The Scythe and the Seer, Book 3 of the Enchanter's Cycle

Along a beaten path half-obscured by snow, Shirudo and his hunters traveled north of Shimobashira and into the lower slopes of the mountains that crowned the nation.

Following a finely detailed map, he led the Te Fukushu off of the road and along a frozen stream which widened into a deep river supplied by the melted snow from the mountains. The pine trees thinned out as the elevation began to rise, and the soil became gritty sediment.

The paths became few; the only marker for their whereabouts was a series of signposts along the way. Leading Yuki up the lower slopes, the shaggy horse scaled the incline without complaint. Up, up, they went, until the air grew thin and the chill would have been unbearable were it not for the living furnace carrying him. The hills became steeper, hardened into icy rock.

And then they passed through a narrow canyon, the wind shrieking in its intensity. Shirudo had no hood on his haori, something he intended to remedy at the first opportunity, so he put on a thick shawl.

As they cleared the canyon, a steep Human-made incline brought them to the edges of a single great pillar of rock that scraped the clouds, ringed by smaller peaks which seemed to imprison it. At last they had reached Mount Renmei; the slopes whose peak contained the fortified castle prison of the Renmei Kisai.

Try as he might, Shirudo couldn’t make it out, obscured as the peak was by a descending snow storm.

“Ready yourselves.” he ordered, “There is no place to shelter, and we must reach our destination soon. We go through it.”

Continuing, Shirudo squinted as the white blanket of swirling snow and wind fell upon them, shivered as his body adjusted, then sighed when Yuki’s regular body heat staved off hypothermia. Silkrit were adept in surviving in cold terrain, even cold-blooded, by their body’s heat retention, but even that had its limits.

He saw veiled discomfort in the faces of his subordinates, but they did not complain. They did him proud, did Ryū proud...

Soon they could not safely ride and had to guide their horses on foot. Thankfully, after a time, the wind stabilized, still a constant nuisance but a tolerable one, and Shirudo led them up the path without incident.

Every ten minutes or so, he was forced to order a halt that they might borrow the heat from the horses, lest they freeze to death. The footing became treacherous, lined with ice, and he did the best he could to navigate around it, and, where that failed, stopped to order hunters to texture the ice with pickaxes to prevent slipping as well.

As the sheer thickness of the mountain narrowed the closer they came to the top, they had to do this more often, as the path shrank incrementally, becoming narrow and uneven and even icier.

For a time, all he knew was numbly walking, stopping, and ordering to clear or fracture the ice, then blink uncomprehending as the ice suddenly became unbearably slippery again. All he knew was the biting cold, and the aching of his muscles, and the increasingly blinding shade of white of the snow.

They made camp about a third up the mountain, with the bulk of it shielding them from the wind. Against his better judgment, Shirudo looked back the way they came and saw the land in stark detail; the river they skirted he could see for miles. If he focused, he could see Shimobashira Inaka as a black dot on the horizon.

Looking up, he could likewise see another dark spot up the sheer walls of the mountain, not quite the right color as the surrounding stone. A single mountain it was, but surrounded on all sides, Mount Renmei was a jagged, inhospitable place.

From his studies of the local topography he had learned that while the bulk of the North District experienced a mild and short summer, its northern slopes were sheathed in perpetual winter. He could think of no place he’d ever seen more naturally foreboding, not even his own world after the Skraul had pillaged it.

He revised his opinion of this land; in sending the enchanters here, Teikoku had more than imprisoned them. They’d sent them to a bitter hellish place without hope, a place to which there was no escape. He was quite eager now to correct that mistake...

Kaileena woke to an unfamiliar bed. It took a few minutes to remember she was in Ken’ichi’s house, with her family.

Her family...

Rising, she flicked out her tongue uncertainly, tasting the air. The others were nearby, so she shrugged, cleaned herself with magicka, and made her way downstairs. Now she could smell something else; a dull, bitter, earthy tang she didn’t recognize.

In the dining room she found Ken’ichi and Hina speaking quietly beside the stove and Hinata eating at the table. Hinata smiled, and cheerfully shouted, “Hai, Kai.”

Sitting herself down across from her, Kaileena nodded as Hinata did, and eyed the girl’s plate with distant curiosity.

Hinata’s breakfast appeared to consist of flat triangle-cut pieces of a fibrous material which smelled something like eggs, though there was a viscous goo coating them. Beside it was a cup of dark liquid that produced that odd, earthy smell she’d noticed earlier.

“Good morning.” Hina said with a smile, turning to set down a similar plate in front of her, “Eat up. I’m making plenty for all of us.”

Still lethargic, Kaileena took note that resting in the corner of the room was Hrotti and a suit of glittering silvery mail with glassteel armor plates. A breastplate was noticeably absent. In place of a helm was a peculiar faceted coif that had holes to accommodate Silkrit horns.

Still oddly detached, Kaileena shrugged, ignoring that for now, and eyed the metal implements beside her plate. Picking up a three-pronged fork, she studied it, then skewered her odd food and dipped it. It smelled sweet, very sweet, and when she took a bite of it she smiled despite herself.

