Even with Ranthia’s familiarity with pain, it took her a few tries to get an image placed nearby and successfully shift into it. She hadn’t been in that bad a condition in quite some time.

  The little adamantium knife was still in her hand—thank Xaoc—and the spear hadn’t rolled far. She kicked it up to her hand and watched as the shimagu left in a disorderly retreat—minus the handful that stayed to die, each a dinosaur this time. …Tamed beasts, plainly, given the dearth of shimagu kills in her notifications from the kills that her allies made.

  “Get the injured and fallen into the base! If no one near you needs your help, grab a dino! Retrieval squads, get to work!” Ranthia ordered.

  She was lower than she would have liked on mana, but with the shimagu forces in retreat, she had an opportunity.

  A chunk of laminar promptly fell off her armor, serving up a quick reality check. Ranthia picked it up and amended her thought processes—they needed to wait for a bit anyway.

  Instead, she joined her people heading into the base and helped take the arm of one of the men with a bloodied leg that refused to support his weight. He was already being helped by another woman, but two of them made the journey easier on him.

  “Huh, lucky me, I get my leg bitten by some dumb beast and I get two beautiful women cuddling up to me.” He quipped.

  Never mind, he wasn’t that badly hurt. He could get himself inside.

  It was kind of hilarious just how good it felt to put on her old Adventurer armor. It wasn’t (just) how foul her War Ranger armor was after being worn almost continuously for so long. …Probably. She had genuinely missed her old kit.

  Unfortunately, in many ways, she had outgrown it. Sure, it still fit her just fine—she was perpetually twenty-four (apparently) and she had it last adjusted when she was only a year younger than that, back during the last time that she had the armor repaired and refitted. But the arcanite in the armor was a fraction of what her War Ranger armor carried. The pittance of arcanite in her bracers wasn’t enough to make a difference, and the leather was probably less resilient than her skin was thanks to how high her vitality had climbed.

  Armor thoughts aside, she was eager to class up [Blessed With Chaos] now that it had finally reached level 32, but she had a far more pressing mission to attend to. Paulla was tasked with gathering Ranthia some volunteers while she got her armor swapped out to something that wasn’t coming apart. The urgency of the mission was the only reason she was willing to field herself in such outdated armor, no matter how lovely it felt to wear it again.

  Ranthia emerged from her tent to find her eight volunteers. Those with the highest strength stats that were willing and able to venture beyond the walls.

  The plan was simple enough to offend the definition of the word. While the shimagu were discombobulated by the return of their fighting force, Ranthia would lead a small team back to the leaning tower that had served as the pompous eyesore for the ogress twin’s benefit. Their goal was the three remaining massive wooden wheels.

  Ranthia was hoping a small team might get there unnoticed and get the wheels hacked free. Then they could roll them back to base. Simple, easy, and obviously prone to going extremely wrong.

  Which was why two of the volunteers were burdened with freshly forged massive iron hammers, tools to use to pulverize rocks in the paths of the wheels, knock a stuck wheel free, or crush anything else that needed a good crushing. Ranthia had a freshly restocked belt of knives, a backpack stuffed with more knives, her little adamantium knife safely tucked in a pouch, and the slightly shortened spear in hand.

  The sun was nowhere near rising and the first drops of the promised rain were already starting to fall. Which, unfortunately, meant that there was a real risk of the troll showing up again.

  Not that she could explain why he had just walked away when he had her at his mercy. The parasite-ridden scum had even seemed pleased. The shimagu had long baffled her—their motives behind numerous tactics and actions made no sense from her perspective—but this was twice that he had just let her go after they fought.

  Still, her base needed the wood—and metal supports—that was in those wheels, and this was probably the best chance they’d have to get them home. The rain was even a blessing, probably. It’d make them that much sneakier and the noise harder to notice.

  Her group reached the tower without incident. She briefly conferred with the group to determine the order to sever the wheels (unanimously, they wanted to start with the side that the tower wasn’t leaning toward, for obvious reasons), then set to work.

