Vayra darted across the sea floor, leaping from oceanbed rock to planes of silt and gravel. Her feet splashed through pools of Stream water, and she drew it back in, preparing to fight.

  The Mediator Form, Astral Shroud, and internal Warding were all still active. She crossed the distance between herself and Karmion in a blink, then ducked aside from a wild punch. The eagle-head Braces still covered his fists, and when they struck the empty air, they unleashed a shockwave that made the walls of ocean on either side shudder.

  She countered with a Starlight Palm. The technique struck with newfound intensity, sending out an enormous pulse of white energy and benting the air. The walls of water funnelled it up into the sky, making a straight beacon upward.

  At least some might see she was still fighting.

  Karmion staggered back with the impact, clutching his chest for a second. His eyes went wide, then slipped back into determination.

  But she knew she’d just hit him with the intensity and power of an Emissary. His honest expression meant nothing else.

  ‘Now keep hitting him!’ Phasoné urged. ‘If you need a hand, I’ll give you one.’

  “You got it,” Vayra said.

  She attacked with the scythes, slicing hard and fast. She targeted Karmion’s body and head, hoping to land a lucky blow, but each time, he raised his fists and blocked her strikes. Shields of water formed around the edges of his hands, and alone, her scythe couldn’t cut through.

  But the disruption runestone, fuelled by Grand Admiral Arcara, temporarily disabled his Ward and Brace. When he raised his arm next, she cut at him.

  His skin was iron. His bones were steel, and his flesh was stone. Already, Arcara was flooding back into his enhanced body. She only left a cut across the surface of his skin. The black night-scythe severed an Arcara channel, but it was the most damage she’d ever done.

  Karmion gasped and staggered back, then reformed his Ward and Brace.

  “That was a nice trick, girl,” he sneered. “Now, it’s my turn.”

  Glade circled around Varion at the center of the arena. By now, the audience was a roar of fleeing civilians and mortals trying to escape any potential carnage and make for the port. They were hardly paying attention to the fight at the center. The only witnesses were Ameena, King Talleion’s aide, and a few other Velaydian staff who had scrambled down to the waiting room.

  The arena staff and overseers were fleeing. God-heirs and gods hovered above the arena, directing the mortals, and trying to assure them of their safety—begging them to stay. Almost none listened, swept up in the chaos and confusion. There was no signal to start the final round of the fight.

  When Glade and Varion locked eyes, the battle began.

  He charged forward, striking downward, then unleashed a spattering of strikes that left his opponent reeling. He alternated sides, striking back and forth and forcing Varion to adjust his footwork to intercept.

  But, no matter how hard Glade tried to redirect Varion’s retreat, the man always adjusted, stepping back toward the moat and a higher source of water.

  Glade fuelled his body faster, burning up more mana, and the glimmer of Arcara along the edge of his blade glowed yellow. As he swung, it left streaks in the air behind him.

  He concentrated on the direction they needed to push Varion in, and the swordwyrm responded without vocal command. Glade provided the will and intent through their link, and the swordwyrm answered the call, striking from the side and pushing Varion temporarily away from the moat.

  He jumped right back, continuing his slow retreat. Not only was he dragging the fight out, but he was draining Glade’s mana.

  And there was nothing Glade could do about it.

  A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

  When they reached the moat, Glade prepared to take shelter. All he had was an internal Ward and a Reach technique, and though he’d honed them, they weren’t as varied as Varion’s arsenal.

  Still, Glade activated his Wards. The Dawnspear body enhanced the flowing, burning Arcara, and the sunset aspect he’d gained upon advancing to Captain burned bright in his channels.

  Varion raised up a wall of water behind him, then thrust his fist out, and hundreds of ice spikes shot out, reaching to impale Glade. He slashed as many as he could, and despite the new grade of Arcara granting his body enhanced speed, he couldn’t deflect them all.

  The swordwyrm rushed in and guarded one side, and Glade’s defensive training kicked in, telling him to guard the other, but shards still slipped through. They sliced up the surface of his skin and dug into his internal Ward, leaving deep cuts. Not as bad as they would’ve been, but not pleasant either.

