The Zombie Knight

Raul sprinted across the surface of the river, not wanting to look back but knowing that he had to. Vanderberk seemed to have finally forgotten about him, but that hadn't improved his circumstances nearly as much as Raul might've hoped.

Whatever the hell was happening in this fight right now made absolutely no sense to him. His eyes could scarcely even comprehend what he was looking at. What were those hellish abominations flying around all over the place? Evil spirits? Literal demons? And the crystal monsters? What were those? Golems? Angels?

Nothing made sense.

But then, he'd been warned about this. By "Croll," no less.

When Thaddeus Croll had first shown up at Logden, Raul had thought it anything but good. But that began to change when the man started speaking to him telepathically.

'Listen to me, young Rainlord. I am not Thaddeus Croll. This is a disguise to fool Vanderberk. You do not know me, but I am your ally. Here is my plan. Convey it to your kin for me.'

And over the next day, the fake Croll fed him information. Raul hadn't exactly enjoyed getting his windpipe crushed or his fingers broken, but he didn't get much choice in the matter. He would've certainly been willing to feed Vanderberk lies, but perhaps the imposter hadn't wanted to risk relying on him for that.

It had been a bold plan, though.

To isolate Vanderberk and kill him. Meanwhile, the Rainlords were supposed to sneak into the prison again and finally rescue everyone.

There would still be plenty of Abolish fighters back at Logden, of course, but with Vanderberk busy and the element of surprise on their side, it seemed doable.

Raul would've liked to ask the fake any number of different questions, but the crushed windpipe had occurred too soon into the encounter for that. No doubt, the imposter feared him saying something stupid.

He had gotten a few answers, though.

Vanderberk didn't wait to see what they were going to do. He increased the pressure on his helium coatings--as intense as he could muster.

Their crystalline bodies imploded and turned to dust, all of them at once.

That was one problem taken care of, at least, but Vanderberk was still unsettled. He didn't know how they had transformed. If the Devourers could be turned against each other like that, then his entire strategy here--

Another beam of light interrupted his train of thought, catching another group of Devourers and beginning the same process again.

No. Not the same, he soon realized.

Instead of each Devourer changing individually, their collective glow coalesced into one massive, winged creature.

A humongous avian monster of radiant crystal.

Vanderberk didn't hesitate to attack again, but in the back of his mind, he couldn't help hanging on the fact that they were turning to crystal.

Why crystal? Why? It couldn't be--no, if it was, then--

This couldn't be the work of the Crystal Titan, could it? Vanderberk didn't have the luxury of thinking it through. His instinct was telling him no. Sermung hadn't been seen at all during this war, so why would he show up here, of all places?

No, no, no. NO. It had to be a trick. The enemy was a powerful psychic. Playing mind games. Trying to get to him. Make him panic.

This damn crystal bird was resisting the coatings. He couldn't seal its movements. Freezing wasn't accomplishing much, either, other than making it slightly more brittle, perhaps.

He shot an invisible pillar of pressurized helium at it. And somehow, the fucking bird almost dodged it. Instead, it took the hit on the wing, which exploded on impact, sending crystal shards raining over the entire area.

A solid white beam erupted from its beak and eyes, coming straight for him.

He couldn't avoid it in time. Even in his gaseous form, it hit him clean, right in his invisible torso, sending him down and down, pummeling him into the ground.

His gaseous form flickered, and he scowled as he sat up. He paid no attention to the gigantic crater of vaporized rock and dirt around him. He was only concerned about the bird. Where had it gone? It was so huge and obnoxiously bright. How could it have disappeared?

Unless--could it have been an illusion, too? Agh, of course it could have. But the Devourers. They were real. The Inferno. What was it telling him? He needed to listen.

The Devourers swirled with increasing fervor. They were nearing their target. Vanderberk needed to keep enough distance from them so that they didn't turn on him, but he also had to stay close enough to either see or sense the opponent when they finally revealed it for him.

When they began lunging, he knew that was the cue. He readied one of his most powerful techniques, the helium of his body beginning to bristle like needles with anticipation.

Before he could finally pinpoint where to attack, however, a flash of light cut through the sky, so bright and massive that it seemed to be rending the entirety of the Living Inferno in two.

The beam fell upon the collective of Devourers, making them howl and try to wriggle away--but they were stuck fast, as if being held in place by the light.

And then they began to change.

From their shifting forms that were little more than vague shapes and body parts... into something crystalline. And glowing, as if having absorbed the light into themselves. Legs and bodies became more obvious, more stable. Heads, too. Even faces, though they still did not look human.

And wings. Great crystal wings emerged from their backs.

Vanderberk looked on in disbelief.

The changed Devourers, if they could even be called that anymore, turned on the unchanged ones. They started slashing through them with their rocky, crystalline bodies--with claws and wings and horns and beaks. And their sunken eyes came alive with even more light, shining brilliantly as luminous boxes appeared around the unchanged Devourers, imprisoning them en masse.

Vanderberk was stunned on two fronts. The first because he had never seen something like this before, and the second because he could feel that the Living Inferno itself was shaken. Its desire was always made known to him, and right now, its desire was to flee. To panic.

And yet it was also asking him for permission. Never had the Inferno felt more timid. It was like it was hoping he would protect it. Rescue it, even.

Vanderberk shook the Inferno's fear off. He couldn't let it infect him. And he attacked.