  The first wheel consumed seven knives to cut it free of its axle, but it came loose with nothing but an ominous shake of the tower, and two of her people promptly started rolling it back to base as planned. The second only consumed six knives and for a few heartbeats Ranthia fretted that the tower would fall over as it wobbled. Thank Xaoc, it did not, and soon that wheel too was underway, along with the first hammer wielder on escort duty.

  This left Ranthia forced to deal with the most perilous wheel. It didn’t visibly look like it was supporting the tower’s weight quite as much as it used to, with the other wheels gone, but the whole thing still felt precarious.

  Naturally, that was when the troll twin stepped into view.

  There was no trace of the injury she had inflicted on his eye anymore—not that she was surprised. The increasingly heavy rain washed down his body, somehow making him look even more monstrous as he walked toward them, his weapon once again in hand.

  Ranthia gave herself a moment to consider her options and landed on three.

  The smart option was to order her people to run and try to flee from the troll. She wasn’t quite feeling up to making a smart decision though.

  The least reckless option of the two that remained was to hope that she could free the wheel and distract the troll for a short time while her people got some distance, before she disengaged and retreated back to the base. That one spoke to her…

  But ultimately? The sheer chaotic potential of her worst option spoke to her far more.

  “Push the tower towards him!” Ranthia hissed towards the gathered legionaries, just before she started to expend knives on slashes made against the straining axle.

  The wheel didn’t quite come free as cleanly as the prior two. Four knives in, the axle tore itself apart as the tower began to fall. The wheel bounced as it sprang free, throwing Ranthia from it in spite of her balance and poise. She saw the trio of her legionaries straining—they had driven the handle of the hammer under the tower and were pushing it down as desperately as they could.

  And through the virtue of their efforts—and probably more than a bit of luck—the tower fell the right way! Oh, glorious Xaoc, chaos had favored them once again!

  Ranthia landed and ran for the wheel, even as the legionaries sprinted to catch up with her and their errant source of wood and metal. She would never have expected something so large to go so far, but there was more than a bit of momentum behind the thing as it rolled away. It wasn’t like she was stupid enough to believe the tower could kill the troll—assuming he hadn’t just dodged—which was why she was so determined to get the wheel under control and on its way to her base before the troll came after them.

  The iron hammer’s handle was severely bent and battered, but the hammers were always meant to be melted down for better use after the mission was done. They couldn’t afford to waste that much metal on such impractical equipment.

  Eventually the wheel slowed and Ranthia and the legionaries were able to catch up and get it slowly turning the right way as they rolled it. The troll stepped back into view, but he stayed near the fallen—broken—tower and watched them wrestle the wheel back to base.

  Ranthia danced backwards, keeping pace with the wheel, but the troll just stood there and watched, impassively. He seemed no worse for wear, but the rain had become increasingly heavy, to the extent that she was less than optimistic that she would have even been able to tell had they briefly injured him.

  At least this solved their wood problems… very temporarily.

  Ranthia was in her tent, struggling with [Adamantium Symbiosis] and trying to pretend that she wasn’t dipping into exhaustion again. She couldn’t rest—there was every chance that the troll would come at them through the pouring rain, her only truly viable armor was still literally falling apart, and she was waiting for the sun to rise.

  Not that the storm showed any signs of breaking, but at least the troll was plainly still paranoid about the sun’s rays. …Unless it was a fake out, but her paranoia had limits. At least for the time being.

  Leadership really was hell. It was so easy to regret.

  Even in the depths of her [Adamantium Symbiosis]-induced fugue, Ranthia was never free of a tiny voice that whispered terrible thoughts into her consciousness. She was all too aware that, alone, she could probably escape. She could seek out Hunting or other survivors of the alliance. And all it would cost her was the lives of a bunch of men and women she had spent years struggling alongside—and even that was only a ‘probably,’ there was no guarantee that they would perish without her.

  Yet she instead continued to take on an unwanted burden, because no one else stepped up.

  Ranthia dropped [Adamantium Symbiosis] with an outraged sputter.

  “Sun’s up now.” Helvia didn’t even bother to hide the battered mug that she’d used to throw water into Ranthia’s face. She just made her report with a prideful smile.

  “I know where you sleep.” Ranthia grumbled.

