Garzha grimaced as the force of Karn’s aura threatened to buckle her knees – it was beyond what Karn should have possessed. Her eyes flicked to the scepter, knowing full well the implications.

  She gritted her teeth, thinking of her old friend – Yuki. She missed the princess dearly and would have given anything for the chance to see her again – to laugh over a cup of tea, while she shared stories from Meen-Tra’s youth.

  But her friend was gone, and now this – thing dared to use the scepter – Yuki had died to keep its power from the wrong hands, and now this.

  The [Blade Mistress] lived for a challenge, and she would die before Yuki’s sacrifice was wasted in the service of this orc's greed.

  The slow-burning fire deep in her soul, kindled and nurtured since the day her friend had died in her arms, flared to a roar as energy filled her limbs, and her aura pushed back on Karn's.

  She stood as her swords fell into her palms, their edges as wicked as her smile. Their design was familiar to anyone who’d known Yuki, as Garzha had kept her friend's blades, as a way to remember – that she might never forget.

  Karn's head turned to the side, his eyes narrowed. Garzha grinned as she leaped, her swords crossing in front, before she brought them up and over in a two-handed chop.

  Karn brought his sceptor to bear a snarl on his face, as their weapons met like a thunderclap of mana and light.

  Garzha’s grin widened as Karn pushed back, before he hurled her back with a grunt. She backflipped, her legs sweeping overhead, as she landed in an L stance, her swords at the ready – she rolled out her neck. “You’re a fool, Karn, and I’m going to finish you.”

  She leveled a single sword at Karn before charging for a second attack.

  This time, they exchanged a series of quick blows, sending sparks flying – as Garzha pushed her footwork, dancing around him, pressing her advantage, seeking a way around his guard.

  Karn jumped back and let loose a roar, “[Eldrins Call]!” Shockwaves of power rippled from the keeper, and his muscles began to swell, his face bulging in places, as bones rearranged themselves.

  Karn’s robes split down the back, and his arms tore free of their sleeves – the veins along his neck pulsed and enlarged fit to bursting.

  The doors to the room burst open, and guards began pouring in – just as the Shamanic council broke free of Karn’s hold, with cries of alarm – Pryuuks took to the air, as he prepared to flank the oncoming attackers.

  Krogh didn’t waste any time as he launched himself into the oncoming charge, his sword swinging in devastating arcs, sending armor-clad soldiers flying with reckless abandon.

  Garzha could hear Marraka chanting in the background as she charged at Karn, his transformation still underway. She leaped into an overhead somersault, bringing her swords down “[Bladestrike]!”

  Karn blocked, but Garzha, at the last moment, swept her offhand blade around the guard, biting a deep wound into his exposed shoulder in a spray of blood. She kicked off his chest, flipping into a crouched position as Karn stumbled back, blood dripping, a crazed look in his eyes.

  As she readied to launch another attack, sinew and muscle rapidly knit closed.

  Karn’s bulk was so massive that he had to turn his whole body as he pointed to the nearby guards, “No prisoners, kill them all!”

  Garzha dove into a roll and came up sprinting as she aimed to maneuver herself into position behind the giant.

  Karn let out another bellow as he turned to find her gone. Soldiers continued to stream into the room, and Garzha delivered a few blows to the soldiers attempting to circle Krogh.

  She jumped back before drawing any attention to herself, as she performed a series of flips and kicks – lashing out with sword and sandal – taking out any of those distracted by Krogh’s fury.

  Garzha turned and ran at Karn, who was stomping the floor, smashing his fists into the ground, cratering tile, and throwing dust and debris as he searched for a new target.

  He focused on Marrak just as she finished her chant, and Garzha’s step quickened, her arms lighter.

  Her eyes locked onto Karn’s neck. She would end this with a decisive blow –

  The world shook, sending even the gigantic form of Karn sprawling, as Garzha sailed past.

  Soldiers stumbled, the table slid from the dias, clattering below – as a momentary pause in the fighting took place. There was a moment of confusion as friend and foe alike struggled to understand where the attack came from.

  Karn held up the scepter as he squinted at its metallic surface. “Huh?” His voice was like gravel.

  The district shook again, shattering windows and raining down bits of Spire, as vaulted ceilings cracked under the strain.

  Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  Guards continued to stream into the room. Krogh was being overrun, Kythan was out of sight, and Alyndra sat on her haunches – as Marraka danced around her, throwing devastating kicks and punches, with fists and feet surrounded in shimmering auras that sent chainmail and bone flying in all directions.

  There were too many; the companions were being pressed on all sides, like ants swarming sugar cubes.

  Krogh let out an enraged croak before backflipping straight up, sending guards bowling in all directions, “[Gravity Strike]!” The air around his blade grew heavy, its shadows lengthened, “To the accords with you, Traitors!”

  Krogh’s blade slipped through the aether, as he gripped its hilt – along for the ride. Guards fell all over themselves in an effort to get out of the way of his blade; some succeeded, many did not.

  Those unable to move were obliterated, the ground cratered with the force of the blow, sending a shockwave across the room, knocking down many, and scattering more.

