Greater fame brought greater foes. Nonetheless, he stood firm, facing his rivals down as they appeared. The awe he inspired invited more enemies yet—new foes who understood they could not defeat him in a fair fight. Instead, they resorted to more underhanded means, and their hatred, malice, and resentment fell upon those he held dear.
“I failed to save her once. I won’t fail again.”
The power he sought had not been enough. Even so, the people had called him “hero.” It’s not your fault, they reassured him. Don’t blame yourself. And they had brought him his sword again and sent him back to the battlefield—a hero who could only take lives, never save them.
“I don’t want to lose anyone else.”
He had broken every promise he’d made. The woman he had most wanted to protect had died in his arms. He had even betrayed the one man who had stood unfailingly by his side, repaying loyalty with treachery by stealing Excalibur. This war should have ended a thousand years ago. If he had only left everything to the blessed talent that was Artheus, Aletia would have been spared centuries of stagnation—and most of all, in the modern day, a girl with crimson hair would have lived a kinder life.
Had the future not been warped by Hiro’s actions, Liz would still have her mother. She would have found a fitting partner, had children, built a happy family, and lived out her natural life in peace. He had done this for her—for the heir to Artheus’s blood and Rey’s soul. He needed to protect her, to fix what he had broken, to keep the promise he had made. And so he had resolved to make all one: to gather the cores of the Five Lords of Heaven within his body, render the Noble Blades powerless, and finally break her curse.
“So end this. Please. With your own hands.”
Smiling broadly, he voiced his final request:
“Please. Kill me.”
＊＊＊＊＊
Liz thought her head might explode with anger. Even so, she could tell he meant every word. The Far Sight saw his heart plainly for the first time—saw how he was suffering, saw how his guilt pressed down on him. She racked her brains. What could she do? Was there any way to save him?
“Come on,” he said. “We have a battle to finish.”
All at once, he was attacking again, and she had no more time to think. She ducked low and forward, letting the black blade pass over her head, and swung a fist up into his chin. Yet no matter what she did, he kept coming. With deft strokes of her crimson blade, she lopped off his arm, skewered his leg, brushed open his abdomen in a spray of blood, but none of it seemed to hurt him. Within moments, his injuries regenerated, and all her progress was undone. Their battle would never end—at least, not until Liz decided to let it.
“What am I supposed to do?”
She did not want to kill him. She did not want to hurt him. She did not want to fight him anymore. She looked down at the blood—his blood—encrusting her fist, and her face twisted in pain.
Hiro saw her hesitation, and he began to radiate even greater power.
“Tell me...” he intoned. “What do you know of despair?”
He drove Dáinsleif into the ground, and raw hostility flowed forth. The sky once more turned black as pitch. Darkness welled up from cracks in the earth, ingesting the corpses littering the battlefield like a consuming maw.
Liz’s eyes widened. “No way...”
She could see her options narrowing before her, forcing her to a decision she did not want to make. The ground lurched violently. Soldiers lost their balance and tumbled over. The air shuddered as some great bell tolled the end. Was this the same attack as before, or something else? She couldn’t tell, but her heart screamed that she could not let him unleash it. There was no guarantee she would be able to protect her troops a second time.
That was easier said than done, however; the power issuing from him was immense. Holding back in the hope of sparing him could cost her her own life. She had to choose: Would she kill him, or would she leave innocent people to their fate?
She bit her lip, her face filling with anguish. A drop of blood trickled down her chin and fell to the ground. It seemed an impossible decision, but in the end, she could not abandon lives that it was within her power to save.
Walk without doubt.
At that moment, Artheus’s words flashed into her mind. Cast down all who oppose you, he had said. That way lies the throne. If that was true, Hiro was her enemy, an obstacle to be destroyed. And there were so many different emotions swirling in her heart that it could no longer behave rationally. She could no longer tell what mattered most.
So she crushed it all underfoot.
Every superfluous emotion, every competing priority, killed stone dead.
“Fine. I’ll kill you if I have to.”
She could have sworn she saw Hiro smile then, as if he welcomed those words. How could he look so resigned? It was like he didn’t even realize how much he would hurt her. Then again, perhaps that was all just her imagination. It was hard to know for certain when the world was blurred with tears.
