The orcs had the decency, at least, to come out of the city.

  Sael stood at the edge of his cloud as it drifted toward Enariel's ruined gates, studying the force assembled before him. About seven hundred warriors in formation, their discipline better than he'd expected. They weren't hiding in the streets, waiting to ambush him from windows and alleyways. They'd marched out through the gates they'd broken and arranged themselves in clear view, weapons ready, making no pretense about what was coming.

  He could respect that much.

  The cloud descended slowly enough that he had time to take in the scene. A body lay in the dirt outside the gates, crumpled and still. It had no head and the matter spilled on the ground suggested it hadn't been a clean decapitation. Must have been a gruesome death.

  His gaze moved past the corpse to the army itself. Most were regular warriors, levels ranging from the eighties to the low hundreds. Dangerous to less than ordinary soldiers, that was for sure, but nearly not great enough to do all the things they did.

  Which brought his attention to the real army. Standing at the front, separate from the mass of fighters, were five figures in heavier armor. The orc lord and his generals, almost certainly. The Corruption clung to them like a second skin, he could feel it even from this distance, that familiar purple energy that set his teeth on edge.

  He tried to identify which was which. The largest orc stood slightly forward of the others, a massive figure whose armor looked like it had been pieced together from a dozen different sets. The orc lord, probably. Barek, if Sarek's information was accurate. The four flanking him would be the generals, then. Their equipment was varied—one favored massive pauldrons, another wore lighter armor that suggested speed over protection, a third had enough scars visible on his arms to tell a story of survived battles, and the fourth carried a sword that hummed with enchantments even at this distance.

  The lord and his generals were the only ones Corrupted, which meant they were who mattered most. The regular warriors were dangerous in numbers, but the Corruption made its hosts exponentially more lethal. Those five would be the real fight.

  But where was the elf?

  Sarek and his men had talked about an elf leading them, working with the orc lord. Sael's eyes swept across the formation again, searching for it, not finding him. Where... wher—

  Ah. There.

  He squinted, focusing on a shimmer in the air near the generals. An invisibility spell, competently cast. Most people wouldn't have noticed it at all. But Sael could see the mana fluctuations around the figure, the way the air bent slightly wrong where the spell met reality. He used the skill [Third Eye], and suddenly the elf stood clear as day in his vision, tall, thin, with the angular features of his kind and an expression that managed to look both bored and contemptuous at the same time.

  Good. Everyone accounted for.

  Sael turned to step off the cloud and felt a small tug on his robes.

  He stopped, turned back, and looked down.

  The little girl from before stood at his feet, one hand clutching the fabric of his sleeve. Gorek's daughter. Her eyes were wide, frightened in a way that children shouldn't have to be frightened, and her voice came out small when she spoke.

  "Don't go."

  For a moment, Sael just looked at her. And behind her, he could see the other survivors from the barrier watching, human refugees, the prisoner orcs, all of them silent and tense. They knew what he was about to do. Some probably thought he was mad, one man against an army.

  Sael found himself knowing what to do. That was unusual, he'd spent decades being terrible with people, saying the wrong thing or nothing at all, watching conversations die because he'd failed to grasp some basic element of how people talked to each other. But with this child, somehow, it came naturally.

  Maybe that was a good sign, some of those social skills were coming back to him, slowly unfreezing after years locked away.

  Ding!

  [Charisma +1]

  [CHAR: 184]

  Ah, called it.

  He crouched down. He'd read once, in some book about dealing with children, that you were supposed to get on their level and make yourself less imposing.

  It had worked well enough with Jace, his godson, when he had been small, and later with Margaret, when it was her turn. Sael somehow managed to talk better with children. Maybe it was because they said what they meant. They didn't have layers of subtext he was supposed to parse or expect him to read between lines that weren't there. When a child was scared, they said they were scared. When they wanted something, they asked for it. It was simpler. More honest.

  He sometimes wondered why that behaviour did not follow them to adulthood.

  "This is just a little stop," he said quietly. "Once I'm done with it, we'll go find your father. He's on the way."

  She didn't let go of his robe. "What if you don't come back?"

  "I will."

  "How do you know?"

  Fair question. "Because I'm much stronger than any of them," Sael said. "They can't hurt me even if they tried."

  He wasn't sure how else to say it. It was just the truth.

  The girl studied his face, trying to decide if she believed him. He let her look, kept his expression open and honest. Finally, slowly, her hand loosened on his robe. She stepped back, still uncertain but accepting.

  "Thank you for understanding," Sael said. He stood back up, gave her a small nod, and turned back to the edge of the cloud.

  Then he stepped off and dropped.

  Behind him, he heard gasps. The survivors probably thought he'd fallen accidentally, or jumped to his death. They'd figure it out soon enough, he supposed.

  The wind roared past him as he fell, his robes whipping around his body. The ground rushed up fast. Sixty-one meters. Thirty. Fifteen.

  "[Float]."

  His descent slowed instantly, the screaming wind becoming a gentle breeze. He drifted the last portion in a controlled glide, and his boots almost touched the dirt had he not kept floating.

