Ashurai proved capable of receiving all four sigils. Two of Speed, one of Dexterity, and one of Constitution. When Marek finished, the warrior stumbled to his own bedroll and fell in beside Yuze. Mags thanked Marek but he silenced her with a hug.

  “You were right,” he whispered in her ear. “We’ve all bloodied our hands, and I doubt this will be the worst of my actions. Get some sleep. Allon and I will pull the first guard shift.”

  She kissed him on the cheek and hugged him harder. Then she left him alone with his thoughts.

  Marek walked to the edge of the firelight and summoned Allon. When the daemon swirled into existence, green-black scales shimmering faintly, he said, “Fly in a wide circle around us, and be watchful. Report anything of note you see. Yuze said an enemy is close.”

  “What will you do, Master?”

  “I must focus, Allon. We’ll be facing the Death Mage soon, my opposite, and I need to be as prepared as I can be.”

  Marek’s familiar flew away, and he looked inward. Settling on the first of his choices, he confirmed the evolution of Spirit Body. The improvement was remarkable.

  ***

  Spirit Body (Tier 2): A conjured suit of ethereal armor that encases the Remnant Mage head to foot. Tier 2 of Spirit Body allows the armor to be elevated as much as four levels by augmenting it with increasing amounts of ether.

  Level 1: A basic level of protection and a minor increase to movement speed and strength.

  Level 2: Allows the mage greater motor control and increased senses, perception, and reflexes.

  Level 3: Advanced armor that can absorb an increased amount of damage as well as greatly increasing strength, movement speed, and dexterity.

  Level 4: The final stage of advancement, the armor developing a spiteful aura that deals passive soul damage to enemies within melee range and causes a minor knockback effect when struck directly.

  ***

  It went without saying that he’d had a long and trying day. He’d travel hard, overcome the fear of his own Abilities, committed an act he’d sworn to Mirrin he never would, and discovered he would soon confront a terrible enemy.

  Yet here he was, face to face with an undeniable reality: His power was growing exponentially, and he relished every advance.

  “I don’t know who you are or when I’ll fight you, Death Mage, but you’d better be as strong as everyone says you are.”

  The night wore on, and Marek considered each of his decisions. In the end, he blended diversification with a heavy reliance on what had worked in the past. Shoving all doubts and hesitation aside, he finalized his advancements.

  Giddy and in need of sleep himself, Marek brought up his status and gaped at the proof of his progression. There was a lot to see, including an update to the affliction on his mana core. It was finally gone.

  ***

  Name: Marek Kaiteras

  Primary Class: Remnant Mage Level 45

  Subclass: Soul Knight

  Skills: Empath’s Gaze, Spirit Body (Tier 2), Ether Siphon, Command Spirit, Distort Soul, Summon Familiar, Wraith Step (Tier 2), Phantom Bolt, Wailing Chains, Specialized Unit, Rending Cut, Spirit Ward, Spirit Rend, Requiem Explosion, Efficiency Aura, Soulforge Creation

  Traits: Spectral Commander, Shadowmancer

  Secondary Class: Sigilist Level 19

  Skills: Intuit, Imbue

  Strength: 30

  Dexterity: 20

  Constitution: 20

  Intelligence: 20

  Willpower: 63

  Charisma: 12

  ***

  This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

  Once Allon returned from another circuit of the camp, he recalled the daemon. Even the tireless familiar needed rest, and with the promise of a hard day ahead, so did he.

  Marek found Mags already awake. Her eyes shone in the pale moonlight, and he sensed another change in the woman. She stood and embraced him, stifling a giggle as she bounced on the balls of her feet. Shoving him playfully, she said, “Gods, but you’re tall. Think you’re six feet yet?”

  He shrugged, smiling down at his tiny friend.

  “I formed my Second Ring, Marek. Dalen’s beard, I’m strong. That Isaac couldn’t lay a finger on me now.”

  Surveying the woman, Marek nodded appreciatively. “I can feel it pouring out from you. Not mana or ether, but something else. I don’t doubt you’re right, Magpie. Isaac would shit himself if he traded blows with you.”

  She beamed in unrestrained joy. “Essence. That’s what a Cultivator uses. Essence and mana combine to make ether. They’re two halves of the same thing. Anyway, sleep while you can. Yuze and I will keep an eye on things. Well, he will while I’m no doubt doing something painful.”

  Mags squeezed Marek’s shoulder before stooping over her master. Shaking him gently, she woke the old monk, and the two retreated a distance away.

  Marek crawled inside his bedroll and fell asleep in moments.

  Morning arrived all too quickly. Marek woke to a hearty breakfast, and then he and his companions mounted up. Mags overflowed with energy despite sleeping little. Her unlocked power exuded from her being, manifesting in every action she took. Ashurai had recovered, and as the sigils’ power took effect, he seemed himself once more, nearly as potent as the man Marek had first met near Middlebrook.

  Traveling due east in a column, the party raced across the plain. Two hours after sunrise, Marek noticed a dark smudge on the horizon. At first, he assumed it was a trick of the eye. When it became more distinct, Marek thought it might have been a dust storm tossed up from the plain by strong winds.