She steeled herself, braced her foot against the ground, and surged forward. Mjölnir cracked with lightning. A bolt pierced the darkness, arcing straight toward Hiro. He snuffed it out beneath his heel. Liz’s gaze shifted to a fire burning nearby. The flames came alive with a will of their own and bore down on him, coiling like a snake. Their fangs missed their mark—he crushed them in his fist moments before they bit down. Yet as the flames dispersed, Liz waved a hand. A breeze blew, fanning them back to life, and they exploded directly above Hiro’s head.
“Well.” A weapon appeared in Liz’s hand, and she frowned down at it. “That’s ironic.”
Gáe Bolg now lay in her grip. The will to fight, the will to protect, the will to save a life—none had been sufficient to show her conviction. Only now had the Boreal Sovereign lent her its power. The conviction she had lacked was the willingness to kill.
“But don’t get excited.” She faced Hiro once more. In her eyes burned a new conviction. “I haven’t given up on you yet.”
If others called her foolish or naive, let them. She would not abandon the path she had chosen. Arrogance was her privilege. Conceit was her right. Like the first emperor before her, she would be as prideful as she pleased. She would forge ahead, letting none stand in her way. Her goal had been written from the start: With the strength of Mars, the courage of Zertheus, and the grace of the Valditte, she would salve Hiro’s wounds, share her feelings, and heal his heart.
“I am your empress.” She slowed to a stop and raised a hand high. “Come to me, Excalibur!”
Her order allowed no refusal. Obedience was right, was true, was natural law. It was breathtaking arrogance—and yet, with a joyful cry, space split apart, and a gleaming blade came tumbling from the rift. It sped to her like a knight in shining armor, trailing silver light like powder snow. Liz grasped its hilt and leveled her eyes on the raging dark. A single slash clove it apart, roiling darkness scoured clean by overflowing light.
She drove Excalibur into the ground. Countless rents appeared in the air, and spirit weapons came forth from the cracks, each imbued with the remnants of spirits and filled with great power. A forest of blades clouded the sky. She flung down her hand, and the ethereal weapons answered her order, raining down upon the earth. The torrent of light drove back the mire of darkness. It cut loose soldiers whose legs had been snared, freed men who had sunk up to their waists, and flew to the aid of the white wolf fighting desperately to protect her troops.
Liz’s boot dug into the earth, and she rocketed forward. Trailing crimson and azure, she left the world behind. At the same moment, there was a resounding crackle, and immense power began to concentrate in the spirit weapons hanging in the air. Several shattered under the strain. Liz thrust out a hand at Hiro, and the lightning-wreathed spirit weapons obediently followed. A gale of blades bore down on him, spurred by wind and spitting thunderbolts.
The spirit weapons descended on Hiro from all angles. His arm left his shoulder. His leg spun away. Countless slashes opened up across his body as he tried to defend his vital points. Even his accelerated regeneration could not keep pace with the storm of steel. For every sword he shattered, two appeared to take its place. The weight of their numbers gradually wore him down, but even so, the merciless tempest did not abate. There was no compassion in the blades’ wild dance, only the single-minded drive to snuff out his life.
As he dodged the brutal assault to the best of his ability, spirit weapons that missed their mark plunged into the ground at his feet. Seeing them protruding from the earth like gravestones, Liz called Gáe Bolg to her hand. Freezing mist poured forth from them. In moments, the ground was sheathed in ice. Hiro tried to leap away from the threat, but everywhere the blades landed was Liz’s domain; she could cut off his retreat with a wave of her hand. So long as the spirit weapons’ quarry was within their reach, they would pursue it with single-minded determination. Hiro dodged and ran for as long as he could manage, but at last, he gave up and turned to face them.
Liz grasped Gáe Bolg’s haft tight and hurled it. It shot through the air and landed amid the graveyard of blades. The freezing mist swelled, swirling around Hiro and momentarily obscuring him from sight. Liz swept out her hand. A gust of wind blew the mist away, revealing him once again. From the waist down, he was encased in ice.
“Well done,” he said as she approached. “You’re a quick learner.”
There was no fear in his eyes. He accepted everything that was to come, perhaps even with some amount of joy.