“You disappeared,” Tyril said, unsure what he was seeing.

  “You killed my friend,” Millik said in the same way. The outside light wrapped around him standing in the doorway, and the sword at his side now radiated a power more immense than that of a God. “I don’t want to blame you for that.”

  “What are you going to do?” There was something about the man he once looked up to that felt ominous. He was scared of him.

  Millik walked up to Tyril, his face unwaveringly stoic and his long braid trailing behind him. Tyril found himself unable to meet his eyes; he watched the sword instead. Millik didn’t say anything as he walked past Tyril–

  –He couldn’t stop himself from reaching out. His hand caught around Millik’s braid and yanked him into place. The hair was rough and grating in his hand at first, but Millik didn’t pull any more, instead just stopping where he was. Tyril couldn’t bring himself to turn around and face him. A weight dropped in his chest. Did he really know this man anymore?

  “You don’t deserve this,” Millik said. His voice was low, but it filled the empty chamber. “A war is being fought right now, and you’re supposed to be on the front lines, right? Danger is terrifying. You’re still new to this, and now you’re being thrown into deep waters.”

  “I know what I signed up for,” Tyril said.

  “I did, too.”

  “What are you going to do?” Tyril returned to his last question, his voice too knotted to think of what else to say. His grip on Millik’s braid tightened; he didn’t want to let go.

  “You can’t stop me,” Millik said.

  “I know.”

  “Then get out of here. Go help fight Danger.”

  “No.”

  “Ameri and Sor can’t win without the help.”

  “No.”

  “Don’t worry about me.”

  Tyril pulled Millik’s hair a little tighter. “I can’t help it, Millik. I’m scared. I’m scared for you. I’m scared that you’ll do something you’ll regret.”

  All Tyril heard was a small slice of the air before his grip loosened as Millik’s weight no longer tugged at his palm. In his hand now was just the end of the braid, cut cleanly by Millik’s sword. Tyril turned around to Millik sheathing his weapon, still facing the inner door. With the end cut, his braid was unravelling.

  “I’ve always been nothing more than a killer,” Millik said, taking another step towards the inner sanctum. “We don’t get the luxury of regret.”

  “I do!” Tyril said, lunging for Millik’s shoulder. “I feel horrible for killing that merfolk friend of yours.”

  “Then why did you do it?” In his voice, Tyril could hear the answer Millik wanted from him.

  “...Because Pok is more important to me.”

  Millik looked over his shoulder and placed his hand on Tyril’s. As their gaze finally met, his eyes were sharp and cold. “Then go save whatever honor he has left.”

  He pushed open the inner sanctum doors for the last time.

  “I didn’t think I’d see you again,” Pok said, his voice like a viper.

  “You explicitly told me you didn’t want to,” Millik looked Pok in the eye. The recognition was evident even under the shadows. Pok knew why he was here.

  “I’ve always appreciated you always coming back to me,” Pok said, “I couldn’t have had anyone more loyal to be my reaper. Even now, after I’ve made your life a roiling abyss, you still find your way to my feet.”

  “Know that I never intend to return,” Millik said. He drew The Deathhold simply, without brandishing it as a weapon just yet.

  “If that’s the case,” Pok said, “there is one more thing I need to tell you.”

  “Go on.”

  “I ordered the bombing of the peace meeting,” Pok said. His voice was a growl. “I thought the whole thing was pointless, but more importantly, I wanted one more way to get under your skin. Mind controlling that fool was easy; he may have been even more blind than you. Ideally you would have been caught in the explosion, but your own cowardice made you escape, just like it did on that fateful day. How disgraceful. You betrayed me then, I should have known you would betray me once more.”

  “You telling me this only gives me more reason to kill you,” Millik said.

  “I would hope so,” Pok said. “The more of a traitor you become, the easier it will be to punish you.”

  “If killing you makes me a traitor, then that’s what I am, and I can live with that.”