The crystal Devourers had to be subdued. That much was obvious. In an instant, he imprisoned them with pressurized helium coatings. With their movements sealed, they would be much easier to deal with--but apparently not neutralized.

Their eyes still glowed--and they all turned toward him at once.

Even now, with all the experience he'd acquired using this power, Vanderberk could not rightly say what exactly it was. He had a sense that the things within the Inferno were not as they appeared to be--not sentient beings with minds and wills of their own, at least.

But he knew for certain that they were not illusions, either. That was why his invisibility was so important when using it. If he did not conceal himself, then the Inferno would attempt to devour him, too.

Not that invisibility alone was enough to wholly avoid the Inferno's attention. It just wouldn't go after him while a more obvious target lay in front of it.

And while it might have been wrong to say that the mad, twisted forms that inhabited the Inferno were alive, the Inferno itself undoubtedly had a certain level of sentience. That was why he'd taken to calling it the Living Inferno, after all.

It always made its desires known to him. Its fury. Its hatred. But most importantly, its hunger.

Lozaro called them Devourers, the forms within the Inferno. And the name seemed apt.

"In a sense, you might think of your 'Inferno' as a single-celled organism," Lozaro had said. "And the Devourers, are the constituent parts which allow it to function. Diverse though they may appear, they ultimately all serve one, singular purpose. To feed."

"On what?" he'd asked.

"Whatever you provide."

He just had to be careful that he did not provide himself. For the Living Inferno was relentless. Until its hunger was sated, he would have a very hard time trying to deactivate it.

Here and now, though, Vanderberk was not yet worried. Perhaps the greatest utility of the Inferno was that it could sense things he could not. The Devourers would hunt his prey for him. Very likely, they would even kill his opponent on their own, but even if they didn't, then they would at least be able to point him in the right direction.

Because that was the real trouble with psychics. Their obnoxious tendency to hide. Rarely were they much of a threat once revealed. Most often, however, they did not work alone. He knew that it was therefore quite possible that he was, in truth, fighting multiple opponents, at the moment, and that the psychic was merely concealing the others.

He watched as the Inferno shuddered around him. Streams of Devourers swirled over to his right, their collective forms looking like rivers of mouths, arms, eyes, and teeth--among other barely distinguishable shapes.

He followed their lead.

Clearly, whoever this was had been keeping their abilities secret for a long time. Which told Vanderberk that they were not merely intending to stall for time here.

They believed they would be able to kill him.

How many times was he going to be underestimated before people learned?

And if his opponent was so eager to see it, then Vanderberk supposed he should oblige.

The power he'd acquired in Qenghis all those years ago was not something he liked to use freely or often. Such recklessness would've only made the enemy's job of gathering intel on him that much easier.

Not to mention, it was dangerous to himself, as well. The minute he stopped respecting it, he would be consumed.

Perhaps this illusion-slinger would make that mistake. Perhaps they would believe that the things Vanderberk was showing them were mere illusions, too.

It would be an understandable error, if also a deadly one.

Despite its entirely strange and foreign nature, however, Vanderberk had come to learn that his helium was quite complementary to it. Even though helium was seemingly quite limited compared to other elements, he had discovered certain key uses in his youth that were still coming in handy with it to this day.

The ability to stealthily suffocate people had been quite the assassin's tool, back in the day. And of course, there were things like fire suppression and acidic immunity that often caught his more aggressive opponents by surprise.

More recently, though, there were the developments with pan-rozum. Since helium was invisible to the naked eye, that of course meant that he, too, could become invisible, not unlike an aberration.

His invisibility, however, was more refined in some ways. And quite necessary, for this next part.

He'd closed his eyes earlier in order to not become disoriented by the confusing, illusory mess that his opponent wanted him to see.

But now, he opened them again. And when he did, they were red as blood--and burning with ethereal fire.

In an instant, he brought all of his concentration to bear. The illusory world around him dissolved like ashes caught in a whirlwind, and for a brief time, he saw the normal world again. The green of the forest. The white of the waterfall. The Dakinsalla.

Then it was all replaced with black-and-white fire. With a million gangly, twisted arms reaching, grasping. With distorted eyes, searching. With bodies, headless and roaming.

With the Living Inferno.

"Alright," said Vanderberk, looking between all the different faces, "you've proven you're more than a mere illusionist. If you want to play, then why don't you begin by telling me who I'm dealing with?"

"Curious, are you?" said the face directly behind him.

"Too bad for you," said one to his right.

"Die in ignorance," said the one straight ahead of him.

The next attack came from behind. Vanderberk only sensed it via another pulse of invisible helium, empowered with his soul. It was an orb of some kind, moving at high speed. He avoided it simply enough, but when he looked to see what the thing actually was, he saw nothing. Regardless, he sent a blind assault of freezing helium in the direction it had come from, not expecting it accomplish anything.

His eyes were useless here. In fact, they were probably working against him. He closed them.

He chose to rely only on Elinox's soul sense, for now. With constant helium pulses going out all around him, he had a rather clear picture of the area in his mind.

Psychics could sabotage that sense, if they knew how, but they would still have trouble making gaps disappear. And that was how he was using it. He looked for where the soul power couldn't reach. Where holes appeared.

"What's the matter, Weasel?" came the voice again. It sounded less like Croll now, though maybe that, too, was a trick of the senses. "Not going to use that special ability of yours?"