  Karn slammed his two fists into the ground, “You can’t win, Eldrin watches over us – [We Go All]!”

  Korgh swept his greatsword around in elegant arcs, ripping through guards that attempted to fill the space – wild determination in their eyes, like enraged manders.

  At the activation of Karn’s skill, crackling black plasma arced around the room, emanating from his hulking form, connecting to every guard in the district – their own forms swelling, as undersized chainmail tore free, and weapons were dropped to the ground, as they grabbed their misshapen faces, popping and bubbling with growth.

  A jolt of fear struck Garzha’s heart as she watched on in horror, where is Kythan!

  She shook off the momentary surprise, lunging for Karn’s exposed neck, his eyes rolled back in his head, a snarl on his face – as power streamed out of him, his scepter thrumming with energy.

  Her leading blade sank deep into his neck, and blood fountained hot and sticky from the wound. She brought her other blade around to bear in a pincer attack meant to remove his head, as she planted her feet in his chest.

  Karn’s eyes shot open, a smile on his face – before her blade could impact him, his fist shot forward, blowing a hole through her chest.

  Garzha’s eyes flew wide in shock as her body flopped to the ground. Karn stepped back, raising her heart in the air, “For the Spire!”

  Karn brought her heart to his lips, ripping off a hunk with his teeth. While he chewed with a satisfied smile on his face, he turned to face Marraka, who let out a scream like a banshee.

  Kythan watched helplessly as the vatagand circled the district tree, rearing back its head before tearing free devastating chunks of the trunk, its teeth like a million saw blades, eviscerating the ancient tree.

  His initial plan was to flank the oncoming guards, giving his party a chance to press the attack. But he’d underestimated the number of Spire guards, who emerged from barracks and marched out from every corner of Murkspire – like a colony returning home at their queen's call.

  When the arcing plasma-like vision of the void hit them – transforming and boosting them, his blood had run cold.

  They had severely underestimated the Spires' threat and the lengths of depravity the guild might reach.

  They should be working together to defeat this threat; instead, they were at each other's throats, and worse, the Keepers appeared to be aiding the creature.

  Kythan couldn’t understand why the other guilds hadn’t come; surely they were aware of the threat the Keepers represented.

  His own danger sense was blaring so loud he could barely concentrate. So where were they!

  He had to do something, the vatagand was almost to the platform, and his party was surely being overwhelmed…Garzha.

  He held in place mid-air, beak tip pointed at the vatagand, “[Falcon Surge].” His golden rings began to glow, their glare intensifying to a white-hot light.

  His wings snapped to their full length as he ducked his head, dipping into a dive, “[Plunging Comet]...”

  The aether streamed around Kythan as he hit the wind mana barrier – a thunderclap rocked Murkspire, as he plunged toward his target.

  Kythan hit the vatagand with the force of an avalanche!

  A bubble of white light grew around the impact spot, as Kythan’s beak tore through the vatagand like a hot knife.

  The beast reared back its head as it constricted its grip around the titan, letting loose a reverberating blast of sound, as Kythan incinerated the vatagand's insides, tearing clean through the other side – erupting in a shower of gore.

  His momentum halted on a dime, as he drew up mid-air, propelling himself up and away with a single powerful stroke from his wings.

  A smile on his face, withered and died like fruit on the vine – the wound shrank, as bits of sinew and flesh stretched and wound together, stitching up the damage in the blink of an eye.

  The vatagand snaked the titan, reaching up and around, before its open maw – like a pit into the unexplored depths of the Mire, collapsed into the base of the Spire, in a shower of plas-crete and debris – the district rocked, uneasy on its foundation, for the first time since its creation.

  In the no man's land between the Sinking Gods Mire and the Crystal Plains, a portal opened, its height reaching to the bottom of the canopy, where mists swirled and danced. The first vehicle and armored transport rolled free of the portal, its armored bulk just fitting through the gateway.

  As it moved into position, putting the portal between itself as it faced the Mire, the armada lined up, one by one – tanks and transports, their ornithopters loading with troops, even as the armada formed up, ready to take wing, scouting the area.

  Shooting through the portal, an armored figure in a MaxTech battle suit, its custom modifications courtesy of the Maia Collective.

  General Gorthow’s rocket boots flared blue, his palms did the same, as he arched his back, rising into the sky and positioning himself over the gathering fleet. He punched in a few quick commands on his wrist panel, opening up a line of communications with his second, while setting his suit's auto function.

  Gorthow’s composite alloy helmet: rectangular eye slits glowing like coals, a sleek chrome seamless face plate – slid back revealing a stern visage, mismatched eyes, and a scar that ran through one eye from top to bottom. “Number two report – what is the status of the armada?”

  A voice crackled over the General’s helmet comms, crisp and concise, “Twenty-six percent and climbing, the portal’s stability is holding a one hundred percent, and our thopters are taking to the sky as their systems come online – aerial recon reports coming in shortly.”

  “Roger – we begin arterial bombardment as soon as the portal collapses, General Gorthow out.”

  Gorthow’s helmet snapped shut as he hovered arms akimbo, the sun falling flat across his matte black and crimson armor.

  Soon, the Sinking God’s Mire would learn the face of terror.

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