He was coming.

Aaron watched from a craggy perch overlooking the mountain passage as that low-born villain carved a path ahead. A smirk curled on his lips as he scrutinised Havoc's heaving chest, watching him carve a path through the tide of ghouls. They were to have a clean duel, yes—but he owed the rogue no favours.

Had he not toiled just as fiercely?

Was his noble blood not also shed upon the rugged trail?

He had laboured his share—far more than that. Whatever consideration owed to equity on the battlefield had been paid—none could demand more.

Indeed, merely thinning the ranks of those ghastly fiends was already far beyond the call of a noble's integrity. The cur did not deserve such even-handedness—being a reprobate through and through—he had not earned the right to honourable contest.

In saner times, the miscreant would have been bound to a splintered scaffold, his head locked within the executioner's block—but these were not saner times.

That I would need to lower myself to the level of a knave… Aaron griped, before shifting his gaze to Naereah, clutching her knees on the far edge of the overhang.

For love—true love—he would debase himself. That was the devotion his beloved required. She had been led astray, but little wonder why. He had yet to prove himself—this day would change that.

He would liberate himself from the bounds of infernal matrimony—a future he would need drink to endure. And in doing so, he would prove himself the redeemer his love had been waiting for. She required security, and he would be the one to provide it. With Lucia swallowed by the ocean of ghouls, destined never to leave this Dungeon-Cell, nothing stood between him and the life he deserved with the woman he desired—nothing but the rogue.

'I—I'll never love you,' Naereah lied, her voice quivering with the fear that wretched cur must have driven into her.

Aaron understood her trepidation. He could admit the cur's sharp lethality was fearsome as he approached their waiting place. Though clearly fatigued, the mongrel had not slowed—his every severing strike bore down with savage efficiency.

Were he a lesser man, he might hesitate. But he was a scion of the great house of Crest—a lineage borne of a Lord Inheritor. Undoubtedly, his grandfather had contended with his share of trials. Now it was his turn. The first step in his valorous trail; a journey denied to all but those fated for greatness.

He shifted on the ledge, drawing closer to her. Resting his hands on her trembling shoulders, he eased her onto his lap, stroking her ivory hair until she grew still.

'You do not have to fear him. Before this day ends, his head shall rest at your feet—for what he has done to you,' Aaron swore, his grip tightening as Naereah stiffened beneath him.

Poor, delicate creature, he mused. She could not possibly grasp how that knave has terrorised her—his leering eyes, his licentious tongue, forced into her mouth.

The thought churned Aaron's stomach, a boiling rage that would not settle until he ripped out that offending organ and rammed it down the villain's throat.

'I—I don't fear him. I love him,' Naereah stammered, her laboured deceit breaking in her throat. 'It's you. You and Lucia… You're both too cruel,' she said, her lies slicing deep into Aaron's heart.

'Stop it!' Aaron muttered softly. 'This is not yo—'

'You two!' she snapped, her voice sharp as a blade. 'You're perfect for each other!'

'I said stop it!' Aaron growled.

'You treat me like an ornament—something to flaunt to make yourself seem fascinating!' Naereah screamed, her tears soaking Aaron's trousers as she struggled to free herself from his lap. 'Even if he didn't exist, I would never love you.'

'Enough!' Aaron roared, his fury spilling over as he seized Naereah by the throat. In one motion, he rose, lifting her above the ledge, his grip ironclad.

A strangled whimper slipped from Naereah's lips as she locked her tear-filled eyes onto Aaron's, her defiance burning into him.

'This isn't love,' she croaked as Aaron's grip softened, his mind and heart reeling between rage at her lies and the fear that he might truly harm her. 'You don't love me—you just want to own me. But you won't! Not today, not ever!'

'Let her go!' the mongrel barked from below, his path littered with the torn remains of ghouls.

'Hav—oc,' Naereah gasped, her pulse racing in Aaron's grip.

Aaron drew a deep breath as his thoughts settled. He glared at the slave-girl, seeing her as though for the first time. She was no different from the others—unworthy of his devotion. He saw that now. All this time, she had been using him, bending his affection for her convenience just to throw it aside at the slightest breath of a better offer.

Of course, she was deluded in thinking the mongrel was his better, but that was not the point. Her quality lay bare before him—it did not entice. She was no different from the scarlet wenches who sold themselves to the world—moaning sweetly at the touch of each coin-bearing hand. And for his humiliation, she would face the same fate as they.

'You can have her,' Aaron growled, his jaw clenched tight as he glared down. He snapped his gaze back to the wanton harlot, his lips twisting into a sneer. 'You are a beautiful thing… A pity you are as ravishing on the outside as you are putrid within.'

With that, he hurled her from the ledge. He did not watch her fall. Whether she survived or not was beneath his concern.

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****

All had unfolded just as her lady had foreseen. Since the day the Seer had found her—body and mind broken and bleeding, forsaken by the world—Shar had never failed to be astounded by the unfathomable depths of her lady's wisdom.

Shar looked down, watching as Havoc caught the Selenarian before she hit the rocks. The healer was an Inheritor, certainly—but she was frail as glass. Shar doubted she would have survived a fall from that height.

The noble could have snapped the girl's neck or crushed her skull to a grisly pulp—the final sacrifice claimed by his wounded pride and puerile temper—but no. As the Seer had foretold, he had cast her away, and the boy had caught her, leaping from barrier to barrier to slow their descent.

'Is it time?' Myra asked, her tone weighted with the reverence due their sacred task, her bow angled down toward where Aaron and Havoc were circling.

'Have patience. Our lady's will is absolute, and her design shall not fail. We act our roles, and nothing more, assured in the certainty that her will be done,' Shar instructed, her gaze fixed below.

