The guards led the squad through the streets of Draemir toward the city’s heart, where a spire of obsidian vanished into the night sky. The lead guard gestured for them to follow into the building.
Inside, their boots were muffled by thick red carpets stretching down endless corridors. They stopped at a massive door at the far end. The guard knocked.
"Enter," a voice called from within.
The guard stepped inside first, snapping a formal salute. "General, Valak and his squad are reporting as ordered."
The woman behind the desk signaled for them to enter without looking. She was focused on the parchments spread before her.. Valak led his men inside, his posture rigid. "You called for us, General?"
General Skida was a towering presence, her long red hair a stark contrast to her weathered skin. Her face's hardened features softened only by the swell of scar tissue. When she spoke, her voice was a low rasp that filled the room.
"Sergeant," she said, still not looking at him. "What is Draemir’s first rule?"
"Invade, then assimilate, ma’am."
Skida finally looked up, her gaze cutting. "So that old brain still functions. Then explain why you saw fit to butcher an assimilated village, Valak."
"They struck first," Valak said, his voice steady despite the heat in the room. "We tried to minimize the killing. I lost good men trying to show restraint."
"You knew Moon Dew can only be produced by Anima users," Skida countered, her voice rising. "Our research is starving for it. It took a year of diplomacy for Luna to agree, and you managed to gut that progress in a single afternoon."
Valak dropped to one knee, his head bowed. "I am ready for my punishment. But my men only followed my lead."
"Silence," Skida snapped. She leaned forward. "Luna requires virgins to replace the 'daughters' she lost. To my knowledge, your daughter didn't get married."
Valak’s head snapped up.
"She will join the Crescentians," Skida stated coldly.
"No!" Valak’s composure shattered. "Anything but her!"
He lunged forward offering his sword hilt-first. "Take my life, General. Take it now, but leave her out of this."
She backhanded him, sending him spinning across the stone floor.
"In addition," she continued, looking over the rest of the squad, "you and your men will undergo the Loose Chain for three days. Consider this mercy, for not killing Luna."
"General!" the Wanderer stepped forward, his voice tight. "This is too far, his daughter has nothing to do with this. Reconsider the judgment please."
Skida swiped her hand through the air. Four metal spears were conjured, piercing the Wanderer’s thighs -two in each leg- pinning him violently to the stone floor.
"Who ordered you to speak, maggot?" Skida shouted.
The Wanderer shrieked, his legs buckling as Kuma rushed forward to catch him, keeping him from collapsing entirely. Gritting his teeth against the agony, the Wanderer reached down. He began to wrench the spears from his own flesh, his vision blurring as he fought to stay conscious.
"Your injustice did," he spat, the words strained through a throat tight with pain.
Skida settled back into her chair. "That is justice. We are sending Luna two women. If Valak had a second daughter, she would be the other."
"Why don't you go yourself, then?" the Wanderer groaned.
Skida let out a sharp, mocking laugh. "You’ve got guts, maggot. Luckily for me, she requires virgins."
"How about this," Skida continued. "Fight me for it."
Skida’s laughter died, replaced by a predatory grin. "If you land a single blow, I’ll spare his daughter. But if you lose, the entire squad is handed over to that Anima bitch to become our next supply of Moon Dew. Is that justice enough for you, maggot?"
"Don't do it, Wanderer," Valak whispered. His voice was hollow with defeat. "Skida is a Seven-Circle Mage. She’s just looking for a toy."
Skida flicked a finger, and another spear of steel buried itself in Valak’s good leg. "Shut up, old man."
She turned her predatory focus back to the Wanderer. "Let me sweeten the pot then. If you win, I’ll teach you. Surely that’s worth gambling your comrades' lives on?"
The Wanderer looked at the men around him. He saw the hesitation flickering in their eyes. He opened his mouth to reject, but Kuma beat him to it.
"I trust you with my life," Kuma said, his voice firm.
Another soldier stepped forward, hand resting on the Wanderer's shoulder. "I do, too." One by one, the rest of the squad followed suit, but still shaking.
"It's settled then," Skida said, standing from her desk. "Let’s go."
"Wait," Kuma said, hesitating as he looked at the Wanderer's mangled legs. "We should wait for him to heal. For a fair fight."
Skida laughed. "Luna won't wait that long. Besides, I never promised fairness, but I'll find someone to patch him up for now."
