On a stairwell in the middle of the Royal Horde’s Tower of Quest, Alan and Trish were in danger of sharing an intimate moment. They were inches apart, both sets of eyes drawn to Alan’s palm, where Green Saro encircled his fingers. “You helped me find this.” He slowly raised his hand, the reflection of Green brightening Trish’s brown eyes. “It started from that yoga class you dragged me too.”

  Her eyes flicked to Alan’s, then back to the Green. “You hated that class.” A smile grew.

  “I did, didn’t I?” Alan scoffed.

  Fffth!

  The paper door to the next level slid open and in popped Itsy, interrupting the reunion, true to her nature.

  “Get a room, you two. Boo!” Itsy cackled to herself. “Nah, seriously now, let’s go.”

  She beckoned them up to an empty level so they could cut through to the back staircase meant for staff.

  Alan had to pinch himself to make sure his ex-girlfriend was still actually in front of him. Seeing her wrapped ninja garb felt like they were cosplaying at a convention. But that wasn’t true at all, was it? Minutes ago she was clashing with a Bladesman and expending Black dread like she’d been training for years.

  His Origin was blending with his present, and it was making his Saro go haywire. Ice and fire ran through his veins to confuse him. White winds circled his mind, fogging everything up. He wasn’t sure whether he should run in the other direction or hold her as tight as he could.

  Then something else tugged at his chest—guilt. As if the scrappy Knight could read his thoughts, she hung back and elbowed Alan when Trish was far enough ahead.

  “Ey, stupid,” she whispered. “Don’t you have a thing with the pink-nosed chick back in Token? Remember, the one hugging stones? You forget about her?”

  Alan felt a rush of heat to his cheeks. “Keep moving, Itsy, and shut up.”

  “Ooo. Touchy, touchy. A regular war-time rascal you are.” She winked and created some space between them.

  Itsy was right though. Something was forming between him and Neesha too, ever since Greg had left the picture. Butterflies shot around his belly whenever he thought of it.

  But Trish…

  She was taking a risk by abandoning her post for him, by the looks of it. Looking over her shoulder every few steps, breath short.

  This reunion was damning for both parties.

  Need to keep moving. People are depending on you.

  Once they securely reached the back stairwell, they trekked what felt like endless steps, bypassing all the noise from other duels on the way. Cheers and bongo drums bounced through the paper-thin walls while Itsy explained how the tournament actually worked. Multiple brackets competed up the floors, converging on the forty-ninth, where two royal duels would determine the final, which would ultimately be decided in front of Gosfor on the fiftieth.

  The finale was still a ways away due to the commotion Alan had caused. He’d have to use that to his advantage.

  One look out a red-frame window told Alan they were pretty high. The steps changed too. Bare wood upgraded to polished etchings of Asian-style dragons. Even the elite staff walked on water here.

  “Alright, Alan, this is it.” Itsy stopped before the threshold.

  “Right,” Alan remembered who he was. The God Merchant, the Ultimus ally of the Borai… the broker of worlds. If he didn’t succeed now, the Red Pact would steamroll everything. “Follow my lead.”

  “Well, if that wasn’t what I’ve been doing since we got through those damn iron doors, call me a wag dolly. Damn bastard.” Itsy pointed a finger in his face. “First the Borai, then the—”

  “Listen. You have to be the one to tell your brother about what happened in Hightower Brack. If it came from me, it would seem disingenuous,” Alan interrupted.

  “Which part? The crazy god with lightning nipples who betrayed an entire realm? Or your insane attempts to stop him?” Itsy scratched her head.

  Alan scoffed. She was thinking about it all wrong. She had to sell the idea but in a way that didn’t seem too out of character for her. “Itsy, I only know what you told me about Gosfor and Roland. The god likes elites and he likes catering to them, and your brother respects those who strategize, right?”

  She nodded.

  “Then I’ll do my part with Gosfor—god help me with my performance—and you tell your brother my valiant ideas and what had to be done when the god couldn’t be reasoned with. You know deep down Jaeger and the Red Pact are going to darken the universe—that’s why you chose to follow me in the first place.”

  “Aye, Alan. It’s all true.”

  “Then convey that to your brother. It all starts here,” Alan said firmly. He then glanced at Trish, who seemed awestruck. “If they ask about your purpose for being here, just say you’ve decided to join in our vision.”

  “O—okay,” Trish’s throat seemed dry.

  Alan took a breath. “Alright. Let’s win over the realm. Trish, don’t judge me for what you’re about to see. Masks on.”

  He channeled the most arrogant people he’d met in this life and the last. The stature of Elkire, of Junos, hoity disposition of the real estate developer who’d destroyed Unlikely Guds on Earth, all of it, then pushed open the doors.

