Sedrick Bogata loved his life. How could he not? There was so much to love. He came from wealth—copious amounts. Obscene, really, the injustice of it all. In his rarer sombre moments—swiftly chased away—he might even object to the inequity. That he should have it all while generations of ordinaries scrimped and saved to afford the scraps he discarded—well, it was unfair. Sobering, almost. Though never for long. There was always a bottle of sweet summer wine to drown such thoughts, and always a woman to share it with—like the day-sun borrowed for an evening, sweet enough and warm enough to stir sour fancies into decadent delight.

How he longed for spring to stretch eternal. Never to grow faint, never to grow weary; young and lively forevermore. He shunned the serious things—he tried to, at least. Sober dealings were for sober people. He thought he made it perfectly clear: he would rather his wine and ale. While the orbiters in his circles angled ever upward, he was content to remain fixed in his place—a planet unwilling to chase a brighter sun.

It did not always work out that way. Prodigal, he might have aimed to be, but life sometimes had its contrary plans. His mother insisted he not be a wastrel. Dragged by the ear, she had marched him to the Enforcer Barracks herself. And no matter how he strained to be rank-and-file, misfortune kept foisting duty upon him.

He still recalled the barricade of Far Haven. His Captain cut down by barbaric hordes, Sedrick had been pressed into a Dungeon-Cell while his squadron endured outside—impelled to hold the line lest they all be wiped out. Time itself bent in those sealed depths, cut off from all else. What felt like months of torment and trial passed for him in solitude, while for his comrades scarcely three days had slipped by. When he emerged, he had led them to victory, then himself to a call house for a well-earned return to form.

Once again, duty called at his door. Once again, he answered—unwilling, for certain, but accepting all the same.

It surprised him even now, rolling across the ground as the Abomination's greatsword cleaved down. Yet he did not regret his assignment. He had made harsh-weather friends in these harrowing times—comrades he would not soon forget.

The Captain fancied herself a stern woman. Perhaps she had been, once. But he saw so much more in Bethany now. Passionate and determined. Stringent and unforgiving. Yet beneath it all, loyalty and compassion—soft-heartedness that could not fail to endear.

And the brewers—that curious pair. He had held them as kin from the first sip of their ale. They were not mighty, nor distinguished, but more significant than all that. They were happy. Anyone could see it—helplessly in love. With nothing else to their name, stripped even of their ancestral alehouse in the fall of Heureux, as long as they had each other they had more than enough.

Anton had been a fine friend, indeed. Sedrick would remember their night-long parleys as they slipped and slunk through the city's darkened alleyways, skirting the sinister strife spilling into the streets.

His counterweight in nearly every sense, Sedrick knew matters weighed on Anton in a way they never did on him. Anton was desperate to do the right thing, and so sure of what that was—even when he was entirely wrong.

Then there were Havoc and Naereah. Oh, how he wished those crazy kids luck. He was hardly one to judge Havoc's dithering—romance had never been Sedrick's strong suit—but Naereah was a sweet girl, and he really ought to stop dragging his feet. Sedrick had sampled his share of flavours, each lass sweet enough in her season. But the kind of devotion the Selenarian gave—men scoured the world for far less.

He was going to miss them. All of them. Perhaps more than his own household. But as blood spurted from his palm and pain wrenched his shoulder near out of joint from deflecting the Abomination's strike, he knew there was no other way to buy them time.

The monster was only playing.

For all Rexford's burning might and honed swordsmanship, he could hardly force it back a step. It fended off their assault with minimal motion, one hand pressed firm against its back as though holding itself in reserve.

If they had pained it at all, it showed no sign—enduring blazing light, molten fire, crushing blows, and rupturing thrusts without losing pace. Worse, it was gaining momentum. Subtle at first, the greatsword landing heavier blows; but as the battle dragged on, the few openings it allowed closed one by one. Where once it struck once, now it struck twice, then thrice—its edge sweeping in merciless rhythm.

The Abomination was surrounded.

But they were besieged.

'Oh captain, my captain,' Sedrick huffed, sweat stinging his eyes as he fell back to Bethany's side. Eudora dove in to take his place, her spear point locked against the greatsword's edge. 'Did I ever tell you about Nathaniel Bogata?'

Bethany whipped her gaze toward him, sodden scarlet hair lashing her blood-streaked cheeks. She glared.

'Now isn't…' she panted, her light-born spear reforming in her grip, '…the time for—for a family history.'

Sedrick only smiled—then charged forward as Harper staggered back, golden mist wrapping about her, blunting the force of the blow she had taken.

'I rather think you'll like this one,' Sedrick yelled, lasting one exchange before being forced to pull back.

'I'm sure…' Bethany heaved.

Keeping her distance, she darted around the Abomination's flank. A sweep of her hand sent a beam of light lancing forth—blinding, brighter than Sedrick had ever known. The monster raised the flat of its blade to catch the ray, leaving its guard open just long enough for Rexford's burning edge to crash against its onyx-plated centre, sparks bursting on impact.

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'N—no really. He's had a riveting life.'

Sedrick stepped in again. He did not know how much longer he could last. His sword work was exemplary—schooled in its art from youth. Yet against such overwhelming force, he could not help but lament the endless sessions… better spent in revelry.

'He was only one of two in my Household to obtain a War-Master's Inheritance,' Sedrick went on, evading by a hair a disembowelling strike as he staggered back toward his Captain. 'Spectacular power—his most prized Remnant could restore him to life once each day.'