  Pausing briefly at midday, Yuze unveiled the mystery. He stated it plainly, as if nothing at all were strange or abnormal about the revelation. “The Rift is massive. One can see it for miles away, and it never fades or falters.”

  Mags coughed on a piece of half-chewed rabbit meat. “Did you say the Rift? Blasted hells, Kiyashi, you’ve got to build up to something like that!”

  “That’s our destination?” Ashurai asked in a more pragmatic tone.

  Yuze shrugged noncommittally—whether in response to Mags’ or Ashurai’s comment, Marek couldn’t tell. “We have an hour, perhaps two, and he’ll make himself known.” Pointing east, Yuze said, “We’ll take a stand at the edge of the ancient battlefield. No doubt, many of the spirits that once lingered there will have left this world behind. Only the most vengeful will have remained this long. Regardless, I’m certain it will be enough to supply our Remnant Mage with the soldiers he needs.”

  The group ate in silence and drank their fill of water, allowing the horses to graze and rest. When they mounted up, Marek asked the question he’d been holding back since the previous day. “You say you’ve fought a Death Mage before… What Abilities do they have? What can I expect, Yuze? I’d rather know my enemy before facing him.”

  “The Class is a perversion of your own. Instead of recruiting willing souls, the Death Mage deals in flesh. Thankfully, he cannot animate mere bones, so the battlefield we seek will supply only you.” Yuze paused, his tawny face peering eastward. “Like your Class, the Death Mage does not manifest in a singular fashion. In the past, some have recruited the dead to form vast hordes. Those derive power from sheer numbers. Other Death Mages craft horrors by combining corpses much like we encountered with the compound Graysouls, only more hideous and diverse in form. The deadliest I have personally faced turned his powers on the living.”

  Yuze grimaced as he faced Marek. “An entire city fell sick from a single curse. Days later, every man, woman, and child had been converted. All became fodder for the dark mage, an army to command. Unfortunately, I can’t say which powers your enemy will possess. Expect any or all of these. The best we can manage is to find a favorable position and hope we can secure it before the Death Mage appears.”

  Ashurai asked the other pertinent question before Marek had a chance to. “And how will he appear? This enemy holds a waystone like yours?”

  Yuze nodded. “The King of Casteras has many resources. The men that attacked us in Shirgrim had likely been tracking us since we left Ardea. Now that I’ve used the waystone, the enemy will have sensed our passage. The Death Mage will come with allies—an Augur, undoubtedly, and other castes as well as elite soldiers like those who ambushed us on the Quartz Road.”

  The monk was the first to mount up. When Mags joined him, he ended the conversation with a handful of solemn words. “The waystones are linked. Rather than expend the reserves of a single man, as I was forced to do, they’ve been accumulating the mana required for days now. Let us ride while we still can. There isn’t much time remaining.”

  They drove the horses harder than ever before, the wall of darkness rising higher along the horizon, stretching as far north and south as the eye could see. The plain remained unbroken in all directions, but after an hour, they came to a series of great mounds. Here and there, ravines scored the landscape like unhealed scars.

  Yuze led them to the top of the highest mound, one that rose from the plain like an immense barrow. Marek confirmed the comparison was apt by triggering Empath’s Gaze. Strewn across the mass grave were a dozen wandering spirits. Wearing the armor of a time long past, the fallen warriors called to him as soon as they appeared in his ethereal vision. Command me, Lord Mage! a knight on the back of a skeletal horse cried. My sword is sharp. I must avenge my comrades!

  Other voices blended with the spirit, and Marek was nearly overcome by their incessant demands.

  “Here!” he shouted to his companions. “This is where we’ll fight!”

  Yuze grunted in agreement. “We have no advantage but the high ground. Summon your forces, Marek. The rest of us will prepare as best we can.”

  Marek leapt down from Ember Shade’s back. The horses were led to the bottom of a shallow ravine where they would be protected. Turning to the ghostly remnants stalking the plain, he began his work in earnest.

  Organized squads soon surrounded their position. Thrice-elevated champions stood behind, several taking the form of Sir Rhinweld, to bolster Marek’s defenses. Alongside these, he bound the Druskin mages he’d acquired in the great beast kin battle. Expending a large store of ether, Marek conjured a few powerful weapons using one of his recently acquired Abilities. It was a risk, investing so much in an untested Skill, yet there wasn’t time or room for doubt. He was the Mad General, after all, and for the first time, it was his forces alone that would decide the battle.

  Eventually, every wandering soul in range had been recruited or else siphoned to refresh Marek’s reserves. Silently, they waited. The wind buffeted their position. The Rift towered in the near distance, a brooding presence watching over them.

  Then a burst of light scored the sky a quarter-mile away. A portal opened. Casteran soldiers poured out, forming three ranks of twenty. Five mages followed immediately after, and then a tide of the dead spilled through. More than a hundred walking corpses soon flanked the soldiers. Their bodies were disfigured, and even from a distance, their stench filled Marek’s nose.

  Last of all, a single figure draped in black appeared. Marek knew his enemy at once.

  At last, the Death Mage had arrived.