Ow.

  When Wyatt came to, his body felt amazing, yet sore. A pain ached across every part of him, and his soul stung like it had been fractured, then repaired about a million times. And considering the extent of the energy buzzing through him and radiating off into the simulation chamber, he had no reason to believe that’s not exactly what happened.

  But then reality settled over him. The euphoria, the elation, the high of his transformation…

  This power had come with a cost. He would never forgive Gabriel and hoped he and Asmodeus suffered wherever their eternal souls wound up. Gritting his teeth, he opened his eyes and saw Annabeth through the mess of countless notifications. They gave him a headache, so he mentally prodded them into a neat pile in the corner of his vision.

  He still didn’t know what in Eyanora the Class he’d received had even given him, aside from Angels wanting to murder him out of principle and Devils looking at him as more of a snack than they already had. But before he got into that, he needed to address Annabeth.

  Her eyes were wide and her breath hitched. When he’d opened his eyes, the color drained from her face as she’d gone paler than a sheet of paper.

  Gritting his teeth, he pushed himself up off the floor, his muscles and bones aching. Annabeth flinched. “What? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

  She pursed her lips as she crossed her arms across her chest and shook her head. “Well, we don’t need to worry about your golden eyes anymore.”

  “Huh?”

  The door to the simulation chamber slammed open. A figure of golden fury filled the doorway, one Wyatt recognized. “Instructor Plight?”

  The Angel’s chest rose and fell from deep breaths and rage barely contained, a golden spear in his hand with a triangular spearhead. Ichor dripped from the weapon and stained his winter boots.

  “You… You really did it.” His eyes landed on Wyatt like an avalanche, scrutinizing him from bottom to top. When his gaze reached Wyatt’s eyes, he gripped his spear with both hands and let out a battlecry, crossing the space between them in the time it took for Wyatt to realize he was in danger.

  —

  Moments before Wyatt awoke…

  Their war had come to Demer. A hunt for the Great Seraphim, no doubt.

  Zephyrion held the line with the mortals. His implement of peace blurred in his hand as he wade the tides of Devils, never-ending. The ground slickened with the miasmatic blood of the Devils, seeping into the land, tainting it. When all was said and done, this land would need consecration to become inhabitable again and to not naturally spread its defiling energies.

  To his side, an Alfin warchief wielding the Holy Armaments, Light’s End and Aegis, and donning the war armor and crest of the Great Seraphim cleaved through dozens of devils. The incursion shimmered, and Specter, the Elemental Prince of Darkness stepped through. The Alfin warchief grinned as she sundered the Devil in twine before it had a chance to move.

  The Great Seraphim will bring peace to the world once again. I must find the vessel, must protect him, and escort him to the Cathedral of Faith. Without the summons steeped in the Great Seraphim’s power, he would have had to abandon his post and return to the Cathedral of Faith, his duty failed and honor tarnished. If he could find the boy, they could, for the first time in so long, strike back against Lucifer’s forces.

  Zephyrion fought to reach the vessel’s summon, desperate to know his location. His spear cleaved cleanly through Ghouls and pierced the Hulking Ravager’s thick, armored chest. Nearly to the summon, Zephyrion’s head snapped to the side, his focused wrenching to the Foundation of Applications building.

  I feel the Great Seraphim. He would know that radiance from anywhere. The rising ebb of glorious faith, the insurmountable piety of absolute righteousness, of duty. Purest of them all, second to none, the Great Seraphim’s power beckoned him.

  He no longer needed to find the vessel. Now, he needed to close the incursion and ensure they had safe passage to the Cathedral of Faith. Only then could he set down his spear and fulfill his mission. Eyes burning with resolve, his heart thrumming with the warmth of hope, of eagerness, of a cleansed weariness he’d born for so long, he turned his full attention to the Devil scum.

  His spear blurred as he indiscriminately slew each and every Devil within reach, following in the wake of the vessel’s summon. Another rush of Devils roared as they came through, backed by another Elemental Prince, Zeal of Thunder.

  A great silver and gold wave washed over the horde, ending the assault before it began. Yet, as he prepared for a final push to seal the incursion of his kin’s mortal foe, the phoenix, blessed by the Great seraphim, writhed in pain before disappearing entirely. His eyes shot to the Alfin warchief. Or rather, where she had been only moments ago.

  Something is wrong. His senses bloomed out from him in a wide dome, easily encapsulating Demer. Nothing remained of them, but what he did detect made his blood still and the hope growing in his chest froze, its fiery blaze snuffed out.