Vanderberk ignored him. The gaps. He was looking for the gaps. Empty space would alert him to another attack, just like before. And then he could mount another counterattack based on its direction. He didn't yet need--

Something big smashed into him, sending him sailing through the air against his will. It was a heavy impact. Enough to pancake a younger servant. For him, though, it wasn't enough to disorient him. He could still think clearly even as he was busy regaining control.

This shouldn't have happened. The psychic had interfered with his ability to sense even the gaps within soul power? He was not aware of any living psychic who would be powerful enough to accomplish such a feat, save perhaps the Weaver--and he could be quite confident that she was not the culprit here.

No. According to Elinox's memories, only the ancient Kingsparrows would have been able to pull this off.

He was still hesitating, though. He kept expecting someone else to appear as if from nowhere. An attack from just outside his peripheral vision or sensory range. This couldn't really be the extent of his opponent's resistance. Had they simply underestimated him that badly?

Well. Maybe they had. Certainly wouldn't be the first time.

Paranoia getting to him again. Agh. He shook his head, knowing he needed to move quickly. The prison was due south--and close. If he flew at top speed, it would be--

A surge of wind cut him in two. Vanderberk almost hadn't sensed it in time. His gaseous body melted back together easily, and he looked down at the fake Croll again, as that was the direction from which the attack had arrived.

Sure enough, Croll looked normal once more. No longer skewered or disfigured in the slightest. Where had all the blades gone?

"Stay and play with me a little longer, Weasel of the Wicked Sight." It was still Croll's voice and Croll's face, but the words and expression were completely wrong now. The imposter seemed to be enjoying this.

Vanderberk, however, saw no merit in staying. The attack just now had been toothless. He bolted straight up into the sky, intent on ignoring any follow ups from the fake and heading straight back to Logden.

Then the entire world went dark.

He saw the land above his head, arching impossibly toward him, as if within a twisted mirror. It was illuminated as clearly as day, despite the sun having vanished. And Croll's face appeared before him, disembodied and far too large.

"I'm afraid I must insist," said the illusion. "Stay."

Psychic tricks, rather obviously. More advanced than he'd seen in a while. But still tricks, all the same.

He flew higher, aiming to punch through the illusory land. Vanderberk would not be disoriented so easily. He still remembered where to go.

When he touched the land, however, he bounced off of it and was sent falling, spiraling back down.

What the fuck was that? No. He hadn't bounced off. It had just seemed that way. The illusion and the timing. Something had hit him. Clobbered him, actually.

An attack that he hadn't been able to ignore. Finally.

Croll faces were all around him, now, bobbing in the air with mocking grins. That looked especially wrong. The real Croll probably didn't know how to smile.

No more invisible helium attacks. This time, a quite visible wave of solid blades was the strategy.

When it came to materializable elements, helium was a bit of a problem child. Vanderberk had struggled with it fruitlessly for many, many years, thinking that he could use it the way so many other materializers used their elements. Even after learning pan-rozum, that old struggle had been renewed in some ways.

Helium was a noble gas. Inert. It did not react to other elements. He therefore couldn't use the transfiguration aspect of pan-rozum in order to combine his materialized helium with the elements in his own body to create explosions. A common trick for pan-rozum users, but unavailable to him.

Helium also did not freeze easily. Even at absolute zero, it would stubbornly remain a liquid unless one also applied an incredible degree of pressure to it.

Which was why these blades of solid helium were so difficult to make. And why he tended to go overboard when doing so. He'd trained too hard for them to be useless.

A tidal wave of helium blades filled his vision, shredding the quaint wooden viewing platform he'd been standing on into millions of flying splinters as they swarmed Croll.

He hovered in the air, helium legs keeping him aloft while fragments of wood were swept away by the river's current below. And he watched the utter mayhem of his attack unfold. The chunk of forest behind Croll had all but exploded, shredded trees toppling over each other or simply bursting apart on impact. In the chaos of it, Vanderberk nearly lost track of Croll's soul signature.

When the dust and splinters began to settle, Vanderberk saw Croll more clearly again. The man had been skewered near a hundred times but was still standing. Barely.

"Enough of this game," said Vanderberk. "The real Thaddeus Croll would have survived that with nary a scratch." Well, maybe that was an exaggeration. Tough to say without testing the Killer more extensively. But this imposter wouldn't know any of that. "Who are you?"

Croll merely remained standing there, so disfigured by the blades that he seemed perhaps unable to respond--or do anything else for that matter.

Shit. Vanderberk hoped he hadn't accidentally killed whoever this was already. He still wanted answers. And a lot of them.

Hmm. Trying to stall for time? They'd stopped him from calling the prison again, so he supposed if they were still alive, they would be forced to stop him from returning there, too.

"What's your plan here, Killer? Surely you don't think you can defeat me alone." Was he banking on the Rainlords showing up to help him?

A sharp pain arrived in his skull, so sudden and intense that he had to endure it for a few moments before using Elinox's power to numb it. Which provided Croll with an opening to attack.

The Killer lunged straight toward him, unsheathing his blade.

In a blink, Vanderberk was bisected in two, straight down the middle.

If he wasn't already in pan-rozum, that might have been a small problem. The blade flashed again, and Vanderberk raised a hand to catch Croll's sword arm with a helium prison. Croll would be able to resist it, Vanderberk knew, but it would still be enough to slow or even deflect the attack.

It did nothing, however. Croll's attacked continued, unabated, and sliced Vanderberk diagonally from shoulder to hip.

What the hell?

Croll didn't let up. He kept slashing away.