  Then an ice-spike lashed out and struck him square in the center of the chest, driving him to the ground and pinning him. It didn’t pierce bone, but it pressed against the center of his ribcage. His body groaned, and the sand shifted as the technique pressed him deeper into the arena floor.

  In the distance, Ameena shouted something. His ears pounded, and blood surged to his head. The swordwyrm chittered in fear.

  “Even after an advancement, you’re still useless,” Varion muttere. “I serve my—”

  “Enough!” Glade bellowed, then gripped the shard of ice with his left hand. Mana flooded his arm, enough to make his enhanced body glow bright yellow. He tightened his grip and the shard shattered.

  He pulled himself to his feet, then, drawing out the rest of his mana, burned it to the edge of his body. It all fled his core, and his mouth dried in an instant. A flame surged up around his body.

  He gripped the stub of the ice shard and pulled, sending Varion stumbling forward, then struck under the man’s chin with an open palm. He whirled his sword behind him, building speed, then slashed up across Varion’s gut. The man staggered backward, then shifted his Wards, shielding different parts of his body.

  Glade and the swordwyrm resumed their onslaught with renewed intensity. They moved faster than Varion’s Wards could shift, and wounds sprang up all around his body. Glade barely registered where he slashed, only a slight resistance when the steel broke skin.

  Then, with Varion teetering on the edge of the moat, Glade brought his sword up to Varion’s neck. The swordwyrm pressed in from the other side.

  “You’re out of mana,” Varion sneered.

  “Raise a wall of water,” Glade taunted. “Do it.”

  “You’re out!”

  “I have dregs.”

  With a shout, Varion raised his arms, and a streak of water spewed up from the moat behind.

  One last push. Glade flicked his sword to the side, expending the last of his mana, and cleaved through Varion’s neck. The swordwyrm angled downward and cleaved the man from right shoulder to left hip.

  His body crumpled and fell into the water behind. Glade stayed on the brink of the moat, panting, with black specks whirling in front of his eyes. He swayed forward and back, watching the water below.

  But Varion wasn’t recovering from that.

  Glade staggered back, only to find someone pulling on his arm.

  “You won!” Ameena screeched, then hoisted his arm up. “And…no one’s even paying attention.”

  “We have bigger concerns…” Glade said. “We need to get to the—”

  Before he could finish, a weight settled on his shoulders, a mantle of authority dragging down on him, and at first, he didn’t understand. He fell silent. Ameena splashed a pale of Stream water over him and waved her hand in front of his face, but he didn’t even blink.

  Something was changing.

  The skyclash oath remained, and he’d fulfilled its current desire. He was receiving his reward.

  Karmion shrank the rift in the ocean, dragging in the walls and constricting them to half the width they were before. Instead of a slash across the harbour, it was a mere cut, with its ends fast closing in. Tendrils of water poured out from the wall, clinging to Karmion’s back life vines on a statue—or like the elixir tubes in the false Namola tree.

  He grabbed Vayra’s arm and twisted, wrenching her to the side before she could pull away. Her bones and muscles cried out in discomfort. No matter how high the advancement, a joint could only bend so far.

  She grit her teeth and moved with the strike. Karmion attacked again, poised to break or dislocate her shoulder, but she deflected it with her scythe.

  Instead, Karmion slammed her down into the ground again. He pulled his fist back, turning it into a hammer, and drove it into the ground beside her head.

  It would’ve caved in her skull had she not moved.

  He dragged his arm to the side and slammed a fist into her ear. Not as hard as it could’ve hit, but enough to make her head ring and lights to whirl in front of her eyes.

  Blinking, she recoiled, then squirmed upward, dodging an enhanced knee, but an elbow strike from above drove her back to the seafloor, driving the air from her lungs once again. Everything ached, and she’d barely healed from her last skirmish with him.

  “You may be a Grand Admiral, but you can’t compare to me.” Karmion scowled. “Just die. Make this easier for us all. It’ll start over without you, and you will fade off into perfect, unknowing bliss.”

  Vayra gasping, trying to rebuke him, but she couldn’t find the words.

  But no way was she letting someone else shoulder the same burden and go through what she did.

  She’d seen the fear in his eyes, even if it was just a blink. She still had a chance.

  All she gasped out was, “No.”