“What is this?” she asked, taking a more enthusiastic second bite, and Hina replied, “A Djinn recipe. Made with bread and whipped egg, topped with fermented sap from a tree. I couldn’t begin to guess its name. Husband, get her some cocoa would you?”

Nodding, Ken’ichi poured her a cup that was longer and narrower than what she was used to, which sent up rivulets of steam. Trying some of that, she found a bitter tang laced with a peculiar sweetness.

“And this?” she asked, to which Ken’ichi laughed heartily, “My favorite; bitter beans filtered through water, with a bit of dark syrup for texture. It goes well with a hot breakfast.”

“It’s very interesting.” she conceded, taking another careful sip, for the first one had scorched her throat, the irritation requiring the regenerative properties of the Phoenix Stone to mend.

“Are you alright?” he asked, to which Kaileena shrugged, “I feel strange in the mornings lately. I can’t explain it, save to say it feels like I’d been doing something recently but forgotten what it was.”

“What did you dream about?” Hinata asked between the contents of her full mouth, and Kaileena idly tried to remember...then seriously struggled to recall even a single sensation after closing her eyes and drifting off.

“Nothing.” she replied, troubled, “...In fact. I can’t remember experiencing a dream since...since...-”

Totoanatsukami...

“...Since binding myself to the Phoenix Stone.”

Horrified, she wondered aloud, “I no longer dream...what a bizarre side effect. Is the ability to dream inherent to organic beings and the stone cannot replicate it? Or are dreams indeed voluntary on some sub-conscious level and I’ve simply lost the willingness to experience them?”

Ken’ichi frowned, “Well...I...never mind that. I think it would be nice if we all went to the market today before my match at the coliseum. Some relaxation will do both of us some good. We were hoping you could join us for both.”

Not really wanting to, Kaileena acquiesced anyway, too confused and troubled to do otherwise, and he smiled, “It’s not what you’re expecting. After all of this sadness a little festivity will do you good. After the match we can all go to the harvest festival and have a drink or two.”

“Even me?” Hinata gasped, breathless, and he snorted, “You can come. But if I see you drinking the mead so help me you won’t see the outside of this house for a month.”

“Yes, Father.” Hinata replied sheepishly, and when Hina joined them with another pair of plates, the table went silent as everyone dined.

Rinshi waited outside the villa, her home since birth, as the servants began loading her things into Atsushi’s wagons. Likewise, the Commodore’s own servants unloaded his tribute; his payment for her hand, piling trade goods and weapons. Normally, a marriage would be paid for in finery and fine spirits, but times such as the present demanded more useful things.

She tried and failed to appreciate that, and what that attitude similarly demanded from her.

Her prospective husband eventually joined her, though they didn’t speak. He barely made eye contact. She already hated his pomp, his falseness. He was a symbol of aristocracy and its vain arrogance, not a warrior like Father, or even a sage like the Hitorigami. He was a monster...

Mother emerged from the villa as well, and had a few choice words with her. Rinshi barely heard them, but nodded anyway. And then the servants were finished and all that was left for Atsushi to formally claim her and they would be off.

Koukatsuna waited and listened for the proper moment as that prick Atsushi began his speech; “Even with this land at war, even with the lives spent to defend our homes against foreign invasions...”

He noted with a scowl that the Human hadn’t specified the Skraul, implying a wider range of invaders.

“...There is always a time to remember and experience joy, and to remember and celebrate the bonds between us as the noble people of Teikoku. And even, sometimes, to create new bonds of family and loyalty. I stand on this day breathless, for on this day I formally announce the engagement between myself and Lady Rinshi. I swear to honor her virtues, protect her from the blade and the spoken word of traitors and foreigners, to provide a homestead worthy of her, and to perform all other tasks that a husband should.”

Rinshi, obviously having rehearsed her part, added, “And as a lady of noble birth and righteous upbringing, I swear to uphold my husband’s holdings, to provide him with heirs, to serve as a balm to the cruelties and sorrows of the world, and to perform all other duties that a wife should.”

And then Rinshi’s mother, Sakura Minamoto, approached them, “As the mother of the bride to be, I give my blessings in place of my husband. May you live peacefully and happily together, till death part you. If any others in attendance with to offer further tribute to their union, let him speak.”

Koukatsuna was there in a heartbeat, startling half of those in attendance. Again he faced the scowls of the soldiers and servants, coupled by that of Atsushi and Sakura herself, but the latter seemed a bit withdrawn, perhaps in remembrance of Atsushi’s duel.

“You would speak, Koukatsuna?” Sakura asked, perplexed, and he nodded, “My words and the tribute I offer are for Rinshi herself; as such, only she can accept or deny them.”

Troubled whispers drifted from those gathered, but without preamble he kneeled before his friend’s startled face, “Though my battles fought are many, the sting of failure follows me like a rotten odor. I failed to protect your father from the depredations of the vampyres. Thus, I have failed you, Milady. My honor demands that I offer my eternal service to your protection in order to find redemption in the eyes of your family and of myself. If you would have it, I would formally declare myself your Champion, like the heroes of old.”

