The clash of swords hammered Dane's senses like a relentless storm. Sharp, metallic rings echoed as shields splintered under heavy blows. His throat was dry and breath shallow; this wasn't the kind of combat he was used to, and it rattled him. Outside the shimmering defense arrays where mages channeled torrents of mana, the invading force pressed close.

  Dane's gaze snapped to Ada, locked in a brutal dance with eight foes. Her long black staff swung in wild arcs, each strike precise but taxed. Though she'd earned her E rank, the enemies matched her strength, and the red-headed earthbound warrior from Dane's proving match loomed dangerously nearby, both trapped.

  A flash of holy light spilled from a robed figure, the warmth of light mana brushing over the enemies, but the Elves remained unfazed, their defenses strong. Ada's forest-green spells struck true but were blunted.

  Suddenly, an arrow thudded into Ada's left shoulder. She gritted her teeth, fierce as a cornered wolverine, pressing the attack despite the pain. Sensing her falter, Dane tore open the air itself and opened a shimmering tear, folding space, and stepped into the battle.

  His new axe hummed with twin spirits, thirsty for mana like a man lost in the desert thirsts for water. He split into two forms, blades flashing, tearing through armor as easily as cardboard.

  Dane's hair on the back of his neck stood up. Huntsmen activated. Twelve shadows raced along the ground. Only one glowed red. Dane drew his firearm and heard a hollow click. He'd forgotten to pick up more ammunition. He slid the gun back into its holster and threw the knife strapped to his hip. It was the sharpened shark's tooth.

  It cut into the earth as if it were mud. The shadow split around the blade, and Dane heard sickening laughter.

  "Our fight won't be today. This is just a projection. I hope you enjoy your victory," Dante said.

  Dane glanced back and saw Ada pulling arrows from her body and healing Anthony. The way she touched him was familiar; it was the same way she used to heal him.

  "I suppose you're the witch everybody's talking about," Dane said, interrupting the tender moment.

  "I am only what you made me," Ada spat.

  "Here is your commission. At first, I thought it was for me, but the size looks more suitable for him," Dane said, hiding the pain tightening his chest.

  "Keep it. I can see it's tied to you now. Have it reforged; consider it my last gift." She paused for a moment, collecting her thoughts. "Dane, why wasn't I good enough?”

  "You were," Dane said softly, as the massive battleaxe reformed into a size more suitable for him.

  Anthony placed a hand on Ada's shoulder, and the fury left her as quickly as it had filled.

  Dane turned away from Ada. There was no other way it could have turned out; men like him didn't deserve love. Men like him ruined everything they touched.

  The battlefield quieted around him. Not silence, exactly, because there were still groans, crackling flames, the wet rasp of medics working their craft, but the storm had passed. The defense array pulsed faintly, dimming as the mana feed stabilized. Smoke coiled above broken ground, and the scent of charred leather and scorched hair was thick in the air.

  Dane stepped over the corpse of a soldier he'd cleaved in two. His other self had already vanished, the split timeline folding neatly back into his body with a jolt of spiritual vertigo. He staggered, just a step, and caught himself before anyone could see.

  If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  Jason limped toward him, a burn running down one arm, his goggles cracked and black with soot. "Well," the researcher wheezed, "you certainly know how to make an entrance."

  Dane gave a humorless snort. "Did we win?"

  Jason looked back toward the field, where a line of unconscious and bound intruders was being dragged toward the holding camp. "If you call holding the wall with half our reserves gone and a divine-class projection taunting us a win… then sure. Let's hang up the banners."

  Dane scanned the bodies. No children among them this time. That, at least, was a mercy.

  "Any casualties?" he asked.

  Jason's expression sobered. "Five mages. Three guards. One child in the infirmary due to a spell backlash. But we held."

  Dane closed his eyes. He felt the axe hum again, not for battle this time, but for judgment, silent and expectant. Its twin spirits were growing more present, more aware. He could almost hear them breathing.

  The ground shifted subtly beneath his feet. He turned and saw Amelia approaching from the perimeter, flanked by two sentinels cloaked in illusion. Her hood was down, face drawn with exhaustion but burning with purpose.

  "You broke the field perimeter," she said, skipping past pleasantries. "Again."

  Dane opened his mouth, but she raised a hand. "I'm not here to scold you. In fact… You may have bought us enough time to move the younger ranks to the subfloor."

  "Then say thank you," Jason muttered behind her.

  Amelia ignored him. "The Empire won't stop. You saw what the spy master did. They're testing our defenses. Testing you."

  Dane looked past her to Ada and Anthony, still huddled together. He couldn't read the expression on Ada's face anymore. Whatever part of her had once been his, he'd crushed it long ago.

  "I need a break," he said, voice low. "Just an hour."

  Amelia studied him. "Then take it. But when you come back, we need to talk."

  He gave her a short nod and walked off without another word. Past the broken weapons and bodies. Past the looks of awe and fear. He found a small rise in the terrain beyond the camp and sat beneath the twisted remains of a watchtree, its bark scorched black, its roots still humming faintly with forgotten mana.

  He closed his eyes. The spirits in the axe stirred again.

  You are changing, one whispered.

  No, Dane thought. I'm just becoming what I've always been.

  The coming days brought no rest.

  The Elves pressed the assault with tireless aggression, throwing themselves at the defenders in a storm of skirmishes. Dane wanted to reach the 50th floor. He felt the pull like a moth to flame, like something buried in that depth was calling to the very center of him. But duty chained him here. The Elves had to be handled first.

  No one got adequate sleep. Morale was threadbare, held together only by Ada's magic and the scraps of hope she could conjure between healing spells. They repelled the attacks, barely, but the enemy was nearly all E-rank now, while the average militia fighter remained stuck at high-tier F. The attrition was brutal.

  The number of casualties was staggering.

  Dane stepped toward the command tent. The canvas flaps snapped in the wind, and the sounds of shouting leaked through. Ada and Amelia were arguing with Jason. Again. It was the third time this week, and still the same deadlock. Strategy, risk, and priorities, the trio agreed on none of them.

  He pushed through the flap and was met not with silence, but renewed volume.

  "We have to take the fight to them!" Amelia snapped. "We can't survive another week like this."

  "They've lost access to the teleportation network," Dane interrupted, voice cutting clean through the noise. "They're trapped on the first four floors. So here's what we do."

  The tent stilled.

  "I'll clear floors two, three, and four. Alone. Once they're secure, I'll portal back to this floor. You four..." he pointed to the table's other commanders "...will sabotage their supply lines while I stage a distraction at the front gate. When I give the signal, the rest of our troops will move in. You'll have half an hour to destroy anything technological, scroll banks, mana nodes, and weapons. Everything.”

  Jason scoffed. "That's an idiotic plan."

  "It won't work," Amelia said, exasperated. "You'll get yourself killed before you even reach the third floor."

  Only Ada didn't speak. She just looked at him. And in her eyes, Dane saw something he hadn't seen in a long time—belief. That quiet, dangerous fire. The same fire that once drove her to follow him into madness, into slaughter, into a world that no longer made sense.

  "This isn't a democracy," Dane said, voice flat. "It will work because I've said it will work. The Empire leaves the dungeon tomorrow."

  He turned on his heel and left the tent. There was no more room for argument. He had bullets to find. And something big enough to collapse a floor or three.