More confused than upset, Vanderberk resorted to his full helium form in order begin dodging more easily. The blade whiffed or passed through his gaseous body as Vanderberk focused on creating space between him and Croll while he reassessed.

Several things were wrong here. The world around him seemed to slow as he sorted through them all.

One. Croll had not only betrayed him but done it stupidly. Alone, the man stood no chance here, so where was his backup? Vanderberk couldn't sense anyone.

Two. Vanderberk couldn't stop or slow Croll's attacks, as if he wasn't even feeling the helium interruptions.

Three. Where had that sharp headache come from? A psychic assault? Croll had no such power, as far as Vanderberk knew.

Four. Croll's attacks were sloppy. Despite how much power was behind them and how fast they appeared, these slashes were actually quite slow, by Croll's standards. Rather than cutting him into two, the Killer of Krohin should have been able to dice a vulnerable Vanderberk into dozens of pieces in that same amount of time. Vanderberk had seen Croll's swordwork countless times before, so unless the man was holding back, this made little sense.

Five. The other incapacitated subordinates. What had happened to them? They weren't dead. If Croll had really attacked them, they would be.

That was enough. Vanderberk came back to reality, having a new test in mind for his opponent.

Vanderberk had still been admiring the view and not looking at Croll directly, but something about those questions made his eyes shift over to the man. "It's not your place to ask why, Killer."

Croll met his gaze steadily, not shying away as so many others would when he looked at them.

This was unsurprising. The Killer of Krohin was a man of unusual intensity, even by Abolish's standards. He was unlikely to be intimidated by anyone, even emperors.

Vanderberk sent out an invisible wave of soul-empowered, pressurized helium. Combined with his reaper senses, the wave would tell him if there were any suspiciously empty spaces in the area.

Such as Rainlords cloaked with Invisibility, trying to sneak up on him while he was distracted.

But there was nothing. No one. Not on the ground, not in the air, not over the river.

"Keeping me in the dark won't benefit you in the long run," said Thaddeus. "The more informed I am of your intentions, the better I can help you achieve them."

No. This still wasn't right. Croll didn't make small talk. He didn't inquire about plans or idly speculate on things. He asked for orders or perhaps permission, then took action. Where was this change in behavior coming from? Had he done something? Was this conversation to stall for time?

Rather than answering, Vanderberk lifted his phone to call the prison again.

It fell apart in his hand, broken in two.

Vanderberk's eyes returned to the Killer, only to see the man sheathing his sword but not removing his hand from the hilt. "You choose now to make your move against me?" said Vanderberk. "When our numbers across the continent are already so diminished?"

The Killer made no response.

And again thanks to Elinox's senses, Vanderberk could abruptly sense something wrong the other men he'd brought along for this meeting. They collapsed to the ground in unison, not moving.

How did Croll neutralize them all in an instant like that? One moment they'd been fine, and now they weren't. Stranger still, they didn't seem to be dead, and the Killer of Krohin certainly wasn't known for his ability to subdue his opponents without killing them. If he'd used his sword, they'd all be in the same state as his phone, right now.

For some reason, however, the Rainkid had been left untouched. The boy was just standing there by the nearest vehicle, still unable to move.

Had Croll intentionally spared him? Or had it actually been Vanderberk's own invisible prison that protected him?

In ancient times, the local people believed that Dakinsalla was a meeting place of people and spirits who were traveling between worlds. The exact spot where water hit water was said to be where one could easily break through into the afterlife, while the water and mist that splashed away allowed for spirits from the other side to arrive in this one.

Vanderberk couldn't help thinking that there was an obvious kernel of truth to that. If some fool decided to jump in there, seeking to find the afterlife, then he would indeed probably find it as the waters crushed and drowned him. Maybe these ancient people had a cruel sense of humor.

A part of him had been hoping to find Lucanus here. The extra bit of backup wouldn't have hurt. Hell, maybe he was here and Vanderberk just couldn't sense him. The man could conceal himself quite well in the wilderness, and as Vanderberk recalled, Lucanus had a leafy shelter around here that blended in impossibly well.

It didn't take long for Vanderberk to begin growing impatient. A few more minutes transpired, and still no Rainlords had appeared. He checked back with his men at the prison, and there was still no word of their appearance there, either. He kept reaching out with Elinox's senses, too, but there was nothing.

Eventually, he turned to the Rainkid. "Are they en route?" he said.

An odd look crossed the kid's face, and his gaze went between Vanderberk's men, lingering on Croll for a moment who was watching the boy like a hawk. The kid gave a nod, though it seemed uncertain by Vanderberk's assessment.

Ugh. He hated this waiting. "Tell them if they don't get here soon, I'm leaving."

Another nod, this one with slightly less trepidation behind it.

A few more minutes transpired with no change.

And perhaps he was struggling with the boredom, too, because Croll decided to strike up a conversation with Vanderberk while they had a bit of distance from the others. "You sure it was wise to split us up like this?" he asked.

"Maybe not, but the enemy poses little threat to us, either way. And if we continued to do nothing, then they would, too. A stalemate would not have been of benefit to us."

"Why not? You afraid of what's happening elsewhere in this country? Or elsewhere in the war at large?"

Only after a sudden break in the treeline did Dakinsalla come into view. From this low angle, the waterfall had the enormity of a skyscraper, and the roaring noise could already be heard over the sound of the vehicle's engine as they approached. It was even catching the sun just right and offering a pleasing rainbow for their arrival, which hardly seemed appropriate for these circumstances, but Vanderberk certainly didn't mind.

