Alan pressed his hands hard over Irana’s body, digging deep into his Origin memories to pull the Green he so desperately needed to save her.

  When the resuscitation failed… when his Saro betrayed him… when her heart slowed to a stop, he shouted at the top of his lungs.

  Thunder and lightning accompanied a sudden storm in Token… the realm’s first. And Alan would be damned if he let it be the last.

  The moment was surreal in the worst way. Burn marks lined across her still body were a mix of Orange and Black—a nasty Saro combination concocted by a high-tier warrior, no doubt.

  But who? Who could take down a Fate Chaser?

  With tears leaking out of his eyes, he swapped his Title for Ultimus. It was time to portal out and heed Irana’s warning. She wouldn’t die in vain.

  Drawing his Soul Collector pulsing with Orange molten Saro, Alan jammed it into the ground away from Irana’s corpse. A message he concocted in his mind traced into a controlled flame on the floor:

  Flint, when you receive this, meet me in Ojin. Practiced war protocol six, southeast of Token. You’ll know the signal.

  Without double-checking his spelling, through blurry vision, he turned away with a lump in his throat.

  I’ve brought nothing but despair to the Fate Chasers…

  Trish… I wish I never met you here. He looked at his hands, then summoned the portal out of Token. You just cost a life.

  He stomped through, manifesting Black and Red to levels he’d never experienced, sending a waft of Gray to conceal the light of his portal until it shut. A quick switch to his War Title stuffed him with even more energy than before. It was converting to anger, hatred. His emotions truly were going haywire. Crimson sparks buzzed off his forearms, reminding him of the frogs’ old visions of him. The dark ones.

  He flipped out his coin holding the Five Pearls, letting them orbit around him—filled with shade manifestations from memories of Lucius, Junos’ lightning, Mujungo’s clouds. Syphoning one of the five dissolved Alan into an ethereal entity—his vision turning grayscale as he hunted.

  The horrid vibrations of a thousand marching boots were compounded when Alan saw it. Black cloaks and long masks straight out of the frogs’ vision. Cerrain warriors. Sar’fidius. The clairvoyance was true. It was not of the past. The Red Pact had power beyond what Alan could combat.

  But right now… none of that mattered.

  His veins burned hot as he glided over the terrain, swerving closer to the army of decorated weaponry. Their armor was high tier, and the leader atop a wyvern brazenly displayed her War Title.

  Title: *Archer of the Flaming Rain

  Alan swerved to get a better look. That must be the one who took down Irana, he figured, then tensed completely when he realized he’d seen that face before. It was Neesha’s sister. One of Sar’fidius’ generals.

  How could this be?

  Already?

  The Origin complications were coming in droves. It made him wonder if war had some protocol for drawing old bonds together.

  “Hold!” The wyvern rider held up her fist—dark braids twisting down her back. She turned her head in Alan’s direction, which made him sway away at lightning speed—rounding the army from the backside, watching as they all pointed their weapons in the direction their general honed her attention on.

  Alan couldn’t help but notice the sister’s pink nose and similar complexion, yet she wore the look of a hardened killer, opposite her sister. War traveled with this one through to the afterlife. Alan could tell she was born for it.

  Well, too bad for her she’d just triggered something worse.

  “This way, you bitch,” Alan whispered, trying to draw her away from Token’s portal zone. He had to make it look natural, so he blinked into existence mid-shade, taunting a nearby soldier before dissolving once more.

  “Madam!” the Cerrain soldier called, shifting his spear out of formation. “Madam! It’s a shade!”

  The soldiers “hooed!” while shifting positions in lockstep.

  Alan backtracked, swaying every which way as he lured the army rushing to keep up. He continuously blinked into existence—teasing them—until the spindly wyvern shrieked, picking up his scent.

  Recalling the map memorized in his head, he dashed farther and farther south, down the path of cleared fog, until the army was nothing but a blip in his vision. On a patch of dead grass, he shed his Pearl’s essence and dug into his pouch.

  Ting! Ting! Ting! Ting!