  As Ameri’s axe-clones spun through the hoard of skeletons, the sound of rattling bones echoing across the battlefield, a large blast of energy came from behind her, shooting straight for Danger. That was one of the weapons her dad had designed exactly for this fight. All eyes turned up as the purple beam illuminated the Votin sky. Both of Danger’s skeletal heads weaved out of the way, both impossibly large and impossibly nimble. They turned from Sor in her full form and flew closer to the source of the attack. One head roared a deafening bellow as the other spewed fire at the beam’s origin. The fire cast an even richer light on the dark, ever-night sky, casting deep shadows across the clouds and bathing the entire battlefield in a bright orange hue. Where the flames landed, screams erupted as fire licked at the bodies of Votin and Sor alike. That was why Ameri hated fire: it was plainly barbaric, with no real beauty to how it ended lives. Before another blast could blaze from Danger’s second head, Sor caught both heads under her spear and flung them upwards. The second fireblast pierced the clouds, revealing a small portion of the cerulean sky up above.

  While their army had been split when the battle started, by now their tactics had devolved into a simple free-for-all brawl, Votin versus Sor. Ameri had charged into the skeletal army at first, and found herself now separated from the soldiers she was supposed to lead. Eh. She helmed the charge, by this point it didn’t matter.

  Really, all Ameri was trying to do was get closer to Sor. This was the first time they had truly fought side-by-side, and Ameri wanted to enjoy it. At first it was terrifying when Danger was flying over to them, but now that she was shattering skeletons, she was a little more content than she had been. Though fighting beside each other, Ameri knew what it was like to have Sor’s presence alongside her, for she wore it on her chest every day.

  She didn’t actually like Sor’s magic, but it was definitely strong. She didn’t like it because it meant she wouldn’t be slashing her opponents so much as crushing them, meaning there wouldn’t be as much blood to spray. But, when her opponents were skeletons, there wasn’t any blood anyways, and smashing was the only enjoyable part about fighting them. So, she called on the magic Sor had gifted her all those years ago. One of the axe-clones she had summoned to spin around her grew to the size of giants. Then the next. Then the other six. She gripped her real axe with the dreams of a little girl as she closed her eyes to get a better view of the battlefield. Eight giant axe-clones, each almost as tall as Danger and Sor were now, became the third mountain-sized monument of the arena. They came down and hovered just above the ground, and, with her at the centre, they spun around, swiping away any and all soldiers with the gall to stay within range.

  She ran further into the Votin ranks, her giant axe-clones blending the army into a mix of bones and weapons. Once she was satisfied, she lifted the axes back into the air. For just a moment, she enjoyed the second of quiet that gave her opponents a chance to think. The smart ones had a chance to run, the rest would get caught in her next attack. She lifted all eight giant axes a little higher into the air, pulling them back before slamming each one deep into the ground. When she let go of her magic and opened her eyes, she was at the centre of a large star carved into the dirt and rock, with bones and spears and armor scattered around.

  She had to admit, she was having fun using Sor’s magic.

  A small popping sound carried under the clashing of swords and magic all throughout the battlefield. It didn’t seem like most had heard it, but Ameri did, and, with her magically-heightened spatial awareness, she knew immediately what it was.

  Finally. Now where’s the other bastard?

  Above Sor and Danger, Tyril appeared in the sky. He couldn’t fly, of course, so he started falling immediately. Both Sor and Danger had lifted their gaze from their opponent to see the newcomer. Danger instinctively sprung into action, flapping his bony wings to gain a little height and reaching both of his heads, mouths wide, to swallow the blue-robed reaper.

  Tyril wasn’t ready. Ameri could see that. Wherever he came from, he wasn’t prepared for jumping straight into the mouth of a monster. So instead, she leapt into action for him.

  She was too far away to do anything directly, but her magic had a lot of use cases beyond creating more axes. She concentrated hard, and, the mana flowing through her body heating her core, she summoned a copy of herself beside him and sent it soaring through the air, catching Tyril as he fell. The clone landed just beside her, its feet planting hard in the soil. Lucky it didn’t have any bones to break. The copy dissipated as Tyril rolled out of its arms.