  Which was halfway a lie. She knew what tent her self-appointed bodyguard was assigned to, but the woman was a frankly downright unsettlingly consistent presence in Ranthia’s life. To the extent that Ranthia could be convinced that Helvia only slept while the base was under attack—or somehow had a Skill that completely negated the need for sleep, which sounded just as improbable.

  “Just do your class up, I’ll make sure no one else messes with your unconscious body.” Helvia replied.

  Ranthia shrugged and settled back, then fell into the world within.

  …Wait, ‘else’?!

  “Somehow I feel even less safe doing this than I did when I decided to do it.” Ranthia muttered to herself as she stepped through the grand doors into the holy armory that served as her world within.

  “You’re not the one who was nearly skewered by a flying sword last time we dealt with this class.” Her guide quipped as the woman warily eyed the endless expanse of blue hilts that waited beyond her counter.

  “Fair point—let’s try to take care of this quickly. …I don’t know what I’m looking for, bring me the four or so most promising candidates to upgrade the adamantium effects of the class?” Ranthia requested as she stepped up to the counter and joined herself in wary vigilance for strange behaviors.

  Her guide nodded and stepped up to the first weapon rack. The woman—now an exact twin to Ranthia, not that Ranthia was entirely certain if her guide had always had quite that appearance—picked up the first blade, returned it, and moved to the next.

  Only to frown.

  Ranthia watched as her guide hurriedly moved between numerous shelves and displays of blades with blue-wrapped hilts, only to roll her eyes and grab one and bring it back.

  “They’re all the exact same class. There are classes that weren’t divinely sourced further back, but I know you have no interest in defying Him.” Her guide explained.

  Well, that made life easier.

  Ranthia picked up the blade—[Blessed With Chaos]’s sword had seemingly disappeared at some point—and absorbed its story, even as she distractedly waved to her guide and made her way for the exit.

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  [Chaosbringer]. Chaos is not something that has just merely touched you or been something you simply carried in your heart: it is something that you have actively striven to bring alongside you throughout your life. Embrace this burden and bring chaos like never before. Venerate Xaoc’s name and spread His influence as you endure the trials of order, life, and death! +5 Free Stats, +14 Strength, +145 Dexterity, +146 Vitality, +144 Speed, +11 Mana, +69 Mana Regeneration, +62 Magic Power, +19 Magic Control.

  “What on Pallos are you doing?” Ranthia asked moodily.

  “Trying to keep life interesting, ma’am.” Her self-appointed bodyguard answered in a glib tone that reminded Ranthia far too much of her own past interactions with authority.

  Ranthia rolled her eyes and started to remove the bowls of water that had been placed across her body while she was under. Had she had more space she might have tried to show off a bit, but her tent wasn’t really very spacious even before a second person crammed into it.

  Sure, she could have claimed one of the larger tents, especially once she took command, but she really didn’t need it. Also, having limited space ensured that she never had to hold meetings where she slept—they hadn’t been able to replace the command tent, after all.

  “How long was I out?” Ranthia asked.

  “Still morning.” Helvia answered, as she shuffled out of the tent mouthing complaints about her fun being ruined.

  Thank Xaoc. Classing up in a war zone was dangerous in the extreme, but they needed every advantage they could get. No one could forget the [Analyst] that took six days to class up his second class a couple of years back though. No matter how you hurried in the world within, time flowed unpredictably. An eternity within might run the duration of a quick nap, or your rushed grab for the first viable class might take days.

  Ranthia almost hated that the advantages of classing up warranted the risks. Even she wasn’t going to count on a second act of overt divine intervention if something went wrong while she was under. Honestly, she still wished that she could give Xaoc enough mana to truly make up for the first time around.

  Still, the advantages were worth it—every upgrade was a clear advantage the shimagu masses could never match.

  [*ding!* Congratulations! You have upgraded your third class – [Chaosbringer – Magic Metal]!]

  [*ding!* Your skill [Sense Adamantium] has merged into [Mine!]!]

  Oh, come on! Evolve, change your name to something less embarrassing!

  [*ding!* You have unlocked the Class Skill [Adamantium Forge]!]

  [Adamantium Forge]: Enhances the ability of [Adamantium Manipulation] to alter the current form and shape of adamantium. Increased precision and speed with level. Decreased additional mana cost when using [Adamantium Manipulation] in this manner with level.

