"I can't do this anymore."

I whispered the words as I appeared in her realm. I didn't look at her. I couldn't look at her. I knew that seeing her face would give me courage and spur me forward once more. But that alone was not enough.

I'd lived something in the realm of a billion lives. I'd fought and fought and climbed and climbed. I gave it my all for so long that I was numb to the feeling. The motivation she lit within me was no longer enough. Even when I did grow strong through sheer luck or happenstance, I found my feet shackled. I just didn't have the energy to keep pushing. Not after coming so close so, so, so many times.

"I'm sorry, Flux. But I just… I can't."

My shape shifted as I fell to my knees. The human shell that accompanied my previous, unsuccessful incarnation gave way to my qilin form. My original form. Or at least, what I still remembered of it.

In reality, it was probably misconstrued. I'd lived so many lives that I'd long lost sight of what I was meant to be.

"I'm tired. I want to give up. I just… don't have it in me to keep failing."

Finally, after fighting against it for so long, I raised my gaze and met her eyes.

She wasn't quite as disappointed as I was expecting. She seemed to know as well. But of course she did.

It was obvious that I'd long stopped giving it my all.

"Just one more time," she said, biting her lips. "I've finally found the perfect scenario. We can piggyback off one of Vella's schemes."

I shook my head.

It wasn't the first time she'd made the claim and neither would it be the last.

"No more, Flux. I'm done. I'm tired of this. All of this. Just… let me rest." I tried to smile, to say the words as calmly as I could. But I couldn't stop my voice from rising. It wasn't quite a yell, more of a defeated bleat.

"Grey…"

"I can't take it anymore," I said, shaking my head. "I just can't. I'm already broken. I've been broken for the past three million incarnations. I can never beat him."

She clenched her fists. And then, after a moment's delay, gradually released them.

"I understand." It was strange how godhood had changed her. The Flux that I remembered, the one that grew up by my side, would have been far more stubborn. "I won't push you any harder."

I breathed a sigh of relief as the words left her lips.

Finally.

The sweet release of death.

"But can we try just one last thing? You won't have to fight or even try."

"What kind of thing?"

She smiled sadly. "Do you remember, Grey? How our child was stillborn?"

"Do you even have to ask?" Even battered and broken, I still recalled the helplessness I'd felt that day. It stood out from my myriad deaths as something that weighed even more heavily on my heart.

"This is the light that should have been hers." Opening her palm, she pulled from her essence, from the divinity that made up her realm, and birthed a faint, tiny spark. It was so incredibly frail. It flickered with every breath, threatening to fade and vanish into the aether. "I've finally traced every last particle. Every last bit across every last realm and gathered it all together."

I opened my eyes wide. "That can't be all. That's barely enou—"

Finally, I understood why she was taken prematurely.

"She needs just a few more pieces to fill in all the blanks."

I nodded. I could feel my breath stuck in my throat, threatening to burst and destroy me.

"I can complete her if we each just give a little of what we have. But I fear that isn't enough." She looked at me, her eyes as moist as my own.

"I want to place her in Vella's web. It's a fast track to the fourth ascension." She blinked her tears away to reveal a fiery gaze. "But if that's all I do, she'll never quite break free of that stupid harlot's machinations."

"What do you need me to do?"

My voice was hoarse. Practically a whisper.

"You will be her guardian spirit."

She crushed my soul as she spoke the words, already knowing of my decision. And then she tore out a piece of her own. Melding them together, she twisted them into the flickering ember and lit its flame with vigour anew.

"Guide her, Greymane." Her voice was distant, already fading away. "Illuminate her path. So that she might succeed where we so foolishly failed."

___

It was late at night. The sun was beneath the horizon, the children were tucked in bed, and even the warriors were resting, preparing for the exciting day ahead. After all, it had already been a day and a half since Cadria and Vel'khan last met in combat; there were only a scant few hours before their warriors clashed again.

Most of the brigade had spent the time unwinding; the first day was dedicated to gorging themselves on food, while the second was a little more relaxed with nothing planned in particular. Lana caught up with her sister, Arciel negotiated with merchants, Jules went drinking in town, and Allegra developed new spells while Claire and Sylvia spent the day with Rubia. Chloe and Krail were not quite so relaxed, however. They spent every waking moment honing their techniques and working on their strategies.

On Chloe's side, that meant exhausting herself to the point of passing out the moment her mistress went to bed. It took an hour for her to spring back to her feet fully refreshed—she'd completely overslept.

The maid's body had changed dramatically with her third ascension. It wasn't just her hair colour, nor the fact that she'd fully integrated her vampiric and succubus halves. Alfred, her patron deity, had completely overhauled her hardware and optimized it for long lasting performance, both in and out of bed. Any moment of unconsciousness, no matter how brief, was capable of fully refreshing her stamina. She could and often would sleep for longer, of course, but it was entirely unnecessary, just a way of passing the time.

