Darkness. Swirling darkness. The impression of light, of sound. Falling, rushing, cold. Everything is so cold…

  The roar of thunder shook the blasted plains, drowning out the cries of the damned. Above, the storm raged; a churning maelstrom that spread from horizon to horizon, broken only by teetering outcroppings—obsidian spikes that jutted from gaping cracks like the spines of some ancient beast.

  Novi’s breath came in ragged gasps as she darted between the pillars. The sparks that fell from her whip cast fleeting shadows, and she caught glimpses of her pained reflection. Burns cracked and bled with every step. Only the rapid regeneration from [Phoenix Heart] kept her on her feet.

  She extinguished the sparks and dismissed the whip, stilling her aura as she pressed her back against the stone; her rich mahogany skin melding with the shadows. She laid a hand over the burns and activated [Seal of Faith], hiding the glow with the remains of her tattered cloak. A wave of relief surged through her as the skin rippled and smoothed, fresh tissue appearing between the gaps in her armour. The smell of burnt flesh lingered in the air, mingling with her singed hair—the long braids still smouldering despite the deluge.

  Her pale grey eyes scanned the sky, searching for any hint of her pursuer. His manic gaze was still burned into her retinas, the glowing blue spheres shining with unrestrained fervour. Despite her training, despite months of fierce battles, she was frightened. Her mind reeled as she struggled to make sense of what had happened.

  Their ambush had been an utter failure. They’d spotted the other party traversing the plain, seemingly exposed. The five Warriors were travelling as a tight-knit unit, their armoured tank just a little too far ahead. Her group had waited until they’d entered a narrow valley, surrounded on all sides. It had seemed so easy—the perfect opportunity to strike.

  Too perfect, as it turned out. Their carefully laid trap had unravelled in an instant.

  Aeacus—the Stormlord who’d made a name for himself on the lower Rings—had lain in wait among the clouds, as at home in the maelstrom as a fish in water. He’d spotted them hidden among the rocks, mocking their feeble attempt at stealth. His initial volley of lightning had left them scrambling, only able to mount a feeble counter-attack. The rest of his warriors had unleashed a barrage of [Divine Skills], completely overwhelming their defences. She’d been injured, and of her five companions, none had been able to withstand the onslaught. They’d been torn to pieces.

  She bit back the snarl that twisted her lips, tears mixing with the rain as her thoughts flashed to the sight of her friends’ mangled corpses. Months of fighting together had forged a bond as close as family. She hadn’t imagined it so easily broken.

  The Stormlord was as much a force of nature as his patron. His malevolent god’s presence loomed in the billowing storm clouds overhead, and she swore she could hear laughter in the rumbling thunder, mocking her even as she trembled with rage.

  It was that derision that gave him away. A hint of that aura was enough, raking over her skin like blazing coals. Despite his attempts at stealth, she spotted Aeacus, floating among a dense patch of cloud.

  The smell of ozone washed over her seconds before the bolt struck.

  This time, she was ready. She summoned a spear the moment before the lightning hit—the ferrule embedded deep within the stone. Her teeth clenched from the pressure, but to her relief, the bolt passed harmlessly into the ground. The afterimage of the strike was still stark in her vision, but whip and sword were already in her hands. With an explosive step, she charged up the slick rock face, her enhanced body cracking the stone beneath her as she launched herself into the air.

  The man floated in the sky a hundred yards above the ground, the space around his legs warping with miniature cyclones. His face was strained from the effort of throwing multiple [Keraunic Bolts], his olive skin sickly against the bilious green clouds. The bronze of his breastplate crackled with energy as her whip shot past, encircling him, pinning one arm against his chest as she dragged him down towards the earth.

  He reeled with surprise but quickly stabilized, the twisters around his legs growing in speed and ferocity, battering Novi as she hung suspended above the teetering spires. She let out a fierce cry and activated [Immolation Protocol]. Her sparks ignited, encasing him in a cocoon of flame. The man let out a panicked shriek as the fire consumed him, given increased potency from his own gusting winds.

  He was forced to end the skill, and they both plummeted towards the ground, the greasy black stone rising quickly to meet them. Novi’s khopesh dug into the rock, the curved blade catching as she jerked to a halt. She used the momentum to heave on the whip, sending the man crashing down among the jagged cliffs. A wet crunch reverberated through the valley. She let out a triumphant roar as the whip went slack and she dove down after him, giving no heed to the cuts and bruises amassed on her breakneck descent.

