Razhik leapt from the shadows, emerging into the darkened storm-light atop the great pyramid. As he emerged, two shrouded forms disgorged themselves from his ink-black armor. Orion and Anilith, identically clad, rolled to their feet, encircled by snarling goblins. In the center, seven great goblins stood, tusked and menacing.

  From a distance, their size had been notable, but standing before them, even the smallest of the beasts dwarfed the average goblins, standing head and shoulders above Orion. Polychromatic capes billowed from their shoulders in the storm winds, and each of their polearms reached half again as high.

  Only the largest foe stood unarmed, his euphoric grin splayed cheek to cheek, revealed by a flash of lightning.

  “Not exactly how I expected you to get here,” the Warlord said, “but welcome to my Ziggurat. It takes some real stones to come up here alone—bravery, or idiocy.”

  He snapped his fingers and signaled to his elites. Without missing a beat, they spread out around the invaders, a squad of goblins flocking to each of them like monstrous bannermen.

  “It’s disappointing, seeing you allied with those slime below. After the last challenge, I thought you might be a match for the humble army that you went through the trouble of unsealing… but I guess they were greater outliers than I imagined.” He sighed. “A pity, but you’re here, nevertheless. I’m not one to waste an opportunity for some fun.”

  The trio spread out, Razhik and Orion moving to ward off the horde, clearing the stage for Anilith.

  We’ll probably only have one chance at this, Anilith sent to her comrades. Wait for my signal.

  The Warlord’s eyes widened, ever so slightly. “My, my: telepathy! I guess you’re not a complete disappointment. I’d love to see what you have planned—you do have a plan, don’t you? Rare to see a team so focused on utility, one that survives, anyway. But it seems to have served you well enough. Still, your composition could use a little…balance.”

  “Can’t say we planned on meetin’ you like this,” Orion said.

  “Be damned hard, seein’ as ain’t no one knew about this place. Call it bad luck as brought us here.”

  “Bold words coming from one such as you, marked by the Lady. Good luck, bad luck; they’re one and the same. Fate, I’ve learned, is a matter of perspective. Defeat, however, remains a matter of choice.”

  “What do you know about this mark?” Orion asked, presenting the back of his hand. “That’s between me and this ‘Lady.’ An’ I seen too many good folk dead by cursed luck, no choice in the matter.”

  The skin around the beast’s eyes softened for a moment that passed so quickly, it was easy to think it a figment of imagination. “If only we always knew the moment we decided our fate. Their choice was made, whether they knew it or not. Your little blessing, there, gives you a hand with that,” the Warlord snorted. “But that’s not the mark I speak of. I can see you’ve had a hard road, but somehow, you’ve always survived. Curious, isn’t it? How many times have you wondered, ‘Why me?’”

  Unbidden, Orion’s stride stuttered.

  “The Witch of Paths observes us all, knows all the choices we might make. Some paths—some threads—hold more potential. You, little man, must have impressed her; It was no accident you found this place, nor the timing. We all move to the games of the powerful, leaving so few to claim power of their own.”

  “Don’t listen to him, old man,” Anilith called, drawing her blades as she continued her slow advance. “Letting your mind wander now is a fast road to an early grave!”

  The black-cloaked goblin roared with laughter. “Too true! It seems you have some wisdom after all. Here, I found myself doubtful, seeing as you came here without a dedicated healer and a hostile army at your back.” He grabbed something from beneath his cloak. “If you’re so eager to begin, don’t let me hold you back!”

  The Warlord launched toward Anilith with speed belying his size, but she stayed her course. As the space between them vanished, the storm grew violent above, illuminating the plateau atop the ziggurat.

  The beast emanated more menace than she’d ever felt, despite being unarmed. In his grasp, he held only an unadorned, bladeless hilt, but the songs of Arian cried in alarm at its presence. Just before they would have clashed, Anilith embraced the Wind, following instinct and something greater, and slid between his legs, lashing out with her blades as she passed. A crackling red blade grew from the hilt the beast held, flashing through the air her head had occupied moments prior.

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  Her first attack proved ineffective, but Anilith spun, striking at the lightly armored area behind the beast’s knee. Blades crossing horizontally like shears, they found purchase, but the Warlord rounded on her with a snarl. She jumped back, ducking his reversed slash before the call of Fire forced her back into the fray.

  Anilith and the Warlord locked blades, sparks flying from their weapons' point of contact. Her newest Blade held up to the intense magic, but the tool forged by her oldest friend warped, deforming before her eyes. She leapt away using the brute’s strength to her advantage, putting space between them as she eyed his immaterial blade.

