The Wandering Inn - Book 9: Chapter 46

“I hear The Wandering Inn has a beach. We should go visit it.”

Such innocuous words caused the Minister of Defense to lock herself in an outhouse with explosive diarrhea for the next half hour. They produced a chill in the air, a terror in all who heard them.

Beach. Four days of beach, after the cooking competition, and word was spreading that Erin Solstice, that crazy [Innkeeper] of Liscor, was back at it again.

With a cooking competition on a beach, no less. As other parts of the world froze their unmentionables off, they watched as chefs competed. It was a broadcast you wouldn’t forget, not just because Lasica ended up sweeping the competition with a handsome coconut sweet-n-sour soup improvised with ingredients scavenged around Erin Solstice’s beach—but because she won via an Orangutan, who tossed his competition into the water as they ran about, dug up their cooking ingredients, sabotaged the competition—

Including Lord Tyrion Veltras, who teamed up with an Antinium to the horror and incredulity of the world. The sight of the younger man being shoved face-first into the ocean by Lady Bethal and Mrsha was replayed across Izril.

And that was only the first broadcast of the inn. A certain ‘video recording’ of Two Ladies, One Fish was being sold on what could only be described as an unofficial blackmarket that was not Wistram-sanctioned.

But back to the beach. A lot of people were interested in it or making their own versions of the beach. In reply to Erin’s move, Larracel had advertised her hot baths. And Queen Geilouna, the Bedtime Queen, had sand dredged from her beaches and brought indoors and heated up so she and her pets could sleep on her own indoor beach.

It was not, if you had extensive means, impossible to copy Erin Solstice. So dozens of copy-cats began showing off their own ‘beaches’, trying to outdo the original.

Anyone knew that copycats were usually less impressive than the genuine article, though. Plus, it was Erin Solstice.

The fascinating [Innkeeper] who had sent that strange message to her fellow Earthers. Her inn was objectively fascinating, and as someone pointed out loudly—

“She owns the [Garden of Sanctuary]. Multiple gardens. We should visit the inn. It’d be a quick visit. In, out, what do you say?”

She fluttered her eyes as the Minister of Defense screamed at her from inside the outhouse.

“Absolutely not!”

“I’m going to do it.”

That was why it was terrifying. The woman who said these things did not…say things. She said something like, ‘wouldn’t it be funny if there was a mountain there?’

And then one appeared the next day.

When word spread that she was considering a trip outside, which was the term for anywhere past their borders, someone went running to get her handlers.

There were four people in this entire world who could handle her. One was called Flora, a newcomer from the world of Earth. Two were fellow Deaths: Czautha’qshe, Free Djinni and the Death of Chains, and Serinpotva, the Harpy Queen, the Death of Wings.

The last person that Silvenia, the Death of Magic, Islandbreaker, the Curse of Elves, the former [Archmage] and greatest living spellcaster of this world, respected was the Demon King.

Four people could rein in her worst impulses. That was…not an easy thing to deal with for the rest of the Demon Kingdom. It wasn’t that Silvenia was unreasonable. But it was that no one else in this entire world could stop her when she put her mind to something.

Anyone else you could talk down, reason with, or physically just tackle. Even Named-rank adventurers didn’t go on rampages—all the time—because the consequences would be [Bounty Hunters], [Assassins], rival adventurers, or armies hunting them down.

But how did you stop someone who was considered the enemy of the world, who had the power to conjure armies of foes at the snap of her fingers?

The nightmare of the Blighted Kingdom truly was only held back from doing anything she wanted because it was Rhir. And she, like a piece in chess, could move as she pleased, but her absence or weakness might get herself or her compatriots killed.

Yet when she was antsy…

 

——

 

“Flora, Silvenia’s in a mood. Come on—now!”

General Bazeth found Flora at a run, and she stopped gossiping with the new Earthers and groaned. They all jumped and looked up as the horned Demon with reddish skin came skidding into their quarters.

He wore magical armor, had horns like a literal demon from her world’s stories, and carried a huge greatsword. When she’d first met Bazeth, Flora had nearly shot him. However—he was a surprisingly normal man.

Like many Demons, he was not the evil army of the Demon King, but someone with hopes, dreams—but eternally at war with the Blighted Kingdom. War made him militant, but he could still weep or laugh, and it was a contrast to what the Blighted Kingdom said about him.

Right now, concern was all over his face. He was panting, and he had run into the Earther-rooms so fast that he’d actually conjured a breeze that blew in behind him, scattering pieces of paper.

“No, our notes!”

A girl from Idaho, Willow, went jumping for the summary of Earth’s recent history from 2016 to 2024. Flora grabbed at it, and Bazeth apologized as he yanked her up.

“I am sorry, everyone. But Silvenia needs Flora. Now. Flora—”

“W-what’s she doing now?”

“She’s talking about leaving for the Outside again. Izril! She’s going to visit The Wandering Inn if no one talks her down. His Majesty needs you.”

“Why me?”

Flora complained even as she broke into a run. They went skidding out of the open-air complex filled with smooth stone, built like a mansion from her world. It was set across the rust-red dirt and in a canyon protected by two barrier-spells. Towers, like radio towers from home, kept the magical forcefields shining strong, emerald and blue light shielding buildings where Demons lived and played.

They were also soundproofed, and Flora glanced up—and saw the explosions in the sky, bursting lights. She halted a second, but she was used to seeing that.

“Are we under attack?”

“They’re launching poisonous Balelight Stones at us again. Nevermind that. Come on! [Speedwind Charge]!”

Bazeth took her hand and began running. A [General] using a Skill just to get her to run with him—they went down the street so fast that Flora’s boots made the flagstones ring.