Atsushi was red with anger, and Rinshi was as dumbfounded as her mother and the rest of the humans around him.

“Preposterous!” he finally declared, “You are a foreigner, ignorant of our customs!-”

“I have found success in many battles.” Koukatsuna interrupted, “I have killed a matriarch; a powerful ruler of the Skraul. I have killed hundreds more of their foul kin. I am unmarried, beholden to no others. I have no family, no holdings. I am a ghost in these lands. My services, if proclaimed, would be absolute.”

“You are filth!” Atsushi snarled, “A defeated warrior. By Byo’Ku, then by me, a mere Human. What worth could your service possibly hold to declare yourself champion?”

“Ahhh, but my lord...” Koukatsuna parried, “Do you not declare yourself a fine warrior, unmatched, perhaps? What shame is there to be defeated by you?”

He paused for dramatic effect.

“...None, says I. I will keep the mark you left upon me, as I have the scant others. But I assure you, my pledge to Rinshi would give me the strength, the cunning, and the savagery, to engage and defeat armies alone.”

To Rinshi, he added, “Milady, allow me to restore my honor. Allow me to protect you as I could not your father. I beg you.”

He didn’t say anything of the friendship between them; his spoken cause was sufficient enough for the onlookers and still true. He’d been coasting about aimlessly since Minamoto’s death. He wouldn’t kill another matriarch, so he needed something else to strive for; a worthy purpose. If he could protect Rinshi from the vampyres and from the world and from her husband...that would be a worthy purpose.

All eyes turned to Rinshi. For a few moments, with his guts spilled out for everyone to see, he wondered if he’d erred. But then she nodded, smiling, “You are an accomplished warrior and wiser than most give you credit. I would be honored to have you as my champion.”

Ken’ichi looked back at Kaileena curiously, trying and failing to see what was happening behind those strange eyes of hers.

She’d spoken little after breakfast, content to follow them as they made their way to the markets, where they would relax before his bout in the arena. He had a good idea as to why; to lose the ability to dream...what horrible manner of fate was that?

Ken’ichi was a warrior, true, but he prided himself on the stories of his kin and elders that drew a blade for a great and worthy cause. Who fought with valor and temperance. He’d devoted his life to the scroll as well as the sword, had studied the names of heroes great and small and remembered their stories even as he forged his own. His was a world steeped in dreams...in epics and fables...

To lose that...?

If it took him a century or more, he would excise some of the demons haunting that one; he owed it to her and to her mother.

Kaileena took notice of his scrutiny, “What is it, uncle?”

“Nothing. You just remind me of your mother is all.”

Kaileena followed Hinata into the markets while her aunt and uncle went to the arena, slipping between shoulders and elbows as the varied inhabitants of Aurummn Calca went about their daily routines.

A female Minotaur handled strips of lavishly colored cloth, slowly weaving it into some sort of tapestry. A male Kamiyonanayo hammered a bar of what looked like quartz, which didn’t shatter so much as soften.

Everywhere there was someone hawking a brightly colored item, be it gem, silk, glass, or metal. The din of speech became unbearable, so she lessened her body’s ability to detect sound, muting them.

“How do trades work here?” she asked loudly, and when she received a puzzled glance from her cousin, she corrected herself by simply speaking telepathically; “With so much wealth...well...how does wealth measure? Does everyone work for wealth here? How do they trade?”

Hinata pondered this, then, “Everyone does something useful. The Djinn make up for the rest with their powers. Everyone eats, everyone buys, and everyone makes something or serves in some way. Mother gardens and grows rare herbs, and Father fights in the arena. When I am older I will do something, too. What do you plan on doing? You will be staying, right...?”

It was clearly a request, not a question. Kaileena shrugged, “My birth-land may need me in the future, and the Dread Hammer must still be dealt with. I cannot remain here forever.”

“The Dread Hammer is a god...” Hinata replied, troubled, “You think you can stop him?”

“I destroyed my original body in exchange for prolonged life. What I also received was a power that even now erodes my self-control. I worry I have little choice other than to spend it in battle.”

“Really?” Hinata asked, abashed, “...It might not hurt so much if you stayed...let someone else fight.”

Kaileena shook her head, “It’s more than a lack of self control that guides my motivation to fight. My desire to protect life at the cost of my own, if necessary, is what’s driven me all this time, but now...I feel unbidden, violent thoughts, which demand my action, or my sanity.”

Hinata came closer now, ignoring the press of the crowd, “Kai...I...”

“Maybe we should go sit down.” she eventually said aloud, sullen, and Kaileena frowned, “I have troubled you. I apologize...it’s just that...-”

“It’s not easy for you.” the girl replied for her, downcast, “Father said you were sad. That you had... been hurt. But you can heal. You have to.”

Kaileena gave a tired smile in spite of knowing such a thing couldn’t be done, “We will see, cousin. We will see. Please, show me more of our home.”

Her face bubbling with enthusiasm, Hinata then proceeded to show her possibly every obscure vendor in the market; a glass-blower had caught her attention among the rush, as had a fine jeweler. She hadn’t felt any inclination to put on her jewelry that morning, aside from her wedding ring and her alchemist stone signet, and noticed a few choice pieces she might investigate at a later time.