  A man with long flowing hair and a black starlight robe stood with his arms behind his back. His skin was flawless and posture royal but still somehow resembled Itsy.

  That must be Roland.

  Alan’s eyes shifted to the throne. A chubby man with a soft chin and a glowing trim beard leapt off his seat.

  Gosfor?

  The god looked nothing like Alan expected. There was no hardness to his expression if he indeed came from feudal times on Earth, nor the ritzy arrogance of an emperor. On the contrary, his bushy eyebrows raised like a servant’s.

  Alan didn’t let the distractions effect his posture. He swirled an invisible cup of wine in his fingers, kept one eyebrow raised, and took slow strides like he came to buy the place.

  “Remove your masks at once,” Roland’s voice was as smooth as butter, opposite his sister’s.

  Itsy did so first. “Surprise.”

  “Yes, I figured it was you,” Roland said with a smirk. “Still wreaking havoc and refusing to wear a decent Knight’s attire, I see.”

  “Wouldn’t be me if I wasn’t, would it, you prissy dumbass.” Itsy winked, then waved at the god. “Oh hey, Gos. Nice to see you.”

  “Likewise, my dear. What do you bring us this glorious day?”

  Alan perused the room as if no conversation was taking place, noting the carpet spewing mist, golden chimes hanging over the throne, then behind him the spotlight arena. He glanced at Trish, noticing her gaze stuck to the far side of the wall—where a green dagger with a red tongue-like line rested with an amber spotlight of its own.

  “My brother’s probably mad at the disruption I caused in his beloved tower, but it’s for good reason today. I bring you… the savior of the universe.”

  Alan’s chest tightened. Too far, Itsy.

  “Oh do you now?” Gosfor rushed around with a rag to clean dust spots on one of his chimes, then stepped on the carpet, pushing up more gold mist that he shoved in their direction. “Goodness. Goodness. To what do I owe this great honor?”

  The god seemed too giddy to be sarcastic. Every part of Alan wanted to fall into a momentary trance—to inspect the origins of the Serpent String dagger, or the large pious staff sticking out of Roland’s back… but he was afraid he’d glow and his integrity would be diminished. He would just have to rely on his instincts as a Merchant.

  The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

  “Careful, Your Excellence. My eye for the elite—well, how should we put it? Doesn’t run in the family.” Roland pursed his lips.

  “Oh, shut your fat trap, Rolly. The bloke is called noble on every turn, except by that nasty gargoyle who plagues the realm, ey? Maybe your eye got some dirt in it when the Pact landed. Ever think of that?”

  Gosfor gasped. “Is he? He is the one mentioned, isn’t he?” He looked to Roland, then to Alan.

  “Does a god become subject to the influence of a conqueror?” Alan tilted his head. “Or is he righteous in his choosing?”

  Itsy snapped her fingers when she noticed Roland becoming annoyed. “Hey. This guy saved half a realm from enslavement. I watched it with my own eyes. Thought he was an imbecile at first, but something told me to stay close. Glad I did. Bubbin’s on his way back to tell you the same.”

  “Oh, which god?” Roland spoke scathingly.

  “Junos of Hightower Brack. Entertained ‘em hard, but he already fell for the gargoyle’s trap. So instead of throwing his hands up, Alan inspired the whole goddamn realm.”

  That’s a stretch. But a good one. Nice job, Itsy.

  Gosfor nodded as he cleaned, eyes wide with intrigue.

  “Hyndole mentioned a Merchant by name for a reason, Gosfor,” Alan said. “I am the one who will resist his stampede, with noble allies beside me.”

  Gosfor summoned a vat with a ladle and scurried up to Alan. “That sounds riveting. I do love a classic story of good and evil.” He scooped a spoonful of what looked to be red wine into a sparkling goblet and handed it to Alan, which he held up in silent cheers to Gosfor, then drank it without hesitation.

  The god’s eyes widened with a golden glimmer around the rims. “Such an esteemed, trusting guest.” A puff of mist came between them.

  “But of course. Highness Itsy has done nothing but provide hospitality since my arrival. I would be a fool to think the realm’s god would be any less hospitable.”

  Gosfor blushed.

  “This tower is the pinnacle of meticulous care.” Alan widened his arms, complimenting the room. “It is my only regret that we had to skip some of the skirmishes and miss the décor of higher levels.”

  “Ah yes, yes. It is a terrible shame,” Gosfor agreed, guiding Alan with a gentle hand on his back to ogle a vibrant painting of waves centered on the east wall. “If we were to descend the steps now, we would upend the laser focus of our sensei and disrupt the joy of a paying crowd.”