The road was glass. Unlike the rest of the canyon—which was just dirt and red stone—this glass pathway had been laid by Djinni. The mansion had been built by Silvenia, and almost every house they passed was either magical or erected with the help of artifacts or Skills.

Very little had been built by hand. Demons had no time to waste on building. They used Silvenia’s artifacts or other tricks to instantly erect domiciles to live in. The result was amazing homes, some already complete with furniture.

Zelkyr’s Instant Golem Mansion was one artifact that someone had. It looked like a model of a fancy mansion which, when placed down, would expand and turn into an amazing retreat complete with servant-Golems. Then you could undo the magic, take it elsewhere.

This was necessary because nowhere in the Demon Lands, save the palace itself and a few landmarks like Monarch’s Pass, was constant. The very land shifted as need be; the Demon King could demand new farming land grow or a lake emerge. Like Othius and the Blighted Kingdom, the territory of Demons was completely under the authority of their nation.

Unlike the Blighted Kingdom, though, the Demons had no walls. And their settlements moved because every month, or every year at the latest, the attacks from the Blighted Kingdom would grow so fierce they would need to relocate to buy breathing room.

Just look up and see. Flora, as she ran, saw more starbursts of light against the barrier.

Balelight Stones. The Blighted Kingdom was showering the Demons with them. They had to know it wouldn’t break the barrier spells, especially with Silvenia rebuilding them, but they were trying to cover the ground with them.

“What’s…Balelight…again?”

Flora panted as she jogged, rattling slightly with her shooting vest and a lot of gear that she normally didn’t carry. She had ammunition secured at her belt—in speedloaders ready to go into the revolver at her side—and it wasn’t just for show.

Even here, they might have to fight for their lives at the drop of a hat. Even with Silvenia around—the Blighted Kingdom was only half the threat.

The other half was having an Adult Creler unbury itself and try to eat you—something else Flora had experienced. Three times, she’d found herself shooting monsters emerging from below when the Blight of Rhir—the true horror of this continent held back by the Antinium—sent forth horrors.

One time, it had been this serpentine ‘wood’ that cloned itself again and again. Flora had shot over a hundred of them and run out of ammunition before Silvenia had finally managed to collect them all and hurl whatever it was at the 5th Wall.

Flora had no idea how you grew up like this. But the Demons thought that Flora and the Earthers, with a few exceptions, were the gloomy ones.

They were cheerful in this continued war, because of the Deaths, who were living legends to them, because of the solidarity between species. Many were happy-go-lucky, living in the moment.

Others, like Bazeth, were warriors dedicated to one cause: holding off or even one day beating the Blighted Kingdom.

Flora, as an Earther, was a strange, partly unwilling visitor to this eternal conflict, but she had given her support to the Demons. She had heard there were Earthers, people from home, on the Blighted Kingdom’s side.

She wondered what they knew of this conflict. Flora was a girl from Texas, and the Deaths of Rhir and Demon King were, uh—significant to her culturally. But she couldn’t see this as anything but an insane war of politics turned into a stalemate that the Blighted Kingdom was perpetuating to keep its authority in Rhir.

Then again—the Demons defended themselves by killing thousands at times. They were long past reconciliation. Long past words.

King Othius IV on one side. Paranfer, guarded by the Five Walls of Rhir, each one capable of hellish destruction.

The Demon King and his Deaths on the other side, each one of the most powerful beings in the world—but only three against a world’s resources and might.

Silvenia, Czautha, Serinpotva. Flora knew them all; she had seen them in hibernation, wounded beyond belief after the last great war with the Blighted Kingdom a century and a half back. But when she had touched Silvenia’s ‘corpse’ and seen how much poison ran through her veins, the half-Elf had stared at her, even in her coma. Flora had…saved her life.

With an epinephrine injector.

It sounded stupid, and Flora had said outright that there was no way a simple anti-allergen pen, even an expensive one for her dad, could save the Death of Magic. Silvenia had been dying of countless poisons.

However—she had handed it to Silvenia, and the Death of Magic had slowly cloned it, then told the Demon King’s [Healers] to distill it. It had taken two weeks for Silvenia to manufacture what she wanted.

She had cloned the Epipen, made two, and kept the original for Flora. The medication meant for her father in case he got stung at work—he was deathly allergic to bees, and it was a matter of life and death, so she had picked this up for him—was small.

But potent. So Silvenia had cloned it six more times and had the [Healers] create a vial of the valuable liquid after breaking the pen apart and collecting it all. Then she’d cloned that vial three times, each time substituting raw mana for the valuable epinephrine.

Skills had boosted the medication’s already potent abilities until it became something like a panacea. It had still taken two months for Silvenia’s toxic body to begin clearing the poison out, but the [Healers] had described it like a miracle.

Silvenia could have recovered in another century; this medication from Earth had sped the process a millionfold. While she was wounded, all her power was spent keeping herself, Czautha, and Serinpotva alive. But the more she recovered, the more mana she could divert to speeding her own healing—and that of her comrades. Flora had tipped the scales enough to bring back the Deaths of Demons.

The Blighted Kingdom should have given her a medal. If they’d known what had happened exactly, Flora was sure they would have sent it attached to a Deathslayer Arrow.

 

——

 

That was the power of Demons. That was the scale of the Demon King’s forces. You wanted bullets? Silvenia could clone bullets.

She claimed the most ‘expensive’ thing to clone, magic-wise, was the epinephrine and laptops, because the batteries required so much energy. The pen, she suspected, was because the ingredients were hard to get naturally. Even if not the epinephrine itself, the other components or perhaps, even more ironically, just the plastic were the real mana cost.

Even so, it was a lot easier than duplicating artifacts, and Silvenia was the greatest [Mage] in this world.