A healer arrived, cauterizing the wounds and administering sedatives to dull the agony. For the Wanderer, the treatment was a bitter reminder of his misfortune, magic could never mend flesh with the fluid grace of Qi.
They marched to the barracks training grounds. Skida stepped into the center of the ring, her expression bored. "Show me the mage behind all that arrogance."
The Wanderer sparked into motion, lightning engulfing his frame as he blurred across the distance. He unleashed a torrent of strikes, but Skida moved with sickening precision. She blocked every blow with a single hand, her palm meeting his knuckles with just enough force to redirect his momentum. He couldn’t even track her movements; it was as if her hand was already there, waiting for him.
She pivoted, driving a spin-kick into his abdomen that sent him skidding across the dirt. "I expected more from a mouth as big as yours," she taunted.
The Wanderer forced himself up, hands weaving through the air. He conjured massive boulders of fused rock and flame, launching them in a relentless barrage. Skida flicked her wrist, manifesting saw-blades that hummed through the air, cleaving his projectiles in half.
He was already moving, sprinting behind the debris. As a saw-blade split the final boulder, he surged through the gap and detonated a flash of blinding light directly in her face.
Before the light even faded, Skida was already behind him. She drove a heavy elbow into his spine, slamming him face-first into the sand.
"Good technique," she said, circling him like a predator. "But not enough."
He swung a desperate sweep-kick at her ankles from the ground. Skida hopped over the strike and brought her boot down hard on his injured thigh. She ground her heel into the cauterized wound until it tore open, spraying the dirt crimson.
"Shouldn't have opened your mouth, weakling!" she shouted. She manifested a heavy metal rod and swung it with a sickening crack against his ribs.
The Wanderer collapsed, his vision swimming in red. Then, a whispering began to thrum against the back of his skull. The Spiral was calling to him, resonating with his desperation. More.
On pure instinct, he reached into that dark void and pulled.
He began to levitate, mana sparking off his skin in arcs. Inside his chest, a second mana circle began to manifest, piercing through his heart and locking into a violent cross with the first.
Skida paused, her eyes narrowing with genuine curiosity. "Now that is interesting."
The trance snapped. The Wanderer landed gracefully, the air vibrating around him.
"Show me this new power," Skida taunted him further. "Come!"
His speed doubled. He became a streak of blue light, his strikes so rapid and heavy that Skida was forced to bring up both hands to intercept. The ground beneath them groaned. She conjured metallic spikes to impale him from below, but he leaped back, the iron thorns chasing his heels like a rising tide.
"Better," Skida admitted, "but not enough."
Realizing he couldn't break through her defense, the Wanderer reached for the Void. He pressed his palms together, creating a vacuum that grew into a swirling black hole. The pull was immense, tearing up the training ground and dragging everything into its hungering center.
His heart pounded double time as his two mana circles grinded against each other, threatening to shatter his ribs from the inside. He howled, pouring every last drop of his will into the collapse.
For a split second, Skida was stunned. The gravity jerked her forward, her boots dragging through the dirt. She snapped back, conjuring massive metallic pillars and chaining herself to them. Even then, the force was so great that her body was pressed painfully against the metal as she fought the gravitational tide.
"You asked for this, maggot!" she screamed, conjuring a storm of spears that blotted out the sky. The Void’s pull only accelerated them, drawing the weapons toward the Wanderer from every direction. He twisted and dived, but the sheer volume of steel was too much. The blades tore through his shoulders and flanks, narrowly missing his vitals but shredding his resolve.
With a dismissive swipe, Skida canceled her conjured metal. The spears vanished into mist. She walked toward him with slow, predatory steps as he lay broken in the dust.
"What a waste," she muttered. She turned her back on him and looked toward the trembling squad. "Looks like we’re getting our Moon Dew supply early."
The Wanderer’s fingers clawed through the dirt until they closed around a small stone. With a final, trembling effort, he flicked his wrist. The pebble flew through the air, striking Skida squarely on the back of her head.
She froze.
The General turned back slowly, her eyes wide with fury.
The Wanderer looked up at her, his breath a bloody rattle in his chest. A ghost of a smirk pulled at his cracked lips. "I win," he rasped.
She moved faster than his eyes could track, her boot connecting with the side of his skull in a blurred arc of violence. The world vanished into hollow void.