  [*ding!* You have unlocked the Class Skill [Unbreakable Metal, Unbreakable Will]!]

  [Unbreakable Metal, Unbreakable Will]: Increased focus and tolerance of pain or other shocks that may otherwise distract you. Further increased effect per level. -103 Mana Regen Rate.

  …Nothing else evolved, changed, or merged? It felt strangely light for a class upgrade, not that Ranthia could seriously complain. She was already dreaming up the possibilities that [Adamantium Forge] seemed to promise and had already slotted it in almost instinctively.

  After all, that little misshapen knife she’d made before had—as best as she could tell—managed to largely withstand her Void, even when she kept [Void Edge] active… Her knife woes just might be resolved!

  All she needed was time.

  [Unbreakable Metal, Unbreakable Will] was far less interesting. It was effectively another anti-pain Skill, except Ranthia was more than a bit nervous about the suggestion that it might make her less observant of the world, or at least less affected by events. Gods no. She was almost relieved that she didn’t have a slot for it after taking [Adamantium Forge]. She was no puppet!

  Still, with that done she had to figure out her armor situation. Or at least admit to herself that she already had figured out a solution to that problem. The armorers could replace the damaged laminar with iron patches, but she’d just break them off if she tried to press her flexibility beyond what Reman armor was made for.

  Ranthia shooed Helvia out of her tent, then carefully removed her Adventurer armor one last time. Soon she was surrounded by the pieces of both suits of armor and opening her armor repair kit that Republius had trained her with so long ago. With it, she started to work on detaching the lining from her War Ranger armor. It had a permanent foul aroma, no matter how she washed it, but it housed the precious arcanite that she needed to protect.

  “I’m sorry old partner… You served me well for so many years, and in a brighter world I would have loved to keep you as a memento of the past. …But I need leather, and there’s no other source out here.” Ranthia whispered as she laid a hand on her gorgeous Adventurer armor.

  She had been so proud when she bought the set, she had fallen in love with it. But it was no longer sufficient for her needs, and risking her life over sentimentality wasn’t something she had any intention of doing. They could source hides easily enough, but they tore apart too easily—which risked precious arcanite being lost.

  No, there was only one smart answer that didn’t involve selfishly stealing precious resources from the legionaries. And so Ranthia began to carefully measure and mark with her charcoal before she picked up the shears.

  She made the first cut before she could talk herself out of sacrificing her Adventurer armor for parts. Hunting had even told her to never get sentimental over equipment. Weapons and armor were just tools to keep her alive. And this was the greatest benefit her old armor could provide her.

  As best as they could figure, the troll’s own forces were mostly tamed dinosaurs, with only a small percentage of exceptions. The bulk of the ogres and humans that struck their base seemed to be from the ogress twin’s forces or those that had been camped nearby awaiting the twins. Legion-equipped shimagu forces remained extremely rare and were typically obviously freshly deployed before they were captured—or surrendered—given the Remus-tier levels on the few that they freed into Black Crow’s embrace. Attacks seemed to come from only a single ‘force’ each time.

  The fact that they were starting to recognize familiar faces among the shimagu puppets was probably more than a touch morbid.

  The attacks could come at any time of the day. Sometimes it was a morning of ogres and humans. Sometimes it was a swarm of foes throughout the day. Sometimes it was packs of dinosaurs at night.

  The shimagu carried on the two days off to one attack until—despite everyone’s best efforts—they were caught off-guard by a sudden change in the schedule. No one had trusted the shimagu to not be carrying out some sort of mind game, but… Well, it was hard to not embrace rest when it came.

  Ranthia had made further revisions to the base’s management. At her behest they had switched to a two-shift system that alternated thrice a day—unless they were under attack. Half of her people were on duty, half were off. While off duty they could do whatever they wished. Eat, sleep, hang out, fuck, pray, meditate—it didn’t matter as long as they took it easy and refreshed themselves for the next duty rotation. Very few people had issues with taking relaxation as they could, thank Xaoc. Their superstitions and prudish judgmental behaviors were gradually falling out of favor too, even without Ranthia formally striking them. Their last (effective) [Healer] could deal with any unwanted consequences; he had kept his Light and Dark [Healer] classes separate and was planning to take Pyronox for his third class. A means of self-defense.