But then Hinata led her to a tailor, where they browsed for a time for something to wear at the arena. Hinata wanted a strange gown the same dark color as her hair feathers, low cut around the neck and shoulders but reaching down to the ankles in a wide lace trim.

Kaileena tried on a few things out of courtesy while standing beside her in a room of mirrors; a dancer’s regalia comprising a top and long skirt with silver threading, a deep purple gown, golden embroidered robes fit for a spell caster.

For over an hour she tried on and tossed aside gowns and blouses, corsets and glove-lets, slippers, and all manner of soft adornments. For some reason...color didn’t appeal to her. Indeed, her own pink gown seemed ridiculous to her that day. That thought in the back of her mind grew worse, until she wanted to tear it off, pull out her feathers, and scream herself hoarse.

Hinata noticed her growing distress and was about to act when she realized the problem and found something very different. Something that would alleviate the sensation.

“That one...?” she asked, confused, and Kaileena nodded, “I think it suits me.”

“But it’s so...”

“Exactly!”

Narthutet found his apprentice reading in the study...and definitely not studying the subject of greater transmutations as he’d instructed.

“More trashy romance?” he observed, sighing, and Dral’rrche tensed, turning his massive head to appraise him, yellow eyes glinting.

“Pointy ears too sneaky for own good.” the Ogre replied with a grunt, “I was taking break.”

“Sure, sure.” Narthutet replied, crossing his arms, “Well then...what is the runic symbol typically engraved on the keystone of a circle of greater conversion?”

Dral’rrche scratched his forehead with one of his clawed fingertips, “Infernus.”

Narthutet grinned, “Trick question; Infernus with a second sealing rune named Nihlus. That combination not only allows proper conversion through the Fire Element, but safely consumes any excess energy. Without that second sealing, the result would be a violent explosion and nothing else. You need to try harder, my pupil. What is the meaning of this?”

The Ogre frowned, eyeing his book thoughtfully. It seemed small in his hands, though it was a relatively thick tome. The title was in the Human alphabet; “The Fair Maiden and the Hedge Maze”.

It was a more somber story than his student favored; that of a beautiful Human woman cursed by a witch to wander endlessly in a dark and frightening maze in her dreams. Every night the dream would last longer, until she slept nearly the entirety of every day.

Eventually, a travelling druid heard of her plight and endeavored to help her through astral projection, leading her through the maze with a telepathic simulacrum. The two slowly fell in love, and he despaired the seeming inevitability of his failure, for the witch’s magicka was potent indeed. Fail he did, so he separated both of their minds from their dying bodies so he could eternally wander with the fair maiden in the maze.

“It’s Kaileena...?” he asked, though it was hardly a question. Dral’rrche nodded, “Every story aught have proper ending. Can we not see her?”

“...Well, we were about to send the first contingent to aid Teikoku. I’m sure they would love an additional pair of Magisters with them. Fine then...but don’t think that you have escaped your studies. I will see you thoroughly trained in all applications of magicka, and more importantly, the proper safety procedures, before I set you loose on the world.”

That didn’t damper the instant enthusiasm that bubbled up from his apprentice’s stony visage, “I get my things then. Maybe bring the sword.”

“If you must...” Narthutet shrugged, “I don’t see why you want to lug the thing around, though.”

“It be my ancestor’s sword...”

“I know that. I met the fellow, remember?”

Kaileena sat beside Hina, with Hinata on her mother’s other side as they waited in a row of seats in the colosseum.

“An...interesting look.” Hina noted when she settled in, to which she shrugged, “It fits me perfectly.”

“All the clothing here can be instantly fitted by a spell.” Hina replied, concerned, and Kaileena shook her head, “That wasn’t what I meant.”

Nothing for it, Hina went silent, and together they watched the sands below and waited. Soon enough, as everyone was seated, a heavy drum struck with a deep, booming retort, silencing the din.

Boom, it bellowed again, almost painful, and as one a great chorus erupted from the opposing balcony.

Artificially augmenting her vision, Kaileena saw the source of the noise clearly; four rows of minstrels, possibly a part of the same group from the theater. But this time they were predominantly drummers, an unfamiliar species of which rested on its side and was played by a pair of male Kamiyonanayo with heavily padded mallets. When struck, it produced that resounding boom.

With thunderous applause, a metal gate to the right end of the arena lifted, as did one to the left. From each opening, which terminated in a stairway reaching down into shadows, emerged a Kamiyonanayo.

“Illuthien?” Kaileena wondered aloud, as she saw a red-robed female Kamiyonanayo with a staff. No...similar in poise and dress perhaps, but not her.

From the right was another Kamiyonanayo, a male, to which she also did not recognize. He was resplendent in a coat of silvery mail, and carried a pair of narrow swords not unlike the ones Adahj had favored, though they were a dark grey metal, probably forged of a titanium alloy.

“This is the first match.” Hinata explained as the crowd quieted, “Father will be in the second.”

Nodding, Kaileena sat back and watched...

