Excruciating cries of a fractured soul tore through Alan like a fan of knives. One look up told a story he never could’ve foreseen. His teacher and mentor—Afarus Soh—slumped dead in the grasp of the horrid gargoyle who’d come to wreak havoc on Token.

  What’s worse, the peace Afarus had hoped to reclaim was naught. His soul clawing to break free was instead syphoned right into the wing of a living, breathing soul collector. And now Hyndole had taken Alan’s most powerful ally from him.

  “Perhaps I was wrong.” Hyndole stared at his own hand. “You, Afarus, harbor essence I could only have dreamt of controlling.”

  With the roars of battle behind him—Yogi bellowing, Flint casting, Elkire throwing fiery spears—Alan experienced a once-in-a-lifetime drowning sensation. It was like he was looking up from the depths of the ocean with no hope of reaching air. The second time he’d failed a friend in war…

  Everything is so far out of my control, Alan seethed, looking to his palms, then clenching his fists tight. He thought of Afarus’ wise words before he entered this battle.

  Lose my humanity.

  I have no choice. If I don’t… everyone will die.

  The ocean clouding his senses suddenly became his domain. Drowning was no longer a burden. He’d die a thousand deaths to crush his enemy.

  A thousand!

  Black Saro leaked upward from his mouth like smoke. The veins on his arms broke skin in vile blood Red. Deceptive Beige and disorienting Pink cycled his fists. Blue and Orange strapped a leg each. And his eyes… blew White mist like a tundra.

  “I’ll kill you, Hyndole. And I’ll rip the souls from your corpse,” Alan proclaimed.

  “I dare you to try.”

  Alan leapt with all his power—the mist in his eyes creating White slipstreams all over the sky. He grasped one and whipped into a blinding blur—vision inverting to red to dissolve the slipstreams into molten lava.

  He grasped them and scrunched hard, absorbing more Variant Saro as Hyndole spread his wings wide. Arms folded, Afarus’ wraps forming down his biceps, the gargoyle awaited Alan to reach him. Little did he know the sight infuriated him to no end.

  Alan’s form changed as he soared closer. Two fangs grew like a vampire. He could feel his jaw stretching, arms and legs bolstering with more power. Thoughts of Durger teaching him the color wheel of his Saro pendant made him realize how far he’d come.

  With just the thought of his Token prison, he clenched his fist to create a jail of Orange Saro to encage Hyndole.

  In between grasping Slipstreams, he slowed to cast another spell. Another. Another.

  Every time Hyndole flexed to break free, Alan doubled down.

  “You’re just expending energy, Alan. Look behind you. You’re doomed.”

  Alan gritted his teeth and grasped another slipstream. His world rotated as clouds overwhelmed the sky. While rotating at lightning speed to Hyndole’s back, he witnessed it—all of the Saro elements clashing with metal as the army roared to overwhelm the few. Blood was everywhere. He couldn’t tell who of his friends were still standing.

  His minions were fading.

  No. We can’t die. Not like this…

  He Title-swapped to God Merchant mid-rotation, shutting his eyes on the next slipstream to send mounds of Saro into the invisible tethers to his minions. He couldn’t heal them any longer, but he could make them berserk.

  “Life or death, friends. Never give up!” he bellowed through his Saro tethers, then Title-swapped again to Forbidden Merchant to end Hyndole once and for all.

  Through another reinforced cage of Orange and White Saro, Hyndole broke free and sent Afarus’ tethers wrapping around Alan’s wrists—whipping him to a harsh stop midair.

  “Insect.” Hyndole opened his mouth, conjuring a putrid mix of Black and Orange that sprung out like a laser.

  Alan flipped out and caught his Vosh bubble coin, bolstering the sphere that fought to hold off the gargoyle’s beam. The light changed from Black to Red to Orange, testing the sphere’s resistance, weakening it.

  Knowing it would soon cave, Alan concentrated the fear of void Purple into his gut, shifting the breastplate to absorb the blast.

  Dammit. He gritted his teeth, focusing hard on the alternation of Hyndole’s Variant attack. It pulsed from White, to Yellow, to Green. He had all of Afarus’ Saro now. What was this new imbuing Jaeger had gifted him? It was the inverse of his own power. The souls generally fueled off Alan’s Saro. But it looked like Hyndole could use theirs.

  Lightning struck at Hyndole’s back, representing all of the doom hanging over Alan’s head. He couldn’t give up. Token was his chance to be useful.

  I am useful.

  He dismissed the bubble once the attack turned blood Red. Activating the Reverb ability through his void-surge breastplate at the last second caused a mimicking blast to shoot out of itand cancel the blow. Hyndole grasped at his own neck when the steaming rival force burnt his stone throat. Alan wasted no time in drawing his Blood-Vision Edge, its innate abilities brought to the forefront. Hyper-instinct doubled his Red Saro, then he used Counter-dash to disappear into a blur.