Sighing, she slowly sat up from her bed, walked over to the mirror, and gave herself a quick check. The nap had left her thoroughly disheveled. Strands of hair poked out in every which way, and her uniform was far too messy to be shown in public. Were she in a rush, she likely could have cleaned herself up with a snap of the finger, but Chloe felt no such pressure. She'd already finished nine of the ten items on her agenda. She could afford to take it slow.

The many objects hidden in her dress clinged and clanged as they fell to the ground one by one. A belt full of needles, a dozen knives, a cinderblock for bludgeoning, a pistol crossbow, a vial of poison, Griselda's gift, a few bottles of blood, some thread, a tea set, their daily necessities, her makeup, and finally, another bundle of needles. Only about half of it would be going back in her dress come morning—it was precisely to prepare her new tool set that she had needed to wake at night.

With everything removed, the maid threw off her clothes. She carefully looked herself over in the mirror and confirmed again the state of her body. Her focus was not on her hourglass figure, nor her perfectly proportioned chest, but the bits and pieces that preserved their aesthetics no longer. Her once black hair had transformed with her ascensions, first turning blonde with her second and then silver with her third. Its underside had started to glow with a faint red light ever since the colour had lightened—a property reflected all over her body. It didn't matter if it was her head hair, her arm hair, or her pubic hair, all of it sported the dim crimson tint.

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A dull light emanated from her tattoos, most of which were concentrated in the area around her lower abdomen. They were just as intricate and beautiful as her mistress', but served a completely different purpose.

Arciel's markings were her goddess' stigmata, proof that she was moonblessed, and, ultimately, a conduit for access to her goddess' power. In a sense, so too were they a curse, for they were just like the tattoos that Kael'ahruus had placed on their most recent pursuer. If Griselda ever felt the need, she could readily incarnate in Arciel's body and unleash her wrath upon the world. And that therein was precisely the problem the maid had with her mistress' marks. Any such descent would no doubt destroy the accompanying vessel. Chloe knew that the goddess would do no such thing, outside of an extenuating circumstance, but even the most remote possibility left her feeling uneasy.

The maid's tattoos carried no such risk. And in fact, they weren't really tattoos at all. It was more accurate to describe them as natural catalysts, for they were simply large magic circuits placed just beneath the surface of her skin. The simple act of passing magic through them allowed her to activate the innate spells possessed by members of her race. The ones on her lower stomach carried her sex demon powers, while those on her arms, legs, and back represented her vampiric abilities. The class specific implementation that Alfred had chosen was unique among its kind, more efficient, powerful, and information dense than any other on account of its peculiar restriction: only those with innate body writing fetishes were able to draw out the full extent of the class' power, and Chloe was coincidentally compatible.

After quickly inspecting all of her abilities and running through them in her head, the maid grabbed a comb from a nearby drawer and got to work on her hair. She began by fixing her bob cut and making it as neat as could be before twisting the comb and sabotaging a few key junctions so she'd appear just a little messier than she really was. It wasn't just for the sake of her aesthetic. The style's purpose immediately became clear when she hid a dozen needles in her hair, among the interwoven strands where they'd never be spotted.

She put her uniform back on a moment later and arranged the various items within it. Griselda's knives were strapped to her waist. Her needles were strapped to her thighs while vials of blood and poison lined her skirt. She walked over to the center of the room once that was done and sat down in front of her assassination tool kits.

All seven of them had their contents laid bare. There were countless poisons, blades, and poisonous blades ready to be wrapped up and hidden under her clothes. The most important piece of the puzzle, however, was the mortar and pestle. It was the same one she'd been using ever since she'd first begun dabbling in toxicology. It'd been soaked in all different kinds of poison during the many years she'd used it, neurotoxins, blood thinners, heartstoppers, and even longer-term toxins that would slowly but surely kill one's target from within.

It wasn't quite like Boris, who was capable of truly progressing even whilst functioning as a weapon, but its long tenure had earned it a rather curious enchantment—any poisons synthesized within would be more potent than anything she made with another tool.

She already knew exactly what to prepare for the upcoming battle. And in fact, she'd already completed four of the five that she'd planned to use. The only one she still needed to craft was dragonsbane, a deadly poison whose recipe Alfred had provided himself. The ancient concoction was a highly toxic compound that not only stopped all healing, but reversed its effects entirely. Anyone who attempted to recover under its effects would only suffer more hurt.

Lana likely would have won her battle had she been armed with the poison, but there was a good reason that Chloe had refrained from providing it.

Apparently, the substance had once been banned.

Like artificy, its use had been outright prohibited by the gods some ten million years prior and its recipe had vanished from all but the Lost Library's archive. It'd ultimately fallen off the ban list after going functionally extinct, but Alfred wasn't too sure how the gods would react if they discovered that she'd used it; there was a good chance that they'd immediately restore its limitations.

The problem was that its use was inhumane. Its unique property allowed it to serve as a cruel and unusual form of torture, wherein the victim's body would slowly melt as it tried to piece itself back together. Death was inevitable lest one's body was able to adapt to the poison, and even then, it was a toss up. Some would die even with resistances, some would barely hang on to life, and some would do a full rebound and find themselves immune to poison.

