1511-1512 eng

1511 Drowning Star

Nephis saw the Serpent King's palace sway, from afar. Its dome was collapsing, and a net of cracks appeared on its walls. However, she had no time to pay attention to what was happening in the distance... the street she had found herself on was crowded with countless warriors, and all of them were moving toward her, an eerie emptiness hiding behind their ruthless eyes.

Hundreds of them. Thousands, even — and that was only on this one street. Enemies were in front of her, behind her, and on all sides.

There seemed to be no escape from this human flood. Their hands were already reaching toward her, aiming to catch her and push her down. Surrounded by the undulating mob, Nephis struggled not to surrender to primal fear.

Before the first hand touched her chainmail shirt, she took a stance and lashed out with her sword. The movement was ingrained into her very bones, absorbed by both her body and mind. Mass, speed, force, space and time. Levers and fulcrums... transfer of energy. That was what swordplay was, deconstructed to its most basic pillars. Her body was a versatile and intricate tool for expressing these principles.

Of course, there was another element to it, one that existed outside the scope of fundamental physics. Thought. After all, the most perfect tool would be useless without a conscious will to guide it. And thoughts —both her own and those of her enemies — could become a tool, in turn. But that... was much harder to master...

The severed hand fell to the ground, bright blood spilling on the cobblestones. A normal human would have recoiled in terror, or at least showed a reaction. Even a Nightmare Creature would not have completely ignored the loss of a limb. However, the empty shell hosting the perverse consciousness of Soul Stealer did not pay it any attention, continuing its lunge at Nephis.

She had calculated that the warrior would not be deterred, as well.

Shifting her weight, Nephis turned her torso and allowed the warrior to brush past her. At the same time, she gave him a measured shove. The man was already losing his balance, so that was enough to send him stumbling into the wall of people to her left.

Her sword had never stopped moving.

After severing the arm of the nearest human, she pierced the neck of another, then slammed the guard of the sword into the third, all in one fluid motion. By then, the hand she had used to shove the first warrior was already landing back on the hilt, giving her more leverage, and therefore speed.

And, therefore, freedom.

Nephis exploded into motion, shredding the bodies of the closest attackers like a hurricane of steel. A bright radiance suffused her skin, making it seem as though a merciless spirit of light was moving through the crowd of mortal warriors. One after another, their bodies seemed to melt in that light, severed and cut apart.

The white radiance was soon tinted red, shining through the bloody haze.

'Faster.'

Her mind was silent and clear, moving at incredible speed. She perceived a million details about her environment, seamlessly assimilated these observations into a comprehensive understanding, and instantly formulated flawless responses to the shifting landscape of the battlefield.

The silver longsword cut down anyone who entered within its reach, knowing no mercy or hesitation. Crimson blood was boiling and evaporating from its incandescent blade.

Nephis was alone, surrounded by thousands of enemies. However, that was alright. Many of these people were Awakened, but most were mundane. They were much slower than her. Much weaker than her. Much more fragile than her... more than that, numerical advantage had a limit to how much it could help them — after a certain point, it did not matter.

The bodies of these warriors all took up a certain amount of space. Only so many enemies could attack her at the same time, obstructed from approaching her by the walls of the surrounding buildings and the bodies of their own comrades. So, it wasn't like Nephis had to fight with thousands of Soul Stealer's marionettes at the same time.

She only had to fight against a dozen or so at once, and those... those, she could kill.

But what did it matter?

She could kill a dozen. She could kill a hundred, a thousand... ten thousand, maybe. But she couldn't kill millions of them.

Sooner or later, she would grow tired. Her essence would run dry. Soul Stealer would send the more powerful Awakened and swarms of Masters to confront her. Warriors who could bulldoze through the walls of the buildings, destroying her only advantage, would appear, as well as those possessing insidious Aspects and arsenals of potent Memories.

In the end, she would be buried under a mountain of human flesh and torn apart.

'What do I do?'

Nephis cut down an Awakened warrior wielding a long spear, severed a mundane soldier in half, pushed through the rain of blood, and pierced the throat of a heavily armored swordsman. The enchanted plate armor could not stop her blade, parting in front of it like paper.