  Hyndole flipped midair and swung his wing to meet Alan’s blade.

  Clng!

  Alan leaned into the clash, staring his invader straight in the eyes. “You’re going to die, Hyndole.” He pressed his hand against his wing, activating White to freeze it in place. He broke the clash and spun into a wide, fiery slash—leaving a deep molten gash on his stone chest before holding up the double-blade to catch the next wing strike.

  The dance went on. Each deflection was followed by another landed blow. The edge cut stone, over and over. A slice to the abdomen, the inside of his wing where Farante’s distorted face roared, the gargoyle’s cheek.

  And when Hyndole beat his wings to retreat—icicles cracking off the frozen joints—Alan used the propulsion of Orange fire to jolt him on a straight path upward. He dug the north blade into Hyndole’s chest, held up Ara’s feather, and kicked the blade free as he back-flipped right onto the gryphon’s saddle. With a twist of his clawed hand, another prison of Variant Saro conjured into existence to hold the gasping gargoyle.

  He dug deep to pull all of his memories. Irana dying in his arms. Him failing the shop owner time and time again. Trish walking out. It all served to reinforce the prison, until he commanded it to fly into the ground like a comet.

  What was left when the gargoyle was out of Alan’s line of sight was a battleground and a crimson sky. He’d turned his realm into a version of hell.

  No. No. No. This is all wrong. He commanded the gryphon to soar into battle.

  Lucius used his legs to kick soldiers away from his friends—his shackles preventing any Saro attunement. Yogi had blood and Blue Saro leaking all over his fur.

  “Come back to me!” he commanded the Borai, holding out his hand. “You’ve done so much already.”

  “No!” Yogi resisted, barreling forward against Alan’s call. “Lady Neesha!”

  Alan’s heart sunk into his chest as his eyes followed the bear rushing forward on all fours. It was there, Neesha was on her knees with her arms outstretched. Two faded streams of Green Saro latched onto Figro on one side, who was ridden with dark javelins peeking out of his stone frame, and Itsy on the other, who bled from her mouth as she swung her blood-stained bone hammers violently. Sar’fidius’ arms were littered everywhere, and his friends were on their last limbs.

  Then he saw it. The reason Yogi crashed through shields and shook away Saro fireballs.

  Trish formed from Neesha’s shadow with dagger in hand.

  Alan leapt from Ara, forming a slipstream to zoom him faster than Yogi could ever travel. Still… it was too late.

  Fsssht!

  She dug the dagger into Neesha’s belly and dragged it for good measure.

  “No!” Alan cried, whipping a lasso of Black Saro around Trish’s neck and yanking her overhead to slam hard onto the grassy ground. Seeing her uncsoncious, he turned to Neesha slumped over—still doing her best to keep the Green Saro flowing to those who needed it. She was fading fast.

  “Neesha!” Alan rushed to meet Yogi, who stood to block a row of arrows. He hugged her hard, wishing for his Green serenity with every bit of life he had left in him.

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  “Alan,” she whispered, finally giving up and holding her own belly. There was no Green Saro left in her fingertips. She’d used it all to save the others.

  Déjà vu claimed his mind. Irana dying in his arms plagued him all over again. The vision faded, and all he saw were Neesha’s crystal-blue eyes and pink nose staring back at him.

  “Neesha, I’m so sorry for everything,” Alan winced.

  “I know.” She smiled weakly. “Now it’s me who has the guilt, I think.” Her eyes averted to the battlefield. “If I had let you take my sister, this never would’ve happened.”

  “Don’t say that.” Alan shook his head. “Here in Token, we have to be better. You reminded me.”

  “Lot of good that’ll do if Token doesn’t exist.” Neesha coughed. “Crush them all, Alan. We need to be nasty before we can have what we want. I’m paraphrasing, of course, but that’s a hard lesson of the war stone.”

  Alan laughed with tears in his eyes. “I’ll save you, Neesha, just hold on.”

  He repeated those words in his head, but he knew deep down, it was a lie. Green serenity was so far away he could hardly remember the sensation. Nonetheless, if he was going to find a Healer among the Fate Chasers—assuming they were even alive—he had to end this now.

  Boom!

  An explosion in the distance meant only one thing… Hyndole had already broken free. The worst was all coming together in this moment. The death of everything he worked for, and as punishment, he’d be the last to die.

  “Alan! I am here for you! Pull me!” Durger’s voice sounded far away.

  “No, I won’t lose another soul.” Alan’s breath labored. “I’ll toss the blade and hope a better warrior finds you.”

  “No. You must pull me! This is our hour! I have what we need!”

  Alan recalled what Afarus said about Durger venturing to some unseen depths of the blade. What had he found?