  Razhik and Orion circled the duo, ready to strike down anyone who interfered, maintaining the boundaries of their arena. The elite goblin warriors made no move to interfere, though. No, each wore a look of rapturous awe as they watched their leader fight.

  The enemy commander laughed. “Not just any weapon can resist this beauty. You won’t find the like of my Plasma Cutter elsewhere. Color me impressed that you have a weapon that it won’t turn to slag, although I don’t doubt that’s a newly acquired toy.”

  The brutalized weapon disappeared into the realm of forgotten things, its more durable counterpart shifting to a larger, hand-and-a-half form. Encouraged by a feeling behind her breastbone, Anilith embraced Earth and engaged the great goblin once more.

  “That was a gift, one you’ll regret ruining!”

  “Why you’d care for that hunk of metal when you have that,” the Warlord said, gaze locked on her weapon. He sighed. “Sentimentality—it’s killed as many soldiers as hubris. Emotion has no place on a true battlefield.”

  “Is that why I haven’t seen any of the Rage-born here? No place in the elite army for unruly emotion?”

  That fleeting look crossed him once more, and he leapt back, lowering his weapon.

  “They had a place, once, before they became Lost. Rage-born—it’s not a bad name, you know. It doesn’t quite get to the truth of the matter, but it has a ring to it. Whatever they were, Rage is all that’s left.” He shook his head. “Think of them as what’s left of the advance guard, who’ve guarded the Dungeons for time beyond imagining. How long have your people been hunting them, fracturing their minds time and again?

  “It’s been so long since anyone found this place, we had to send reinforcements out to fortify the Dungeon against the Sea Tribes. Even the blessing of our god has its limits. We might have a way back from the Beyond, but the Lost—they’re too broken to come back. Being that far gone, it warps everything about them, even their innate magic. Like a cornered animal, they’re strong beyond their limits—it only costs them everything. No, I didn’t send them away; they were never here to start.

  “That’s enough with the history lesson, though,” the Warlord said, engaging Anilith again in a flurry. She barely got her guard in place as strikes rained from all angles in a masterful display of swordsmanship beyond anything she had encountered. If not for the boons of the Wind, she would have been disarmed and bisected a dozen times over. However slight, her advantage in speed kept her in the fight, mitigating the Warlord's overwhelming skill.

  Next to a beast that had trained for Ages, survivor of a destroyed and forgotten world, the skills she had honed in her short life seemed crude, inefficient, and lacking. The weight of Time lay threaded through his fluid, powerful movements, outlining more clearly than ever before the dangers hidden in the Tower. Her life was hardly a blip in the memory of this place, and less than that to some of its residents. In a contest of swordsmanship, the ancient Warlord would defeat her every time, even with Anilith’s superior quickness.

  As their blades locked again, the Warlord smiled. “You’re a talent with a sword, for one so young. I hate to cull such promise, but Rules are Rules. If you’re not up to the challenge—”

  But she was more than a simple swordsman.

  NOW, Anilith mentally screamed to her friends over Orion’s link. Alarm crossed her foe’s face, but she was already moving, blade shifting purpose. A great spear sprouted from the hilt of her sword, piercing the warlord’s foot and pinning him in place before he could disengage. Far from a practical weapon, it was exactly what she needed in that moment. There were, undoubtedly, limits to the Blade, but a double-bladed weapon, even an unconventional one, fell easily within its domain.

  “Master always told me I lacked the focus to become an exemplary swordsman, so he trained me in the art of Blades instead,” she said as a portal opened beneath their feet.

  The Warlord resisted, even as his smile grew, but five sets of shadow-clad hands reached out, pulling him down while hauling themselves free, launching high into the air.

  Anilith spared a glance at her friends. Don’t die on me now, y’hear? She called as she disappeared beneath the velvet black of Shadow, the portal closing behind her.

  Back atcha, kid, Orion sent, but she was already gone.

  So, Razhik called, I think she mighta been on to something; Let’s worry about our own hides for now. I’m pretty sure they aren’t too happy about us disappearing the big guy.

  The elite goblins were indeed no longer content to sit on the sidelines, anger burning in their eyes. Each roared, sending their underlings in a massive wave to drown the insolent invaders.

  Well, with your Shadows, seems to me we’re only hopelessly outnumbered.

  Think it’s too late to trade roles with Ani?

  Razh, I get the feelin’ we somehow got the easy part.