  She slammed into the ground just as he finished cutting free of the whip. He held a short sword in a shaking hand, and his legs twisted painfully beneath him. His charred body brought a grin to her face, a small modicum of revenge for her own wounds. His face had all but melted from the heat, but one glowing blue eye remained, boring into her through the gloom.

  She charged, ignoring the bolts that flew from his outstretched fingers. Aeacus had been a plague on the lower Rings. He’d gained a flight ability early on and had rained destruction down on many unsuspecting warriors. His party played off that strength, combining their [Divine Skills] into a potent mixture of control and damage, creating a killing floor for the unwary. If she let him return to the skies—all would be lost. He’d simply regroup with his squad, and they’d hunt her down like a dog.

  No. She needed to end this now. A swift and decisive victory. Revenge not only for her friends, but vindication for her goddess, and the Path of Revelation. Her khopesh sang as it tore through the air, leaving a trail of light as its wickedly honed edge descended upon its target.

  The clang of metal echoed against the stone. He’d somehow managed to get his xiphos into position despite the mess of burns that covered his arms. She pulled back and swung again, and this time his blade rent under the force of her strike. She let out a feral laugh as the crescent moon of her sword buried itself in his neck.

  What remained of his face went white, his glowing eye sputtering as blood spurted from the wound. His visage was one of utter shock, of a man who—in his arrogance—never truly believed that he could be hurt. He was a Stormlord, Godblooded, a Champion of Zetos. How could he be harmed by a lesser being? By a woman who'd been born a slave?

  Thunder boomed overhead, and Novi almost missed the sound of scraping rock over the din. Only [Chimeric Eyes] saved her as her body twisted to avoid the arrow that had been loosed from atop a nearby rise.

  She stepped back in to finish the helpless Aeacus, but once again felt her hackles rise as the stones around her began to rattle and shake. She leapt backwards as a massive, hulking form embedded itself in the rock where she'd been standing. The armoured alien descended from the sky faster than gravity should have allowed. The pressure it exerted bent the very fabric of space itself.

  A small, lithe figure scampered down behind it, and Novi recognized the sylvan as the party’s healer. She let out a strangled cry as Aeacus’ wound was stabilized with a flash of silver light.

  No, no! I was so close. The frustration wrenched her gut as the rest of his party assembled on the outcroppings above. She bared her teeth, desperately trying to think of a way out. The steep slope of the ravine left little room to maneuver, and she was at a disadvantage on the lower ground.

  She glanced behind her, the winding chasm snaking off out of sight. She could make a run for it. She was fast, faster than almost anyone else on the Ring. But what would that accomplish? She could try to find another party—one that still needed a sixth member. With new allies, she’d have a chance at exacting her vengeance and seeing her patron’s plans through to completion.

  The seed of her escape withered and died as she saw Aeacus climb unsteadily to his feet. The rage that burned in the man’s soul was like a palpable heat, and his electric blue eye was fixed on her with a blistering intensity.

  It didn't matter how fast she ran: he would pursue her. What had started as a rivalry between gods had become deeply personal. The hate she saw in his gaze went beyond any kind of religious devotion.

  She doubted there was another group of warriors who could stand up against the monsters this man had assembled. If she didn't end him now, he would continue his wanton slaughter all the way to the Halls of Eternity.

  She tightened the grip on her weapons as a strange feeling of calm swept over her. The heaving of the storm faded away, and the only sound that remained was the steady pounding of her heart. A warm breeze tussled her hair, and she caught a faint whiff of spices and the smell of the desert after a spring rain. For a moment, she could almost see the reeds that hugged the Nile’s banks and hear the laughter of her children as they chased after a stray cat.

  Home. A place she would not see again in this mortal life. The certainty of it extinguished what little fear remained. Fear could not exist without hope. A hope she’d clung to since the fateful day the obelisk had appeared to her among the dunes. A hope that she could one day return home with the power to protect her people. That hope was gone. All that remained was an adamantine resolve.

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  Flames once again ignited along the length of her whip, which thrashed and writhed like the tail of a great serpent. Her khopesh grew heavy in her hand, light bending along its curved blade. Sparks began to fall from the corners of her eyes, each one a tiny glimpse of the future—an infinite speck of possibility.

  Her body moved before she was even aware of it as she launched herself up the side of the chasm wall. The sound of her approach was louder than the storm, and her whip fastened around the nearest warrior—a stout dalith swathed in shimmering robes. The dwarf’s long beard was instantly engulfed in flames, the panic in his eyes short-lived as she removed his head in a single stroke.

  Her piercing gaze locked on her next target. The slim woman was already activating a series of defensive skills, as walls of ice rose around her. An arrow flew from the archer on the opposite rise, but Novi swatted it aside with ease.

