Vayra fell flat onto her back and stared up at the sky above. She splayed out her arms and let the rocking waves toss her up and down. She deactivated all her techniques and unwound herself from Phasoné.

  She breathed deeply, trying to catch her breath. She barely registered what had just happened.

  And there was still so much going on. Even if she wanted to rest, she couldn’t. The individual Ko-Ganall were visible to the surface as they swirled around the gods. They didn’t seem interested in the little gnats pestering them—until those gnats released a technique that deflected them off-course and sent them spinning away from the Moon.

  But Vayra couldn’t help up there. She didn’t have a technique to survive in the void.

  ‘Only those four do,’ said Phasoné. ‘Unless they fight in the atmosphere, the others can’t help us.’

  “Then we need to get the people off this planet. The gods can’t hold back the horde for much longer.” She hauled herself up and sprang out of the waves, then launched back toward the harbour.

  The Velaydian fleet pierced through the Elderworld blockade, and before arriving at the shore, they cleaned up the squadrons harrying the Harmony and the other ships left behind. Then, all sailed for the shore. When the ships arrived at piers or berths, Redmarines spilled off their decks, attacking the bluecoats from behind.

  When Vayra arrived at the harbour, the unaligned cargo ships began pulling away from the port, no doubt seeing the battle turning against Karmion and the Elderworlds. Vayra Braced her throat and voice box, then hovered above the water and yelled, “Everyone, wait! Dump your cargo and fill your hulls with as many people as you can! We have to save as many as we can before that”—she pointed up at the sky—“arrives! Once you’re full, head to the Stream, and get as far from here as you can!”

  Most of the cargo haulers turned back and obeyed. They threw barrels and crates overboard while the marines cleared up the wharf. Vayra darted down, slashing through enemy field cannons and eliminating large clusters of bluecoats.

  Civilians broke through and charged to the ships, then clamoured aboard. Once the ships were full—cargo hauler or Velaydian warship—they slipped away from the port and sailed back to the Stream.

  Vayra rose up above the harbour and tried to take in everything. Even if they filled every ship to the brim, they might not have enough, but they had to try.

  Glade targeted Kalawen first. It had been a long day of fighting and flying, and she had to be running low on mana.

  So was he, but the Emissary authority still flowed like fire in his veins, and he didn’t feel tired. Each strike she landed felt like a minor thud, like a child’s tap, even though, in reality, his ribs cracked and nearly imploded with each strike. Ameena followed, pointing her staff and keeping a grip on his shoulder, healing each hit and aiding his enhanced body.

  In a normal case, fighting against Kalawen where her follower sects were concentrated and her mortals were most loyal, Glade wouldn’t have stood a chance. But here, she was weaker than normal.

  He slashed her knuckles when she tried to punch him in the nose, and his blade left a gash down her side.

  Glade took the opportunity to attack. He kept close, skimming over the top of the water, and struck at her shoulders or neck. She blocked with Wards, and a Brace of purple energy wrapped up around her legs. With each strike, Glade drove her closer to the port.

  But if they got too close, she’d destroy the mortals they were trying to save. The mortals empowering Vayra. Even if it wasn’t intentional, the fallout from the impacting strikes was enough to cleave unsuspecting bystanders in half. Shards of purple energy blasted down to the sea, scouring deep trenches in the waves and sending shockwaves through the air.

  At Glade’s mental command, the swordwyrm raced around Kalawen from behind, pushing her away from the shore. Golden Arcara shone along its blade just the same as along Glade’s own sword, and its strikes bit into her Wards, flinging Arcara and excess mana out across the water.

  She flung one last technique at him, and his mind shifted, trying to believe the illusion. It wanted to.

  “Just…fade away!” Kalawen shouted. “Scum! Enter a world of illusions, and be gone!”

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  His surroundings tried to change. The edges of his vision blurred, and his world shifted. But he wouldn’t let fade away. He still had a job to do.

  Glade drew his arm back, ready to plunge into a set of finishing jabs, but an arm wrapped around his neck from behind, holding him in a headlock.

  Nilsenir. His hook chewed into Glade’s shoulder. He hoisted a pistol and pointed it up at the side of Glade’s head.

  “No!” Ameena yelled, but Kalawen swatted her away with a heavy backhand. Ameena was only an Admiral.

  Glade’s eyes widened. Myrrir was nowhere to be seen.

  Had he been so foolish to think that he, a newly-made Emissary, could face two gods and live? Much less win?

  Vayra was busy. Myrrir’s body…might be far beneath the waves, dead.

