The world shakes. The ruins heave and crumble further all around us, rocks clattering unto rocks, red birds scattering. I glance at Kiren.

  “Where’s Umbrahorn?!?” I yell.

  “Convincing the sprites!”

  “Still?”

  “Well, they are flitty little spirits. Hopefully this convinces them.”

  “Well he better work quick otherwise the birds will escape—”

  Another crack webs along the topside of the shield. This one spans its way all ‘round the shield's circumference.

  My eyes aren’t watching the Lady. Instead, they are occupied by the red birds and their scattered motion. My heart pounds.

  Then, blissfully, I see the birds fly away from the shield’s edge. They seem compelled by wind—but I know it’s not wind. It's our plan in motion.

  “Looks like he’s done it,” Kiren says.

  “Then let’s hope he’s getting ready to leave as soon as the shield’s gone,” I mutter, forgetting that Kiren probably cannot hear me. But I’m too worried about other things.

  Can you really do this?

  I look back to the Lady, who slams her hammer-fist against the shield once more.

  In her vessel, Sadai is entrapped.

  My fist tightens.

  If it's just pain…

  Then I can take it.

  I unfurl the whip. Kiren lets free Meteorfang.

  A second shield-spanning crack emerges. Essence falls like snow.

  If it's just suffering…

  Then I can endure it.

  A third crack. Kiren starts hopping up and down, warming up. I don’t—even though I should. But anger tenses me.

  ‘Why do you hate yourself so much?’ She asked.

  I pound my head with a fist. Wake up, dumbass. Stop thinking about that. It doesn’t matter. She was just trying to mess with you—she has no interest in indulging your pathetic guilt.

  Fourth crack. The shield begins to spark out.

  I look at the Lady as she prepares one final blow.

  If it's just killing…

  Then I can—no I will slaughter every last one of them. This… thing’s vengeance will not eclipse mine. I don’t care what they did to her—they killed my mother. I’ll be damned if I let her stop me.

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  A sound comes like the shattering of one thousand pieces of glass.

  And the shield falls away.

  …

  Durest

  “Holy hells,” Gareth says. “I thought you were lying.”

  I shake my head. Then, I hand both him and Nimra the soul fire papers. Purple snowflakes gleam down the road like falling amethyst. Nimra shivers through her cloak. Gareth stiffens.

  I clap my hands together and draw out the last Servanta symbol in the air. Gareth hesitates. Nimra doesn’t. She draws the rounded incantation out and immediately, blue fire licks at the edges of her paper. She smashes it against her chest and heaves over.

  But then she stands, breathing slowly.

  I follow suit, along with Gareth.

  “So—wha—what now?” Nimra asks, teeth chattering.

  “He wrote for us to wait, right? But I just don’t understand what’s causing this,” Gareth replies, scratching his stubbled chin.

  Thanks to my curse, I can never tell anyone the whole truth. Courtesy of my tormentor. Still, I can finagle around with some details. Give them hints. Like, a danger will appear here at around this time.

  It's a wonder that Gareth and Nimra even went through with that much. But I think my declining sanity helped me on that front—if I acted calmly earlier, they probably wouldn’t have gone along with all of this. No, it's because of my weakness that we stand together now, flanked by the trees, with the sun and that damned purple snow scouring the road as it pleases.

  This is a mistake. They’ll just die too.

  But what choice do I have? Based on his message, I don’t think I have many runs left before…

  I shiver.

  Those scars don’t heal. I touch my flank on instinct—feel the long gash through the shirt.

  Faintly, I hear the whistle.

  Along with that comes memories of being sliced and diced like butcher shop meat. Tearing sounds echo in my ears. I flinch back. Gareth notices and wields his hatchets, spinning them about as he dips low and readies himself. Nimra tosses back her cloak and slings the recurve bow from her back, notching an arrow. It sets aflame—but that flame flickers against the cold wind.

  Screeching of a blade on rocks.

  Whistling of a children’s tune.

  And there he comes, back again, white armor shining like a beacon in the sun as all is brought to perfection in his void black gaze now settling upon me that visor and its horrors wrought within seeping and creeping into my world like a plague a fucking death march that bears upon me and wittles me down time and time again, for time is all and time infinite and finite and looping and tortuous seeping, weeping, beseeching, reaping, molding and slithering into my guts my skin my body my pores all sees that this is truly it the end the final destination of my being because this opponent will be the insurmountable one the task that I cannot and will not complete because I will fail I am destined to lose because I will always lose—

  An elbow bumps into me. I blink thrice, shake my head and shrug my shoulders back, allowing for the accumulated snow to fall behind me.

  “You alright?” Nimra asks.

  I give her a side glance. She looks so calm. Sure, there’s a slight shaking to some of her movements. But her eyes betray none of that. Fear does not hold her back.

  I look at Gareth. He’s not even shaking. In fact, a slight smirk tugs on his lips.

  Don’t take their example. They don’t even know what death is.

  But shouldn’t that make me stronger? After all, how much worse could it get?

  I scoff. Then start chuckling.

  The knight approaches. Its zweihander is clean, for now.

  Let’s keep it that way this time.

  With a deep breath, I withdraw the saxe knife that Nimra gave me earlier.

  And stare into the blackness of the knight’s visor.

  This time, this time for sure.

  No matter what bullshit you pull…

  I’m going to beat you.