  “I couldn’t agree more. A Merchant’s pride rests on these morals. The level of service we provide must match our word… yes.” Alan raised his chin, judging the artwork. “Curious that you chose to display a wave at peak height. No wonder Hyndole sought to scoop your realm under his wing. He thinks you a conqueror.” Alan didn’t give Gosfor the chance to respond. “Not to worry though. Itsy told me the truth.”

  Gosfor fumbled with his thumbs. “W—what truth, good Merchant?”

  Alan turned with his eyebrow raised. “Gosfor of the Royal Horde… is noble.”

  The god took in a strong breath like Alan had just given him the highest compliment in the world.

  “You flatter me so.” His cheeks blushed a brighter pink. “Do tell me, if you please, what would you change about this painting if you could?”

  Alan’s mind ran wild. Trish refused to come visit him at work back then, so she never saw him in action. It felt good to flex in front of her… to show he wasn’t useless.

  “I’d erect a natural stone in the center of the wave, one that ascends higher than the conqueror, with my allies standing valiantly atop it. Perhaps even the Royal Horde at the forefront.”

  “Ooo.” Gosfor’s eyes sparkled bright.

  “You asked Itsy what she brought you this fine day. Well, I bring an alliance that stands against evil in this universe. I come from humble beginnings in Strangey Town and have since swore to refute Jaeger and the Red Pact. Join me.”

  Alan’s heartbeat thundered in his ears. Flashes of Junos’ lightning crushing his own citizens plagued Alan’s mind. The hopeful faces back home. Refugees in Token needed this, and one look at the god before him said it could work.

  Gosfor nodded. “Yes, ye—”

  “Your Excellence,” Roland’s voice blared through the room. “I must remind you… we have prior allegiance.”

  No. Damn it.

  “Mm. We do, don’t we?” Gosfor’s cheeks blushed even harder. He stared up at the painting, altering it to Alan’s vision right before their eyes. “But—”

  Roland slammed down his staff, then pushed Itsy aside. “My lord, we must tread carefully.”

  Alan folded his arms behind his back and turned to face the roadblock to closing this deal. “Roland, I meant to ask you your advice on the theory of intra-realm economy, which is the study of isolationism and non-reliance on Ojin for loot.” He knew he was getting ahead of himself, but appealing to him was his only chance.

  “You’d need a realm for such a study to be relevant, nomad Merchant.” Roland frowned defiantly.

  “Ah. I see my guide has not made you aware of my situation. I have a realm by the name of Token. It’s mission of commerce is not only etched by name but also in the prompts therein.”

  Roland narrowed his eyes. “I don’t believe you.”

  “It’s true, dumbass.” Itsy yanked one of Gosfor’s chimes, elongated it, and bonked her brother over the head. “Kind of pretty too. Fresh green fields for miles, nice coves, crisp mountains.”

  “Sounds wonderful.” Gosfor clapped giddily. “Quite opposite of the Hozzod reports, if truth be told. Polluted cities and dank pirate ships are not inspiring, wouldn’t you agree, Roland?”

  The Healer grumbled in response.

  “This tower seems to be a great example of that theory I meant to discuss with you,” Alan continued to pry. “We can do good for one another, if only you’d let me in.”

  Roland stepped forward with pious gold-wood staff in hand, egging Alan to take a peek through trance, but he refrained. The last thing Alan needed was to give Roland an excuse to kick him out. “As I mentioned, we are already aligned—”

  “We have seen what happens to those who commit. Realms become dreary shadows of what they once were. The citizens walk aimless and hunched, losing reverence by the minute. Is that what you want to become of the prestigious Royal Horde?” Alan asked.

  “We want the Royal Horde to survive.” Green Saro pulsed in Roland’s eyes.

  Alan took one look at the revised painting, begging everyone else to turn with him. “It seems your god thinks differently.” He pointed to Gosfor standing at the helm of the erected stone, then turned to Roland. “Stand against the Red Pact and become saviors of the universe.”

  “I thought you were a Merchant, not a deranged gambler.” Roland stepped a foot away from Alan.

  “I am a hopeful broker of worlds, nothing more.”

  “Alan is true in his heart.” Gosfor scrubbed the tile at Itsy’s feet. “You must see it. Imagine us, the Royal Horde, on the right side of the universe’s history.” A crown brightened to life on Gosfor’s head, then fell to glitter around his eyes. “The realms grow dark since the declaration of war. So very, very dark. We keep light only because of your great plans, Roland.”