Everyone exited their vehicles.

Vanderberk was already in pan-rozum with his reaper, Elinox. He was in the habit of being exceptionally cautious with his reaper, even in the presence of his own men, whom he expected might try to assassinate him at any moment. Keeping Elinox close at all times was therefore a requirement. Usually, that meant tucking the reaper beneath his shirt like a concealed weapon.

Thankfully, Elinox had gotten accustomed to this strategy many years ago and rarely complained or even spoke up at all. Perhaps the reaper had even grown to enjoy hiding himself in plain sight and eavesdropping on many unsuspecting speakers.

The Rainlords, meanwhile, appeared not to have arrived yet, which was obviously suspicious. Vanderberk didn't intend to wait very long for them. The first thing he did was start making calls back to the prison. Marda, Cross, and then to the tower watchmen directly in order to be extra sure.

"If you see so much as a tree moving strangely, you call me and let me know," said Vanderberk.

"Yes, sir."

If the Rainlords' strategy here really was as simple as trying to lure him away from the prison long enough to break their brethren free, then they were going to be sorely upset. While the trip here by car had taken a while, it would not take him long at all to fly back there in a fury and start raining hell down on them. He'd make sure to kill every single one of the hostages before the day was done.

But for now, all remained quiet. So Vanderberk decided to keep a cool head and give the Rainlords a few more minutes.

The natural beauty of this area might have been having a calming effect on him, too.

In terms of manmade structures, there wasn't much here to speak of. Only a modest viewing platform sat at the base of the river, though it did have a roof built over it to shield from the occasional mist of water that managed to make it this far. A little plaque sat in the center of it, describing the location's history.

Combined with the revelation that Thaddeus had also been breaking the Rainkid's fingers one at a time during an even earlier conversation, it had quickly become clear that Vanderberk should not allow Croll to be alone with this kid, anymore. Whether it was because the kid didn't know when to shut up or because Croll just hated the Rainlords after doing battle with them for weeks, Vanderberk didn't know. Maybe both.

At length, the kid did indeed return the nod Vanderberk had been looking for. Good. They could finally get this show on the road.

He sent word to his men and began preparing to leave immediately.

The fact that the negotiations were not going to take place within the prison itself also posed a certain level of risk. The prison had been his third suggested location, which they'd also intelligently refused. He could have insisted--and perhaps should have--but between the prison guards and his own men, Vanderberk had plenty of power to divide between here and the meeting place. If the Rainlords decided to try something hinky like staging a prison break while he was distracted with negotiations, they would find themselves overwhelmed in both places.

And he would of course be keeping men at both locations who could deal with any Invisibility users. The Rainlords had probably learned their lesson already about using Abolish's own tech against them, but if not, then that would make for a nice surprise, too.

As they made their way down the narrow mountain pass in a line of military vehicles, the late afternoon sun cut a picturesque image across the uneven landscape on the horizon. One might've thought that they would be able to see quite far into the distance when they were this high up, but no. The mountains here were so dense that the horizon was perhaps only two or three miles away.

The trip to Dakinsalla took longer than expected. The winding roads down and then back up the mountains made the journey thrice what it would've been if he'd just flown, but oh well. Not all of his men could fly, and the backup was necessary here.

He wasn't afraid of the Rainlords, but he didn't want to be overconfident, either. They could be a problem if they swarmed him while he was alone, especially since he was still lacking intel on some of them.

It wasn't just an annoying game, though. Their suggested locations told him something of their general state of mind, as his probably did in return. His first two tries had been populated areas. A baseball stadium in downtown Logden. A public park in the nearby town of Karina.

Typically, public settings were supposed to give a sense of comfort for meetings that might otherwise be uneasy. A way of ensuring neither party got any ideas about making a scene.

But these Rainlords knew better, of course. He hadn't really expected them to agree. They would've been placing themselves at a tremendous disadvantage, what with their hearts that bled for civilians and so-called "innocents."

Still, though, it would've been funny if they'd agreed. Careless and stupid of them, but funny. And it had been a simple way of testing them. If they'd said yes to those, then clearly they hadn't brought their best and brightest to Vantalay.

Naturally, their suggestions were the opposite. Isolated areas, far away from people. Truthfully, any of them would've been fine. Vanderberk was just fucking with them because he could.

But the news from Melmoore was troubling enough that he supposed he should stop being a dick already and get on with it. They were suggesting a place called Dakinsalla.

Oddly enough, he was already familiar with the name. It belonged to a waterfall basin, relatively nearby but still nestled deep in the mountains, just like Logden itself was.

He'd been there before. It was a favored spot of one of Gohvis' mutant followers. A real weirdo named Lucanus. The guy probably wouldn't be too pleased to find the place utterly obliterated upon his eventual return.

But eh, fuck him.

Vanderberk went over to the Rainkid. "Tell them I agree," he said, allowing the kid to move his head again. "Dakinsalla is fine. Nod if they've gotten the message."

And he waited.

The reason the Rainlords had sent him a letter instead of just using the kid to relay their suggestion was because Thaddeus had crushed the kid's windpipe yesterday. Vanderberk still wasn't sure why. He only knew that there'd been a conversation, and Thaddeus hadn't liked whatever the kid had to say to him.

Vanderberk had not been pleased. He nearly sent Thaddeus back to Ridgemark. If he didn't want the Killer with him during the meeting, then he absolutely would have.