Similarly—the woman who swooped down towards the running Bazeth and Flora could have lifted an airplane of Earth and flown it around without a jet engine powering it.

Czautha, the Death of Chains, was not as powerful a spellcaster as Silvenia—but she was literal magic. She was nigh-invincible, could turn herself into a living storm, and survive things that no mortal could.

Djinni. The enslaved race of Chandrar. She passed through the barrier overhead.

“I heard Silvenia’s thinking of leaving. His Majesty summoned me. Flora.”

She nodded at the girl she credited with helping save her, which was why Flora, of all the Earthers and Demons, had sway over Silvenia. Bazeth glanced at Czautha then up at the exploding lights across the barrier.

“The Balelight Stones…”

“I neutralized the effects. I understand your concern, [General], but we have dealt with them before.”

He ducked his head, embarrassed, but Czautha just smiled. Flora panted.

“What are—eep!”

Czautha just picked her up and carried her. She looked like a half-real woman, half purple skin, half smog, carrying the great blade and shield on her back, and she expanded as she picked up Bazeth and sped up.

The Death of Chains flew like a storm across the settlement, calling out for the Demons not to be alarmed, it was ‘just Silvenia’, as they headed towards her abode. They passed out of a barrier, and Flora flinched—but Czautha’s body engulfed her in protective magic. They were heading to Silvenia’s domain, near the palace, where the most protections lay.

And most Earthers. There were only about forty—the reports were that the Blighted Kingdom had over a thousand, and it seemed their summoning, or whatever they’d done, had concentrated the majority there. The ones who had been found—alive—in Demon lands had just been scattered by the spell.

Most were shellshocked, terrified from what they’d seen before they had been rescued, or processing what had happened. Flora was trying to understand what was happening on Earth.

They had noticed Earthers were missing. Riots, wars, plague—it sounded like the end of her world because no one could tell where the children were going. It might be safer here than parts of Earth right now.

“What is the Blighted Kingdom throwing at us, Czautha? Balelight Stones? I don’t know that.”

Czautha looked grimly upwards as more faintly glowing stones fell. They shone a pleasing yellow, and they looked like, well, [Light] stones. But Flora’s [Dangersense] kept screaming as they landed in the soil that wasn’t protected by barrier spells.

“Poisonous stones. They won’t kill you today or tomorrow—but if you stand near a large one, you’ll fall sick and die quickly. So many on the ground? Countless Demons have died, skin melting, their very bones—rotting?”

“Wait. Is that—uranium? Is that radiation? We can’t be here! Get us away! Get us—”

Flora began writhing in horror as she realized what Czautha described. The Demon gently held onto Flora.

“Calm yourself, Flora. My body protects you, and Silvenia can cure it. It’s the scouts and anyone outside—and the land—which suffer. The Blighted Kingdom can throw worse at us.”

“We should hurl Vorepillars back. Or reply in kind.”

Bazeth muttered darkly, eying the now-terrible glowing stones littering the ground. Czautha just shook her head.

“We strike decisively, General. The Burnished Court would love if we tried to match them insult for insult. They have the resources. We do not.”

“Of course, Death of Chains.”

He was abashed, and she smiled at him.

“Focus on Silvenia, Bazeth. I think she’s gone slightly insane from having to duplicate all the necessities day in, day out.”

They were headed to the palace, and sure enough, Flora did see signs of Silvenia’s magic everywhere. Not just in the spelled barriers or amenities like cold air runes or food, which came from her ability to create self-sustaining gardens.

Silvenia had been making scrying orbs again. They hacked into Wistram News Network without being traceable. A Demon was waiting for the rain of Balelight Stones to stop. He had a cart full of two hundred scrying orbs and was watching the news from them.

Unlimited production. Nigh-unlimited potential.

Limited patience. Limited to one woman. And she was crazy.

 

——

 

“I’m going.”

“You can’t. Please! Someone stop her!”

The Minister of Defense was screaming from inside the outhouse at a floating woman with half a face. The other half was magical flesh, and if her robes shifted, you could see her internal organs, half in place, regrowing, as magic kept her from expiring on the spot.

Silvenia had taken more wounds that refused to heal than Flora could count. One eye was just gleaming, condensed mana. She was millenia old, radiated power like an aura, and silver-haired. Right now, she was floating upside-down around the outhouse, taunting the Minister of Defense.

About three dozen Demons were trying to stop Silvenia, pleading with her or trying to literally lasso her with anti-magic ropes. There were also half a dozen Earthers who were not helping.

“Silvenia! Can I go to the inn?”

“Why not? Hop on, Frederic. Though you can’t stay. The Blighted Kingdom will just kill you or torture you if they realize you’re from here. But why not? Anyone else want to go? Hands—”

Silvenia counted as seven Earthers threw up their hands, including one hopping up and down.

“Silvenia, Lady Silvenia, take me please, please?”

Oh no. Flora groaned as Czautha landed, and Bazeth strode over. Some of the new Earthers were—well, weird.

To her. She had emerged in Rhir to find the Deaths of Magic in stasis, to nearly be killed by suspicious Demons thinking she was a killer from Rhir until Bazeth took her to the Demon King and he heard her out.

She had been afraid, suspicious, and even fought at 5th Wall. The new Earthers had come as a community, more or less, and with Silvenia and the Deaths already active, rebuilding the Demon’s defenses.

Flora didn’t want to say it was ‘easier’—but it was definitely easier. Silvenia, again. And Serinpotva.

The Death of Wings landed like an explosion of feathers and panted, slightly, as Czautha flew over to her.

“Silvenia. Are you causing trouble?”