  He flipped out coins in rapid succession, calling his minions.

  Yogi smashed his claws together, roaring at the incoming force. Gardstrife sharpened his blade-arms. Figro dropped his massive shield at the forefront, and Hendra raised her hammer to catch Ufanda. She waved the gown around like a flag, taunting the army.

  WAR-TIME BATTLE INITIATED.

  General Foretta Sans of the Red Pact.

  Defeat her and her army with the bounty hunter War Title selected and receive access to Sar’fidius’ stash of stored weapons.

  Alan felt like a tree of dark Saro, bleeding his power into his minions, using his War Title to bolster them to no end. Lingering around the army gave him increased Saro strength, as foretold in his prompts. And being outnumbered would just bolster him further.

  He’d use the hell of war to his advantage.

  “Careful, Alan.” Afarus’ face flew out of the Soul Collector. “You’re letting emotion overrun your senses. Balance is the way.”

  Alan shook his head. “A friend was taken from me. Balance left with her beating heart. This is war.”

  The wyvern swooped to a hovering stop overhead. Neesha’s sister peered down on Alan with a fiery bow in hand. Alan wanted to flash his War Title right back to her, but that would tell her of his secret alliance.

  “Who are you?”

  “Alan Right.” Lightning cracked between them, followed by a monsoon of sideways rain. Did his anger transcend his realm? “Friend to the gryphon rider you decided to assault.”

  An angry smile flashed across her face as her army caught up. “My blackhold fire surely stopped her heart by now.”

  The ground at Alan’s feet cratered, prompting Yogi to roar.

  “You must be Foretta Sans, squall rider of Cerrain, warrior of the Kiar Empire,” Alan said. “Now, sadly, you fight for a skeletal god hellbent on conquering.”

  The smile wiped right off her face—her wyvern fidgeting from her loss of confidence.

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  “I know you were bred for war, Foretta,” Alan said. “But I thought the Sans had honor in what they fought for.”

  He kept his anger in his clenched fists, doing his best to get in his enemy’s head.

  “Now I know where I’ve heard that name.” Foretta’s wyvern flapped incessantly, lowering as her army pointed spear and sword Alan’s way. “The gargoyle said you were dangerous. A Merchant.”

  “I want nothing from you,” Alan said, bolstering Orange and Black to rival Foretta’s Saro. “Just your head.”

  “Alan, that’s Neesha’s sister,” Durger materialized in his ear. “Do not act with haste. I beg of you.”

  Foretta found her confidence again. “The Kiar Empire transcends death. The god we prayed to answered. And now we are rewarded in the afterlife with worthy foes as we conquer the universe. It’s our eternal destiny.” Her eyes flashed fiery orange.

  “You’re just a pawn then,” Alan said, another bolt of lightning striking between them. “What would your sister think of you now?”

  Silence came between them, just the pattering of heavy rain.

  “Was she not trampled for the sins of her family?” Alan goaded. “Did you learn nothing from her death?”

  She scowled, holding up her bow to rile her army. “We rode in her name!”

  “Now what name do you ride for?” Alan drew his double-bladed staff. “Sar’fidius? Jaeger? Are these the gods worth killing for?”

  She gritted her teeth, holding her arm upright, readying to unleash them all. “You know nothing, Merchant! Attack!”

  “Allow me to stand in your way.” Alan sent two Pearls crisscrossing in front of him, internalizing the image of six-hundred strong before the Pearls spewed Gray Saro like smoke bombs, shrouding his path. He charged alongside his minions—Yogi shaking the ground on all fours, Hendra lifting her hammer mid-run, and Gardstrife disappearing into a blur beside them.

  As the smoke cleared, bodies flew in the air from Gardstrife’s attack. Two Stalkers scaled his back the second his completed attack left him vulnerable, but Alan activated instinctive Red, sending him soaring to cut their backs.

  Fsst!

  Fsst!