Sedrick raised his guard as the Abomination's greatsword came down. Even braced for the impact, it nearly floored him. His shoulders screamed in protest at the disjointing force. His rapier almost slipped, loosening in his bloodied grip.

'Is— is there a point to this story?' Bethany growled, spear raised overhead as she bore the brunt of the Abomination's downward cleave.

'There is…' Sedrick began, breaking off as Eudora cried out—hurled from formation by the crushing sweep of the greatsword's flat.

Even as Eudora was flung back, the Abomination was upon her. It vanished, reappearing above in a blink, and brought the flat of its blade into her gut, driving her into the stone with bone-jarring force. As her body rebounded off the ground, the greatsword fell again—biting into her thigh, cleaving through the limb as if a knife through heavy cream.

'Healers! All of you!' Bethany cried, as the Abomination pressed in once more—its strikes landing heavier, its tempo quickening.

They were running out of time. Sedrick felt it in his aching joints, his screaming muscles, the thinning thread of Harmony left to him. The Abomination had been toying with them—its blows measured to drive them back but not to finish them. Yet it could break them at any moment. And that moment loomed—unless Sedrick held it back.

'Finish your story. There is time yet,' the Abomination hummed, driving Sedrick back beneath a storm of killing blows.

'Re—gale a tale?' Sedrick rasped, forcing a grin through broken breath. 'Now you're speaking my language.'

He poured Harmony into his charm—the Second Wind. Air rushed into his lungs; pain bled from his limbs; strength roared back through his frame. As Rexford faltered, Sedrick surged forward once more, rapier flashing as he rejoined the fray.

'They always said I resembled Nathaniel,' Sedrick began, a chilling resolve prickling his chest. 'Same silvery hair; same dashing good looks…'

He faltered as the greatsword came to rest against his throat. Before it could send his head spiralling through the air, the blade halted—leaving only a thin line of red welling across his neck.

Sedrick clutched the wound, vision swimming, heart hammering against his ribs. Yet he only smiled—then laughed, ragged and defiant.

'Was never keen on the compassion. It never favoured my way—it never could,' he said, slipping in behind his Captain, catching her as she staggered back from a heavy blow.

'Nathaniel would throw himself headlong into battle. That was never me. He could afford to—he had a second life to spend each day. A ladies' man, too. That we shared. He could die seven times in a week and still keep a mistress on each arm—'

'Sister-song of desolation...' Harper cried from behind, a bell-tolling at the turn of her verse.

A shimmering ring of golden mist circled the Abomination. Above it, a gilded hand took form, fingers curling as radiance bled between them. With a thunderous crash, it descended. Dust billowed—yet when it cleared, the monster still stood, sword raised in both hands, straining against the weight until the hand dissolved into nothing.

The Abomination lifted its blade to its jaw. Dark fire roiled within its skull, spilling across the edge until the sword blazed with lightless flame. With an idle flourish, it swept the weapon wide, hurling arcs of fire into Harper.

Her scream pierced Sedrick's ear as she was flung into the air. She hit the ground with a sickening thud—skin scorched away, as if she had been birthed raw into the world. Bloodied, burned, she lay motionless; only the faint rise of her chest betrayed that she still breathed.

Bethany had not needed to give the command; the healers were already swarming to Harper's side. They might keep her stable—perhaps. But she was a Soldier, and they were only Servants. There was only so much they could do.

Sedrick could not delay much longer.

Oh, how he wished he could.

'The secret to Nathaniel's might wasn't in his daily resurrections,' Sedrick said, voice low, 'but in what they let him dare.'

The last strands of his Harmony coiled around his Anchor, brushing close, yet held back from surging in.

He glanced at the Abomination. It gave a subtle nod.

'I haven't told you about my Anchor,' he went on, vision blurring with tears. 'It's a clone of Nathaniel's Prime.'

'Why—are you telling me this?' Bethany gasped, her body trembling as she levelled her spear at the Abomination.

'A family secret. You'll find no details in your precious reports, Captain,' Sedrick replied, a smile forced to his lips.

As Bethany poised herself to move in, he caught her shoulder, holding her back with a firm grip.

'I've never used it. But I hear it unlocks a terrible strength. There's just one thing,' he said, a rare solemnity deepening his tone. 'It's called the Dying Might. Boring name, if you ask me. But it gives you exactly what's on the tin.'

Rexford could hold the Abomination back no longer. His defence broke, and he was hurled across the arena floor.

'You see, the strength it gives you comes at a cost,' Sedrick sighed. 'Everything. It costs everything.'

At last Bethany seemed to understand. Her eyes widened.

'Don't you dare,' she howled—but too late.

Sedrick's smile softened. 'Greater love hath no man than this… By the Stewards… I suppose I finally made the family proud.'

Harmony surged into his Anchor. His body flared with silver light, his frame shook with power he could not contain.

He moved so fast he seemed to vanish. When he reappeared, his rapier slashed down, biting into the Abomination's plated shoulder. Silver light flared on impact, shearing sable shards in an explosive spray. For the first time, the monster reeled—driven stumbling beneath the force—before it could even raise its guard. Sedrick pressed on, each thrust and cut a blur of silver, a storm of strikes unchained by mortal limits.

In his final hour, he was to give his life for his friends.

He would have it no other way.

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