Serinpotva, the Last Harpy Empress, was as huge as a house, physically bigger than both other Deaths unless Czautha grew, and mighty. She was a ruler, and unlike Czautha, she was a mighty warrior, but not a dedicated shapechanger. Nor was she a spellcaster like Silvenia, though she could cast magic.

She was a [Leader], an [Empress], and her harpies cut through the air like fighter jets when she was awake, some fearlessly streaking through the falling Balelight, protected and empowered by her Skills.

“Oh, Serinpotva and Czautha and Flora? Minister, you’re annoying. I can’t do anything fun without being ‘managed’. Well, manage this. Besides, I was going to invite you all to come with me.”

Silvenia’s eyes were, sometimes, a bright yellow-green, like the swirling depths of some of the stars in the night sky. Other times, Flora swore they shifted depending on her whim. She covered her injuries with an illusion so she looked merely scarred, then twisted her fingers around.

“Aaaah! Stop! Please!”

The outhouse left the ground—then began to rotate. Much to everyone’s horror. The Minister of Defense tried to leave, but the door was sealed.

“Silvenia. Enough. She is doing her job. Leave her be.”

Serinpotva, unlike Silvenia, was serious and snapped. The magic went dead, and a smelling, covered Minister rolled out of the outhouse as Serinpotva canceled Silvenia’s magic.

“Ew. [Cleanse].”

Silvenia pointed as the Minister lay there, shuddering. The Demon gagged as she was cleaned—then stood up and hid behind Bazeth and Flora as Czautha lifted her hands.

“Peace. Silvenia, you’ve gone mad from duplicating mana stones. What’s this about a beach?”

“Hello, Flora! Hello, dear Serinpotva. Czautha, I’m not mad. Just bored. I was thinking about going on a vacation. It’s cold and wintery, and I need to sit on a beach to keep warm.”

Silvenia shivered ostentatiously as some of the Earthers cheered, and the Demons and other two Deaths…stared around pointedly.

It was cold, yes, but the Blighted Lands of Rhir was largely snowless at the moment. Even Winter Sprites didn’t like it here, and any natural snow was often…black. The rivers were not to be drunk from, at least on the Demons’ side, without purification magic.

Silvenia snapped her fingers behind her back, and snow began falling from the sky.

“See? Snow.”

Flora kept her face as straight as possible. Don’t humor her. Don’t—

“Snow, snow! Can you do a blizzard, Lady Silvenia?”

One of the Earthers shouted in jubilation at the pristine, white snow. Silvenia chuckled louder.

“Why not? Czautha could do it better—she actually knows how the air currents and condensation works. I just do this—”

Another snap and more snow fell, a snowdrift ploughing down to the delight of children—and Earthers.

“Please stop.”

Serinpotva was resigned, as an old comrade of Silvenia would be. The Death of Magic could be—erratic. Easily distracted, even whimsically silly if not at war.

She had multiple faces. The serious Death of Magic that Flora had first met, struggling to hold onto life. The woman who had set ruin to 5th Wall, the terrifying Demon that the world knew her as.

And this, the Silvenia who appeared amongst Demons.

At least, in part. It wasn’t like there were multiple personalities in her, just facets she showed off. Flora tried to be reasonable as Bazeth and the Minister of Defense nudged her forwards. The woman with Corusdeer horns hid behind Flora like a shield as the [Gunslinger] spoke.

“Silvenia, what if we did something else? You could…review the Earth history everyone’s working on. 2024 is when things got weird.”

“Oh, Flora. Thank you for trying. But why think of Earth when…we could see it? A little bird tells me there’s something fascinating at the Meeting of Tribes, Czautha’qshe. How would you like to see Earth in person? Beyond even my ability to guess?”

The Djinni’s magical mist-body grew brighter with interest. She could shapechange, but preferred the half-cloud woman. Other Djinni chose different forms, but each tended to have a handful that they regarded as their identities. Her body grew greener, and she sprouted two long, tufted Centaur ears.

“…What’s this now?”

“Czautha.”

Serinpotva, the most visibly old, turned and glowered. She was half-bird, half-woman, with great wings and a Human face. She looked annoyed that her partner was getting distracted. Czautha turned red with embarrassment.

“Oh, come now, Serinpotva. I hear the [Innkeeper] that contacted me also has the [Garden of Sanctuary]. Your ancestor’s legacy. Wouldn’t you like to see it? Mayhaps you could claim it back.”

The Death of Magic was cunning, and Serinpotva’s wings opened and closed.

“—It did not come to me. I am no thief, and much as I would like to see Sheta’s domain, it is dangerous beyond rationality.”

“I’ve gathered enough mana. Come on, there’s great reason to it. Are you a Harpy or a cowardly Garuda? Do you want to hide behind our barriers like an Oldblood Drake?”

“Silvenia—”

The Harpy Empress was getting annoyed. Flora raised her voice.

“Silvenia, isn’t it irresponsible to go off like that? The Demons rely on you. If you got hurt—what would we do about the Balelight Stones? What about the Antinium and the war plans?”

The Demon leadership nodded as Silvenia tried not to scowl at Flora. She was wavering, and Flora thought she could get the Death of Magic refocused; she only got urges like this every week or two. But Flora had forgotten—she was no longer alone.

And today really wasn’t about Flora.

 

——

 

“Silvenia! Silvenia! Thank you for the snow!”

Someone was dancing about as Flora tried to be the voice of reason. And that was another Earther, but with cat ears.

A cat…person?

Well, not a Beastkin, but they had cat ears. One of the Earthers, Frederic, had bright blue hair, his formerly crooked teeth were straight, and he looked like the protagonist from one of the cartoons he liked.

A video game character. It wasn’t just an illusion. A third Earther had begged Silvenia for three inches of height and gotten two—because it hurt like hell to grow, even with magic.