  The effect on the orc army was immediate. The organized formation rippled with unease. Warriors shifted their grips on weapons. Heads turned toward the generals, looking for guidance. Some of them were starting to realize who he might be. He could see it in the way they looked at each other, the way whispers of his name started spreading through the ranks.

  Sael drifted forward at his own pace, floating a few inches above the dirt. The army tensed as he approached, hands tightening on weapons, shields coming up slightly. He ignored them all, his gaze moving toward the body outside the gates. Behind him, he heard the sound of wings flapping.

  A moment later, Oz landed beside him with a soft thump, talons gripping the ground. The chicken walked alongside him, matching his pace.

  Sael glanced down at the bird but said nothing.

  A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  They continued together toward the five armored figures at the front of the army. The elf was still invisible to normal sight, but Sael could see him clearly now, standing slightly behind and to the left of the largest orc. The elf's expression had changed from boredom to something more alert and focused.

  Six meters from the generals, Sael stopped, still hovering. Oz stopped too.

  The orc army watched him in tense silence. The only sound was the wind and the faint creak of leather armor as warriors shifted nervously.

  Sael looked at the five orcs, then at the shimmer in the air where the elf stood. The elf gasped audibly, realizing Sael could see him. Then Sael looked back to the orcs.

  "Are you the Barek, the Orc Lord?" he said in orcish, his voice carrying easily across the distance.

  For a moment, no one answered. Then the largest orc stepped forward, moving with surprising grace for someone his size. Up close, Sael could see the intelligence in his eyes, the calculating assessment. The Corruption intensified around him.

  "I am," the orc said. His voice was deep and resonant, with an accent that spoke of the eastern territories. "Barek, son of Jorek. Orc Lord of the Jurha." He paused, studying Sael with the same intensity Sael was studying him. "And you are?"

  "I'm Sael."

  The murmurs started immediately.

  Sael. The name rippled through the orc ranks as warriors shifted, turning to their neighbors, whispering urgently. Some gripped their weapons tighter while others took half-steps backward before catching themselves.

  One of the generals—the one with the massive pauldrons—wheeled around. "SILENCE!"

  The army went quiet instantly, seven hundred orcs snapping to attention and the only sound left was the bells.

  They were still ringing in the city behind the army, a steady, rhythmic tolling that carried on the wind. But there was something else to them. A magical resonance threaded through each peal, the sound bending and warping in ways that natural bells simply didn't, and only heard by those with the abilities to do so. Woven into that resonance was a voice, faint but distinct, repeating his name over and over.

  Sael. Sael. Sael.

  A mage's work, certainly.

  He'd encountered a wind elemental on the way here, a small thing shaped like a bird that had fluttered up to him and asked who he was in a voice like rustling leaves. He'd answered honestly because he saw no reason not to. The elemental must have reported back to its summoner. Someone in the city knew he was coming and had decided to announce it.

  The wind had picked up too. It hadn't been this strong when he'd started his descent. The clouds overhead were darker and heavier, responding to the lingering effects of his earlier anger. His wrath had dropped back to zero percent—he'd managed to calm himself completely while talking to Lira—but the weather didn't care about percentages. He'd provoked the clouds when his anger had been higher, and now they were committed to the course he'd set them on.

  So it would rain soon.

  Barek was staring at him with an expression Sael couldn't quite read. The orc lord opened his mouth, seemed about to ask a question, and then stopped. His hand rose to his forehead, pressing against it with thick fingers, and his lips began moving. No sound came out at first, just the faintest murmur beneath his breath, words that weren't meant for anyone standing in front of him.

  "Resist it," Sael said.

  Barek's eyes snapped back to him as the murmuring stopped.

  "What... you say?"

  "The voice," Sael said. "You're hearing a voice in your head, yes? It's Corruption, that means you're not gone yet."

  The orc lord looked at the elf, who remained silent, then back at Sael.

  "But make no mistake," Sael continued. " You seem to be at an early enough stage, and every thought you have, it will nod along. Every decision you make, it will let you believe it was yours. It will feel like your own mind, your own judgment and reasoning. And little by little, so slowly you won't notice, it will twist what you understand.I think that is happening already, yes? You have displaced hundreds of thousands of people who had nothing to do with what happened to you, your son told me so."

  "My... son?" The orc lord reacted at that. "You... know my son?"

  Sael raised a hand and pointed behind him, up toward the sky where the cloud still hung over the battlefield, carrying its passengers.

  "Your son is up there," he said. "Sarek. He travelled with me."

  Barek's entire body went still.

  The shimmer in the air shifted. The elf's voice came through, half-formed. "He's lying, Barek, this is exactly what—"

  "What you think is right will shift." Sael cut him off. "What you think is yours will belong to it. And one day you'll reach for a thought and find that you're not the one thinking it, and by then it will be too late, because the thing wearing your skin will not give it back. It will suppress you, and it will devour you, and there will be nothing left of Barek, son of Jorek."

  The wind carried his words across the silence as Barek's hand had lowered from his forehead, staring at Sael.