  Each of Alan’s blades were bloody as he landed with two bodies falling to either of his sides. Spears came rushing to impale him. Using a flash of clairvoyant Blue, he anticipated the strikes, ducking one and parrying the other with ease before snapping his fingers to drown them both in molten Orange puddles.

  He was building up his Counter-dash -ability infused within Blood-Vision Edge, storing enough energy to soar up to the Archer raining arrows on Hendra. Figro tilted his shield to the sky, leaping from section to section to catch the fiery rain.

  Alan grabbed a soldier by the neck while blindly slicing another spear in half at his side and cleaving her torso open. “What was the fate of Luness Kiar before you passed?” Alan’s vision grew literal red. “Tell me!” He spun to cut another two spears, then lifted the Cerrain soldier in his grasp.

  “O—our princess was drawn under by the Strader assassins.” The soldier coughed. “We could not stop it. We fight in her name still!”

  “You will do,” Alan said, drawing another of the Pearl’s essence to shroud him. He dragged the soldier through a world of grayscale to a spot away from battle, wrapped him in a Pink Saro rope, and left him for later.

  His staff buzzed with stored essence as he eyed the wyvern spitting poison over Figro’s shield—who wiped it on the next batch of rushing soldiers.

  Now was his chance.

  “Hra!” He activated Counter-dash and rushed into a blinding blur, gaining height until reaching the Archer’s back—the wyvern’s putrid stench wafting in his face. As he wound up to slice Foretta’s head clean off, she spun on her back—biting the rope of her wyvern’s saddle while aiming three arrows nocked and ready.

  Fth! Fth! Fth!

  Alan twirled his blade to deflect the projectiles, and although they went flying, the Black Saro surrounding each tip clung to him like ink, dragging him off the wyvern’s slimy scales and falling from the sky.

  “Noble Alan!” Yogi pointed. “Go, blanket!”

  Ufanda whooshed in to stop him from crashing into the dirt.

  “That was a close one, my dear.” Ufanda swerved when another barrage of arrows whizzed by.

  “Grab your sword and shield,” Alan coughed, holding onto the fabric. “Purple will do well against her.”

  The fabric felt loose and awkward under his knees, like he’d roll right off at any second, but he held on tight.

  “OoooOOooooAo!” Ufanda wrapped her sleeves around the slippery weapons stuck in the ground, then zoomed up to meet the wyvern head on. She used the wind to her advantage, curling and twisting to avoid airborne spears coming their way.

  When they caught a good gust thrusting them upward, Alan drew his Dagger of Jibberish, filtering Pink Saro into it.

  I’ll have her head for what she’s done.

  His hair was drenched, enemy Black Saro trying its best to drag him down. It was in this moment he remembered he had no means to heal his minions. Green and Yellow were both vacant in his pendant’s color wheel. It was like a part of him was ripped out.

  Though Hendra was taking out soldiers in droves, spears were stuck in her legs. Yogi shook the ground but arrows lined his back.

  He had to act now.

  “OooOoooo!” Ufanda flew straight up, then dipped enough for Alan to swipe his Pink Saro, sending a wave of it into the wyvern’s face, making its eyes sparkle all different colors. He then pumped Orange Saro into it while Ufanda swung her hefty blade across the wyvern’s belly.

  Eyes honed with instinctive Red, he tossed the blade like a spear on a straight path for her neck. She fall back at the last second, disappearing off the wyvern’s saddle with her rope curled in hand. In a fit of anger, Alan coerced the blade with deceptive Beige, curving it down to follow her.

  When she peaked upside down from the wyvern’s bleeding belly, Alan crossed his arms to direct the dagger, burying it deep into her shoulder as an arrow came to cleave him.

  Srrrk!

  Ufanda’s cloth ripped as she curved to take the projectile for him. Except the amount of Black Saro wrapped around the gown caused them both to tumble in the air.

  “The mighty Merchant,” Foretta called, wrapping a foot around her rope so she could watch Alan plummet. “You missed.”

  He scraped at the gown to regain his balance. When he locked eyes with the Archer, he smirked. “War protocol six!” Dark Saro spewed from his voice, penetrating the entire battlefield.