She was the purveyor of miracles. Even Demons didn’t usually ask her for bodily transformation magic because her time and might was limited, but for the Earthers, Silvenia had few limits.

She could—and had—transformed them into actual animals with polymorph spells. She had given some magic wands and indulged their whims. Flora herself could have asked for almost anything and gotten it.

…She may have asked for a pair of boots that let her fly for up to sixteen minutes each day. Silvenia had been about to make proper Boots of Flying, but she’d been ordered by the Demon King not to spend a week on the project.

Now, Flora was a responsible young woman invested in the war. Not all the Earthers were ready to do battle or fight or had that personality. Not yet.

But they had value, even if some Demons had seen them as feckless nuisances at first. Indeed, one of the most valuable had earned a class that sounded stupid when you heard it.

[Pillowfriend]. That was the Earther with cat ears, who was running around after Silvenia like, well, a lost cat, which he sometimes was. And he was valuable because he could get Silvenia to fall asleep. The Death of Magic would sometimes just forget or drink wakeful tonics or cast spells until she exhausted herself.

However…he was, right now, getting in Flora’s way as she tried to reason with Silvenia because he tended to encourage Silvenia to do more. And the other Deaths, who seemed bemused by the interest of Earthers. Demons held them with respect and a bit of fear at times, like mythological heroes, so they all seemed pleased by the attention.

Even Serinpotva. The little figure approached her as Silvenia argued with the Minister of Defense and Flora.

“Great Serinpotva, may I ask a question of you?”

“Yes? Rinu?”

The Harpy bent her huge head, and the cat-boy fidgeted.

“Can I…I know you’re busy, Your Majesty, and that you’re a legend and hero, and I’m just a dumb kid from another world. I’m sorry if I bother you—but I really want to know—can I hug your wing, please?

The Harpy Empress gave Rinu a long, confused stare, and several Harpies around cawed angrily.

“You dare? Her Majesty is—?”

“Quiet. Yes, you may.”

Serinpotva simply held out a huge wing. She let the Earther pet it gently, then embrace it. And she smiled.

“It’s so soft. And…oily?”

“Oil keeps my feathers from drying and the water from soaking them. You all may feel it, and you others.”

She spoke to the Earthers and Demons, who clustered around. They were wary of her, but it seemed that Serinpotva actually enjoyed the attention. The one called Rinu was hugging onto her wing with his entire body, dwarfed by her, when Czautha harrumphed.

She picked him off and put him to the side, where he beamed. Protectively, the Djinni shooed everyone else away.

“You are injured, Serinpotva.”

“My wings are fine, Czautha. We are more like ideas, terrible avatars of destruction to Demons. It is good for us to be people. Or are we to be worshiped like the Blighted King’s minions?”

That drew the Djinni up, and she floated back, scowling as she stared at the ground.

“…Those wings are mine to hug. They can hug your talons.”

The Harpy rolled her eyes and nudged her consort as a few Djinni flying around with tools laughed as they overheard. They worked or did deliveries fearless of the magical death-rain. One raised a huge, obsidian hand.

“Czautha’qshe, can you share the Death of Wings with us? I, too, would like to touch Her Majesty’s claws if nothing else.”

A beaming Djinni, who seemed unsure how to smile or jest properly, looked worried for a second that Czautha would take offense, but she just turned to the giant obsidian man.

“Keep practicing flying, Azam. I won’t share everything I own with you.”

She protectively hovered in front of Serinpotva, and the little Earther looked worried he’d upset the Death of Chains. But Serinpotva just pecked Czautha sharply and quickly on the arm.

“Ow.”

“[Royal Griffin Peck]. Be nicer. I was told it was this child’s birthday.”

“Oh…”

Czautha hesitated and looked down. Flora herself turned incredulously. It was hard to match up dates, but it had apparently been sixteen days to his birthday when he was taken, and celebrations were celebrations regardless of interdimensional travel.

Still. How did Serinpotva know that?

The Death of Wings paid attention to dates, especially birthdays, like she did to maps, names, distance, and time. She was a historian and had more maps and books and stories in her nested domain than anyone else in the Demon Kingdom.

In fact, she was more interested in Flora’s account of Earth and recent history than anyone else, and she had even asked some of the Earthers to put on a student-demonstration, modeling the United Nations or politics so she could understand the dynamics of another world.

And learn and implement. She had already insisted that Silvenia use some of her magic to try and create mechanized industry, hence the Death of Magic’s boredom. Harpies were, at this very moment, pecking at nuts and bolts as Demons with more useful digits screwed together a simple conveyor belt.

“If it’s his birthday…I suppose it’s fine. Djinni don’t celebrate birthdays, though. Every century—stop pecking me, Serinpotva. I understand. And at least we have your conveyor belts. They smell of oil and metal, though. Are you sure this is more important than Silvenia making mana stones?”

Mana stones fed Djinni, who needed lots of magic even if they generated it. Excess mana was one of the things that enabled them to reproduce or ‘grow’, so the two had been vying for Silvenia’s abilities.

Yet they were not parasites, and Serinpotva replied calmly.

“It may be worthless here, unless we set up a dimensional domain, but the ability to create at scale is the foundation of great empire. If we can trivialize some of Silvenia’s work…I have at least secured enough food for this winter.”

Her Harpies had been diving over the sea and harvesting fish off the safest coast of Rhir—the opposite end of the Blighted Kingdom. Rhir was close to The Last Tide, the edge of the world, but also to the Empire of Drath and the north of Baleros.

Neither area was as hostile to the Demons, and if they had any allies…well, neither Dullahans nor Drowned Folk nor Drath would ever declare friendship with Demons for fear of reprisal. But there could be at least neutrality and even trade, if secretly.