But no. The Monster of the East was too isolated and self-obsessed to see anything of the big picture. Or he just flatly didn't care.

There were many people whom Vanderberk hated in this world, but there may have been none moreso than Gohvis. And not just because the Monster had humiliated him, either.

The lord of the mutants was immune to reason--and a bastard, besides. How much better would this war be going for Abolish if that lazy piece of shit had actually gotten involved? Even just a little?

Vanderberk knew the root of the problem. Gohvis didn't see any of them as comrades or even peers. He placed himself on the same level as Dozer and Morgunov--hell, maybe even higher. Such was his overblown ego. Vanderberk so badly would've liked to see one of the emperors humble that unruly lizard. And the more time that went by, the more likely it seemed that such a clash was inevitable. Vanderberk only hoped that he would be there when it happened.

A knock on the office door arrived, and Vanderberk looked up. "Enter," he said in Valgan.

A vaguely familiar face appeared. One of runners, though Vanderberk couldn't recall the name. There was usually no point. Here in Abolish, runners didn't last long enough to warrant remembering. It was probably among the deadliest jobs in the world.

"For you, sir." The runner placed a note on the desk, gave a quick bow, and then was off again, satchel bouncing against his waist as he sped away.

Wise to not stay. Maybe that one would survive longer than most. Bad news tended to bring out the worst in him and his men.

It was not bad news, however. Just an update from the Rainlords. They had suggested another location to meet.

There had been an annoying back-and-forth between him and them while they tried to agree on where best to discuss things further. Obviously, if he'd let them have their first, second, or third choice of location, he would have been giving them an advantage. And while he did not fear them, there was no telling what kind of wily stunt they might try to pull here. Supposedly, they were too honorable for that sort of thing, but they were also wounded and desperate, right now. In a way, that made them more dangerous than normal, not less. It made them unpredictable.

So he'd been refusing their suggested meeting places, and they had been doing the same.

To Vanderberk's mind, a meeting such as that would only be for one reason. Preliminary peace negotiations. Most probably, for Corrico's eventual surrender. Things were going too well for Melmoore right now for it to be anything else.

Damn, it was too soon. He couldn't leave Vantalay yet. Perhaps he could send someone to bolster Corrico's forces, but who? Agh. He wanted to wait until Graves' name popped up again before committing any men to such an endeavor. There was a decent possibility that Graves was headed to Melmoore, and if so, then sending more men there would be a waste of resources unless Jercash was also sending some. Or Dozer, that old bastard.

Agh. If the Melmoorian invasion was to be salvaged, then something would have to be shaken loose soon, either here in Vantalay or one of the other fronts. Corrico surrendering so early would lead into Ostra being overwhelmed not long thereafter, and then the Vanguard would be able to divert even more men or resources to other trouble spots.

Such as Sair, where the next report came from. Bloodeye was still having difficulty pushing into the Wetlands, which was at once surprising and also not. The Vanguard presence in that country was so greatly diminished that the task should have been a simple one, but Bloodeye had been stuck for a while now, so the fact that there was no change could not be considered shocking.

The exact question of why was still a persistent one, though. According to various sources, they knew it wasn't Jackson leading the defense over there, at least not directly. So who was the one holding the Vanguard remnants together?

And what was this about a failed venture into Lorent? Banda Toro had been slain, too?

Everywhere they went, it seemed the same story was playing out. Local warriors causing headaches. It was hard to argue that Abolish's heavy focus on the Vanguard had made it all but blind to the many other threats in the world.

This was where Ivan's presence was sorely missed, Vanderberk felt. If he were still with them, then many of these lesser-known opponents would not have been able to take them by surprise. Jercash's replacements for the Salesman of Death could only do so much on such short notice.

As ever, many of these issues could in some way be traced back to Gohvis. If only he had listened to Vanderberk when they clashed and gone to retrieve Ivan. So much of this might have been avoided now.

The warden rattled off a few more apologies and then shuffled out of the room. Hopefully, he didn't intend to follow the Tiger and try to get his vice-warden back, otherwise Logden Prison would be needing two new leaders come the morrow.

With everyone but the Rainkid gone, it seemed the entertainment was over for now. Vanderberk exhaled a sigh and eyed the briefcase by his side. He did still have plenty of reports to go over, so he supposed he should take advantage of the down time while it lasted. He usually hated paperwork, but recently, the reports had gotten more interesting, thanks to the war. Being able to get updates on how things were progressing across the continent made all the reading a bit less dry.

Let's see here...

This first one was about Czacoa. Ah. Risto and Voss had broken through the enemy lines? Finally. Oh, but wait, they'd been pushed back. Shit. So much for that. Who pushed them back? Looked like a man named... Harva Zon.

Hmm. Someone else to keep an eye on, he supposed.

The next report was from Melmoore. He prepared himself for bad news. They seemed to be struggling the hardest over there, which perhaps wasn't so surprising since none of their most powerful warriors had been sent to either of those two fronts--the logic being that they were few in number and shouldn't even have been needed, besides. Between Corrico invading from the south and Ostra invading from the north, Melmoore should have been among the easier conquests, even if it was one of the three so-called "continental superpowers."

At the outbreak of the war, there had been no prominent Vanguardians stationed there, other than the Surgeon Saint, and he didn't become famous because of his fighting ability.