  Ranthia was the only one who couldn’t indulge. Her soldiers needed her to be something greater more than she needed a woman in her arms for a short time. A certain degree of solitude was part of the price of command—she couldn’t show favor to anyone too openly; morale was always at the risk of another collapse. Not that she was ever truly alone. Xaoc was always a prayer away, and the camaraderie of their base was strong.

  And then the first moonless night since Ranthia faced White Dove’s judgment arrived.

  Ranthia had been a bundle of nerves throughout the entire day, and it took tremendous effort on her part to avoid snapping at people constantly. Arguments over wood distribution or priority for armor repairs just came off as so godsdamned petty when she was filled with dread. Their base was in true danger, and people cared more about their day-to-day quibbles!

  Her dinner tasted like ash in her mouth, and she had to force herself to choke down the bland stew.

  The Subcommander knew—she was pretty certain the entire base knew, even if they kept their mouths shut—and had urged her to stay in her tent, no matter what happened. Ranthia had argued with the man, but as evening trailed into night, she still found herself seated in her tent, rigid and unmoving.

  She couldn’t even hope to focus on [Adamantium Symbiosis], so instead, she sat and waited. She wasn’t even sure what she was waiting for. It felt inevitable that the shimagu would attack.

  And then, in midbreath, Ranthia’s vision abandoned her. It was as if her eyes had snapped shut, she was just abruptly engulfed in a sea of darkness, no matter how she strained or struggled.

  It felt far colder than it truly was, all of a sudden.

  Ranthia’s ears still reported sounds, but each became far more ominous. Was that metallic clang someone desperately grabbing for equipment? Would a dragging sound turn out to precede a desperate bellow of their horns? Was someone at a run due to a crisis or were they just training?

  She hadn’t fought blind since the Academy—so many years ago. But there was a clear difference already, even before the crisis bloomed. Before she had been blinded by a strip of cloth—back before she could see plainly through the garment she still wore—for mere training. She knew that she was being watched over and she knew that she was a single tug away from having her vision restored.

  The weight of her true blindness felt oppressive in contrast.

  The shimagu never made an appearance that night, not that Ranthia was able to rest or do anything even remotely productive. She just sat stiffly, not quite meditating, as she absorbed every little sound and imagined horrors until dawn returned her sight.

  The troll made another appearance. They had nearly been done killing the latest batch of dinosaurs sent at them in the middle of the night when the troll came running across the wasteland to join the battle. Ranthia was forced to entrust her people with the therizinosaurus that she’d been whittling down and pulled from the arcanite in her armor as she sprinted to meet her opponent.

  The troll didn’t even bother to kill her people, he ran straight past them—straight at her.

  The troll struck first. His reach was far superior to Ranthia’s own, but his attacks were so telegraphed that Ranthia had enough time to activate [Reflections of Reality]. His attack erased an image, even as she pressed the attack from his right flank.

  Her knives were adamantium now. They were still rough and a bit smaller than her prior knives had been, but [She who Dances with Chaos] had no trouble working with them. Her Skills helped her adapt her dance to the knives’ limitations. And every strike Ranthia made was imbued with [Void Edge]. She still had to pulse the Skill, it simply consumed too much mana to leave it on and there had to be a limit to how much abuse even adamantium could take—the fact that [Unbreakable] stayed capped no matter how her level in her third class grew suggested that the metal wasn’t quite immune to the effects of her Void.

  But she could fight without discarding knives. She could fight without running out. Her only resource she was truly gated by was her mana.

  And by Xaoc, that felt great. A dance unending. Ranthia was able to make bad strikes. She was determined to learn if troll regeneration had an upper limit of abuse, in the wake of his newfound apparent paranoia of the defenders on her base’s walls. They clashed on the outskirts of the larger melee instead, which suited Ranthia just fine. She was more than content to keep her people safe.

  She wanted to bring the troll down herself.

