That, he would not allow. He would not let it come to pass, no matter the cost. That was what had brought him here. To avert that fate, he had betrayed his friends, deceived the gods, and taken countless lives. His hands were dyed redder than he could ever scrub clean.
“But then, I suppose I’ve been a little too lenient on you too.”
He turned his gaze to the sky, and every trace of emotion slid from his face. When he looked back down at her, his eyes were an empty void.
“What do you know of despair?”
The words were soft as they left his lips, but they were enough. The clouds above him tore apart, converging into a swirling vortex. The sky darkened. Night fell upon the world. The land began to tremble in terror, escalating into a great quake like a scream from the lungs of the world. A surge of power burst forth from him, an aura of authority driving friend and foe alike to their knees.
“Weep for spirits broken. Shed tears for hope lost. Wear with pride futures undone.”
Cracks spread across the earth as far as the eye could see. Dust spewed from the fissures. The air shattered beneath a great weight, and darkness wept forth like stagnant mud. Despair rained from on high, splattering like rain as it struck the earth and scattering across the battlefield.
“Dáinsleif, their dismay is yours to devour.”
All sound vanished from the world, snatched away into the darkness as if the very notion of it had never existed at all. Every tongue was silenced in this place. Courage, valor, strength of heart—all succumbed to unrelenting awe, until all that was left was despair.
“I am Surtr, the Black-Winged Lord.”
His presence burgeoned. All those around him fell to their knees, lowering their heads. There was no escaping the tyranny of the despair he brought. As all who watched began to quake in fear, he raised Dáinsleif and held it flat.
“He who beckons all lives equally to nothingness.”
And he unleashed Muspell—Mortal Terror.
Time stood still. Only the combatants’ hearts still moved, kept beating by the hope within. All who lived relinquished their place in time’s flow. Friends, foes, beasts, insects, flora—all froze where they stood. They held their breath as one, praying the hunter’s gaze would pass them by, praying they would not fall victim to the reaper’s scythe.
“Let Ragnarök begin.”
Like a god descended from on high, Hiro pronounced the death of all before him.
Schwartzwald—Deathly Stillness.
Darkness deeper than midnight clouded the heavens. A pitch-black maw descended from above, falling shut upon the world like a deluge of curses.
＊＊＊＊＊
Despair descended from the sky. For a moment, Liz could only stand and stare at the sinister dragon, but she quickly remembered herself and looked around.
“Run! Get as far away as you can!”
Her soldiers had fallen to their knees in stunned silence, but her voice brought them back to their senses.
“Don’t give up hope! You still have time!”
They still looked a little shaken, but they did as she commanded. She turned her attention back to Meteia, who was still engaging the monsters.
“Meteia! Hold them off as long as you can! Make sure the soldiers can get away!”
“What about you, my lady?!”
“I’ll...” Liz looked up at the sky once more and raised Lævateinn. “I’ll see what I can do about that.”
“You’re going to try and stop it?! But—!”
Meteia reached out after Liz, but she could not bring herself to grasp her shoulder. Her mouth opened and closed uselessly. At last, she turned away.
“If you must. I’ll see you once the battle’s done.”
She backed down and gave her assent. The flame in Liz’s breast would not be denied, and if her mistress would not be stopped, the next best thing was to not get in her way. She set about leading the troops to safety, cutting down monsters as she went.
“Thank you,” Liz murmured. The scorching wind snatched her words away.
She drew a deep breath and let it out, calming her hammering heart. The crimson flames circling her intensified to azure.
“Tell me...what do you know of fate?”
Her voice was soft, but her words were resolute. A spring breeze brushed the earth as they left her lips. A shaft of light rose skyward to pierce through the darkness. The ground shuddered as more and more joined it, columns of light ascending from the broken land. An immense surge of power soared up through the heavens and out across the earth.
“Weep for love discovered. Shed tears for hope found. Take pride in joy fulfilled.”
Grass and flowers spilled out across the soil as the gentle glow shone down. A floral scent filled the air, so clear and sweet that every breath seemed to purify the lungs. Small animals ventured forth from their burrows. Withered grass turned green once more. All across the field, new life took root. An unseasonable spring had come.
There was no conflict here, no strife, no discord—only the miracle of creation. From the clash of light and dark, a new world took shape.
“I’ll wipe you away.”