  As he called back all of his dying minions into tarnished coins, he swiped his Soul Collector to release Durger and Sir Ooman, and with it, an open portal to another dimension. Charcoal-colored skeletons boomed out of the blade, taking shape as souls before using the darkness of Alan’s blackening heart to solidify into bone. Each step was an earthquake, and as a rival force emerged to stop the Cerrain army, he realized something.

  This isn’t the answer.

  Neesha is dying.

  Another quake spawned behind him, more essence syphoning from the hilt of the blade. A black citadel materialized from dust, giving Alan glimpses of the first vision the frogs had ever showed him.

  He wasn’t in some evil realm, protecting some dark lord. It was always Token. It was always defense. And the evil he saw in his own heart on his very first day in Strangey Town was just the pain of his dying friends.

  He gazed at Flint shooting endless beams of ice to try and impale Foretta atop her Helldraken, then to Elkire leaping from his gryphon into the fray of twenty enemy warriors. They were all tattered and beaten… on their last war cries.

  Neesha was the epitome of it all at his feet. She whimpered. The sound seemed to echo despite the clashes of war. And although Durger emerged with his triumphant discovery, he too looked solemn.

  This wasn’t how it was supposed to be.

  “If I go through with this, Token will be a wasteland,” he told Durger, cradling Neesha in his arms. “There’s no brightness left in me since Trish’s return. Durger, my friend, I know what I have to do.”

  He inhaled fully to remember his last breath of freedom, then beckoned a prompt he’d been ignoring since his very first day in Token.

  DO YOU ACCEPT GODHOOD?

  The text was bright and bold in his mind’s eye. Something he thought he’d never have to entertain again. He enjoyed being a god broker and building his realm into something peaceful and welcoming. A hard blink away from those memories showed the wasteland that it’d become.

  “I have no choice.” Alan swallowed past a lump in his throat. “Durger, if I lose my faculties, or become some extreme iteration of myself, apologize to the others for me. I only meant to preserve their lives.”

  “Sir Alan, what are you saying?” Durger asked, lifting his hammer as the Cerrain soldiers converged unto them.

  I do accept godhood. Give me the strength to revive my friends and preserve the realm. Give me the strength!

  Alan shouted in his mind, and in an instant, a lightning bolt struck him on a cellular level. He didn’t know he had this many pain receptors. It was an overload of scorching temperature melting his fingers, his arms, his entire torso.

  He was yanked from his body, with the vision and expansiveness of an entire world within his purview and the memories of both his lives at beck and call with living brightness. He understood what Saro was now. A recycling of motivation and memory, repurposed into the fuel that powered the universe. As a mortal, he was blessed with the opportunity to mold it as he saw fit. But only now did he see even those limitations.

  Alan Right

  Affinity: God

  Title: --

  Note: Welcome to godhood. The guardian Balooma, Mother of Borai and previous Deenom of this sacred realm, has bequeathed the power of governance to you. You have since named the realm Token and have built to the extent your mortal powers permitted. In accepting godhood, you have now assumed all powers of governance and defense of this realm.

  Beware: The pressure and expanded consciousness of godhood tends to alter the thinking patterns and ultimate personality of the mortal who assumes it. This process can be jarring.

  Note: During war time, a god may be summoned into vessel form to better protect the realm, inhibiting direct Saro powers and serving as inspiration for realm citizens and allies.

  Warning: The realm is currently under attack!

  Life flowed in and out of his realm, into some unknown cosmos he couldn’t break past. He was confined—understanding a glimpse of what the gods envied. It was like being stuck in a snow globe. It didn’t matter how small or large it was, since his consciousness enveloped all of it. There was nothing he couldn’t explore in a moment’s notice. Mystery and discovery were gone.

  Existence… was different.

  A fleeting memory clawed from mortality—his friends were dying. His realm was in danger.

  AN ALLY SEEKS TO SUMMON YOU INTO VESSEL FORM.

  DO YOU ACCEPT?

  I do, Alan proclaimed.

  With a reverse lightning bolt, his consciousness was condensed and shoved into a body made of pure Saro. It solidified like a soul, only with immense Variant power coursing through it. He kept his eyes closed to concentrate on the currents cycling through his new body. It was unlike anything he’d ever felt before. Galaxies of energy lived within him, yet it was tempered to keep his vessel stable.

  He’d have to be careful. Grand acts could destroy as much as they could heal. He understood that now.

  Finally, he opened his eyes about six feet from where he was taken. A part of him wondered if his godly self chose that length to symbolize his death and rebirth, or to showcase the beautiful Stone Chaser that drove him to this ultimate act.

  Her breathing was shallow. She was dying. A part of him wasn’t scared for her any longer. He now knew she’d pass to the next form with grace and beauty. But then… she wouldn’t be here for Alan to behold. None of his friends would.

