Mornsteel had found me. The worst possible outcome. She stood between me and Alya. A hundred yards distant, I could see Viktor streaking across the open field toward her. Alya’s BEAM scored the ground around him, failing to land a hit but slowing him as he was forced to dodge and weave.

  Mornsteel didn’t attack. She was hungry and eager for the kill, like any Axe. I could see the eagerness boiling in her. But she didn’t come. She was Level 51, if I recalled. I would be easy meat to her, even without type advantage. But she was an ancient being. She had lived a long, long life. She was wise and probably wanted to see another hundred years if she could. She knew about Axe-break. She was playing me out, being cautious. All that really mattered to her was that she hold me here, preventing me from intervening to protect Alya.

  Viktor progressed across the field, charging Alya’s position. I trembled with frustration. I dared not charge Mornsteel myself. If I swung at her with Axe-break and missed, then the entire battle would be over. She would dispatch me with ease once I wasted the skill.

  I fired BEAM at her. She was a veteran; she had expected no less. She danced away from the blasts. When a shot caught her, she angled her body and flexed the SHIELD of a Level 51 Axe, discarding the attack easily.

  Viktor crossed the field, growing closer to Alya. She kept firing at him, but I could see the wildness of her shots. She saw death coming for her. I wondered if she would yield or try to hold on, try to fight him for a time, giving a chance for the collapsing New York lines to completely fold and secure our victory.

  Mornsteel danced closer. She was a beast on a chain. Her urge to put me down was barely restrained by her knowledge that I wielded Axe-break. I nearly wished it wasn’t. Part of me just wanted her to come at me, to give the make-or-break chance to smash her with Axe-break or be broken by her. It would be better to have some chance than to be forced to watch the drama playing out in the distance. Viktor was closing on Alya. If he got near her, then we were doomed.

  As if to highlight what fate could do, the Boston cavalry wheeled and charged again. They slammed into the exposed flank of a unit of New York veterans. The unit was engaged by Boston spears at the front, and the charge caused them to waver. The frustration burned stronger than the fear. Everything had worked; the New York lines were faltering and breaking. We had hoped to use our armies to compensate for the superior levels of the New York Griidlords, and it was working. But we’d overextended, left Alya exposed.

  Mornsteel spoke. Her voice was lofty and dripping with a disturbing predatory edge. I remembered the way she had looked at me when last we met, walking past me with disdain. Looking at me with the promise of a further meeting in the future.

  “You won’t get past me, young Sword,” she said. “I know about your tricky little skill. You killed the Axe in Indy, and you’ve put others down. I won’t be so easy. We can play this game as long as we want to. Sooner or later you’ll need to take your shot, and once you miss, the fun can truly begin.”

  Fire spewed from her visor, blazing with POWER. I could sense how strong she was. It radiated off her like heat from a stove. I had grown so much in these weeks, so much more than anyone could have predicted, but even without type advantage, her power dwarfed mine.

  The BEAM took her in the back. She was no more prepared for the blow than I had been. Mornsteel may have been leveled in the 50s, but Alya was much higher than that. Alya’s BEAM had been able to punish Morningstar himself. I looked down the line of the BEAM as it erupted around Mornsteel. Alya had taken the easy shot. I couldn’t fathom her thinking. Did she see that she would need to yield and wanted to do what she could? Did she think freeing me could help her? Viktor was Level 40; he was so much more powerful than I was. But, frail as Alya might be, together we could possibly fend him off, then she could return to paint the battlefield with the fire of her BEAM.

  Whatever happened next, Alya was key. I leapt past the flailing Mornsteel. She wasn’t defeated; Alya’s BEAM had hurt her badly but not enough to defeat the sturdy Axe suit. Axe-break flashed as I passed her. I didn’t deliver the blow with everything I had—I had no need to slay this woman. As she staggered from the intensity of Alya’s impact, she was defenseless. The light of my sword cast long black shadows across the snow. The impact jarred me. I didn’t stop to see Mornsteel hit the ground. Alya and Viktor were too far away.

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  As I dashed headlong across the snow, I tried to measure the distance. Alya was 500 yards distant. It was a short distance for a Griidlord but felt like leagues considering how close Viktor was to her.