  The power of a Primevil clashed with the Great Seraphim within the vessel.

  It shouldn’t be possible, yet the power was unmistakable. Zephyrion had been one of the few survivors to witness the Great Seraphim Michael’s shattering, had felt the overwhelming terror numb his bones as he watched two impossibly powerful beings clash, the traitor Lucifer amongst their great conflict.

  As unmistakable as his blood flowed gold, this power shouldn’t be possible, couldn’t be here, threatened everything Greater Seraphim Michael had sacrificed himself for. His body fought, his rapidly beating heart desperately hanging on to a small modicum of hope the Great Seraphim would overcome the Primevil while he searched for a way to disengage from the tide of Devils.

  No lacking the support of the vessel’s summons, there would be no reprieve. Waves continued to flood through the incursion. Zephyrion had to make a choice, and he did not hesitate. The flooding tides shoving back against the significantly reduced resistance would take too long to cull. If it could be done at all.

  He stood alone then amongst them, the Devils that wished to wreak carnage across the world, and he knew better than anyone else he couldn’t hold the line. When the next Elemental Prince stepped through, Demer would fall.

  He oriented his body away from the incursion, giving up on closing it. Failing here would mean the Devils gained a foothold to wage war across Eyanora, but his duty to his mission was clear. Protect the vessel at all costs.

  With a great stopped, the ground shuddered. The Devils that fell scrambled to their feet within a second, but he soared over them, disengaging successfully. His senses told him of something grim.

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  He could no longer sense the Greater Seraphim, nor the Primevil. With the location in mind, he rushed through the building. He ignored the imps in the halls, the ash and injured students, and turned the corner that would bring him to the vessel. The piles of Devil corpses squelched under his boots, and he begged all that was holy he would be in time.

  As he reached for the handle, the presence of the Greater Seraphim and Primevil faded entirely, and he faltered. He should be able to sense the vessel, had been able to moments ago. When he prodded the interior of the chamber, he only sensed one presence.

  A Devil.

  Had… he been too late?

  Zephyrion threw open the door, only to see the vessel and the halfling girl. The vessel, Wyatt, had changed. Zephyrion scanned him from bottom to top, heart skipping a beat when he saw the eyes of Lucifer staring back at him.

  Somehow, Lucifer had corrupted the vessel.

  “Instructor Plight?” the corrupted vessel asked, tilting his head, eyes wide with confusion.

  Even now, Lucifer tried to act coy. He was weak after the possession. Instincts drove him forward. He had to stop Lucifer! Had to strike him down. Before either the halfling or corrupted vessel could react, his spear sank deep into the vessel’s chest. Zephyrion didn’t stop there and wrenched the vessel off its feet in a high arc over his head and slammed him against the ground.

  He sharply twisted the spear free, prepared to strike the vessel down once and for all. A violet, miasmatic fireball exploded across his side and propelled him away from the vessel with enough force he slammed into the wall.

  The flames burned, tongues licking at his holy radiance as fuel. Zephyrion snuffed them out and gripped his spear. Resolve filled his existence. Only one thought echoed in his mind.

  Kill it!

  Kill it, kill it, kill it!

  KILL!

  —

  Ow.

  Clutching his chest, Wyatt rolled to his hands and knees. Blood gushed to the floor, but as he took stock of the wound, it already began knitting itself closed. Slowly, but surely. His head spun, his mind reeling from the sudden brutality displayed by Instructor Plight.

  But Wyatt should have known. The moment he’d seen the Angel, he knew it meant trouble. He’d been warned. Gabriel had told him Angels would see him as a defier, a traitor to their cause.

  The fiery heat of another of Annabeth’s attacks, violet like he’d never seen before, rocked Instructor Plight again, but his eyes literally burned with golden flame, locked to Wyatt.

  Shit. He threw himself to his feet, barely dodging the lancing spear attack. But the spear cut a clean straight line across his chest.

  “The daggers, Wyatt! Use the daggers!” Annabeth shouted from behind him.

  Grunting, he tried to draw upon his Ichor and infuse it into the Twin Daggers’ card, yet what he sensed within himself was unfamiliar. Not the Ichor he had come to know and rely on, but something more subdued. A gray energy, formless and quiet.

  Drawing upon what little resided within himself, he forced the energy into the Twin Daggers.

  Energy incompatible. Modify?

  Yes, damnit!

  His connection to the card in his holder faded as it burned to nothing but raw energy. Normally when a card was destroyed, the energy faded and returned back to aether. Theories suggest the Riacore claimed its due, but no such evidence supported the idea.