  “Dammit,” Tyril swore under his breath, pulling his punch before it hit the dirt.

  “Where’s the other one?” Ameri asked him. “Where’s Millik?”

  “He’s not coming,” Tyril said, surprisingly emotionless. He didn’t stand up.

  A heavily-armed skeleton came charging the two of them. Tyril still didn’t move, so Ameri flung an axe-clone at it, which splint it into pieces easily.

  “What’s going on?” Ameri asked him.

  “I don’t know anymore.”

  “Well,” Ameri pulled him to his feet rather forcefully, “You’re in the middle of a warzone, so either go back to where you came from, or start shocking some skeletons.”

  Tyril teetered a little where he stood, but he nodded as he drew from Pok’s magic to create the same hard-water sword she recognized before turning to the oncoming wave of Votin soldiers.

  He could hold his own– she knew that, too– so she turned the other way, determined to flatten more skeletons.

  As she summoned her same eight (non-gigantic) axe-clones to circle her, a heavy sigh caught her ear.

  “Such brutish strength is unbecoming of a woman,” a female voice Ameri didn’t recognize said as if she was directly in her ear. It wasn’t that it was new that made Ameri freeze slightly, it was that it seemed to come from thin-air. There was no one around her, even Tyril had gone off to fight; anyone could see the flashes of lightning strike. So there was no one who could have possibly talked to her just then. Her special sense wasn’t detecting anyone either.

  “Says the one hiding,” Ameri growled. “Shut up already.” She whipped around again. If this stranger caught her off-guard, who knows what would happen? She spun her axes around her a little faster.

  A knife was placed against her throat. Ameri froze, and so did her axe-clones. She could see with her mind’s eye that the blade was there, and that it was very real, not an illusion, but it was just floating there. Again, the person responsible was nowhere to be seen.

  “What do you want?” Ameri said.

  “It’s a war,” she said. Her face appeared in front of Ameri’s, staring into her eyes. Wherever she came from, Ameri didn’t know. She was surely Votin, wearing black robes, but her garments were special. It looked like she was wearing shrinekeeper garb, the golden lacework reflecting the strong show of lights above and around them. She held the blade in one hand, and her other was suddenly wrapped around Ameri’s shoulders, bringing their faces closer. “So I want to kill you, reaper. You will do Vot a great service in your death.”

  “Get lost,” Ameri spat.

  She pressed the knife into Ameri’s throat a little tighter.

  “Who are you?” Ameri asked. Realistically, she couldn’t do anything. She was held in place, and if she tried anything with her axes, this Votin could slit her throat before anything mattered. Dammit. There was nothing she could do. Her axes would be too slow, and so would anything else she tried to clone. But… She groaned in her head. How could she be considering such a stupid option? If she couldn’t get out of this herself, she deserved to die. Yet, with a dagger held to her neck, she was scared, and would do anything to get out of it, even if it means trusting that ass once more.

  “My name is Mora.” As the Votin shrinekeeper answered her question, Ameri secretly summoned a copy of just her hand in front of Tyril, who was still within her range. She waved the clone to get his attention at which point she pointed and gestured very violently towards her real body, still caught in the spider’s trap.

  “If you want to kill me,” Ameri bought a little more time as Tyril figured out her signal, “Why haven’t you?”

  “Because I would like you to return to Vot,” Mora said. “Any other outcome would be in poor taste.”

  “Not a chance,” Ameri spat again.

  “But you must–” A heavy-handed bolt of lightning shot through both of them. Ameri clenched her teeth and gripped her axe tighter. All her clones shattered at once. The shrinekeeper had a much more intense reaction: all her muscles spasmed as she collapsed to the floor. Blood was spilling out of her mouth, and her eyes were large.

  Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.

  Ameri knew the magical resistance that comes with a God’s magic would give her the upper hand. She had been struck by him during their training, but a blast on the real battlefield would surely be much stronger, so she wasn’t perfectly confident that she’d survive, but: that’s the value of trust.