She kicked the swordsman's body, sending it flying back to crush and maim a dozen hollow-eyed warriors. There was only a split second remaining before she would receive a blow on her back — spinning around, Nephis sliced through the descending sword, the attacker's arms, and his neck.

'What do I do?'

There were still thousands of enemies surrounding her... if anything, there were more of them now than there had been before. Despite the gruesome deaths of the first wave, their faces remained cold and emotionless. Their eerie eyes were full of emptiness and chilling malice. They were still advancing, aiming to bury her under an avalanche of bodies.

Nephis moved, knowing that she could not stay in place. She was faster than them, after all, and although a wall of steel and flesh surrounded her from all sides, her sword was sharp enough to cut it down.

She cut, pierced, and crushed. She calculated every move — both of her own and of her enemies — perfectly. She was ten steps ahead in her calculations, even, plotting a bloody course through the flowing mob in advance. That was the only way not to drown in the flood.

'What do I do?!'

Where was Sunny? Where was Cassie? What happened to Effie and Jet?

Were they still alive, or had they already been taken as hosts by Soul Stealer? What about Kai? Had he escaped the trap of frozen time only to be devoured by the mirror fiend?

What about Mordret of Valor? What had happened to him?

Distracted by these thoughts, Nephis allowed the tip of an enemy's spear to strike her shoulder. The chainmail shirt held, but the cadence of her fluid sword dance was thrown into disarray, forcing her to scramble and recalculate dozens of movements.

What was she supposed to do?

Surrounded by thousands of enemies, Nephis looked ahead somberly. Then, furious white flames ignited in her eyes.

'Kill them all... I'll just kill them all. I'll try, at least...'

Her sword flashed, countless lives turning to ash in the incandescent glow of its blade.

1512 Chaos and Mayhem

Somewhere far away, Mordret was in a similar situation. Of course, he did not possess the physical strength, speed, and resilience of Changing Star of the Immortal Flame clan... however, he did possess his own arsenal of tricks.

'I wonder...'

He had escaped into a section of the city where the ground had been broken by some titanic blow. Shallow water covered the cracked cobblestones, with ruined buildings rising from it like islands. The twilight sky reflected in the water, turning it into a beautiful painting of soft colors.

Mordret was using the reflections to stay ahead of his pursuers.

Countless human figures were surrounding him, their weapons hungry for his blood.

'If I try to possess one of them, what would happen?'

Usually, he would have to bet his life against the soul of his victim, armed only with their reflected power. But these warriors had no souls — they had long been destroyed by Soul Stealer... that impostor. So, would Mordret have to battle against the soul of the Defiled Saint? Or the reflection of the dead victim's soul? Whose power would he be able to reflect?

He was both curious and reluctant to find out.

'Not just yet, at least.'

Dodging a swift sword, Mordret pierced the attacker's throat, dodged another strike, and jumped back. A subtle frown appeared on his face.

'Inconvenient...'

The worst part about slaughtering these hollow vessels was that they were just that — vessels. There were no souls inside the bodies of the taken warriors, and so, he was not growing stronger from killing them. Otherwise, Mordret would have been able to slowly restore his Monster Core... maybe even the Demon Core, if he was diligent and lucky.

With those, he could create a new Reflection or two. Without them, things were proving difficult.

He would have preferred slaughtering actual people, instead.

'What was it that Sunless likes to say?'

He emotionlessly cut down a young woman wearing an archaic garment and sighed.

'Damnation?'

The ring of enemies surrounding him was growing tighter. He couldn't do much against them with one hand... all Mordret could do was flee. Stepping into the reflected sky, he appeared a few hundred meters away, in the middle of a furious clash between the vessels of Soul Stealer and a swarm of Nightmare Creatures that were still loyal to the Dread Lord.

'So, the impostor has a limit, too...'

Why hadn't Soul Stealer taken these abominations, as well?

Mordret smiled as he finished off a lumbering monstrosity. Finally, he felt his soul growing stronger.

Was it because destroying the souls of those already taken by the Defilement was harder? No, it wouldn't be... Mordret had slain plenty of Nightmare Creatures that way himself. So, it had to be because it was easier to destroy the souls of those who were not Defiled.

Why?

He lingered suddenly.

'Don't tell me...'