But apparently, much like here in Vantalay, there were local warriors making an impact over there. And the Surgeon was being no pushover, himself. By now, he'd already decimated two major offensives into the country with little more than a handful of troops at his disposal. Plus, there'd been rumors of ghosts roaming around, haunting encampments, slaughtering men while they slept, and otherwise sowing terror among the ranks.

And indeed, this new report was not a welcome one, either. An informant had learned of a secret meeting to take place in two days between influential political leaders from both Corrico and Melmoore.

The argument between the wardens reached a suddenly heightened pitch, prompting Vanderberk to start paying attention again.

"There must be recompense!" said the vice-warden in Valgan. "The prisoner must be made an example of for all to see! Cell Block Y will not settle for anything less! They are already our most volatile guards! If we do nothing to soothe their anger, this problem will worsen!"

Recompense? For what? Oh, were they upset at his treatment of them, Vanderberk wondered? Fragile little egos for fragile little men. A tale as old as time. But wait. Who then was this prisoner they wanted to punish?

"Such a request is improper and unwise!" said the warden. "Cease your blustering! There is a bigger picture here!" He turned to Vanderberk. "Forgive my vice-warden, sir. He speaks out of turn and knows not the level of respect that you and anyone in your custody deserves."

Oh, were they talking about the Rainlord kid over there? Vanderberk snickered. They wanted to make an example out of him?

Ah, that was right, wasn't it? The kid did make all of their veteran guardsmen look like fools, after all.

Idiots. Throwing a fit after the fact wasn't making them look any better. But perhaps the vice-warden was exaggerating their frustration. Middle management had a tendency to behave that way. Professing to do something for the sake of those below them, when in reality those below them couldn't have given less of a shit.

No telling. Vanderberk saw Marda eyeing him, silently waiting for permission. Vanderberk gave him a nod.

The vice-warden spoke up again, but he didn't even make it through his first word before Raga Marda's thick hand found his neck. The vice-warden clutched at the hand, vainly trying to free himself as Marda dragged him out of the office and out of Vanderberk's sight.

This was far from the first time that Marda had handled things in such a way. Honestly, Vanderberk wasn't even sure what the Tiger did with all the people he'd dragged off like that over the years. At first, Vanderberk had thought he was just throwing them out like a typical bouncer, but he'd recently heard some rumors from the men that Marda was actually chopping them up and eating them. Or flaying alive. Or collecting their brains in jars as gifts for Morgunov. Or all of the above, perhaps.

Vanderberk might have to ask him about that later.

The most danger was when boredom took hold, when the enemy was too weak to even demand consideration. Thankfully, between the RPMP and the Rainlords, there were still a few famed opponents left who could keep his men occupied with their pursuit of glory. Darktide, Evangelina Stroud, the Water Dragon of Sair, the Jailer of Ridgemark, the Linebreaker, the Black Artisan. And a couple others whom had yet to be concretely identified.

Vanderberk rolled his neck while he waited patiently, a smile on his face and his feet up on the warden's desk as he also enjoyed the comfort of the warden's soft, velvety chair. The warden himself was standing on the other side of the room, arguing with his vice-warden over something, making yet another amusing fuss that Vanderberk had ceased paying attention to.

Marda was standing next to them and would soon handle whatever their conflict was, if they didn't handle it themselves. The Demon's Tiger was not given to speaking very often, but when he did, he was not one to be ignored, refused, or even argued with.

The little Rainlord young'un sat in the corner of the warden's office, observing silently. Not that he had much choice, of course. Vanderberk had no intention of letting him move a single muscle until this upcoming meeting was finished.

The Rainlords were certainly taking their sweet time getting back to him. No doubt, they were torn about making any sort of deal with him. This was where his infamy became more of a liability than an aid, but he wasn't too concerned, either way. If they couldn't bring themselves to bargain, then he'd be only too happy to make an example out of them, instead. And not just to the rest of Vantalay but also to his own men. It had been a while since he'd last made a big show of things. Wouldn't hurt to give them another reminder of why they should continue to fear him.

Of course, that wouldn't be ideal. The entire reason he was even making the Rainlords an offer in the first place was because getting them out of here with no further difficulty would afford him much more flexibility and resources for bringing this Vantalayan conflict to a swift conclusion, Ridgemark in particular.

Apparently, the RPMP was proving quite the stubborn group of rebels. Vanderberk had yet to encounter any of their three top warriors himself, but according to his men, they were the primary obstacles in the conquest of Ridgemark.

According to his spies and scouts, Graves was off to the Kavia-Hoss front, which was certainly not good news for Jercash, but Vanderberk had already sent word warning him. And even if he hadn't, Jercash probably would've been just fine. The Devil's Knife had a way of coming out on top despite all appearances to the contrary. No doubt, it had much to do with the powerful following he had cultivated for himself.

Now there was a man that Vanderberk felt he could still learn from. If he was being brutally honest with himself, the ability to inspire loyalty was something he'd always struggled with. Abolish's central goals of rampant destruction and genocide made that quite difficult in this modern world. How Jercash managed to pull it off as well as he did, Vanderberk very much wanted to know. The man made it seem so effortless and was always evasive when asked about it directly.

Clever bastard. He didn't want Vanderberk using his tricks to amass a force that could rival his own when the time eventually came for new leadership to take the reins of Abolish.

And in Vanderberk's mind, such a time was soon to arrive. At long last. The first Continental War had proved a similar catalyst. Morgunov and Dozer had hardly budged, of course, but the shake ups everywhere else had been tremendous. In fact, that war had been when Vanderberk first began to distinguish himself as a rising star within the ranks.