  “If you’d just done as you were told,” Kalawen snapped, “we wouldn’t be here. You could’ve faded away into a world of illusions. Maybe I could’ve given you a God-heir or two of mine, for you to do whatever you wanted. You would’ve been rewarded!”

  “Do you want the honours?” Nilsenir asked. “Or shall I?”

  “Gloating isn’t prudent. Make it quick—” Kalawen gasped, then shouted something unintelligible.

  The water behind Glade erupted into a plume, and Myrrir shot up the top. He drove his jade sword through Nilsenir’s spine and lungs, and the God yelled. He threw his arms out to the side and fired his pistol wildly. It blasted through the air in a streak of fire, empowered by his techniques, and tore a ship-wide gash in a distant warehouse. The brimming illusion faded from Glade’s mind.

  Glade whirled around, unthinking, and drove his own sword through Nilsenir’s chest, skewering the god from the opposite direction. Myrrir spun around, and calmly, silently, hacked off the weakened God’s head. “Goodbye, father.”

  Myrrir hung in the air, beds of gunpowder supporting his boots. His chest heaved, and bruises covered his whole body. His left arm hung at an unnatural angle, and a slash ran across his forehead, leaking blood down into his eyes.

  “I—I—” Kalawen narrowed her eyes. “You fight with dishonour and stab a man in the back?”

  “It was not a fair fight to begin with.” Glade glanced down, grimacing as Nilsenir’s limp body hit the waves and sank below. “I do not know what the Mediator will do with you, but you have one last chance. I have no lasting grudges against you.”

  Kalawen spat into the water, then charged, aiming a fist at Myrrir. “Better to take one of you down than to die by the hands of a Discarded!”

  Whirling his sword up, Glade deflected the punch and broke the Ward, and Myrrir slashed down, splitting her arm in two with a strike that used the last of his mana. He fell back into the water, but the job was done.

  Glade sliced off Kalawen’s other arm when she tried to throw a wild punch at him. Two slices—one to break her Ward, and another to sever the limb entirely.

  She stared at him, disbelief shining in her eyes.

  With a shout, Glade spun and sliced her head off. Her body tumbled down without grace, then plunged into the ocean with a simple splash and sank beneath the frothy waves.

  Glade gasped, and almost broke into laughter. Then his own levitation failed him, and he plummeted as well.

  He fell to the ocean below and splashed into the water, then fluttered his legs and pushed himself up to the surface, then treaded water with his mortal body. His lungs ached, and his gut was sore from cycling.

  The authority blazed away in his channels, still, and though he willed it to settle, it’d take days at this rate.

  Besides, he had other concerns. He paddled over to Myrrir and held the half-conscious man above the surface.

  “I’ll get him to a ship!” Ameena shouted, paddling over. “Go help the evacuation!”

  Glade nodded, then submersed himself entirely. When a wisp of Stream water passed through, he absorbed its energy, then drew himself back out of the water. The swordwyrm swirled into place behind him, like it had just sheathed itself on his back.

  He flew off toward the shore, where crowds of civilians now streamed toward the ships. The bluecoats were nowhere to be seen—either trampled or killed. Pulling himself up as high as he could, he surveyed the entire wharf, and his new senses picked out Vayra almost immediately.

  She stood at the start of a pier that led to the the Harmony, beckoning to the mortals to board the ships and nestle in belowdeck.

  “Vayra!” Glade yelled. “Are you alright? Did you destroy Karmion?”

  “He’s dead!” she called back, turning to face him. “What about Nilsenir and Kalawen?”

  “Dead,” Glade confirmed. “Have you seen any other gods?”

  “None,” Vayra said. “No challenges. I hoped they sensed what happened to the others and…have taken a hint.”

  “If we do not get out of here,” Glade said, “none of that will matter.”

  Already, the full warships and cargo haulers were turning and sailing directly for the Stream. Most would escape before the Ko-Ganall arrived.

  “We can take a few more,” she said. “Come on!”

  When Nathariel felt the winds of the atmosphere on his back, he knew his time was running short. His core was already constricting, about to implode from its overwhelming surge, like a greedy star about to go supernova.

  If he held on for much longer, his mana would burn out, and he would become a Ko-Ganall more monstrous than any in the horde descending to the world below.

  Their hammerhead maws bloomed into baskets of flame, and he barely registered the techniques he used to bash them to the side. One slipped through the four Gods’ defence and collided with the outer crust of the planet. It was only a small chunk, but it sent rocky debris raining down on the floating island below.

  The ships in the harbour were still miniscule, and most had made it away.

  He no longer sensed Karmion. He still sensed Vayra.

  He was proud.

  And now, he knew what he had to do.