A voice left her lips, solemn but fierce. It rippled forth, so weighty that the air groaned, its regal tones laced with wild authority. Yet while her voice rang as clear as a bell, her bewitching visage was infused with terrible might.
“Bloom in splendor, Lævateinn.”
The Flame Sovereign vanished from her hand. The world burned crimson and azure. The sun hung low in the sky, engulfing the earth in waves of hellfire. The beauty of nature burned away without a trace as the world succumbed to scorching tyranny.
Ragnarök—Thousand Blossoms.
A transformation swept the earth, all but for the one woman granted the right to rule it. The Flame Empress enthralled the hearts of any who gazed upon her solar beauty. Friends, foes, beasts, insects, flora—all who lived looked on in awe.
The sun was rising.
Once the land was scoured clean, the implacable wheel of fire turned its attention to the darkness that had usurped its rightful place. A fiery torrent pierced the heavens, roaring like a lion as it streaked toward the black dragon. Dark swallowed light. Light clove through dark. Black and crimson crashed together, and neither would yield. The earth shuddered with the impact. A shock wave swept outward, flattening trees and ravaging the ground...
And the world faded away.
＊＊＊＊＊
When Hiro came to, he was staring up at the sky. A blue expanse stretched away above him, as if the rule of darkness had been nothing but a distant memory.
A searing pain seized his chest, and he rolled over, hacking. Eventually, he recovered enough to try to push himself upright, but his body didn’t seem capable of standing. He looked down. His right leg was missing below the knee.
The stench of burning flesh pricked at his nostrils. He guessed the cause of the wound at once. Still, a missing limb was nothing to him. Thanks to his superhuman regeneration, it soon regrew. As he stood up at last, however, a bout of lightheadedness struck him, and he fell back onto one knee. His physical injuries might have healed, but his body was evidently still recovering from the shock.
“Would you look at that?” he murmured. “She canceled me out. Or no...perhaps she even pushed me back.”
If his own battered body wasn’t evidence enough, his surroundings left no room for doubt. The scorched corpses littering the blasted landscape were almost entirely monsters. The imperial troops watched from a distance, stunned but mostly unharmed. A line of blue flames divided them from the destruction. Liz had kept them safe from harm.
Hiro sighed, impressed. Even in that climactic moment, she had maintained the presence of mind to protect her troops. Then again, that was little surprise. After all...
“Artheus did the same thing.”
If Lævateinn’s original wielder could shield his allies so, there was no reason Liz couldn’t pull off the same trick. Of course she could. She was supposed to be his equal now.
As Hiro stood, lost in thought, he heard footsteps approaching. He turned to see Liz walking toward him, unscathed. She looked fully self-assured—confident, even. A sight to strike fear into the hearts of her quarry.
Hiro smiled, readying Dáinsleif expectantly. A crimson trail wove through the air toward him, skimming over the earth. He knocked the Spiritblade aside as it descended, spun, and lashed out with his elbow. Liz caught the blow one-handed. He went to sweep her legs from under her, but she leaped over his foot. A shock wave blasted through his organs as her kick caught him full in the chest.
“Let’s go home.”
As Hiro crumpled forward, Liz squeezed her fist tight and brought it down on his face with tremendous force. He hit the ground hard, but she grasped him by the lapels and hoisted him up with inhuman strength, her crimson eyes regarding him coolly.
“Hasn’t this gone on for long enough?”
“Maybe you think so.” Hiro knocked her hand aside and leaped back, putting some distance between them.
Liz was trying to save him. Even now, she was doubtlessly trying to find a way to strip the Lords of Heaven from his body. That, however, would mean her death. There was little question that the newly freed Lords would resume their old reign of tyranny. Not only would that cast the people of Aletia back into despair, but it would mean Liz would never be free of her curse. Like Rey, she would fall ill and die young, and her soulless body would be reanimated by the Spirit King to wreak havoc and destroy all she held dear.
“I never wanted to be a hero a thousand years ago.”
All he had ever wanted was to save Rey. He had never sought glory, only power. But great power had a way of breeding fame, and at last, he had looked around to find himself surrounded by cheering crowds.
“I never asked anyone to worship me.”
The more battles he won, the more wildly they cheered. They showered him in praise and imposed their own selfish expectations. No matter how loudly he protested that he was no hero, he was powerless to stop his renown from spreading.
“All I ever wanted was to make her well.”