Strutting down the charred, corpse-littered path, King's bad mood radiates within the [Soul Crystal]. The red-tinted world darkens and boils as she rages silently. Far out ahead, fire burns out hidden tents and camps. Jerad makes sure there are as few survivors as possible.

King stops by a hoarse-breathing, roasted man, his armor melted into his skin as he gulps out like a fish out of water. His nose is burnt off, eyelids melted away to the sick yellow dripping down the sides of a flame-bleached skull. Dehydrated eyes dart as King kneels beside him, running her hand along his torso and arms. He hiccups, spilling dark fluid out of his mouth as King raises a finger, placing Seeker just above his temple.

Hiccupping, the man manages to nod and blink as his eyes soften, ready to embrace the end of his agony. Rather than that, King drags her hand across his head, feeding his brain with Essence and mesmerizing the Runic Warrior into a nightmare.

He coughs out more, straining as his eyes bleed out what boiled fluid is left in them. His muscles convulse and spasm in a thrashing moment before absolute stillness.

Satisfied, King then rips off part of his gauntlet, taking the melded flesh with it and setting it aside to rip out more parts. Jerad tosses the pungent scent of the corpses further up our nose as he lands the winged serpent, the Amphitere. It follows behind as he makes his way to King, needing only to extend a part of its head to linger.

Robes billowing, Jerad stands in front of King and says, "You said I shouldn't bother."

"And you did," King says, rolling the dead Runic Warrior over to take out the armor on his back. Jerad stands in silence, watching King tear off the last bits of armor. Her fingertip wisps a green smoke, and she stabs the Runic Warrior with it.

Jerad looks away when flesh rots off the Runic Warrior. He gulps and says, "You looked like you needed it, no thanks needed, but… are you sure about Kyis?"

The [Soul Crystal] boils even further as King steps away from the turning undead, "Shouldn't you be at the head of your own army?"

Before Jerad can offer a retort, his Amphiptere extends out, looming over him and blocking out the sun. Jerad looks over his shoulder, confused at the fire-breather's interruption, and then it speaks.

"Wannan tsohon Sarki ne?"

"Duruk?" Jerad says, he turns to King, who's staring right back at the Amphiptere and adds, "Duruk is… he doesn't usually talk, not even to me."

Not taking her eyes off the Dragon, King asks, "What did he say?"

Again, Jerad glances between Duruk and King. He shrugs and tussles his hair. "Truthfully? I don't know. I only know a few Draconic words he's taught me, but he didn't mention any of them just now."

"I wasn't asking you."

Duruk puffs a gust of air from his snout, beating his wings until he takes off, circling off in the air. King snorts, walking past Jerad with an obedient animated skeleton trailing behind her.

Jerad scoffs, "Aren't you using these? Wha—" A sluggish ghast brushes past Jerad, scooping up the metal armor pieces, and drones after the skeleton. Surviving ghouls and ghasts rise, and where all flesh was corroded or burnt away, charred skeletons rise in their place.

King burns through mana and Essence, regenerating and strengthening the undead. "Don't empty the can," I say.

"Oh? Are you done brooding?" she says out loud, uncaring about Jerad hoisting right after the undead on a fetch quest for Runic Armor. She fingers the Blood Orange [Soul Crystal] on her choker. "If there's a need, Valery has us well taken care of."

"What are you doing with their armor? I mean… I don't mind what you're doing, I hate the Sainid, it's just—" Jerad presses after as King comes to a stop over a fallen dire wolf.

"What did Duruk say? He spoke because he felt you there, didn't he?" she presses, cutting into the wolf with a smokey finger.

"You don't need my help translating, you're King after all," I tell her, but she's right about Duruk speaking because he sensed me there.

King narrows her eyes and a line of undead form behind her, many of them carrying their own pile of metal, flesh-stuck armor pieces. "I don't need your help translating? Hmm, serpent say something you don't like, huh?" she says, divining herself to that conclusion.

Jerad spills out. Pulling his robes along with him, he stands before King and asks, "What are you doing now? Valery is facing off against the most because the Sainid have the worse experience with her. They still think she's leading this war effort."

King sets a level look at him and says, "Then you should have flown out to her and not me, right?"

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He stutters, "I-I had to go after the commander."

King shrugs, snapping a finger to summon a portal to the inside of the still-standing tower. The undead walk through and dump the armor pieces in there. Then the first skeleton sets itself onto a stone slab, lying completely still.

Within the tower, King sprays away the gunk and dark off the pieces of armor until a sliver of their shine returns and the rune carvings are clear as day. Reading each rune, she places those that make the closest sense to one another until a pattern starts to form.

Jerad watches in silence as she sorts through each and every piece of armor, sectioning them according to their runic function— she exercises some of our demonic strength, pulling out and straightening the metals for her purposes.

"Runic Warriors weren't always my favorite tool," King says, placing the last piece down for a tuning fork. She taps the skeleton lying on the slab with it, rippling the air with sick green mana humming onto the creature's bones. "The runes take years to carve to a point where they won't fade away with a couple uses, and you'd have to carve them into something impermanent."