Was it because those following the Path of Ascension could be infected by the Defilement during the soul battle, all but dooming them to lose?

Suddenly, he lost all curiosity about facing Soul Stealer. Becoming Defiled? Mordret wanted none of that. Because it ran contrary to his goals, of course, but mostly because the impostor... was rather pathetic.

Sure, Soul Stealer was mighty. Sure, he had reached the level of power that Mordret struggled to fathom. However, he was also a bit brainless.

None of the warriors Mordret had killed showed a tenth of his skill with the sword. Gone were his cunning, his foresight, his resolve... and those were much more valuable than control over a million clumsy flesh puppets.

It seemed that Corruption — or perhaps splitting his soul between countless beings, both humans and abominations alike — had rotted Soul Stealer's mind, turning him into a madman. And not even a brilliant madman, at that, just a dull monster.

Mordret would have loved to continue pondering the undeniable inferiority of his monstrous twin, but at that moment, his sword failed to penetrate the carapace of another Nightmare Creature. He had killed a few already, using the rest to stall the Soul Stealer's vessels, but this one had turned out to be more powerful than he thought.

'Ah...'

As a sharp claw tore his chest open, Mordret grimaced and thrust his hand into the water. Then, he pulled a human body out of it — that of an Awakened warrior wearing the colors of Clan Valor.

The next moment, Mordret's eyes grew empty, while the warrior's eyes ignited with sinister intelligence. A moment after that, Mordret's own body plunged into the shallow water, disappearing from sight.

Wearing the familiar body of Squire Warren, and wielding his Aspect, he dove under the abomination's body and cut open its unprotected belly.

'A few more... a few dozen more... and I'll become a Monster again.'

Mordret dashed away, escaping before the dying Nightmare Creature crushed him with its weight. It was okay if Warren's body was destroyed — he had plenty more to choose from, some of which he had hidden from Changing Star and her cohort. He could take the bodies of these abominations, as well...

But what was the point?

As Mordret continued to coldly kill the Defiled, his expression grew dim. So what if he killed them? So what if he regained a few soul cores?

The situation was still... inescapable. For once, he saw no way to survive, let alone win. Even his usual path of escape was cut off, since Soul Stealer was perfectly capable of haunting the reflections, as well.

'Are we all going to die here, in this godforsaken city?'

Wasn't it a bit too ironic? Poetic, even. To die by his own hand...

One thing kept Mordret's spirit up, though. It was that girl, Cassia... Song of the Fallen.

She might have had others fooled, but he knew that the blind witch was

not as simple as she looked. Someone like her had to have something planned, without a doubt... she wouldn't have led her companions here otherwise.

But then again, Soul Stealer had gone through the same ritual as Mordret. Neither of them was easy to perceive through divination... how else would that monster have escaped Torment's gaze and rebelled against the Dread Lord?

'Ah... I don't know.'

Mordret pushed an old man in weathered leather armor into the maw of a hideous Nightmare Creature, then pierced the creature's eye while it was busy devouring the poor fool.

His expression was somber.

'At this point, we'll need a miracle to pull through.'

But when had the world been generous with miracles? If something truly astonishing happened... it was always a curse, instead.

***

Some distance away, Cassie had fled toward the breached walls of Twilight. Here, there were more Nightmare Creatures fighting against the vessels of Soul Stealer, and therefore, more mayhem and chaos.

Using that chaos, Cassie was still struggling to keep herself alive. Blood was pouring from a deep wound on her neck. Pressing her hand against it, she moved through the terrible jumble of human and monstrous bodies, somehow avoiding all the swords, claws, and fangs.

Sometimes, she was only a split second away from death, but each time, that split second was somehow enough to save her.

Her face was pale and bleak.

An iron locket rested on her chest, wet with blood.

'How much time do I have left?'

She didn't know exactly.

***

Far away, the Serpent King's palace shuddered, coming undone. There, in the ruins of the throne room...

Sunny coiled his giant serpentine body around the Dread Lord, trying to crush his bones. His fangs were scratching the impenetrable midnight scales, leaving deep grooves on them.

'Die! Die, you worm!'

Losing all reason, he could only think about tearing the odious dragon apart.

...However, killing a Defiled Saint was not an easy task.