  Staggering to her full height, Ameri looked down on the now unconscious assassin. Her pristine black robes were beginning to layer with dirt. Ameri’s face twisted into a smile. She had called her “unbecoming of a woman.” How pathetic. She fixed her grip on her axe, and, as a lumberjack chopping wood, Ameri split her opponent. The bright blood of this shrinekeeper was the most womanly thing about her, and it was beautiful.

  Overhead, a large energy beam fired straight at the skeleton monster flapping above the battlefield. If such a laser was aimed at the armies, it may be impossible to calculate the damage it would cause. Tyril had never seen anything like it. Yet, he was more impressed by the monster’s ability to dodge such a devastating attack. It flew up and down like it was riding a wave, and its entire body slithered around every blow from the mountainous God with ease. Tyril didn’t know how such a beast could have been killed the first time, and he especially didn’t think he would be of any help this time.

  But he was here. That’s what mattered. He was here fighting in Pok’s place, earning his right among all the other great Gods and warriors this plane had ever seen. Millik had given him that chance. He didn’t want to think about it– rather, he didn’t want to think about what else Millik was doing right now– but it was true. In his eyes, they were both fighting for what they believed in. Atrode had commended such behaviour. Tyril had reason to be proud just because he was on the battlefield.

  Atrode had also reprimanded fighting when scared. And Tyril was scared right now. While Ameri and him were fighting the hoards of skeleton soldiers on the ground, Sor was standing over the battle barely managing to trade blows with Danger, let alone land a successful strike to kill it. It seemed Danger was the first to injure their opponent, too; Sor now had a break in her shoulder which was leaking ethereal energy into the air.

  Was there anything Tyril could do to help? As scared as he was for himself, he was more terrified of losing the battle entirely. They had to stop Danger here and now, and it looked like Sor wasn’t fully capable of doing it herself. He formed a ring of Pok’s water around him and pushed back the seemingly endless numbers of skeletons from barraging him. He needed more time to think, and maybe Pok would grace him with inspiration once again. He was fighting diligently to defend the God, so maybe such divine wealth will reach him quickly. That was the hope, at least. But, until inspiration truly came, he started charging a large bolt of lightning up in the sky. The stormclouds mixed with the Votin sky, but the crackles of electricity regularly lit it up more than normal. As skeletons continued swarming him, he fought them off quickly with thrown water blades, each one being flung into a mess of bones and mud. Eventually, his largest bolt yet was ready.

  Three moments happened in turn, each one sharp and distinct, but only for less than a second. First, the flash of light filled the entire open space, although few actually were able to take notice as it struck. Second, thunder rolled across the whole arena, bursting the eardrums of many of the less resistant. Third, a silence for the first time since the fight started. Citizens, Skeletons, and a God all turned their gaze towards the sudden explosion’s target. Danger’s roar as he emerged from the smoke was the fourth moment in this succession, although it lasted much more than just a second, for the fear conjured in every soldier was enough to stun them into lapsing their ongoing combat.

  Both Danger’s heads breathed fire straight into the stormcloud. Tyril’s magic was blown away like it was nothing. If that wasn’t enough, was there any chance that they could really kill this monster? The flames lit up the clouds once again, casting a dark shadow around the soldiers. Danger glared back down over the entire battlefield. As the fire shrunk to an ember, the sky continued to glow. Very quickly it became evident that this wasn’t Danger’s fire any more, nor was the light coming from anything Tyril had done. But, he recognized this light.

  He let out a cheer as Bow and Fahva descended from the parting night sky.

  The glowing golden God, a sun in this nighttime arena, floated down, illuminating the entire battlefield as he summoned a giant ethereal sword and plunged it into Danger from above. The attack famous for ending the fight against Danger originally now bounced off without conflict. Him and Sor wordlessly agreed to continue wearing down the beast together.

  Fahva, within her controlled tornado, flew down to Tyril’s side as he fought off a few skeletons who had broken free of their awe at the flurry of majesty mere moments ago.