Ken’ichi washed himself off with cold water, then began his rigorous stretches in his chamber.

Balancing on the balls of his feet, he touched his toes, then spread each arm as wide as he could, before planting both hands flat, and with the strength of his stomach, triceps, and thighs, lifted his body into the air; feet up, head down, his tail bending down until the tip reached beyond his nose.

Maintaining that position for several minutes, Ken’ichi waited until he was panting heavily, his mane of feathers puffed, before falling into a roll and crouching, gasping for breath.

Arms reaching over his head, forming a rudimentary diamond shape with his elbows and torso, he began bending his body back and forward to its limit. Popping both shoulder joints, he twisted again, one leg splayed forward, the other backward, until both thigh joints popped near his pelvis.

Thoroughly loosened up, Ken’ichi claimed Hrotti, and, still nude, began to test his many stances, pushing each to their comfortable limit.

Brute force was one thing, and while a swing from his sword could cleave away limbs, his advantage over Djinn fighters was his natural agility. By positioning his body just thus, he could extend his reach, increase his momentum and leverage, and slip by an enemy’s defenses.

Now thoroughly engrossed in his phantom duel, Ken’ichi parried, lunged, and slashed at imaginary foes. Using his sword like a giant mirror, he disoriented and confused by using its visual blind spot to completely change his posture and stance, attacking where a parry would have been expected and vice versa. He continued this dance until he was pained for lack of breath, and stopped, more invigorated than tired.

He would need it. Today he was facing a bladedancer named Volur, one of Armathras’ goons. Kaileena had told him about how Armathras had harassed her and her husband (and by the gods it still seemed a tall tale for her to be in love with the Firstborn of Surthath!), and he was expecting some manner of dirty fighting.

With their bulk and deceptive speed, any Djinn was a difficult prospect, made worse by their ability to glide and use magicka. But he’d taken them down in the sands of the arena before; their skulls were fortified but their throats were not, nor were the armpits or underbelly. And since arena fighters didn’t wear torso protection (at most, females were encouraged to cover their breasts), many of these areas would be vulnerable.

Readied physically and mentally, already contemplating his first attack patterns, Ken’ichi put on cloth leggings, then slid into his leather-backed glassteel greaves and linen war kilt, both of which reached down to his knees, covering his feet with a pair of braided leather sandals and ankle-plates.

A pauldron, wrought of a forged glassteel plate with a sheet of mail, topped his right shoulder and fastened by a harness, reaching down to a thick gauntlet which covered up to his fingers. A second gauntlet covered his other wrist, and a mail coif went over his head, reaching down below his throat, and thus armed and armored, he turned to the door.

He was still smiling...

Ken’ichi met Volur in the sands of the arena, dazed by the sunlight and deafened by the roar of the crowd, the blue blood of the last match still sizzling for a moment or two before dissipating.

The Djinn carried a shortsword (though, due to his bulk, the weapon could have almost qualified as a broadsword) and kite shield, both forged of solid glassteel. Neither combatant possessed magickal aid save for the fail-safe token and one choice enchantment.

He didn’t know for sure what enchantment Volur had chosen, but knew that its effect on the match would be minimal. This would be a match determined by physical feats alone.

Searching the crowd for his support, Ken’ichi found Kaileena’s glowing eyes very easily and picked them out. All of them were cheering, though Kaileena seemed sullen, half-hearted, her smile never reaching those hard, ancient eyes. He forgave her for that; being here was more than enough.

Raising Hrotti over his shoulder, Ken’ichi sucked in his breath, held it for a few seconds, and roared, pushing the air out in a bellow that ignited the crowd into newfound enthusiasm. His roar lasted for nearly half a minute, and he lowered Hrotti as it finished, awaiting his opponent’s retort.

Volur’s response was volcanic. His voice was an earth-shattering quake, which stirred the sands of the arena.

Slamming sword on shield, the Djinn crouched, readied, and the Silkrit did the same. As the crowd grew hushed, they circled, appraising each other. Ken’ichi didn’t blink, seeking to unnerve his opponent through a cold, empty stare, which was reflected back unto him by Volur’s piercing blue eye, the iris narrowed dangerously.

The consent was unspoken. Charging, roaring Hina’s name, Ken’ichi swung Hrotti in a descending arc, and it rebounded off Volur’s shield with thunderous retort.

Leaping into a roll, his massive sword in reverse grip, the gladiator felt his weapon’s tip glance off his opponent’s greaves. Kneeling, back to his foe, he anticipated and ducked under the shield swipe, which with such a strong foe would have sent him flying. His counterattack; twisting his body to face his foe, blade thrusting in an impaling motion, was parried by the short double-edged sword, Hrotti forced down low.

Flipping Hrotti up and using its guard like a bludgeon, his teeth rattled as Volur parried in a similar method using the pommel, for his own guard was narrow, almost nonexistent.

Knowing his momentum to be gone, Ken’ichi retreated, weaving his sword in a defensive arc. Volur didn’t take the bait, and waited for the distance separating them to increase. Lunging with speed that belied his bulk, the several hundred pound Djinn hurtled towards him, shield leading.