  "It is not too late," Sael said. "Not yet."

  Barek's mouth opened.

  "Don't listen to him!" The elf barked again. "He's trying to—"

  "We did not come here to talk, creatures."

  Sael frowned, looking down, and saw Oz standing beside him, the chicken's head tilted up at an imperious angle, one beady eye fixed on the orc lord. "We came here for blood," Oz continued. "You stand between me and an outlet for several days of profound irritation. I suggest you prepare yourselves."

  "...I don't think you can take him on, Oz."

  Oz's head swiveled to stare at Sael. If a chicken could look offended, this one managed it. "Not in my true form."

  "He'd still be stronger than you. And his generals are stronger than you," Sael added, because apparently they were doing this now.

  The chicken was silent for three full seconds. Then: "Enough. Let us fight. It is what we came here to do."

  It was, technically, but if he could avoid it....

  That was when Sael noticed that everyone—Barek, the generals, the invisible elf, the entire orc army—was staring at Oz. Some looked confused. Others looked disturbed. A few looked like they were trying to decide if they'd heard what they thought they'd heard, or if it was simply stress.

  Sael did not feel like explaining, and so, he took a step.

  Less than a second later, purple energy surged around Barek like a second heartbeat, wrapping his body in a cocoon of Corruption so thick the air around him warped and hissed. His hand found his weapon and his posture shifted from an orc listening to a wall bracing for impact.

  "Do not... come closer," Barek growled.

  Sael took another step, and the ground beneath him didn't crack. There was no burst of wind nor dramatic flourish of power. He simply moved, and the space between him and the generals collapsed like it had never existed at all.

  One moment he stood beside Oz, six meters away. The next, he was among them.

  Barek's eyes widened. The generals started to turn. The elf's invisibility flickered as surprise broke his concentration, but Sael had already moved past fast.

  His hand swept out in a wide arc, and mana erupted from him like a breaking dam.

  The field immediately expanded outward in a perfect sphere, thirty meters in diameter, swallowing Barek, all four generals, the invisible elf, and a significant chunk of the orc army that had been standing too close.

  The dome blazed white-gold, so bright it seared afterimages into the eyes of anyone looking directly at it. The air inside compressed, then stabilized, becoming its own isolated pocket of space.

  Warriors caught at the edge of the effect tried to pull back, but it was useless. The ground beneath them groaned. Dirt, stone, the ancient foundations of Enariel's outer works. All of it began to lift, held together by the same force that contained the warriors. A chunk of earth ten meters deep rose into the air as Sael's magic seized it, claimed it, made it part of the spell's infrastructure.

  Barek opened his mouth to speak. One of the generals reached for a weapon. The elf began casting counterspells with desperate speed.

  Sael looked past them all, his gaze fixed on a point far beyond the horizon. A place he'd scouted earlier, empty and barren, perfect for what came next.

  He raised his hand, and with a snap of his fingers...

  "[Greater Teleportation]."

  And just like that, the dome, the warriors, the earth, all of it fractured into infinite pieces of light. For one instant, they existed everywhere and nowhere, scattered across the fundamental fabric of space itself.

  Then they were gone, leaving behind a hundred orc soldiers, and one severely overstimulated chicken.

  ***

  Ozyaranthes stood exactly where he'd been standing, beside the space where the Demi-Primordial had been a moment ago. Now there was just a perfectly circular crater, its edges so clean they looked carved by a celestial hand.

  The dragon stared at it.

  Around him, a little less than a hundred remaining orc warriors stood frozen, their formation almost broken, their discipline shattered. Some still had their weapons half-raised toward where their lord had been. Others had their mouths open, mid-shout or mid-order, words dying in their throats. A few had dropped their weapons entirely without seeming to notice, and yet, no one moved or spoke.

  They all just stared at the crater, trying to process what they'd witnessed. Then, slowly, inevitably, heads began to turn toward Ozyaranthes.

  Their unworthy pairs of eyes fixed on the dragon with varying expressions of shock, confusion, and dawning horror. Probably because the dragon had arrived with Sael and was, somehow, connected to the being who had just demonstrated magic so far beyond their comprehension that it made their strongest warriors look like children playing with wooden swords.

  Ozyaranthes felt every single gaze land on him and his feathers ruffled.

  The irritation that had been simmering since his transformation suddenly found focus. They were looking at him, these lessers who wouldn't have dared meet his eyes when he'd been in his true form. Now they stared at him like he was some... curiosity. Some oddity, some... pet.

  An emotion, hot and violent, stirred in his chest.

  Ozyaranthes drew himself up to his full height. All twenty centimeters of it. His beady eyes swept across the assembled army with the same draconic disdain he'd carried when he'd been large enough to level mountains.

  "PICK A GOD AND PRAY."

  For a moment, the orcs just stared at him. Confusion rippled through their ranks. A few exchanged glances. One warrior near the front tilted his head, clearly trying to process what the chicken had just said. Another lowered his weapon slightly, as if uncertain whether this was some kind of joke, some trick or some—

  Ozyaranthes moved.

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