  Yet her opponent was moving oddly. Plain missteps that were easy to punish. A hesitation in his swings. Ranthia was left baffled as the dance continued—plainly in her favor, somehow—until the troll caught her by surprise. Ranthia didn’t even need to dodge that attack, he plainly missed her… until he caught the flailing end of his weapon with his off hand, then attempted to carry the swing into a second arc with the end that he released from his dominant hand.

  Her opponent’s combat style had always been one of overwhelming force. There was no technique behind his attacks, just power. And he was attempting to use her to change that! With the new context, his prior movements made more sense. Much as she had done alone in the Owl’s Sanctum’s recreation area, her opponent was trying to copy the steps and attacks of others.

  He was trying to invent and hone a true combat style!

  Almost in perfect sync with her realization, the troll snarled something in his twisted take of the shimagu tongue, then disengaged and withdrew. Ranthia was pissed off enough that she was oh-so-tempted to pursue, but instead she threw herself back into the melee to support her people.

  There would be other battles, but she needed to keep her people safe.

  Ranthia didn’t get so lucky on her next moonless night. She was forced to shudder and hate herself as she listened to her people fight without her. The Subcommander had sworn to tell her if the troll appeared, but she didn’t trust that. The man desperately wanted her to avoid combat while she was blind.

  Not that it stopped her from practicing outside of those nights. She needed to be ready.

  But for the night, she tore at her own skin as she impotently listened to the sounds of conflict.

  Ranthia wasn’t quite sure how her birthday became common knowledge to everyone in the base, but her suspicion fell squarely on the Subcommander. Especially since the man broke out in a cold sweat when she asked him how everyone was aware of her approaching birthday, before he muttered something about being needed to check “those numbers… for the thing” and fled. It wasn’t quite as ample of proof as it seemed—the man often got skittish around her and was awful at making excuses.

  There were clear reasons why the Subcommander hadn’t stepped up into command. He wasn’t quite the ideal second in command, but he strove to do his best—which counted for a lot in Ranthia’s eyes. He required a lot of management to keep him productive and useful, but he genuinely tried.

  Either way, Ranthia’s nearing birthday was an open secret, as was her awareness that almost everyone in the base was up to something related to it. Still, she played her expected role and pretended to be ignorant of the whispers that panickily broke off as she neared and the various sounds of preparations for… whatever they were up to. If anything, all of it put her in a tentatively happy mood—she took it as proof that she really was being accepted by her people.

  Ranthia was trying her best to ignore the extremely obvious sounds of entirely too many people gathering outside her tent as she waited. Her sheet had updated her age to 28, same as ever. A number that was divorced from her own physical form. …The same as any other immortal, she supposed—not that she had ever met any except the troll.

  Even if the bastard was using her to train himself—no, she was not over her outrage about that—she wasn’t going to try to discuss immortality with him. Maybe someday she’d wax poetic about the nature of immortality over his broken corpse (see, she could still be optimistic).

  “Ma’am, we have need of you.” Helvia’s voice called from outside the tent. As if the woman not poking her head in and invading Ranthia’s privacy wasn’t a dead giveaway that something was up.

  Still, Ranthia steeled herself and stepped out of her tent, not sure what to expect.

  The base’s standard had been moved right in front of her tent and over a hundred legionaries stood in a semi-circle behind it. They saluted her with Legion-ingrained rigidity, with wide smiles on most faces.

  Ranthia’s bafflement trailed off as her mind finally caught up to the fact that the standard had been changed. The Remus eagle with its wings spread wide still adorned the top, but the disc no longer bore the talon and symbols. The symbol of the five gods had replaced it, with an engraving of the laurel crown that represented the Rangers. Somehow the faded and tattered red-and-gold ribbons that streamed around it had been renewed or replaced. Yet Ranthia’s eyes were swiftly drawn to the more obvious addition to the standard. A wooden basket that bore a single standard shield that had been polished and honed to a mirror finish.

  “Glory to our leader! Ranthia—War Ranger and Adventurer! And glory to our base, the Unbreakable Image! May Xaoc watch us shine!” The Subcommander’s voice called out.

  His words were echoed by entirely too many voices—several of them should have been attending to other duties, not that Ranthia cared in the moment.

  They were nameless no more.

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  Nozomi Matsuoka.

  Sarah "Neila" Elkins.