Leaping into a roll, under and around the shield, this time to the opposite flank, he saw the hidden threat a moment too late, and twisted his body to avoid a strike from the short sword, which thrust toward him as he hit the ground. Hissing with pain as it sheared through the mail protecting his calf, Ken’ichi hooked his foot around Volur’s wrist, and in a moment of inspiration, kicked out with his other foot, right against the edge of the short sword near the tip. Though it cut into his foot, hitting the weapon there ruined his enemy’s solid grip, just long enough for him to get back on his feet before the next attack.

Not daring to use his body in a direct physical attack again, Ken’ichi gave ground once more, sidestepping and deflecting rather than parrying.

“I tire of this...” Volur scowled, then waved his sword in a mystic pass, wherein it was surrounding by light. Squinting, lest he be blinded, Ken’ichi frowned thoughtfully as the sword disappeared, and was replaced by a golden tuning fork. Armathras, looking down from the first balcony, smiled, holding the short sword, his own weapon gone.

“A single enchantment.” Ken’ichi protested, scowling at his opponent, “And you made it a teleportation spell, which would exchange it for another weapon with multiple enchantments.”

The crowd quieted, confused, then began to boo and jeer. Never once in the history of the arena had anyone done something so underhanded.

“If there is no rule for it.” Volur parried, “It is allowed. We shall continue our match, unless you are a coward.”

His blood boiling, Ken’ichi readied Hrotti in an executioner’s grip, blade leading sideways, “A coward? You will eat those words alongside the tip of my sword.”

He charged, screaming, then spun through the air, deafened, his mind dimly aware of his flight and the blast of sonic-based magicka that caused it.

He hit the wall hard, eardrums ringing, but rose to his feet anyway. Just in time for Volur’s shield to take him from jaw to groin. He rose again, black spots in his vision, to see that dreadful fork rebound off of the shield a second time.

Kaileena watched her uncle flung against the wall a second time, heard her aunt exhale in surprise and fear, then rose from her seat, power churning through her body.

Transporting herself to the edge of the first balcony, she hissed as Armathras looked over to her, his expression unmistakably smug.

“End the match.” she protested, “Call off your dog. It’s over.”

Armathras’ face assumed a more veiled, quizzical look. Volur smashed his shield against her uncle a third and fourth time, pinning him to the wall, before ringing the fork again and blasting him with bone-breaking sonic waves. The fail-safe would have, should have, protected him...but with Hrotti’s enchantment, the wounds wouldn’t take their toll until he released Hrotti.

The noble fool would get himself killed, and both Volur and Armathras knew it. The crowd was in an uproar, readied to end the match forcibly.

“End the match.” Kaileena demanded a second time, “Call him off, or I will.”

“Aiding your uncle will forfeit the match.” Armathras parried, “And odds or not, it will disgrace him. Not in two centuries has a gladiator been aided by another against the specifications of the match. They will not let him fight again with that shame upon him. It will break his heart.”

“Damn you!” she hissed, considering how a burst of telekinesis might puncture his bone-plated heart.

“Of course...” he continued, smiling as Volur continued to pummel Ken’ichi, “...we can always continue the match by swapping out combatants. That happens sometimes. You can take his place as his champion, and I will serve as Volur’s. There is hardly as much shame in that, and the crowd loves it when a fight continues to the brink. What say you?”

Normally, Kaileena would’ve ignored a fool like Armathras and his continued insults towards her beloved and her family. But she wasn’t herself lately and wanted nothing more than to flatten his scarred face against the wall.

She obliged his challenge, teleporting onto the arena sands beside Volur. The Djinn snarled, then backed off, seeing his doom in her eyes. Ken’ichi still rose to his feet, uncomprehending, physically able but disoriented beyond measure.

“Easy now...” Kaileena whispered gently, laying a hand on his shoulder and plunging her nails just beneath the skin, “Your part in this is ended.”

With a surge of blood magicka, her veins flaring a rosy pink that spread to his own, she healed his body, repairing fractures and deeply bruised muscle. Soon he was whole again, though only she could tell, linked as she was to his nervous and vascular systems.

As he wobbled on his feet, still unaware of his surroundings, she took Hrotti from his hand and tossed it aside, severing the enchantment, and he collapsed, insensate.

“Rest well, uncle.” she whispered, brushing her fingertips against his forehead, before rising with a scowl.

Her enchanted items she teleported into her hand from Arteth’s tower, and with a flash of Blood Magicka she corroded their physical shells and absorbed their effects into the star sapphire embedded into her right palm.

The Kodama’s charm necklace and bangle, her own bangle and the staff magickally contained inside it, and all the rings save for her signet and wedding band were consumed and re-purposed. She had no need for them anymore...she no longer wanted to appear pretty. She wanted to appear acutely threatening.

Approaching Armathras, his armor glinting, his tuning fork vibrating, she gave him a prelude to what she would do to him.

Armathras watched the Silkrit bitch, who in turn stared at him with those piercing violet eyes. In fact, those eyes seemed to shift as he watched, the irises widening.