The rare, particularly compatible person might even unlock an absurdly powerful class.

And that therein was the problem.

Nations around every world began investing resources in the class' research and some even sacrificed the poor and unruly en masse, just for the sake of producing convenient pawns.

She ran through the recipe in her head as she grabbed a mask, an overcoat, and a pair of gloves. First things first, she started with her dry ingredients. She grabbed the biletree root from her poison kit, loosely chopped it up, and dropped it into her mortar. Next, she threw in some spoaren tongues, a shellsnake's fang, and a trio of mushrooms. All of the ingredients were long dried and completely deprived of moisture, and yet, they were as bright, vibrant, and noxiously colourful as they were on the day of their harvest. Each was dyed a different colour and bright enough to be used as paint, though any such act was certainly one of idiocy. Goblinstool mushrooms, as they were commonly referred, were a type of foul, disgusting fungus that grew only in territory dominated by the plague god's adherents. No one could quite be bothered to study the details of their life cycles; all that anyone really cared for was that they were highly toxic.

Though she knew that her mask would guard her from the stench, Chloe still scrunched up her face and worked as quickly as possible. It took about three seconds for her to finish her work—the least amount of time she could have possibly taken. The problem was physics. If she moved too quickly, the friction produced by the mortar and pestle would overheat the ingredients. It wasn't just a matter of keeping them from burning. The final product was stable and heat-resistant, but half the raw materials would lose their effect if they went even halfway to boiling.

She grabbed a banana off of the shelf as the mashed up ingredients came together. She expertly peeled it, threw out the interior, and placed the rest onto a cutting board. A few quick chops later, she pressed the flat part of the blade against the board and gave the pieces a quick, dirty grind. Though it appeared silly, pointless even, it was a critical part of the process. Banana peels were a common ingredient in all manner of concoctions. Apparently, it was on account of a deity's power. The god of bananas was also the god of stability, and though his concept was focused first and foremost on the health of the mind, so too did it frequently extend its bounds.

So on and so forth, Chloe continued with her preparations. She melted feysteel, jammed geistberries, and even threw in a piece of true ice before lighting the fire beneath the cauldron and mixing a dozen other ingredients together.

She emerged with three vials of poison after about an hour of work. A mix of two distinct liquids swirled within, one a vibrant green, and the other a light-thieving purple.

According to Alfred, that was how it was supposed to look, though she'd have to wait until the next day to test it. Its effect lasted a full twelve hours and her duel was only seven away.

Setting them aside for the time being, she raised her eyes and met the figure in the doorway.

Claire'd been standing there for at least twenty minutes, watching silently as the maid went about her preparations.

"Sorry," said Chloe. "I was focusing. Did you need something?"

"It's nothing urgent," said Claire.

"Oh. I appreciate you checking in on me, but I'm fine, I promise." The maid flashed a confident smile. "I think I have everything in order, and now that it's really happening, I'm not nearly as nervous as I thought I'd be."

"It isn't that either."

"It's not?"

"No."

"Then what is it?"

Claire paused for a moment to stew over her words. "I heard that someone is trying to assassinate your opponent."

"...That seems plenty urgent to me," said Chloe.

Claire shrugged. "I don't think it's supposed to happen for another two hours. We can still wake Ciel and decide how we want to handle it."

"What do you mean?"

"I doubt they'll be able to kill him," she said. "They're also trying to pin the blame on Vel'khan and start an all-out war, but that isn't going to happen."

"Wait, hold on," said Chloe, putting down her tools. "Slow down. Who's they? How are they going to blame us? And how did you know all this?"

"I listened in on some of the Alliance's spies," said Claire. "They want to drain Cadria's resources, but somehow, they still don't understand how Cadria thinks."

"I know you keep saying that they don't care for foul play, but it's still a little hard to believe."

"That's just how it is."

"I know, but still." Chloe smiled awkwardly. "How do you see our options?"

"We should watch. You'll get to see how he performs in a real fight. I can kill him if you think he's too far out of reach."

"Are you sure? You two seemed like you probably got along."

Claire shrugged. "Kind of. Not really. It doesn't really matter."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

Chloe paused for a second to scrutinize the princess' face, but couldn't tell if she was putting up a front. Claire was only easy to read when she was goofing off, and even then, it would've been impossible without any knowledge of her patterns. But in the end, her opinion played no role in Chloe's decision.

"Arciel wants to fight fair and square. I'm going to abide by her wishes."

"Are you going to watch, at least?"

Chloe shook her head.

Her mistress was certainly hoping for victory. As her loyal servant, Chloe ought to have sought every advantage she possibly could, but she didn't want to go behind the queen's back and do something that she knew she wouldn't approve of.

It was bad enough already that she was seeking Alfred's assistance. Even another light step would put her completely out of line.

She would face the music with the cards she'd drawn.

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