“N-no,” Winia croaked. “You can’t… you can’t come here. You have to go.”
But the child didn’t move. It had no desire to, just as it felt only a weak desire to breathe.
Winia began to shake. She glimpsed the child’s face from time to time… sometimes it looked like Chris, and sometimes it looked like her. She squirmed against her bonds.
“You have to go,” she implored weakly. “Please, get up!”
The child only raised its head. Its dry eyes focused on the glittering canyon lights. The child’s heart had grown used to sadness and resignation; the infant was too afraid to reach for the light.
Winia was certain she was hallucinating—there was no other explanation for what she saw. But as she stared at that child, her wrists writhing against her bonds, all she could think of was what that child needed.
You just… She quickly shut her eyes. You just need someone, don’t you? Just one human being!
Tears squeezed out from under Winia’s eyelids. She needed to trust someone. She needed a bond with someone that transcended common sense. Someone who would stand by her in the darkness, regardless of the reason; someone who would defend her even if the world turned against her.
Someone.
She opened her teary eyes. The child had vanished, but Chris was shouting at Shannon. Chris raised his , battleaxe over his head.
STOP IT! Winia’s mind begged. THIS ISN’T THE ANSWER!
Chris didn’t hate Shannon and his sisters. He just thought he did.
“You’re just… just jealous of Pacifica!” Winia screamed before she could even think the words.
At that moment, as her cry rang through the Valley of Glass, Christopher Armalite paused.
Shannon took the opportunity.
“Valkyrie,” he hissed, “grant your blessing!”
Shannon saw Chris’ eyes widen, but he couldn’t dwell on it as the repeating spell overtook him. Shannon gritted his teeth as other consciousnesses within his own mind opened up.
Do it.
Do it!
It’s almost…
Raquel had magically created an emulator within Shannon—another personality that controlled Shannon’s ’ untapped magical capacity. It was a very dangerous technique, one that ran the risk of driving Shannon mad, but it allowed him to use magic without being a sorcerer. Raquel had been hesitant. Shannon didn’t blame her.
The fact that the spell was a high-speed repeating spell only made matters worse. Since such a spell was like multitasking several spells at once and required pre-registering, it had formed another emulator. Shannon was holding three personalities in his head.
Almost…
Don’t lose it!
DON’T LOSE HIM!
He saw confidence in Chris’ eyes. Although a repeating spell could be activated with a quick, short mantra, it still had to be aimed accurately. It was the reason attack magic wasn’t suited for close combat. At their distance, the axe was a quicker blow.
Chris wielded his weapon, its blade glinting in the moonlight. Shannon grunted and arced up his sword to defend.
CLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLANG!
The terrible sound of tearing metal echoed through the canyon. Shannon watched as his father’s sword sliced through the younger boy’s axe.
Chris’ shock slowed him, and the weapon jerked out of his hands. Shannon took the opportunity to flip his blade over and slam the blunt edge into Chris’ stomach.
Chris choked. The force of the blow knocked him back a step and forced him to his knees. He gripped his stomach, panting, before collapsing onto the floor.
The emulators left Shannon’s consciousness so fast he nearly fainted. He closed his eyes and sucked in deep breaths, taking the moment to reassert his own personality.
Thanks, Raquel.
Shannon heard his young opponent groan; he opened his eyes to see the boy twisted on the ground. Shannon walked over to Chris and pushed the sharp edge against the tactician’s neck.
“You lose,” he said flatly.
Chris’ eyes locked with Shannon’s. “I can see that,” he retorted.
Shannon scowled. The fight had been too close, and he knew his success was only because of the Blessed Blade, Raquel’s modified version of a rarely used combat support spell. Originally developed by sorcerers who feared close combat, the spell increased the speed of a sword and created an invisible, rapidly vibrating simulated blade that could cut through steel. It did little to help a fighter who couldn’t properly use a sword, but in Shannon’s hands, it was a godsend.
Even a well-forged battleaxe was doomed against a Blessed Blade. Thick steel armor and castle walls split like butter to its power.
“G-get on with it,” Chris ordered, breathing heavily. “This is it, isn’t it? You have to kill me this time.”
Shannon stared at the tactician glittered with gravel shards.
After a long moment, Shannon let out a breath. “Believe me,” he muttered. “I’m really sick of fighting you. And the only reason I’m alive is because of my sister’s new spell. But…” He slowly pulled his blade from Chris’ neck. He paused a moment, then tiredly returned the weapon to its sheath.
“I can’t kill you. Killing someone to protect Pacifica would make her the walking doom the prophecy says she is.” He shook his head. “She’d blame herself. And we’re not going down that road.”
Chris stared at Shannon, which made him so uncomfortable he had to avert his eyes.
“We decided not to kill anyone. And we won’t let anyone kill. Call it stupid or hypocritical or whatever you think it is, but that’s the way we’re doing it.” He sighed. “So you live another day, you infuriating little creep.”
Having said his piece, Shannon headed for Winia. He half-expected Chris to attack him from behind, but the attack never came.
“You beat me,” Chris said, his voice very quiet. “Honestly this time. I swear to God, I lose.”
Shannon furrowed his eyebrows in annoyance. “Then I hope that means I never see you again,” he grumbled.
Several human figures lay sprawled and bleeding in the darkness. All were men of strong physique, short hair and plain gray overcoats. They looked oddly humble for warriors, yet no other trait stood out save for one thing: their chilling uniformity.
The Purgers. The sixth and publicly-denied external affairs agency of the Mauser faith headquarters. But despite their power, they had been crushed. In addition to any injuries they had sustained in battle, each and every one of them had had their kneecaps shattered.
“You were defeated?”
The men slowly looked up. Their brazen faces ordinarily showed no emotion, yet now they were clearly exhausted and afraid.
A beautiful shadow stood in a blazing light. Slowly, deliberately, the shadow turned its head toward the fallen Purgers.
The Purgers trembled. As those who carried out divine punishment, they were not permitted to lose. A loss by the servants of Mauser shook the absoluteness of God. The men had given up everything in exchange for their strength—a loss denied the very reason for their existence.
More than any wound, the defeat tore at them.
“The Guardians are stronger than I expected.” The silhouette paused. “I didn’t plan to intervene directly, but now I have no choice. The military doesn’t seem to understand what must be done.”
The obscurity calmly looked up at the sky. “In addition,” it went on, “a loathsome foreign entity from the old world is waking. If it gets involved in this matter, things will be significantly complicated.”
The veiled creature stretched out its right hand. “I will grant you real power, Purgers. By the power of our Lord Mauser, the creator of all things, you will now become one.”
Its voice changed slightly in tone, almost as if it were singing. “I am a servant to Mauser,” it chanted. “In the name of the fourth Peacemaker, Galil, I grant thee a miracle. Rejoice! You will now shed the shell of your human existence.”
The dim entity grabbed the face of one of the Purgers and sunk its fingers deep into his flesh. With a flick of tiny movement, those fingers reached the brain.
“Rejoice, rejoice! This is your second birth!”
The Purger’s eyes went white. His face was overwhelmed with the look of the rapture.
A few moments later, the cry of a newborn filled the night air.