Suddenly the notion was confirmed, as the iris rounded out, becoming opaque, to reveal a honeycomb of reflective facets, like a finely cut gem. All the black outside of the corneas shrunk, leaving only blinding violet color which terminated into those terrible faceted orbs.

He’d never seen anything like them.

“Organic conversion...” Kaileena explained, “With these eyes, I can predict your every movement based off the most minuscule muscle stimulation. I can see the beads of sweat running down your neck, detect the irregular palpitations of your heart. I can see the electrical synapses firing in your brain and throughout your body.”

Then, suddenly, she was in front of him, laying a finger on his left forearm. Lashing out with his fork, the earth before him ruptured with a wave of sonic pulses, spearing the Silkrit with jagged stone. They hit nothing but air, passing through her body without resistance.

“I’m over here, Armathras.” Kaileena whispered behind his ear, and suddenly his right arm went numb. Using his wing like a shield, he struck her from behind and hit flesh, twisting his body to face her, a deadly imprecation on his lips.

Kaileena was hurled into the air, where she righted herself, and levitated higher. A burst of color blinded him, and taking wing, the Djinn narrowly escaped the clutches of a pair of towering Hydra, their many heads hissing in indignation. A summoning...of course.

His right arm stung, and as he looked to it, shielding himself with a sphere of rotating sonic waves, he saw that his runes did not extend to it anymore.

“You severed the flow of magicka to the affected areas...” he deduced, “More blood magicka by way of organic conversion.”

Finding the solution, he entered his true form; that of pure magicka, and reformed instantly, regenerating the damaged limb. He growled, eyeing those spiteful purple eyes, “I figured out a few tricks since your husband banished me in Sottarfar.”

And by a swift trigger phrase his sonic shield transferred to her and inverted itself. He took a globule of acidic spit from the Hydra below for his troubles, but the Djinn smiled as Kaileena didn’t counter.

“Organic conversion...” he stated again to her detached expression, “I know you shut off your ability to register sound as we began our duel. But your body, even as it is, is still carbon and water... and water, need I remind you, can absorb sound. With this constant bombardment of my inverted barrier, you cannot move.”

Seeing her mind turning to devise a retort, Armathras continued by amplifying the intensity of his barrier and creating a new one for himself just in time to avoid another glob of acid. Likewise, he hexed the Silkrit, making her unable to cast or activate enchantments.

“Pathetic.” Kaileena whispered in his mind, and suddenly his barriers about her body vanished in a cloud of purple ripples, “Did you not know of my original ability; to consume magicka?”

Lunging forward, Kaileena covered the distance between them in an instant and raked her hands across his chest, her fingers transmuted into claws. Gasping, blooded, the Djinn flew backwards, avoiding the projectiles of the summoned Hydra, and Kaileena lowered herself to the ground, appearing for all the world bored.

“How did you delay the effect?” he gasped, “The Spell-Eater Strain didn’t take effect until I created the hex.”

The Silkrit tilted her head, her forked tongue darting out, before she replied, “I can control all of my body’s cells...why do you ask this question?”

Seething, Armathras hissed, “You intentionally made me believe that my sound waves bypassed your Spell-Eater Strain so I would then use more of my power. You...bitch.”

“Don’t blame me if you are stupid enough to fall for such a simple ruse.” Kaileena replied blandly, without emotion, and he roared, invoking his most powerful spells. A burst of concentrated sonic waves slammed into the sands of the arena. The Hydra were pulverized, their bodies destroyed and banished to Tu’Narcuteth’s mad realm. Kaileena disappeared under a cloud of sand.

“I am a Djinn of Surthath!” Armathras raged, “Do not underestimate me!”

With a series of complex hand gestures, Armathras transmuted his fork, reshaping it into a long and narrow sword and releasing its hidden power. His great membranous wings descending, he dived low, weapon leading.

Kaileena rose to meet his charge, uncomprehending of the threat he posed. He smiled, and thrust his weapon.

His arm disobeyed him, refusing to angle properly.

It was then Kaileena who smiled, a mirthless gesture without mercy. Her hand passed through a single swiping gesture, and all of his runes dimmed. Paralyzed, his wings folded, and he crashed into the ground beside her. Wheezing from a punctured lung, Armathras shook as his bones began to pop back into place.

“Organic conversion.” Kaileena stated again, “Such a versatile technique. Do you recall my nails passing over your flesh?”

He struggled in vain, following her line of thought; his blood had been caked under those nails. With a sample of his blood, a Blood Magi could use it as a tether to his body, manipulating it in a variety of ways...

“But severed organic material evaporates almost instantly among my kin...” he protested, his jaw still functioning, “How do you cast a spell so much later, after it should be gone?”

“I took it into myself.” Kaileena explained, “And absorbed your cells into my body, making them mine. Now...I tire of explaining my techniques to a novice.”

With that she reached down and took hold of his sword, breaking his fingers to do so.

“Dead. Thrust upon by your own weapon...” Kaileena mused, “How appropriate. Die well, Son of Surthath.”

As the blade descended, he activated its power. He had won...

Ken’ichi rose from the floor of the arena, dazed, sand caking the side of his face, and watched Kaileena scream in pain, her body consumed by purple ripples.