Now he was leading. Now he was the one looking for rising stars within his men.

But of course, that was dangerous, too. For some of his men, their concept of career advancement was slaying their superiors and seizing control for themselves. Vanderberk knew he had to be exceedingly cautious, especially because he was the newest and therefore the least respected among the Abolish high command. He would undoubtedly be perceived as the softest target, when compared against the likes of Jercash and Gohvis.

That was, in large part, why he had to be the most ruthless.

If he wasn't proactive in rooting out backstabbers, if he didn't temper his subordinates' ambitions with fear, they would come for him first.

Here in Vantalay, there were several such dangerous candidates. Thaddeus Croll, Raga Marda, Jan Cross. And others, of course. In some sense, they were bigger threats in this conflict than the enemy was.

And even that was debatable. Even with Melmoore, Intar, and Steccat all teaming up against them, Vanderberk didn't think that Abolish would stand no chance, especially if the bosses decided to get more intimately involved in the war again. Heck, such a development might be exactly what was needed in order to prompt them into direct action.

Man, it sure would've been nice if Dozer stepped in, at least. Morgunov had already accomplished more than everyone else combined, so Vanderberk didn't expect him to come back and help out. No doubt, the Mad Demon would be profoundly disappointed in him if Vanderberk thought otherwise.

Morgunov had started this war for them. It was their turn to make him proud.

Dozer, though? Increasingly, Vanderberk didn't know what the others saw in the old man. He couldn't even remember the last time he'd seen or heard of Dozer achieving anything of significance. It was always just idle chatter. Talk of things that would likely never come to pass. Meetings that went nowhere and pushed nothing forward.

Vanderberk had sent word to him in Ardora, asking for his assistance here in Vantalay, but there had of course been no response. Not even a refusal. Just silence. The disrespect in that was palpable.

The Living Void, they called him. As if he were an incarnation of the Void itself, the all-powerful god that every true heart within Abolish loved and revered. Supposedly.

Vanderberk didn't want to doubt him. Didn't want to hate him. He'd admired Dozer since he was himself just a boy. And being able to meet him had been one of the most amazing experiences of his life.

But these days, he couldn't help feeling like all that praise over all those years might've just been undeserved. Compared to Morgunov, Dozer was... unimpressive.

Maybe it was a good sign that he felt this way, though. Maybe it meant that he was beginning to reach that dizzy height himself, and so the others who stood upon their own mountaintops had ceased looking so far away from him.

Heh. Arrogance, many would call that. Of course they would. He supposed he would just have to show them otherwise.

These Rainlords would be a good start, one way or another. Whether they decided to take him up on his offer or foolishly fight him, it was a winning play here for him. With that bastard Graves having already left Ridgemark, there was now no one in this country who could stand against him.

But they had support. From the Vanguard, most obviously, but also from other, quieter sources, Vanderberk knew. Possibly Intar, if the rumors were true, though he didn't know if he believed them. Steccat seemed much more likely to his mind, though he doubted he would ever find proof of that. Those elitist Steccacti pricks were as secretive as they were insufferable, but they had to know that if Vantalay won this war, it wouldn't be good for them in the long term. It would probably just be a matter of a few years until these gutsy Vantalayans decided to launch another invasion north.

And Void willing, Vanderberk would be there for that war, too.

Why Steccat hadn't joined in on the action already, he could probably guess. Sai-hee was rumored to have a vice grip on that country's political landscape, and she hated getting directly involved in war unless someone forced her hand.

Not the best policy, he felt. But what did he know? She was the empress, not him. She probably had other reasons, too.

Other excuses, heh.

And then, of course, there were these Rainlords.

A bigger thorn in his side, he had not experienced in some time. They were entirely unpredictable to his mind, right now: the big wild card in this mess at the edge of the continent.

And in fact, there was an argument to be made that their decisions here could determine the course of the entire war. If the Vantalayan conflict found a decisive victor soon, the winner would then have considerable resources to send to the other fronts.

With Calthos on the verge of complete conquest and Kavia also doing well, help from Vantalay could quite easily push one or even both of those conflicts over the edge in Abolish's favor.

A decisive victory here might very well mean a decisive victory in three out of the five main fronts.

That was the best case scenario, though. Vanderberk knew better than to put all his eggs in that basket. Things rarely went so smoothly. And heck, even if they did, Steccat and Intar would be quite unlikely to standby at that point. Their hands would be forced.

Which, in its own way, would be enough for Abolish. Stirring up a war that involved all three of the Eloan superpowers? That was just about the best thing they could've hoped for, even if the tide then turned against them.

Casual though she sounded, Hector had to take pause at what she was doing here. It looked harmless enough, he supposed, but this was also the first time he was seeing a Sparrow using their mind powers to manipulate a person's body. "Is that... just your normal telekinesis?" he asked. "Or are you actually manipulating their brains in order to make their limbs move?" Perhaps that was a distinction without a difference, but to him, the latter seemed far scarier than the former.

Pauline tilted her head at him, taking a moment to deliberate. 'It's telekinesis. I don't think taking over the brain in such a way is even possible.'

Hector doubted that. Not her word but her opinion. Impossible? Unlikely. Such a power was far too similar to that of Geoffrey Rofal. Maybe he was mistaken and aberration abilities were not really comparable, but he had a feeling that there weren't many things that were truly impossible in this world.

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