The mana swirls above the skeleton and she taps again. This time the fork sings a higher tune as Essence mixes out with the mana. It's not long before muscle, flesh, tendon, and nerves seep out from the skeleton—King twirls the tuning fork and fine, cleaned pieces of rune-inscribed armor stitch onto the rising ghast.

"Even with this there are better ways of going about it. Longer, of course, but better ways to achieve these results," she narrates as the ghast sits up, armor sticking out over flesh in some places and not fitting at all in others. It groans as King pokes at its limbs with the fork, raising them for checks. Satisfied, she lets it off the slab and out the still-open portal. "Cast something."

The ghast takes tender steps out. Raising a clawed hand, it manipulates mana and summons a thin gust of wind that circles, condenses, and swirls in its claw. The winds glove over its claws, and with a thrust it sends sharp juts of wind flying out.

"Good," King says. She picks up a map from her worktable and closes the portal behind her as she mounts the undead dire wolf.

"Where are you going now?" Jerad asks, still lingering. "You've only done one."

King sneers down at him and he steps back. "Jerad… go fight your battles. And do let Duruk know his message was received." The dire wolf takes off before Jerad has another chance to annoy King. She rides, taking note of the dark forest on the edge of Dersen's map—historically the source of much of its beast problems.

"What are you hoping to find there?" I ask.

The undead dire wolf gallops faster as King snorts, "Why don't you watch in silence like you have been? I thought the silent treatment was cute. You see a Dragon once and suddenly you want to be chatty?"

"Don't pretend to be hurt by it and I won't pretend to regret it."

King purses her lips, grasping a fist full of fur and undead skin. "You could have helped."

"At what point?"

"Fighting the Sainid, you could've helped."

"Why should I? Even if I'm to whisper advice and tell you secrets, tell me why I would want to."

"Because I'm fighting to find our child, damn it!" We burst out of Dersen and the battlefield, leaving it and her undead behind. Past this point there's little sign of civilization, no villages off in the distance that haven't been evacuated, only dirt, grass, and trees.

King pinches the dire wolf in the direction of the thick forest that, according to the map, laps at the sea. "Don't you want to see them? Don't you think we deserve to anymore, Nil? What happened to us?"

"There was never an 'us,' and there never will be. That child you're chasing after is nothing more than power you foolishly dared to covet." I've thought long and hard about this in my silence, and I've decided. "If it weren't for you... I'd be alive, truly alive. I'd be in an afterlife. Sure it's a dire, hypocritical one, but I wouldn't be a Demon bound to service. I wouldn't be stuck in a Crystal following your every move like I did a thousand years ago.

"I don't want to follow you; I don't want you. You're fighting for something I don't care about, so don't drag me into it. All I ever wanted was to live a good, Vampire-free life. Now I only want you gone."

The forest greets us; its canopy blocks out what light the skies provided and a fog a few inches' tall wisps across. King's undead dire wolf leaps over thick roots and corpses of animals, swerving around tall trees, singing cries and harboring growls.

A short, tense pause persists before King says, "If that's what you want, then I'm sorry, you're never going to have it."

The undead dire wolf comes to a sudden halt, growling at something in the treetops. King follows its line of sight to the tall halberd-wielding figure in the trees—eyes widened, King startles as her undead wolf shakes her off and makes chase.

Growling, the dire wolf leaps out, maw wide and loud as the halberd warrior plummets. Igniting the massive weapon in free fall, the blade tears right through, unopposed.

The halberd warrior descends, displacing the fog at the bottom as his knee and triangular shield cushion the fall. Raising their head, the halberd warrior fixes King with a glare hidden behind their silver helmet.

Halberd aflame and angled to the side, the warrior rises in full and takes ginger steps past the divided, burning undead wolf. The warrior raises their shield as King starts, "You… who are you?"

Her use of [Mesmer] is almost reflexive, and by the amounts of Essence she pours into the skill, I doubt she learns much from their mind.

"You're not… Sainid, are you?" she says, backing away at their approach. Her eyes dart around in search for something—an escape, opportunity, or even more enemies.

The warrior stays silent. Their cautious steps escalate into a speed walk, then full blown sprint. King gasps but finds herself ready with Seeker for their heavy swing. The two blades meet and grind. The flames from the halberd send sweltering heat down King's face and burn away the tips of her sleeves.

Taking a breath, King breathes out a gust of freezing wind over the halberd as she strains against the Warrior's strength. The flames persist but die out eventually, prompting the Warrior to jump out of the way as King's icy breath turns necrotic, killing weeds and roots below.

The halberd Warrior twirls the weapon, and with a burst of mana ignites it yet again. Rather than push the assault, the Warrior angles the flaming halberd to the side and speaks, "The one who calls herself King." His voice resonates through the now-quieted forest, each word smooth and backed with the confidence of his displayed might. "The Sainid failed, even though we told them what to do. I won't underestimate you."

Gritting her teeth at this, King demands, "Who are you? How do you know me?"

"Your presence here is not in accordance with Reinmer's judgment. Already, you've sown chaos and sent Demon cults throughout the continent. It's time to return to Reais, King."

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