Rinu was bouncing up and down with another question since that was, apparently, his birthday gift.

“Lady Czautha’qshe?”

“Just Czautha. I am no [Lady], nor do I like the title. What is it, Rinu? Ask your question. It’s a gift since I did not know it was your birthday.”

“Can I ask…you’re a legend fighting for those weaker for you, for those who are chained and oppressed. Your consort is an Empress of Harpies, and your friend is an all-powerful Archmage. But you’re friends! Do you—this is my question—do you have a favorite way to spend time together? Or a favorite thing you’ve done together? A favorite memory?”

Of all the questions to ask…Czautha’s brows rose, and she and Serinpotva looked amused.

“See? Earthers have a perspective Demons have lost. Go on. Though if you mention my wings, I will peck you.”

The Djinni sat cross-legged in the air as she thought a second.

“Hm. Memories are difficult, Rinu, friends. Many are painful. I could say—the moment I broke my chains and came here, looking for succor and found friendship. Or perhaps great triumphs like the death of my foes. But that would be a warrior’s answer—a lie.”

She closed an eye and heaved a deep sigh as her body changed to water, becoming like a breaking wave, a Water Golem, tears of water across her face and eyes.

“In truth, my fondest memories are that of the other Deaths, when we sat and spoke of dreams. Of hopes. Yet the other Deaths before me have…died. So these memories are bitter. But oh so precious.”

Rinu almost burst into tears, and Czautha cracked one eye open.

“Argh. I suppose I have forgotten how to be kind. Don’t cry.”

“There. You see? You should spend more time with the Harpy chicks. It grounds you. We must not be tyrants. Thank you for the question, little one.”

Serinpotva patted Rinu on the head with one wing, then enfolded Czautha with another. Both Deaths paused, then, and turned sideways.

Silvenia, the Death of Magic, was older than both, and if you wanted to speak of grounding, of connections with her mortality—she beckoned with a smile.

“Are you asking them your questions? Where’s mine? Perhaps I should give you more than one, my napping pillow. Czautha, Serinpotva. How about it? A grand journey.”

He danced around excitedly, trying to think of one as she waved at her Deaths. Just one Earther among many, and it was the girl with the gun who had roused the Giants. But for today—he asked the questions that even the other Demons and Deaths wanted to know. Czautha heaved a huge sigh.

“I could indulge the idea. His Majesty will be wroth. Serinpotva?”

The Harpy Queen was normally the most defensive of the lot, but she fanned her wings idly.

“Daring is needed in this new age. Caution would have us dead. I see part of Silvenia’s reason. Give me three hours to make ready.”

With that, she took off, and Silvenia clapped her hands in delight. Then she flew off as Flora groaned, and the Minister of Defense tried to reason with Czautha. But it was true…the Death of Chains held out one hand.

“Silvenia seems mad or spontaneous at times, but she is cleverest of us all, if not wisest. We have done this before, Minister, General, Flora. And we must not stay here. Look—”

The rain of Balelight continued. Czautha could fly amidst it, change her nature so the deadly light empowered her, or change into a variation of it herself. But the Demons? This land? She spoke somberly, thinking of her brothers and sisters in Chandrar and the rest of the world, waiting for her. The magnitude of their foe—and they had built more walls, not less, over time.

“We cannot continue on the defensive. We must have allies. The New Lands and more…I could almost wish for this calamity on Winter’s Solstice to distract the foe from us. I will tell His Majesty. But we must go.”

The Demons did not argue overlong after that. If any Death died, let alone all three, they might be finished. But such was Rhir, a razor’s edge. They had to trust the Deaths.

Well, Bazeth and Flora let it go. But the Minister of Defense went to harangue Silvenia, and she pointed a finger at the Minister.

“[Polymorph: Dog]. [Polymorph: Cat].”

She turned her into a furious, huge Tibetan mastiff—and hit Rinu with a spell that turned him into a cat, much to his delight as he bounded around. Silvenia looked around.

“Anyone else want a spell? Anyone else have a comment? Because I could happily hit you with all kinds of transformation spells. Polymorphing is the nice one. No? That’s what I thought. I’m going to my tower. Come on, cat.”

The cat raced off as the dog howled and was restrained from being further insulted by several Demons. And now, the question.

The question, the burning question in the cat’s mind, as Silvenia flew back to her tower, was one the rest of the world might have. Fellow ‘Archmages’, curious historians. If you could ask Silvenia anything at all…

What would it be?

 

——

 

When she returned to her tower, Silvenia floated over to a hammock she’d strung up between two pillars. Then she released the [Flight] spell, lay back as a cat, an actual black cat with two white tufts on its ears, meowed.

“Aha. Outside. I’d bring you and Flora, but I fear you’d never survive the journey. Good work, Rinu. Three hours? That’s perfect for…”

She began to yawn almost immediately.

“…questions. [Greater Translation]. Just give me one second to nap. Okay? My precious pillow—”

The cat meowed gently, and Silvenia put her head back.

Her eyes fluttered as magic sprung up around her in this tower next to the Demon King’s palace. Protective wards that were set to go off—and the Death of Magic began to sleep, and snore, within seconds of lying down.

As ever, the cat lay there for a long while, petrified, trying not to disturb her sleep, but Silvenia, when she did sleep, slept like a log until someone called her name. So the cat eventually stared around the tower where Silvenia worked from.

It looked crazed, half-exposed to the elements, magical rooms hovering without proper stairs, dimensional magic stapled together.

You’d be wrong to think it was a representation of Silvenia’s mind. To hear her tell it, they were her different abodes and workshops she’d reclaimed by literally ripping them from their foundations when she rebelled against the Blighted Kingdom and left Wistram. Her tower was literally…a tower she’d yanked out of Wistram.