  “I’m surprised you came!” Tyril ran up and hugged her just as she dispelled her strong wind and landed on the ground. She pushed him off quickly.

  “We said we were allies,” Fahva said. Instead of meeting his eyes, her view darted from Danger down to the ground, then up again at the monster.

  “Sure, but,” Tyril paused, “Aren’t you scared?”

  “Of course I am,” she admitted quietly, “But that’s what it means to exemplify valor.”

  “I’m glad you–” Tyril stopped himself. Nothing had happened, at least, not here. Somehow, under all the clashing magic and sparring Gods, he knew exactly what had happened. His God-powered broach, the one that gave him the power to be Pok’s reaper, no longer emanated the vast energy it always had. Next to Fahva, it was clear how he had lost the magic of his God.

  “What’s going on?” Fahva asked. “Are you okay?”

  Tyril’s eyes widened as he fell to his knees. He ripped the button off his robes and held it in his hand. His voice was like a small ripple under a thunderstorm. “Pok’s dead.”

  “The bastard actually went through with it,” Fahva said. She sighed, then held out her hand. “Get up already.”

  “I can’t–”

  “Dammit, Tyril,” she said. She rescinded her hand and turned away. “Of all the people I could lose to, why’d it have to be you?”

  “What?”

  “What are you crying for?”

  What? He reached a hand up to his cheek. He didn’t notice the tears earlier.

  “If you’re strong enough to beat me,” Fahva said, “You don’t need Pok’s magic to keep fighting. So get up already.”

  “I–” He looked up and met her eyes. He never noticed how much gold was hidden in the brown of her irises. But it wasn’t just the color: there was something else he had never noticed before. Something like care. In just a look, he knew everything she wanted to say to him, but couldn’t. She wanted to help him through this grief, but right now that wasn’t an option. Instead, they could be scared, and fight, together.

  He tightened his grip on the empty relic and stood up to face her. He also wanted to say so much right now, but his chest was tight and his voice kept getting caught. So instead, he turned and threw the once legendary button far into the battlefield of dirt and bones.

  “That was probably unnecessary,” Fahva said. “You Pokians don’t think things through, do you?” She laughed, but Tyril couldn’t join her. Just hearing his name again reminded him his God was dead. He may have Fahva right now, but it would be impossible to actually move on, wouldn’t it?

  Fahva’s eyes widened for just a moment as she looked past him. “Get down!” She tackled him to the ground just as a giant boulder flew over their heads. The huge rock collided into Danger, only for it to crack and shatter before the monster’s bones did. It crumbled into pieces as Danger roared once more. Tyril looked to the direction the boulder came from to see a Sor with a giant grin on his face and a large, unreadable weapon in his hands. He brandished it like heavy artillery as he used it to telekinetically lift a pebble into the air. The rock grew in size to the same gigantic proportions as the first, and then he flung it at Danger again.

  “Watch it!” Fahva called to him as they stood up.

  “Keep it up, Allimer!” Sor’s booming voice carried across the battlefield.

  “You got it, boss!” A third large rock came flying through the sky. After this one crashed into Danger’s head, it looked like the beast might have actually been affected by it, although not for long.

  More pebbles-turned-boulders pelted Danger as Sor and Bow landed blow after blow on the monster. From the ground, their expressions were surprisingly easy to read: Sor looked like she was concentrating, whereas Bow had a large smile on his face. Though his sword continued to bounce off Danger’s skeleton, he didn’t let up in his attacks. Sor, who had been fighting this whole time, was beginning to slow down.

  Danger caught the next boulder thrown its way in one of its mouths. Biting down with its sharp teeth, the stone crumbled into dust. That same head roared as the other blasted fire down on the man bearing the boulder-flinging weapon. If Sor hadn’t stepped in front of it, he would have been roasted. Her shield deflected most of the blast, but the edges still licked around her shoulders and the top of her head. Once the flames let up, she slashed Danger with her spear, slicing across both of its heads. Again, the beast was seemingly indestructible, not even keeping a scar from such an attack. Is it possible this thing was more unbeatable than the Gods? Bow beat it by himself last time, but this time two whole Gods weren’t even enough.