  “Yeah, little brother. Don’t succumb to fear. Makes you no better than village chief Casfa Navo I had to stab back in our Origins.”

  Roland scoffed. “If Jaeger gets wind of us even entertaining this mad man, he could invade the realm and send our cities tumbling to the ground.”

  “Do not give in.” Alan outstretched his hand. “We have much to offer.”

  Roland swung his staff in a blur, stopping it an inch from Alan’s neck. “Due to your antics, it appears we have a while until the finalists reach our level. In that light, let’s see how powerful you really are, Merchant.” Roland stepped forward.

  Alan side-eyed Itsy, who offered a quick nod.

  “Very well. If that’s what it takes.” Alan removed his robes and carefully unstrung his mask resting at his back, showing care to the tower’s procedures.

  “Normal tower duel rules. One Saro color. One weapon.”

  “My my my.” Gosfor scurried into a gold-plated drawer and pulled out samurai and ninja attire—Alan guessed one for each. “Please, let’s make it official then. Roland put much care into duel etiquette.”

  “Not necessary, Excellence. I want to scrutinize this man in his natural state, not in ours.” Roland licked his teeth.

  Alan guessed that meant he was choosing Blue for clairvoyance. Maybe his choice of attire had some effect on that power. Or maybe the Healer was just trying to throw Alan off.

  “If I win, I only ask that you hear me with an open mind,” Alan said.

  “That’s as far as I would go anyway, gambler. And when I win, you take my sister and travel far away from here.”

  “Rude!” Itsy kicked the carpet.

  “It is for yours and our safety, Itsafia. We both know you will bark at Hyndole when he arrives for his first collection.”

  “Collection?” Alan said.

  Roland scoffed. “Wars are not paid for by the wind. All realms must contribute to the great march.”

  “So you would aid and abet the destruction of entire realms?” Alan reached into his pouch and flicked out his Blood-Vision Edge double-bladed staff to match the Healer’s. “Perhaps the conqueror’s wave painting suits you after all.”

  Gosfor clapped both hands over his mouth, golden tears forming around his eyes. “Do not say such things, Alan, I beg of you. We are noble. We are.”

  “Tell your hand that.” Alan whipped his staff to test it, debating which color Saro to lock into. He’d have to dissolve the weapon’s natural Saro one way or the other, since it was a mix of Red and Blue.

  For duels, Red was his favorite for enhanced speed, but it would work poorly against clairvoyant Blue. Perhaps Pink would work as a bit of truth serum if he flooded the arena with enough of it. Green could clear that out though, if need be, which would be Roland’s only other logical option.

  Everywhere I goddamn turn, Hyndole is ahead of me.

  First Strangey Town, then the armies in Ojin, then Junos, now this.

  Black slivers swirled his palm, sending mounds of dread coursing through his veins. Trish walking out of his apartment with her bags packed rushed to the forefront of his mind, stenciling in with the actual image of her standing coyly beside Itsy.

  There’s so much riding on this.

  “Your Excellence, if you would do the honors.” Roland leapt gracefully into the center of the arena, his robes and hair falling in slow motion like he was underwater.

  Gosfor seemed moments away from hyperventilating but took a deep breath to compose himself, standing straight at the head of the arena. “Oh my, my. This doesn’t seem appropriate for such an esteemed guest—”

  “Excellence,” Roland seethed.

  “O—of course. Duelists, take your places.”

  Screw it.

  Alan coined his staff and drew his Soul Collector at the last second, Black Saro leaking from his eyes.

  “You will both choose your Saro on three.” Gosfor held up a sparkling gold fist. “One.”

  Alan burst Variant colors throughout his body—arm glowing White, leg Red, torso Purple—all to confuse the Healer.

  “A Colorless? Hmph.” Roland flipped his staff into a blur, landing it horizontal across his back. “That only means your mastery is weak.” He flipped his staff again ostentatiously to the other side. “Which means I have the upper hand.”

  “Two.” Gosfor held up his second finger.

  “When the gargoyle returns and demands a twenty percent increase in payment on the spot, is it only then you’ll realize you made a deal with the devil?” Alan continued blinking Variant Saro throughout his body.

  Roland showed his teeth.

  “Then the next time, when it’s fifty percent over that?” Alan egged. “Will you still cling and try to convince your genuine god against your clear failure?”

  Roland clenched his fists harder around his staff.

  “How about when he demands you kneel? Or has he done that already?” Alan narrowed his eyes.

  “Three.” Gosfor held up his finger, and in a blink, Alan allowed his dark blade to pulse Black Saro over his body like a dark flame.

  “Once I defeat you, Roland, you’ll know the only thing I ask… is for you to stand.”