Death of Magic. Death of Magic. Purveyor of more war crimes than there were in most books about conduct in war. Seeding the land with Creler eggs was what Silvenia did for fun. So it was amazing…or perhaps predictable?…that she had her admirers.

Silvenia kept sleeping, and after an hour, the cat had to pee. He left the hammock and padded around, falling down stairs because Rinu had no real idea how to control a cat’s body like a cat. He did not land on his feet, but it didn’t really hurt.

The power to turn someone into a cat. The power to do so much…in this modern day and age? She didn’t fit with the world, but Silvenia claimed she was just like a Dragon, Giant, or even Great General Dioname—but better.

She was a relic of another era, and perhaps…one yet to come. Accordingly, her tower showcased an oddly modern mix of amenities.

Oh, a lot of old magic like the tower itself being of stone, or suits of armor taken from foes hanging up, plundered tapestries, and a picture of all the Blighted Kings and Queens she’d seen killed.

But also…mage-pictures. Images plucked from Silvenia’s memory, framed on the walls, beautiful pictures from lives of past friends. The cat stared up at laughing [Mages] in school, her first glimpse of Nerrhavia’s Fallen, gleaming in the sands, an angry Kraken—

“Krakens are as deadly as Dragons, you know. More, perhaps, given their size, but Dragons are nimbler, able to concentrate their force. You asked me how many ancient immortals are left in this world? Krakens, certainly, and I wouldn’t be surprised if the Wyrms weren’t all dead. I met two before their deaths. One was named Calthusveri, and he tried to steal my magic. They’re dangerous, cunning, and even we Demons might hesitate to ally with one.”

The cat jumped and nearly went tumbling off the balcony where it was staring at the pictures, and Silvenia caught him. She was yawning; she must have slept an hour, but waved off the urgent meows.

“Don’t be silly. I got an hour’s nap, and I always use [Time Slow] to sleep. You gave me rest…and you have questions. Now, where shall we have them? Aha—aha.”

She flew higher, up to the top of her tower, and into a room that Erin Solstice would have recognized. It had the same blank look as the Garden of Sanctuary that had held the beach, and sure enough, Silvenia began conjuring sand and water and sunlight.

“She must have had an elementalist’s workroom. A powerful one if it can create waves and sun and shine. I wonder if she found anything in it? I wonder if I knew the Archmage who owned it, or just—[Mage]. There we are. Sand. Beach. Drink?”

She snapped her hand, and both she and Rinu stared at a cup of water. Silvenia had created the crystal cup and water, and she sipped from it.

“Mm.”

She paused. The cat stared at her. Silvenia took a longer gulp.

“R-refreshing. Need some?”

She poured him a bowl. Then coughed. Then Silvenia scowled.

“[Teleport].”

She vanished in a pop and reappeared four minutes later with drinks.

“Magic cannot create good food except the hard way. The same with friends and art, really. Here.”

She had looted an Earther-creation, a milkshake, and sipped it as the cat had some too. It meowed after a second, and Silvenia nodded.

[Greater Translation]. Another spell from bygone eras, both in magnitude and…need.

“What’s that? ‘Why do I know [Greater Translation] if everyone speaks common?’ Silly cat. What about Drath? What about the languages of magic? Or Gnollish script? Or…the fact that there are and have been other nations with distinct languages? Goblins are one, but there are—groups that evolve without contact with the majority of races. And those had their own language.”

The cat tilted its head, and Silvenia yawned again as she stretched out, tanning her ruined flesh in the sun.

“…Yes. I’m young, you know. Young by the standards of my day. I still feel like a girl, just with more power and experience. When I was a little half-Elf, the [Archmages]—real [Archmages]—humored me with tales of the past. And some said that the other lands, other dimensions, had strange folk.”

“Meow?”

“Oh, you’ll see them if I ever use [Greater Teleport]. I have to pass through places that are…compressed in another way. One step there is a thousand here. That’s how the spell works, not that anyone knows it. Don’t think to find any peoples there, though. Most of the lands we now use to transit through are dead. War broke them, and those that remain are being found only now.”

She rolled her eyes, amused.

“Another reason why I wanted to meet the [Innkeeper]. I doubt I shall.”

“Meow…nya?”

“No, the beach was just the excuse to annoy the Minister of Defense. There’s little profit to going to that inn. It’s too dangerous and puts her in danger. I would like to, if only to see these ‘Free Antinium’…they did not speak the common tongue until I translated. Though Mirrex, that [Bard], was the first to master our language. Annoyingly fast.”

This was the real stuff, the secrets in the veins of time that Silvenia had. She was, right now, in a good mood, and she eyed the cat.

“Since I’m in such a good mood…I’ll let you have three questions instead of one. Three real questions. Are you ready?”

He had been up all night thinking of one, and the cat nervously meowed back. Silvenia listened and laughed.

 

Question 1. Dear Silvenia, if I may ask you, what’s your class and level? So many people boast about it, and I’m a [Pillowfriend], but you? 

 

She began to smile and the cat ran around, meowing with excitement. English was not his first language, but they learned so quickly—it wasn’t translating cat that was hard, just the deluge of words. In meow-form.

 

I know you don’t like bragging when someone is praising you, but you’re the legend who fought Archmages, Crelers, Dragons—did you fight Dragons? There is no one who loves or knows more magic than you, and I bet…you’re over Level 80. You have to be! 

 

The cat rolled around, then sprang up and sat there, staring at Silvenia with shining eyes.

 

Tell me I’m right, Silvenia? I want to tell everyone about you!

 

She ended up laughing for a good minute as she lay on her fake beach, then finally sat back up, still chuckling.

“What a huge question! There are [Strategists] in Othius’ courts who would tear out both eyes for an honest answer, and you want to know? My class and level?”