  “Do you think we can beat it?” Fahva asked Tyril quietly. She may not be allowed to be scared, but when she was with him, she let her voice quiver.

  A small popping sound came from the air alongside a powerful surge of energy radiating from the man that appeared from it.

  It would be impossible to say what Tyril thought of him now. Though his chest tightened and his fists clenched, he was smiling. Atrode had always admired this man, and so had Tyril. But so much had happened to both of them.

  One single arcing slash cut through the clouds and Danger alike, splitting each in two. As soon as he had arrived, the fight was over.

  Tyril stared at him, watching him fall out of the mid-air swing of his sword. Millik teleported away before Danger’s skeleton fell to the ground and broke into pieces.

  He marched into Vot’s inner sanctum, pushing it open himself. The Deathhold never left his hand, not that he was planning on using it for a third time.

  “I’m so proud of you,” Vot said. “You actually did it. Congratulations, my pawn.”

  “Don’t try that with me,” Millik said. His rage had only boiled over after killing Pok. “You never told me you were summoning Danger!”

  “Was it not the perfect distraction?” Vot said, “While the future of Bitrect was at stake, you had the perfect opportunity to sneak in and land the killing blow.”

  “I did not sneak in,” Millik said, “I promised Bow I would do it valiantly.”

  “I see,” Vot said. “I hope you remember the promise you made to me, as well.”

  “Of course,” Millik said. Really, that was the only thing keeping him from killing Vot right here too for the trick she pulled. He took a deep breath to calm his fury. “When I die, I’m yours.”

  “Good,” Vot said. “Well, what did you promise Lon and Sor? You must have a lot to do now, don’t you?”

  “I promised Sor I would redeem myself,” Millik said.

  “Have you accomplished that?”

  “You should know by now. It was your monster that gave me that chance.”

  “It’s called a dragon,” Vot corrected. “They’re supposedly common on other planes.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “I talked to Danger, obviously. He was confused and scared. I gave him a chance to find a home here.”

  Millik stuttered. “That’s horrifying.”

  Vot laughed her same laugh. “Don’t worry. I knew someone would kill him once more.” She leaned down to look at him. “So what did you promise Lon?”

  “I gave him my word that I would not use his power to take anyone’s life.”

  “Oh?” Vot said, “I thought you didn’t break promises anymore?”

  “I don’t,” Millik said, “Pok was never alive the same way we are.”

  Her laugh was more haughty than normal. “A fine game with words. Will you keep this promise going forward, then?”

  “What do you mean?” Millik asked.

  “The Deathhold, will you use it to take any more lives?”

  “I never thought I would keep it,” Millik said, “But if I do, I will not break my promise.”

  “It’s yours,” Vot said, “I have no need for it, and it was your sword to begin with. Although, I suppose its name is invalid if you don’t use it to bring death anymore.”

  “I have my worries,” Millik said. “If this power falls into the wrong hands–”

  “Let me see it,” Vot gestured to take it, and Millik obliged. Another spell was cast on it, although this was not the same as her imbuing her power into the object. It floated back to him. “I have ensured that no one else may use it. It is yours, and I trust you can manage.”

  Nobody cheered after Danger fell. The Votin army, both human and skeleton, whoever was left, retreated shortly afterwards. Sor’s soldiers simply gathered themselves and stood strong as the victors. Fahva and Tyril were still staring at Danger’s bones as the two Gods came over to them. Sor shrunk to human size as her reaper bounded over. Bow crouched down to talk to the four of them. He was the only one laughing.

  “What a showing!” He said, “The ex-reaper actually delivered on his promise, eh? I didn’t think I’d ever be happy to see him, but maybe collecting our powers into one was a good idea all around.”