Havoc struck first, his crimson blade arcing toward Aaron's neck. No words were exchanged. No foolish posturing. The moment Naereah was clear, he moved with sharp intent.

Yet, the noble was no milksop. With scaled arms, he deflected the strike and countered, claws flashing as he drove Havoc back in a furious assault.

They exchanged blow for blow, the extended reach of Havoc's sword blunted by Aaron's unrelenting ferocity.

Whenever Aaron gained the upper hand, Havoc drove him back with shards of shimmering light. Yet no sooner would Havoc seize the initiative than he would be forced to retreat before plumes of incinerating fire from Aaron's mouth. The two were evenly matched, neither conceding an inch that was not torn from them by force.

'Impressive, are they not?' Shar mused, shifting her gaze to her apprentice.

'They are, ma'am,' Myra replied, her eyes locked on the battle below. 'I must confess, I could never match their strength. I fear our lady may have erred in granting me her favour.'

Shar's tone hardened. 'You have much to learn about our lady.'

'Ma'am?' Myra questioned.

'If brute strength were all the Seer required, neither of us would suffice. But observe—despite their power, they still dance to our lady's tune. She seeks your faith and devotion above all else. Offer that freely, and you shall be truly worthy of her favour.' Shar said, her tone softening as Myra's eyes lit with understanding.

The scrape of glass against glass snapped Shar's attention skyward. She looked to the sky, the pale light of the night-sun glinting off the shifting mass of the Fractal Beast. Like a skyward wave, it surged over the horizon, cresting before cascading down.

Myra's bow clattered against the stone, her wide eyes fixed on the Abomination as strands broke from its mass, slithering toward the mountain passage. Shar rested a firm palm on her apprentice's shoulder, and the trembling eased.

'Will any survive?' Myra asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

'No,' Shar said, unflinching.

It was better that Myra understood the truth of this world. She would need to, if she was to fully understand why it had to end—why the Seer must end it.

'The greatest causes demand the greatest sacrifices. Ready yourself—the time is nigh. Our lady's design unfolds.'

****

Even as Sabine caught sight of the shimmering mass in the sky, not even a tremor of doubt touched her heart. The Seer was with them—the symbol of her power suspended above.

As long as the emerald light shone and the crystal warriors stood beside her, they could not fail. The tide of ghouls would abate, and the lady would triumph over Abomination and Spawn alike.

With jagged breaths, she stretched her arms forward, fingers curled like talons. With a grunt, she wrenched her arms apart, and the ground fractured along her line of sight. The fissure widened, swallowing hordes of fiends into its depths. Then, sweat trailing her face, she brought her arms in—the earth heaved shut, grinding the fallen fiends into crimson ruin.

'We must leave this place!' Anton commanded, his whip cracking into the swarm rushing to replace their fallen.

'The Seer's instructions are clear—we hold the line, and she will do the rest,' Sabine spat, her tone leaving no room for doubt. 'I have faith!' she roared, her cry echoed by the voices at her side. A war hammer shimmered into her grip, and with a savage swing, she shattered the skull of an advancing ghoul.

As she prepared for another strike, a grip on her sleeve halted her motion. She spun toward Anton, breaking his hold with a sharp swipe of her hand.

'There's not much time!' he insisted, his voice tight with urgency. 'That's where Annalise went—it's the only way out!' he shouted, pointing toward the fork in the passage, where shattered glass slithered up the mountain walls toward the opening.

'I am with you,' the Seer's voice echoed in her mind, soothing, banishing the hesitation Anton's plea had stirred. 'Do not allow him to take you from your path,' the voice commanded.

'Leave if you have to, but I'll not stray from our lady's cause!' Sabine shouted, shoving Anton back with defiant force.

'If I have to take you by force, I will!' Anton roared, advancing toward Sabine—only for two jade warriors to step into his path. 'Sabe… please,' he pleaded, his voice raw with desperation. 'There's no time left!'

'No!' Sabine said bluntly, glaring past the gap between the two crystal shoulders, her grip tightening on her hammer, Heavy Blow.

She turned from Anton and marched back into the fray.

She watched her oldest friend break from the group, but not a flicker of doubt touched her heart—she had done rightly.

As long as they had faith, the Seer would preserve them.

They would not be abandoned to perish in vain.

****

Standing upon the All-Seeing Owl, its form restored to full titan size, Annalise surveyed the battlefield.

She could feel the faith of the damned cresting as they battled against unwinnable odds. At its peak, only one step remained—the betrayal of their faith, and the sorrow of their deaths.

She would not rejoice in their sacrifice, but neither would she lament it.

People die all the time, what's a few more? she pondered, as one by one, the radiant runes etched around the pupil of the emerald eye faded, taking with them scores of jade legionaries.

As the first mournful wails rose to the sky, a spear-bearing youth was torn to bloodied pieces, his screams swallowed by the amber jaws of the swarming horde. Annalise exhaled a tepid sigh.

The survivors scurried in retreat, only to find their path cut off—barred by the shimmering, looming horror of the Fractal Beast. There was nowhere to run and nowhere to hide. They had been abandoned—she had abandoned them.

Even by her standards, it was a harrowing sight. Yet, as the last survivor fell—her entrails wrenched free within the swarm's amber jaws, her war hammer clutched like an infant's blanket—Annalise did not allow her mood to sour. Why should she? The Temple of Desire had emerged—thick veins twisting across its grand domed structure.

I should be off then, she thought, shrugging as she mentally directed her owl into flight.

'It'll all be over soon, and we can put this unpleasantness behind us, can't we?' she whispered, stroking her summon's feathered plume.

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