  Her movements flowed with supernatural grace as she dodged the colossal flail that rose from the trench below, wielded by the armoured giant. Aeacus was still barely on his feet, but his burns were healing at a ferocious rate. His bodyguard looked panicked, unable to defend the fragile mages on the high ground as well as the injured Stormlord.

  The archer drew back their bow again, and this time an entire tree shot forth, growing from shoot to sapling to ancient monarch in the blink of an eye. Novi tried to dodge, but the trunk and branches expanded faster than even her enhanced body could react. A few limbs found their mark, but she managed to evade the worst of the spiny boughs.

  Having no choice, she activated [Pyromatic Core]. She winced as the branches burned themselves out from within—her wounds instantly cauterizing. Her body temperature skyrocketed, and her seemingly casual movements took on a frenzied pace. Strangling vines rose to ensnare her, but they were burned to ash the moment they touched her skin.

  The hooded archer had inadvertently given her an opportunity, and she launched herself across the chasm, using the newly formed tree as a bridge, leaving flaming footprints in her wake.

  The archer realized their mistake too late, their eyes going wide as they activated a stealth ability, blinking out of existence in a flurry of leaves. Novi gave a humourless grin and cracked her whip in a vicious arc, spitting out wide gouts of flame. The top of the rise became an image of the underworld, ravaged by roiling pillars of fire. Terrified shrieks rewarded her as the archer was forced to leap from the outcropping, cloak ablaze, buried under an avalanche of flame.

  With each passing second, Novi felt her temperature rise as [Pyromatic Core] drew on her own life force for fuel. Minutes in this state would take decades off her life, but she wasn't intending on living nearly that long.

  She ignored the startled ice priestess and dove off the cliff with the grace of a hawk in flight. Her eyes were fixed on the healer, whose glowing hands were steadily mending Aeacus’ many injuries. Her breakneck fall took her plummeting towards them, and she saw the healer balk as he realized she had no intention of stopping.

  A fierce grin split her face as she cleared the last dozen yards, only to feel the world suddenly rotate around her. Down was no longer down, and she slammed into the cliff face with all her accumulated momentum. She felt multiple bones break as the air was driven from her lungs. Her impact left a crater in the chasm wall, and she only barely managed to summon a shield to block the spiked head of the flail that drove her further into the shattered rock.

  She coughed up blood as the shield was ripped from her arm—nearly taking the limb with it. The armoured warrior let out a bellowing laugh, and she felt the gravity lessen, sending her tumbling to the rocky floor below.

  She let herself fall limp until the last possible second before twisting her body to land in a low crouch, poised like a jungle cat. Her broken bones creaked as they snapped back into place, held together with a mortar of molten marrow. The torrent of heat from her body was now so great that it boiled the rain before it could reach her, wreathing her in a halo of steam.

  The armoured behemoth took a step back in surprise, and she took the opportunity to lash out with a series of rapid slashes, targeting the inside of their knees and ankles. The var’s tanned skin was nearly as tough as their black-iron armour, but her khopesh still cut to the bone. The giant collapsed in a heap, and Novi leaped forward, trying to get to the man who was now summoning a javelin of pure lightning.

  The plasma danced across his fingertips, and his half-melted face contorted in a cruel approximation of a smile. The pit where his right eye should have been flickered in the dancing blue light of his weapon. He whipped his shoulder back but was stopped short, as the hilt of a sword suddenly appeared—embedded squarely in his chest.

  He looked down, face puzzled. He gently tugged at the handle, jaw going slack as his brain began to process what had happened. The bolt sputtered out of existence, plunging the chasm into darkness.

  Novi let out a slow laugh, letting her hand fall to her side. She’d never thrown her weapon before, but now seemed like as good a time as any. Despite the distance, her aim had been true, putting an end to the monster forever.

  The healer was babbling something incoherent, his pointed ears bobbing up and down as he frantically looked for something that could staunch the river of blood now flowing from the khopesh buried in Aeacus’ chest. From the top of the cliff, Novi heard a scream of rage, and a barrage of razor-sharp ice flew towards her in a flurry of iridescent death.

  It melted before it reached her.

  Novi stepped forward, face cracking into a wide grin as Aeacus fell to his knees, trying in vain to pull the hooked sword from his body. More than anything, he looked confused; stunned that fate would seemingly abandon its favourite son.

  He looked up at the sea of roiling clouds, as if beseeching the heavens themselves to answer him. But of course, on Olympos, the gods could only answer in whispers.

  Or so she’d been led to believe.