  His minions all retreated from battle. Alan leapt off Ufanda so Hendra could catch her. And when Alan back-flipped to his feet—heels smashing against the muddy ground—he tossed bright Orange Saro onto Ufanda, illuminating her into a fiery flag.

  He then whipped two Pearls endlessly spewing smoke back into his orbit, allowing the deep fog to clear behind the Cerrain army.

  Flint stood atop a crown of ice, appearing more threatening than Alan had ever seen him. “We are here, Alan.” He rose on the tips of his elongating robes, showcasing the army of new Token citizens here to flank Foretta. “And we always will be.”

  A pang of hope struck Alan right in the heart, pulsing a flash of Green Saro that splashed out of him like a wave. The cuts and bruises lining his arms, down his ribs, they closed right up, and his minions replenished too. Then, within a blink, the serenity was gone.

  “Friends,” Alan spoke to his minions. “Send them far away from here.”

  “Aye, noble Alan.” Blue Saro rushed around Yogi.

  “Back to dust.” Hendra flipped Ufanda off her hammer and readied for her next go.

  “Hmph.” Figro bent down, ready to charge with his shield as a ram.

  “I will cut a path to the Wizard.” Gardstrife sharpened his blades. “See if you can keep up.”

  As his minions charged, as Flint turned into a torpedo of ice on the far side of battle, as an army of high-tier warriors worked to demoralize those enemies still standing, Alan only gazed up… to Irana’s killer.

  He never knew what kind of warrior he’d be in times like these. But now he knew… he was a vengeful one.

  Crkl! Kshh!

  Spells and weapons clashed, with Cerrain screams loud among them.

  Foretta was quickly becoming demoralized—her arrows deflected midair by Itsy’s stick-made boomerang, Flint’s ice, Figro’s shield.

  Now was his chance.

  Alan ducked a swing from a Cerrain warrior’s sickle, sliced him in the leg, and leapt on his back to activate Counter-dash. He flew up to Foretta—rain prickling his face like needles—until sllt! He punctured the wyvern, reopening the wound she tried to sear shut, and flipped up to the top with instinctive Red cycling his legs to keep balance.

  Foretta spun on her back once more, ejecting arrows in a blur, but with a snap of his finger, Alan’s White winds snuffed out the flames and sent the arrows tumbling off course.

  Whack!

  He back-kicked her off her mount. Watching her flail midair, trying to grasp her rope, was a satisfying view. Lightning flashed as Alan peered down from the shrieking wyvern, taking note of his minions working with the Token flank to crush the enemy.

  Flashes of Irana’s dying breaths sent a flame coursing through his veins. He wanted to shout out his frustration for losing a Fate Chaser on his watch. He wanted to kill for it. Activating another stored Counter-dash, he rushed to follow General Foretta to the ground.

  The battle was over.

  Cerrain troops lay dead all around, with the ranged wielders fleeing at the sight of their general overrun.

  Amid rain and lightning, Alan stomped over Foretta, drawing the blade of her prince. A fitting end.

  Whispers plagued his ear, making the blade grow heavy in his grip like the first time he’d wielded it. His senses obscured from the blinding anger still coursing through him. His balance was off. Saro scale tipped in a dark direction.

  “An eye for an eye, General.” Alan raised the blade, hearing loud whispers fighting him.

  “Alan!” a muffled voice rang somewhere faraway. “Stop!”

  “I’ve slain many today. What is one more?” Alan plunged his Soul Collector down, fighting the force of all the souls inside. His arms flexed, enemy neck honed through red vision. He fought to push the blade, knowing the quivering rival force was fading. Alan was winning. He would win.

  Irana.

  “Stop!” the voice got louder in his mind.

  The fear in Foretta’s face was nonexistent. She was a warrior to her core. Alan respected it in the seconds before he would cleave her.

  That’s right. Lift your chin. Give me your neck.

  The Black dread oozed out of him like pus.

  “Die for your crimes.”