said. "Kate, don't."

"Shut it!" Kate shouted. "We can still get through this! Get your sword out! Fight, dammit!"

"Kate…" Dirk repeated, firmer this time. His friend hesitated and looked back at him with pained eyes.

"We're done."

"Heal," Falrick said, his breath coming out in a puff of steam. The casting took hold a little later, leaving the Wizard with just a single spell slot. He looked down at his torn robes, which had nearly burned to cinders following the Explosion. If he hadn't activated his protections in time…

"A thought for another time," Falrick muttered.

All around him lay the aftermath of his Explosion runes, the rubble and rock of the chamber pulverized to smoldering bits. The cool wind swept black smoke into the air, revealing the sight of the island below him. Falrick hobbled over to admire the distance from his vantage point.

'I knew that the chamber was near the peak of the mountain, but I never expected it to be this close.'

He looked around at what was left of the chamber, which itself was the sight of James' own summoning. The Outlander from Earth. In a way, this was where this chaos had all started. For it was James that had brought this small island to recognition. For better and for worse.

Falrick felt his body sag as he looked back to where Yorktown was. A fire was already ravaging its northern side, with both New Aldren and the harbor already lit in orange flames. Even the forest around the mountain burned, pillars of black smog connecting to the sky like thick arteries.

"We've lost," the Wizard said. Even if they did manage to group together, they would be surrounded by hostile orcs and a growing fire that threatened to consume this island, not unlike old Aldren. The only hope for survival they had was Nathan and Haggard, who both had their hands full with evacuating the townsfolk and breaking the siege wall of ships.

"Took you long enough to realize that," a pained voice whispered from nearby. Falrick flinched and turned, his hand already forming a rune. It didn't matter. Eilif sprang from the sparse smoke, steel knife in hand. He went low, under Falrick's aim, and stabbed into the Wizard's knee, the blade twisting as it tore through the ligament.

"Agh!" Falrick exclaimed. His hand faltered, the rune turning false. Eilif sidestepped and tripped the old Wizard, his dagger tearing out in a flash of blood and steel. With a smooth, practiced motion, the masked man stabbed right into Falrick's right shoulder, pinning him to the ground.

"You nearly got me that time," Eilif said, his mask coming into view. Scorch marks were visible upon the cracked brass goggles and black faceplate, disfiguring the carved grin of Myr that had once been there. His hood was also torn, giving glimpses of a pale bald head.

"How…?" Falrick grunted. Eilif just raised his free hand, which held two runes with burnt glyphs of the Barrier spell. He dropped them to the side, the stones making clinking noises next to Falrick's head.

"Almost didn't make it," Eilif admitted in a harsh whisper. "Both Barrier runes fizzled out almost immediately during the Explosion. After that, I had to bear through the heat with my own reserves. You must've placed a city's worth of runes in that damn chamber. Either that or you're one of the most talented spellcasters I've met. And I've lived for a while, Falrick."

"What is it that you want?" Falrick asked, hoping to get an actual straight answer. The Immortal man just stared at him with those goggles of his, his body still. The Wizard watched, breath held with anticipation. He almost expected Eilif to just finish him there, a knife through the throat.

Instead, Eilif just raised his head toward Yorktown, his hand relaxing on the dagger that held Falrick down.

"No…" he muttered. "That's… HOW?!"

Falrick flinched at Eilif's sudden burst of anger. The Bounty Hunter ripped the dagger out of the Wizard's shoulder, standing up straight as he watched the town below. The Wizard was confused for a moment. Then he felt it.

'What… What is that rumbling?'

Was there a quake about? Was Yorktown about to break apart, its own foundation cracking as the gods willed it. No, that wasn't it. It was something else, something deeper…

Falrick's eyes widened as he felt the air grow taut with static, his ley lines rumbling as their reserves interacted with the flow of magic beneath the island. Beneath the rock and stone. To the natural ley lines that ran deep in Azura's crust.

"It can't be," Eilif said, voice unnervingly soft.

Then, a light burst in the middle of Yorktown, bright and overwhelming with powerful magic.

"We're done."

Kate crumpled at Dirk's words, her head down as she avoided his gaze. Her sword shook for a moment, its tip slowly lowering as orcs advanced toward their position. She almost gave up then, her fingers weakening as they prepared to drop her trusted weapon.

'No… Not like this. I won't die like this. NOT LIKE THIS.'

Kate clenched her jaw tight enough to send jolts of pain throughout her skull. With renewed anger and fury, she hefted her iron blade up. The orcs didn't care, their dark gazes and hungry looks telling her all she needed to know. They would tear her limb to limb and enjoy every bit of it. She would not give them that satisfaction. She would fight. She would rip their throats. She would press forth!

Kate's roar echoed into the sky for only a moment. For it would be drowned out by the sound of rushing air and a thunderous explosion of power.

The air turned to static, and Kate was witness to a huge pillar of light that appeared in the middle of the courtyard, right behind Dirk and Seamus. A shockwave washed over every human and orc around, the overpowering smell of fruit making the air thick with magic.

Kate stumbled, her eyes widening as the light shone with multiple colors, ranging from blue to green and even yellow. It all shimmered within the whiteness, accompanied by the silhouettes of two distinct figures. Kate's blood went cold.

And James Holter stepped through the light, his eyes burning with hot rage.

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