  With a few slow steps, he bent low to scoop her up, ignoring the gaping eyes of those still living. His armor was golden and shimmering, like all the coins in his pouch. His minions were alive in there—they shivered to get out.

  All in good time, my friends, Alan whispered to them. Staring hard at Neesha’s wound, he remembered what transpired right before the notion of godliness graced him. All of the power he lost returned tenfold. Memories of hugging his mother after giving her a gift that cost four month’s savings sent a warmth through him he’d forgotten. His hands didn’t glow green any more—but pure gold. And the shimmering outline stitching her wound didn’t just heal Neesha, it bolted through the ground to revive all of those Token citizens wounded and all of those dosed with sleeping serum in the lodges down the way. Some didn’t wake, since their souls were already gone—three more Fate Chasers… Itsy… Flint.

  Alan’s eyes widened as he realized the direness of the situation.

  “Alan.” Neesha shielded her eyes, then tried to touch his face.

  “Rest, Neesha. You’re okay now.” He placed her gently on the grass, eyeing Trish being held by Lucius—chains threateningly around her neck.

  She shared a hateful glance, but Alan felt nothing upon receiving it. Instead, he turned to find his Wizardly friend who didn’t receive his blessed Yellow revival.

  “Where is Flint?” Alan’s voice repeated throughout the land.

  Low laughter rang from down the way, where two sets of wings emerged in the distance.

  Hyndole and Foretta’s dragon.

  They dare taunt a god?

  Alan sensed the blades of grass polluted by Hyndole’s fog. He was a cancer. Intimidating and destroying everything he touched. And when he raised his bulky arm to show a petrified Flint frozen to stone in his grasp, the galaxies of Saro imploded to darkness.

  A storm filled the sky, sending spirals of lightning corkscrewing up to the black clouds.

  “Your Wizard has been bested, as has his mate.” Hyndole showcased his trophies.

  Foretta dragged Itsy’s stone form by a roped arrow, digging up grass as she hovered closely beside the gargoyle.

  If Flint didn’t summon me, then who did? Alan surveyed the battlefield, locking eyes with Lucius.

  “Hyndole, Master! It’s a trap!” Trish tried to scream before being strangled hard by the dark prince.

  The gargoyle doesn’t know…

  Alan tested his newfound power, disappearing completely, measuring the location he wanted to reappear—down to the morsel—and reformed in a flash of golden light. Math, geography, patterns all made complete sense in his domain… because he was the domain. His form might’ve appeared human, but it was just a vessel of Saro strung together by memories and motives.

  Alan had never seen the gargoyle exude anything but arrogance, that was… up until this very moment. He extended his hand and gripped the gargoyle’s stone cranium, and when Hyndole tried to explode a laser of Variant Saro from his mouth, Alan’s golden armor absorbed it entirely.

  “Return my friends to flesh,” Alan demanded, and when Hyndole faltered, he sliced down two fingers, sending a pulse of solidified Yellow that cut Foretta’s Helldraken clean in half. The horror on Foretta’s face spoke volumes as she tumbled out of the air. Alan used a vacuum of White Saro to pull Itsy’s stone form next to him and let Neesha’s sister fall to fate’s will. Whether she be crushed by the dragon or squirm out of death’s grasp was up to a roll of the dice now.

  He focused again on Hyndole, flexing his fingers and sending pulses of blessed Yellow, brightening the cracks of Hyndole’s stone skin. “I won’t ask again.”

  Hyndole had to focus to stop his flailing wings. When they stilled, Alan saw the souls staring out of them, all of which were horrified to see the amount of power Alan exuded. The enemy collectively trembled, because they now realized they hadn’t infiltrated a realm… they were locked in it.

  With a twist of Hyndole’s wrist, Flint and Itsy both shed their stone skin and gasped for breath, having returned to the living.

  “Good.” Alan squeezed tighter around his skull.

  “Release me, Alan, or suffer the entire might of the Red Pact.” Hyndole shot crimson fog like a squid shooting ink. It puffed all around them. Faces were forming in the smoke—strange ones. One had hair growing from his cheeks and wooden piercings through nose and skin. Another had a wolf’s face with a human’s mouth. And finally, the skeletal horror Alan recalled from the frog’s vision—Sar’fidius.

  Alan understood now that Hyndole was a Dreamcatcher, calling upon his gods to witness what had become of Hyndole’s mission.

  A Dreamcatcher, of course. That was how he absorbed all of the souls’ Saro and used the abilities as his own. It was the same affinity Madam Mar exuded. Life was so much clearer as a god.

  “As the hand of Jaeger, I command you to release me!”

  “I made that mistake once before, Hyndole. Never again.” Alan gripped as hard as he could, crushing the Gargoyle’s head in his grasp and sending an unholy pulse of blessed Yellow for good measure. He avenged the thousands who died in Strangey Town and the few who were close to him.

  And he felt nothing as he did it.