  A cold thought crossed my mind as I plunged forward. Many Griidlords would be offended by our inclusion of the Scepter during the Falling. It wasn’t forbidden, but it was a break from convention that upset the traditional balance. What if Viktor wouldn’t accept her yielding? What if he chose to make an example of her—a permanent example?

  I was nowhere near close enough. Viktor was flying up the final few dozen feet, AGILITY sending him at her like a wild spinning top, an impossible target.

  It was all unraveling. Mornsteel might be down, but they had enough firepower to make the difference if they removed Alya from the fight.

  I pushed with everything I had, eating the ground, devouring the intervening distance. Sparks flashed—SIGHT showed them to me even at this distance—as Alya blocked a savage CUT. He was on her. But she wasn’t yielding. I was too far away; she couldn’t possibly hope to hold out against him long enough for me to reach her.

  She was retreating from him, trying to hold him at bay with her scepter. The Scepter suit was neither strong nor agile. Viktor was pressing hard, not wasting time.

  I could do nothing but run. I cast Assess again, desperate to take any action I could.

  Subject: Viktor Taurus

  Status: Chosen Sword

  Level: 40

  Skills: ***, Piercer, ***, ***

  Enki spoke as I ran. “You won’t get there in time. There’s not a ghost of a chance. He’ll shred her like paper. He won’t need to use that Piercer skill either. Maybe he’ll save that for you. Punch a hole in you. You don’t want that, I don’t want that. This was a great idea, kiddo, it nearly worked, but you gotta know when to call it. You’ve been getting good at that. Yield now, shout it loud, call a halt.”

  I watched Viktor smash the Scepter from her hands. She flailed and staggered backward. I was getting closer, but still so far.

  I clenched my jaw. I had spent lives today. Boston soldiers had died by the hundred, New York soldiers by a far more grievous number. It might be our last chance at the fragments.

  But Alya was flailing, and Viktor wasn’t giving her the chance to yield. She fell on her back in the snow, and he lifted his sword. I couldn’t concentrate my HEARING on them. I couldn’t tell if she was pleading for him to let her yield.

  I had to end it.

  It devoured me with regret to have come so close only to see everything unravel, but maybe, just maybe, if I called an end, he would relent.

  The huge shape struck completely without his expectation. A detonation of blinding light and kinetic fire smashed Viktor from the side, sending him reeling.

  Chowwick was there.

  Elation surged in me. Chowwick was always there. He wanted this as much as I did. More even. Today was a crowning victory in his career. He was saving the day.

  I could be there in another ten or twenty seconds. Together, Chowwick and I could certainly put him down.

  But Viktor turned on Chowwick with devastating suddenness. He hacked down savagely, pushing Chowwick’s shield down. He sliced at Chowwick from the left, opening a hole in his armor that bled light.

  150 yards.

  Chowwick tried to smash him, but Viktor was too fast. He danced forward, passing the shield, and a blinding light flashed as he CUT upward. Sparks and flame erupted as armor shards rained.

  100 yards.

  Chowwick took a glancing blow to the helm. I could hear the shattering impact, could see the fragments spraying like sand.

  He needed to yield. Why wouldn’t he yield? He was overmatched.

  50 yards.

  But I knew he wouldn’t yield. Chowwick needed this. He believed in this. I was the lantern that would lead us to a better place. He believed in that so fiercely. He was invincible in the light of what I promised for our future.

  Piercer was an ugly attack. Viktor struck forward, a stabbing thrust. As he did so, the armor around him seemed to shrink and contract. It was fast as sheet lightning flashing across the sky. The mass of his suit flowed forward in a blink, magnifying the size of his sword. The blade instantaneously grew into a ragged organic-looking thing, a giant mutant thorn. The expanding length and violent momentum of the thrust met Chowwick in the chest.

  25 yards. It might as well have been 25,000.

  The huge, invulnerable giant of a man was lifted from the ground as the Piercer punched through his form. Like a piece of meat speared by a tree branch, he was suddenly dangling in the air, the sword of Viktor a pillar of destruction. The end of the Piercer extended several feet from Chowwick’s back.

  Blood and gore dripped and sloughed from its tip.