She thrust with the full force of her authority. The Razor was a tool for violently separating the diseased from the healthy, and the Mad King was a blight on reality, a cancer. She cut him free, the space around him glaring bright blue as she cut at the fact of his existence.

His armor anchored him, and he struck back, a wave of darkness and spinning multi-colored chaos.

Makiel had already predicted it and shunted it off to the side.

Thousands of stars vanished. Removed from reality.

Then the fight began in earnest.

Each of them watched the future, anticipating the enemy’s move and countering it. They only took action when they could ensure an advantage or mitigate a disadvantage.

Makiel and the Mad King traded blows that destroyed both of their mortal forms, the force causing deadly earthquakes on the planet below. But Makiel spared no thought for his own defense; Suriel revived him a moment later, and he reincorporated already spearing Daruman with a dozen ghostly projections of Makiel’s Sword.

The Mad King had to revive himself, and the more he was destroyed, the shakier his existence would become. In theory, they could kill him permanently that way.

In practice…

He gripped Suriel in one fist, though she was hundreds of thousands of kilometers away, and her Presence blared a warning as her armor began to buckle.

While she was focused on protecting herself, throwing up protective barriers of pure order, he struck with the combined authority of the Mad King who conquered worlds and the Scythe who destroyed them whole.

Makiel met the blow with the Sword of the First Judge, the weapon that had been the symbol of order since the ancient Abidan had risen from Cradle so long ago.

Reality itself screamed, existence warping all over the world. Humans died en masse down on the central planet simply from the backlash, and the Iteration’s connection to the Way grew thin.

Suriel stretched out her Mantle, her authority as the Phoenix, as the ultimate healer, and dragged the Way back.

The humans blinked back to life, the shredded atmosphere repaired, the laws returning. As order flooded back in, Makiel broke the Mad King’s blow.

But the Vroshir had gained the momentum back.

They clashed again and again, fighting first in the future and then in the present, angling for advantage over the tiny blue gem at the center of this reality. A working of the Mad King’s would cast Makiel through space, but Suriel would break it. Makiel would blast the Mad King out of the world, and Suriel would try to seal the breach and keep him out, but with the Scythe he could cut his way back in.

The longer the battle raged, the less stable the Iteration became.

Stars winked out from the distant stretches of the universe, galaxies collapsing and fading to nothing, crumbling into the Void. Gravity and reality held less sway, dreams became real, people vanished as though they never existed.

Suriel spent more and more of her power on keeping the world intact, but she was straining herself, straining her mantle, straining even the connection between this Iteration and the Way. She had to give ground, preserving and restoring only the most necessary.

But the Mad King had died many times.

All at once, a path shone in Fate, as though their persistence had opened a door. It was one road, shining and bright, leading to the vision they’d seen before.

As one, without discussion, the two Judges took it.

Makiel met a blow head-on that cast him into the Void, removing him from reality for but a moment. That left an opening that the Mad King exploited, and he swept one arm, casting a wave of chaotic many-colored fire that swept all the way across the planet.

Rather than protecting the world with a barrier, as the enemy would no doubt expect, Suriel did as she had seen her future self do.

With all the power of the Razor, the Mantle of Suriel, and her own will, she focused on the wave of chaos-fire. Though sparks of it fell in a deadly meteor rain onto the planet below, she was able to catch the existence of the attack almost in its entirety.

With the last of her energy, she reverted it to nothing.

The Mad King’s will clashed with hers, fighting her authority, and the wave of fire faded in and out of existence for a moment.

As Makiel popped back into reality, physically only a meter away from the King. He swung his massive sword two-handed, the full weight of his will behind it.

They had seen this blow crack his armor, but in the microscopic instant that Makiel used to swing, Suriel saw her vision of the future warp and twist.

[WARNING: Deviation detected], her Presence warned.

The Sword of Makiel landed on the blade of the Scythe. The clash between the two weapons blasted a crater in the central planet of Oasis, and tens of millions died instantly.

Suriel left them to die.

She appeared next to Makiel, adding the defense of her Razor to his Sword. The Scythe still swept down, cracking both their armor.

With Makiel in her arms, Suriel wrenched open the Way.

And fled.

Lindon rose up on his cloud until he was even with the halo of light around Mount Samara. He was still outside the suppression field, but only by a few feet. Any technique he threw into Sacred Valley would be weakened.

But his heart pounded and the skin all over his body tightened as he looked inside and came face-to-face with the Wandering Titan.

In reality, they were still maybe a mile apart. But the Dreadgod was so huge that Lindon felt like it could lean forward and snap him up in its jaws.

Its eyes were swirling clouds of every shade of yellow, and it scanned Mount Samara up and down, as though looking for something.

Far down below, at its feet, the river of fleeing people on the mountain slopes had scattered like ants. Some of them continued running up the mountain to safety, but others scurried any direction that was away from the Titan’s feet.

Even back into Sacred Valley, which had been…broken. Shattered. Churned beyond recognition, like meat in a grinder.

Only three of the four sacred peaks still stood, and the Titan was eyeing this one. Every second the Dreadgod delayed was more lives spared.

And there was only one person here whose techniques could affect a Dreadgod.

“Dross,” Lindon said aloud, “I would be very grateful if you had a battle plan for me.”

[Battle. A battle plan. I’ve got a wonderful strategic retreat plan.]

Lindon was already mentally exhausted just from bringing himself here, but as he understood it, willpower wasn’t like madra. He didn’t have a finite amount that could run out. As long as he could concentrate, he could keep fighting.

He trembled all over. Not only did he feel like a mouse staring up at a lion, but even his spirit shook before the irresistible pressure of the Dreadgod.

And the Titan was being suppressed while he wasn’t.

Still, he drew up his focus. If the heavens were kind, the Titan would turn away and leave entirely. Maybe Lindon wouldn’t have to do anything at all.

Why hasn’t it left the valley already?

[I’ll show you if you promise to take me far, far away from here.] Despite his words, Dross pulled Lindon’s attention to the north, where—even in the fractured mess that remained of Sacred Valley—Lindon could make out shapes. Footprints.

It had walked north, stopped at Mount Yoma, and then headed east again.

Why?

Now it was examining Mount Samara, and Lindon felt an inhalation filled with hunger madra. The Dreadgod was sniffing for something in the mountain.