  A bolt of sapphire lightning struck the dying man with a force that blasted Novi off her feet. The world went black as she tumbled across the valley floor, coming to rest against the remains of an overturned boulder.

  She was only unconscious for a moment, but it was enough to disable [Pyromatic Core]. The heat from her body dissipated—the pain from her wounds flooding in with stunning clarity. She groaned, trying to force her eyes to focus. The world was tinted a nauseating shade of blue, and everything moved in slow motion.

  She tried and failed to push herself to her feet, but her limbs staunchly refused to respond. It felt as though every bone in her body had been reduced to paste, her ligaments wrapped around strips of overcooked porridge.

  What was that lightning? Was it some kind of sacrificial attack?

  Footsteps, each as loud as a falling tree, echoed through the valley like a death knell. The lumbering giant was miraculously back on their feet, and Novi was stunned to see that their wounds were completely healed.

  How is that possible? Did the lightning restore them? Why would a storm mage possess a healing spell like that?

  Her head reeled as she struggled to reconcile what she was seeing. Aeacus was standing. His chiselled face once again resembled the marble statues his people were so fond of carving. He held her khopesh in his hand and was conversing with the healer in hushed tones. The sylvan gave a covert nod and resumed healing the man, despite the apparent lack of injuries.

  Novi struggled to stand for a few more seconds before giving up, instead resorting to summoning a healing draught directly into her mouth. Only a few drops of the crimson liquid made it down her throat before the bottle froze and shattered, sending shards of glass digging into her face.

  “You should really know when you're beaten.” The Acolyte of Demetra appeared beside her in the gloom, turning the rain around her into gusts of billowing snow.

  Novi tried to form a reply, but all that came out was a wet gurgle. The wounds that had been patched with [Pyromatic Core] were beginning to reopen, the blood pooling beneath her, freezing her to the cold stone.

  She’d been so close. He’d been dead, should be dead, but somehow he’d conjured an ability far beyond anything she’d known was possible. Something about the lightning felt wrong, like the power had originated from somewhere other than Aeacus himself…almost as if it had been sent from above. But that shouldn’t have been possible. The gods weren't allowed to interfere directly; that was the core tenet of the War. Mortals were supposed to be the avatars of their patrons' will, but the bestowing of power had limitations. There were rules, restrictions.

  Perhaps those rules weren't as evenly applied as she’d been told. Perhaps she’d been a fool. The Arbiter wasn’t malicious; they were simply acting in their own self-interest. They knew the danger she posed to the System and what she sought to do.

  “Well, no one can say you didn't put up a fight, not that it mattered in the end. As I told you on the first Ring, you put your faith in the wrong god.”

  Novi summoned all her will and forced her head back. Aeacus loomed over her, surrounded by the remains of his party.

  “And you put your faith in a tyrant.” The words came out ragged and raw, each one dripping with venom. “You worship the one who puts us here, forces us to fight to the death. Forever denying our progress, our freedom. A cycle that never ends until graves are all that's left.”

  Aeacus cocked his head and leaned forward, crouching to look her in the face. The arcane glow was gone, and she was surprised to see that his eyes were actually brown. He was younger than she’d expected, not much older than her eldest son. Their skirmishes on the early rings had always been at a distance; it was easy to forget that he was human.

  “Whether by gods or men, we’ll never be free. You of all people should know that. I saw you in the Memoria. I know why you fight. I would call it a fool’s dream, except even a fool knows the line between reverie and madness. What your patron promised you is impossible. They’ll never let us go.”

  “They won't unless we make them. They're bound by their rules as much as we are.”

  He leaned in closer and let out a low chuckle. “Are they?” He shook his head, looking up at the sea of clouds that blanketed the sky. “They're more powerful than you can possibly imagine. To challenge them is like trying to chase the wind. You’re proof of how that turns out.”

  She bared her teeth and tried to force her hand to his throat. He swatted it away, dropping his gaze to look her in the eyes.

  “You would never have been allowed to win, you must know that. Whether by my hand or someone else's, you never would have made it to the Halls of Eternity.”

  “I would have, but you cheated.”

  “Yes, and I'll live. I'd rather be the king of the conquered than a feast for the vultures. You can't fight the storm, Novi.” He stood, face dark against a background of twisted lightning.

  She let her head drop and felt the cold bite of steel kiss the back of her neck. “Maybe I couldn't fight the storm, but someday, someone will. They’ll burn the Spire to the ground, and the gods with it.”

  There was a long pause as he raised his sword, and he spoke, though she couldn’t make it out over the sound of the rain.

  There was a soft hiss as the sword fell, then everything went black.