  “Is that what he did?” Sor said. She winced as her armor dissipated and Ameri caught her and held her up. The cut on her shoulder was still leaking godly amounts of mana, and the scorches around her shoulders were surely also painful.

  “That bastard,” Ameri said, “I knew he was lying.”

  “At this rate,” Sor said, “I do appreciate it.”

  “But Pok is dead,” Tyril said. Without his own button, he felt defenseless being surrounded by Gods and reapers alike. Compared to them, he was just human again.

  “Yes,” Bow said. “Such an event may be disastrous.” He put on a faux smile, then said to Tyril, “Young man, you showed quite the valor today. If you need another God to follow, you may be perfect for me. Such an exemplary effort deserves recognition. Though you are no longer a reaper, you have my gratitude, and you will always be welcome with me.”

  All eyes turned to Tyril. He couldn’t feel more defenseless as he made a naive, selfish demand against the God. “I appreciate it,” he said, “But I should return home. I need to sort out my own feelings, and my people are going to need more help than I do.”

  “Again,” Bow said, “how perfectly valorous.”

  Ameri turned as her father ran up to join them, still wearing one of the massive designs he made.

  “You were a great help, Allimer,” Sor said to him.

  “It’s all over now, then?” He asked.

  “Indeed,” Sor said. “We owe it to Pok’s ex-reaper, of all people.”

  “He doesn’t deserve any praise,” Ameri said, “he said he’d fight beside us. You’re hurt because he was late.”

  “Yes, but I got to show off my creations,” Allimer said. For how much he talked down to Ameri about speaking to Sor casually, he wasn’t exactly perfect himself. “They did gloriously.”

  “So did you,” Sor said to Ameri.

  “You were watching?” Ameri said.

  “Of course. You never use my power that much. I’m glad.”

  “This isn’t the last fight we’ll have,” Ameri said. “I’ll use it again.”

  Sor smiled as they turned back to Bow. The towering God of the Sun didn’t have the same power as Sor, so he was stuck crouching, which still placed his head much much higher than everyone else.

  “I take it this means we are allies, now?” Sor asked him.

  “A bond forged on the battlefield is more valorous than any,” Bow said. He held out his fist. “From now on, we can keep the peace on Bitrect.”

  “It’s a deal.”

  The Eternities were always vast. Exploring them all took time, but it wasn’t boring. Even from outside, Ode could tell which planes were worth visiting as he walked between them. Bitrect had always caught his attention, since the Gods were powerful, but they were rather small. Feuding among themselves, they always missed the bigger picture of the multiverse. Across all the planes, most were like that.

  So when the soul of the plane itself was greatly disrupted, Ode took notice. The plane was going through a metamorphosis, whether it wanted to or not. How it would emerge, Ode wanted more than his first-row seat.

  What would Millik do next? He stood at the top of the stairs down to Pok’s temple, the wind slowly swaying his braid, cut shorter than before, but still the same. He wasn’t a reaper anymore. He hadn’t been for a long time. But he was something new. The Deathhold gleamed on his hip. After she was revived, Mora gladly gave him the same concealing enchantment to hide its intense aura. He appreciated that the glares he was always used to hadn’t gotten worse.

  He sighed. Looking down at an empty temple was surreal. So many moments spent here, and in his hatred he had ended it all. No more Pok. No more lies. No. more.

  “Millik–”

  Millik unsheathed The Deathhold and held it to the newcomer’s neck, which was surprisingly high. He looked up to this man’s face, then careened his head further, watching along two large, forked horns. His skin was a light gray, like a loxodon or a rhox, but it was rather smooth, unlike those two rough-and-tumble races. He was dressed in clothes unlike anything known to Bitrect.

  “Millik,” the man restarted, “that is your name, is it not?”

  “Yes,” Millik said. He returned The Deathhold to its sheath. He had no intention of using it anyways.

  “It’s a unique name,” the man said, “A generic one would be better.”

  “What do you want?”

  “My name is Ode.” He bowed slightly, meaninglessly. “You’ll help me, won’t you?”

  The End.