  The energy morphed, his gray filling in the edges, warping what lingered. As the change occurred within his deck holder, he backpedaled away from Instructor Plight. When the Angel charged him with a burst, he barely threw himself to the side, rolling to recover and hopping to his feet.

  When he turned back around, the spear followed.

  So fast!

  With no room to dodge, he crossed his arms to absorb the blow. Before the spear pierced his flesh, a flaming lasso curled around the spearshaft and wrenched the weapon off center. The triangular spearhead sliced across Wyatt’s bicep as he locked eyes with the Angel.

  “What are you doing?!” he shouted, trying to stall for time. “I am not your enemy!”

  Instructor Plight didn’t bother to answer and turned toward Annabeth, a hand raised in her direction. A javelin of light appeared, and he launched it at her at speed Wyatt would never have been able to dodge. Especially at this distance.

  The attack forced Annabeth to dodge, yet without a solid foundation, Instructor Plight wrenched his spear and dragged her into his waiting fist. She grunted and slumped to the ground, the flaming lasso unraveled and fell uselessly to the ground. “Stay out of this, halfling. Intervene again, and it won’t matter which side you fight for.” His burning gaze turned to Wyatt. “Especially when your father has corrupted this vessel meant to revive the Greater Seraphim.”

  Halfling? And what does her father have to do with this? He didn’t have time for those questions now. Not with the Angel intent on killing him. Wait. Greater Seraphim? He held up a hand. “Gabriel… He told me this was the only way to save the world. I did not betray him.”

  “Do not speak his name, blasphemer!” Instructor Plight stomped the ground, turning Wyatt’s legs the consistency of Demer’s gruelling NutriGrub.

  As Wyatt struggled to stay standing, the Angel’s knee slammed into his chest, blasting him back. As he flew through the air, gasping for breath, the Twin Dagger card reappeared in his deck holder. He didn’t hesitate and instantly activated it, bringing the weapons up to block the follow-up stab. They held against the attack better than he thought. As much as he wanted to, he didn’t have time to inspect the changes, only taking comfort in having something to defend himself with.

  How is he so fast? He didn’t have the time to find a solution. The wall met his back with a painful crack, and Wyatt couldn’t tell if he or the wall took more damage. His whole body ached and groaned as he slumped forward, barely holding onto the daggers. I need to be stronger if I want a chance to win.

  When he tried to activate Body Reinforcement and Enhance Durability, he got the same notification and confirmed he wanted to modify the cards. The energy trickled out of him, unbearably slow, as his shoulders shook from his shuddering, wet breaths. His head grew lighter as piercing pain stabbed him repeatedly each time he desperately sucked in air.

  Wyatt looked up to see Instructor Plight’s menacing figure walking toward him. Behind him, Annabeth still gripped her midsection with one arm as she raised her hand, flames coalescing in the center of her palm and aimed at the Angel’s exposed back.

  Remembering the Angel’s warning, he slightly shook his head, but she flashed him a bloody grin. Something in his mind snapped. He couldn’t let the Angel survive. He would kill Annabeth. He would take her again. Wyatt couldn’t—wouldn’t let that happen.

  Another fireball of violet flame ripped forward and impacted the Angel, launching him forward. Driven by frenzied desperation, Wyatt let out a bestial growl and lurched forward, urging the elemental affinity within the daggers to activate.

  Lightning of the deepest black coated both edges as he stabbed hilt deep into Instructor Plight’s gut. The Angel spasmed as the black lightning erupted through his body, seizing his muscles and causing him to fall to the ground, dragging Wyatt with him. Wherever the traces of lightning traveled, the Angel’s skin instantly charred.

  Instructor Plight roared as he tried to fight back, a fist slamming into Wyatt’s aching ribs. Wyatt stabbed again.

  Even this injured, Instructor Plight landed a powerful kick against Wyatt’s aching chest to try and dislodge him, but Wyatt refused to give up this chance. He ignored the pain and stabbed again.

  The Angel’s roar became pained, like a wounded beast. The Angel tried to speak, likely to beg for his life or spew more righteous bullshit, but it only came out as a strangled, choking gasp.

  Wyatt didn’t stop stabbing, couldn’t stop.

  Over, and over, and over again. Dagger split papery flesh, and when he withdrew to stab again, he slung golden ichor.

  When the Angel stilled, yet Wyatt did not.

  Again.

  Again.

  Again!

  Until a hand touched his shoulder. He whipped around, bearing the daggers at Annabeth, who watched him with concern and a hint of fear. “It’s over, Wyatt. You can stop. He’s dead.”