Saturn’s body glowed brighter and brighter after he absorbed Mandal and Karu. His frame, already towering, seemed even heavier now, his presence pressing down on everything around. The air grew tense because of the sheer aura pouring from him. My eyes narrowed. The emperor of Peanu was finally showing why he was feared.
With a sharp crack of sound, Saturn broke out of Lyrate’s control, his body pushing past her control like it was nothing.
Then his body dispersed into rays of white light. In an instant, he reappeared right above Knight. His greatsword was already in mid-swing.
What shocked me was the silence. No ripple in space. No gust of wind. Nothing to warn the panther. Saturn moved faster than even Knight. Knight barely had time to lift his head. At the last second, shadows curled violently around his sleek body, forming a cocoon of black armor.
The sword connected.
BOOM!!!
A deafening boom shook the cemetery as Knight flew and smashed down, the shadows exploding in waves around him. His body hit the ground like a falling star, carving a crater deep into the broken earth. Dust, stone, and chunks of shattered graves blasted outward.
My chest tightened, but then rage welled in me.
Ragnar roared. His silver aura surged upward like a pillar, and in the blink of an eye he appeared right in front of Saturn. His massive club blazed with silver glow, humming with his law of force, as he swung downward in a crushing arc meant to break mountains.
At the same moment, Lyrate flashed forward. Her crimson mist gathered and reformed her body right behind Saturn. She didn’t hesitate. Her blade sliced toward his neck covered in oozing crimson mist.
But Saturn only muttered two calm words.
"Moon Flow."
His body turned illusionary. Ragnar’s silver club passed straight through him, smashing nothing but air. Lyrate’s sword cleaved through his glowing frame without leaving so much as a scratch.
Then, in that same breath, Saturn reached out with his free hand. His palm brushed Ragnar’s chest. His other hand caught Lyrate’s arm.
"Divine Descent," he growled.
The world erupted.
A blinding flood of white light exploded outward from his body. The Minor law of Light almost too close to cross the level 5 threshold burst out. The wave expanded in all directions, swallowing Ragnar and Lyrate at once.
Both of them were hurled away like ragdolls. Ragnar’s body smashed into the castle wall, crimson mist scattering in wild sparks. The impact tore cracks through the ancient stones.
Lyrate’s crimson mist exploded apart mid-air before reforming again as she hit the ground, sliding back with a sharp gasp. Her aura flickered weakly, her face pale as she was on her knee supporting herself with her sword.
The earth trembled beneath, long fissures crawling outward from the blast’s center. Gravestones split and collapsed, the castle walls groaning under the force.
When the glare faded, Saturn stood in the middle of the devastation, his greatsword planted in the ground beside him. The glowing circle pulsed at his feet, feeding his body with streams of power like veins of light.
His glowing face turned toward the kneeling Lyrate and he took a step forward. That was when I decided to act.
I flashed beside my staff, pressed my palm to the wood, and unsummoned it. The staff winked out of existence. The carved bridge through the devouring flames sealed itself like a closing mouth. The tunnel was gone.
Saturn stopped and turned. His glow dimmed an inch as his eyes found me.
I breathed in slow, then moved again.
In the blink of an eye I appeared beside Knight. "Go rest," I said, and unsummoned him.
His body dissolved into a rush of crimson mist and vanished into the core. I nodded at Lyrate and Ragnar; they understood and vanished into the core as well. Only Silver stayed.
At last our eyes met: me and the emperor.
His voice rolled out.
"Who are you?"
I started walking toward him. My boots scuffed broken stone. Around us the air still tasted of blood and crushed graves. I kept my voice calm, though my teeth bit the words.
"I am the one who wants your head. I want to tear down your empire, piece by piece. And I will succeed."
His hand tightened on the haft of his greatsword. Plates of armor creaked as his muscles set. He looked small and huge at the same time.
"So you were the one who brought these beasts here and planned this trap," he said, voice cold.
"Name yourself."
I did not lower my eyes. I said it plainly, so he could hear it in every word. "I am Billion Ironhart. From Vaythos."
He blinked once, slow.
He sneered.
"Vaythos? You would dare—"
I stopped him with one step. I just closed the distance between us until his sword was no longer a wall. Up close the light in his eyes was hard as steel. I smelled metal and blood.
Then I moved.
No flare of law. No trick. Only weight, speed, and the raw line of a body that had broken and build itself more times than most could keep count.
I grabbed for the sword as if it were a stick in my hand. My fingers closed around metal. He tried to pull, to twist, to use the leverage of that great blade. I felt the pull on my arm, felt his strength. I matched it and then I broke it.
He stumbled, surprised by a hand that refused to be bent. For a heartbeat his eyes widened. And I laughed, low and mean.
I let my fist drive into him. My body was coiled and heavy. The impact drove him backward. He slammed into the ground, sending stone splinters flying. He hit the earth and rolled but he rose. Big men do not stay down long.
He came at me with the sword like a falling tower. I sidestepped, caught the haft again, and wrenched. Metal sang. We were chest to chest, sword between us, both pushing.
My right fist found the bone under his jaw. Bone met knuckle in a hard, clean strike. His head snapped back. The glow fractured like ice. For the first time I saw a crack in that calm face.
He swung. I blocked with my forearm and felt the metal drag, felt the shock race up my bones. He lifted, a savage uppercut meant to split skulls. I met it with my own shoulder. The force ran through me like a drum. But, I took a step forward instead of faltering back.
I grabbed his helmeted head and looked him in the face. Up close you could see the sweat, the tiny lines around his eyes, the way his breathing came fast but steady. That steadiness was stubbornness, not calm.
He spat blood across my sleeve. His eyes flashed with something like pride. "You will die," he said flat.
I smiled, and it felt ugly and right.
I rained blows down. Not elegant, not clean, but honest. Punch, elbow, shoulder, each hit sent pain cold through his armor, each hit rattled him more.
He tried to raise the sword to stop me, but my weight, my rhythm, my anger pinned his arms. I broke his guard with a twisting drop and then a knee to the ribs that cracked like wood. He coughed in a mess of air and blood.
I pulled his head up again and whispered close to his helmet, "Look at me. Look at what you let happen. Your guards died today. Your grandmasters fell. You stand glowing from their bones and think that makes you a god? You are a fat man with a bright toy."
He tried to swing again, a wild slash. I ducked, took his blade in the groove of my shoulder, and with a slow, violent twist I wrenched it free from his grasp. The sword flew out, spinning on a long arc. It landed a dozen feet away.
He gasped.
I let him have that gasp and answered it with motion. I moved and my boot found his sternum. The impact didn’t just fold him; it launched him. He flew across the field in a blur and met the castle wall with a sick, echoing crack.
Before he could find himself, I was on him. I closed the distance in two strides and drove my foot into his ribs, then into his side, each strike a punctuation that rattled his armor like a bell.
He tried to raise the glow, to call whatever shields the emperor kept, but my blows skittered through the fading light. When he staggered, I swung his own momentum against him, caught his arm, twisted, and slammed him into the ground so hard the earth shuddered.
He scrabbled, eyes wide with the realization that resistance was a lie. I dragged him up by the collar and smashed my fist into his shoulder. It broke with a hollow, final sound, a joint giving way, a soft curse escaping him. He went slack in my grip, panic replacing pride.
I shoved him to his knees.