“Blood magicka works both ways, idiot.” Armathras replied, prone on the ground beside her, his runes dampened, “The risk is that by the link you created between my cells and yours, I can affect your body as well. As I am paralyzed, so are you, and my weapon’s effect isn’t released upon strike but upon contact.”

Her veins flared white, and then blackened, as did Armathras’ dimmed runes. Moving forward as fast as he could in his weakened state, claiming his sword, coughing blood, the gladiator was halted by eight fully armed and armored Djinn.

Screaming, Ken’ichi charged in with Hrotti anyway, determined to put a stop to this. He took an armored fist to the face, which careened him into the wall. Breathless, he found himself on his knees, but rose anew. With Hrotti with him, he could fight for an eternity...the wounds would trouble him later.

Kaileena felt her connection to her cells sever, felt the cold chill of death creep into the Phoenix Stone in her chest.

“You weren’t the only one who researched anti-magicka after Nutaku’s flagship sunk...” Armathras said cruelly, “You probably didn’t know I was there to see it. Your Spell-Eater Stain can’t absorb anti-magicka...but your Phoenix Stone is a construct of magicka and can be absorbed. What my sword did was disable your body with anti-magicka; thus, your Stone is now being absorbed by your own living enchantment now that you can no longer actively prevent it! Bet your stupid father never thought about that! Then again...how could he?”

He spat at her, “You will die, you mortal slut, and your death will serve as my revenge against Dur’Arteth! And since I too will die, he will have many years to wait, likely not before Surthath finally returns and does away with him once and for all!”

Wailing, in such pain she hadn’t experienced since her stone’s binding, Kaileena fell to her knees, her skin sloughing off in sheets. Hinata screamed from somewhere above, and the arena was in an uproar. Groups of Djinn brawled and engaged in magickal duels, some trying to reach her, others trying to bar them.

Ken’ichi dueled with a group of Djinn, his sword like a bolt of lightning, blasting apart armor and bone. But he was too far away.

“I cannot control my cells...” Kaileena hissed, ignoring the unbearable agony, “But I can still control my enchantments.”

One of two ways to kill Armathras would be to pierce his bone-plated heart, but linked as they were the resulting trauma might damage her phoenix stone. So she did the only viable thing; she focused her telekinesis into two slashing blades, and severed her arm which held the sword, as well as her own head.

Ken’ichi thrust, retreated, and pommel-bashed the first Djinn, cracking his glassteel armor.

No good...each of them was like a walking fortress. So he went low, hamstringing the next as his fellow was knocked back by the force of his first strike. Slipping between their line, he made another two steps towards his niece before one of them clubbed him in the back of the neck, toppling him.

“Kaileena...” he gasped, crawling on fours, watching with horror as her head toppled to the ground. Her body collapsed, and Armathras, likewise decapitated, disappeared in a swirl of blue energy, the explosion of his death throes contained by the Djinn present, who seemed equally dumbfounded.

Kaileena’s hand, which had carried the sword, disintegrated into dust, and suddenly, her body began...rebuilding itself. That was all he could describe it as; just like her finger, so too did her neck stump pulse, crackling with power, before new flesh and bone began to knit itself together.

Six of the eight Djinn harassing him separated from the other two and approached his niece, his adopted daughter, blades drawn...

“Kaileena! Kaileena!”

Distantly she heard a voice calling to her. Who was that? Ah, Ken’ichi...but how was that right? She’d disabled her ability to hear...oh. By re-growing her head, Kaileena realized she’d also restored her hearing.

Her vision returned just in time to see Hinata’s horrified face as she sat in the observatory, the cold dispassionate looks in the eyes of other spectators...the blank, cold stares of the six Kamiyonanayo who approached her with weapons drawn.

It was the same as the looks the Humans had given her all her life. It was all the same... In a paradise like Moonshadow as much as everywhere else.

Where the pain of enslavement and her father’s death had crushed her heart, this new pain and the sheer horror of her half-existence took its place to burn away her heart’s remains. Ice and fire and iron took their place where once it had lay. Hina and Ken’ichi had lied. They were all the same. They were all the same!

Now screaming in rage, Kaileena opened her hands, one still missing its fingers, and transmuted the carbon in the bodies of the Six Kamiyonanayo into nitrogen and then into oxygen by bombarding those particles with electricity, which in turn ignited them, immolating them at a cellular level.

As the two harassing her uncle looked to her, horrified, she inverted their body’s cells, and they burst into shapeless lumps of gore, puckering in the sand before expiring in a cloud of light and energy like the others had.

Standing in a place of utter silence, all the staring, judging, hateful eyes upon her, Kaileena screamed a third time, and every floating crystal in the air descended, aflame, crashing and breaking down the tall and proud towers of the Kamiyonanayo in a hail of stone and shrieks.

Panic spread from the arena to the city as a whole. Perhaps many would die. It occurred to her that many should die.

A thousand spells descended upon her, and absorbing them, Kaileena teleported herself away from this city that was not her home, her heart broken, all hope lost, burning with newfound hatred against all things that were and all things that could never be.