He began to apologize, and she shushed him.

“I don’t mind. I am over Level 80. But not over Level 90.”

What? Whaaaaat?

The cat ran around, screaming, and Silvenia laughed so hard she nearly rolled into her conjured surf. She beckoned the cat over.

“Oh, yes. It makes sense, doesn’t it? I am not Level 90 plus, or I would have sunk the Blighted Kingdom myself. But I am not…here is a good perspective for you. Serinpotva is one grade below me, but she is an [Empress], and our powers are not the same. She, I, and Czautha are the lot who can fight Dragons. I have fought them, but never warred, because I too was born in an era when they were waning.”

She sighed longingly.

“No, I had them as teachers, mainly, and I respected them greatly. Yet consider: the greatest of mortal men, like Flos Reimarch, are probably over Level 60. The ‘nightmares’ of Chandrar besides me are the likes of Az’kerash, Belavierr—and I would put them at Level 70. Perhaps the Archmage of Death has gained beyond that, but I doubt it.”

“Neow?”

Silvenia waved a hand.

“He was a lich. They said he died, but a ‘mysterious’ Goblin Lord practicing Necromancy killed Zel Shivertail? I always assume a [Necromancer]’s alive. That’s sort of their specialty. That and huge armies. Dioname, that odd woman, was likely close to that level, or again, one rung below. She looked like she was taught by an immortal…but she was young. So is Az’kerash. They’re literal prodigies.”

“Heah?”

The cat did the best job of ‘huh’ it could with its mouth. Silvenia tapped it on the nose.

“Yes, two hundred years or a few hundred is a prodigy! If you gain immortality, even half of it, your levelling slows. They are both new to their power. Which is why Dioname could be brought down. That ‘Eldavin’ is another matter entirely. But no more secrets! Ask me another question.”

She rolled over, eyes bright, and the cat could have asked about the Creler Wars. Or the Antinium. Or Silvenia’s opinions about the existence of Vampires, or if she remembered the Circle of Thorns or the Eyes of Baleros.

“Meow nyn. Meow Snyamia, meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow? meow, meow! Haeck meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow, meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow.

Meow meow meow meow meow meow, meow meow meow meow meow meow, nyime meow meow meow meow meow meow, meow meow meow meow meow meow, meow meow Snyamia, meow meow meow meow meow meow. Meow meow meow meow, meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow, meow nyrar meow meow meow meow, meow hssk meow. Meow meow nyime meow meow Snyamia! Nyam meow meow meow!

Meow meow’t meow meow meow meow meow meow meow, meow Snyamia meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow? Meow meow meow, meow meow meow meow meow, meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow. Meow meow meow? Meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow, meow meow meow, meow meow shmnkt meow meow meow! Meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow?

Meow meow meow meow meow, meow meow meow, meow meow meow meow meow meow meow, meow meow, meow meow, meow meow, meow meow meow meow meow meow, meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow. Meow Snyamia meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow!”

Even Silvenia put her hands over her ears for a second.

“…Maybe I should have changed you back.”

 

Question 2. Silvenia, can I please ask you not to kill yourself in battle by being reckless or whatever? Please, please! You’re immortal and have those time spells that basically make you be any age that you want, but I am scared that people can kill you.

I know that you love war, I know that you love battles, I’m not asking you to stop fighting, that would be dumb and arrogant, but please Silvenia, be careful even a tiny bit. I love you, I love you so so so much, I don’t want you to die, please don’t die. Please I’m begging you Silvenia! You’re my greatest hero! 

Also—and I don’t know if this is okay to ask, but Silvenia how do you keep your resolve so high up? I often fail, I often have my faults, and I fail at things that are so much easier and so much simpler than stuff that you do. But you? I know that you sometimes have some setbacks, and it sucks, because it shouldn’t be like that! Like how can the Blighted King dare to do anything against you? 

But the point is that, no matter what, you always keep on trying and trying, another angle, another attack, another spell, another way to save your people, another way to get revenge on those Blighted Idiots. Silvenia I wish I knew how to have as much resolve as you do!

 

But she scooped up the cat as she thought about it. The Death of Magic looked a bit confused as she held it up. Gently.

“You know, I don’t truly know why you like me so much. The Earthers do, because I am like unto a Djinni for them, but you know what my people say of me. Silvenia, a horror of battle. You have seen me rain death on the Blighted Kingdom. Why like me?”

What do you mean? You’re amazing! The cat wriggled indignantly, but Silvenia hushed it.

“[Silence]. Now listen. Get killed in battle…I can’t promise that, so I shan’t answer it. But why do I fight? What motivates me in this endless war? I could tell you that I simply love battle. I love the rush of it. I love both the struggle and to slay my enemies and to see the looks on their faces as I appear. But that would also be a bit of a lie. Half of one.”

Silvenia flicked her hand, acknowledging the truth.

“Half of me is just a monster born in blood. But the other half…why do we Deaths fight for Demons?”

Rinu tilted his head, and Silvenia answered for him.

“It’s love and fire. It’s about making something for the next generation, little Rinu. Don’t you see? I broke to pieces in Rhir. I died.”

No, nooo! She ignored its shaking head, scratched the cat behind the ears, and sat on the beach as she spoke.

“There’s all kinds of death, silly child. Believe me when I tell you part of me died. The girl who wanted nothing more than to be the next Archmage of Elves perished there. And the woman who would one day be called the Archmage of Demon’s Bane, then the Traitor of Elves, then the Death of Magic was born.”

She stared back and conjured an image for him to see. A half-Elf with a broken wand, a [High Mage], staring out of a pool of blood and carnage, her patrol and friends cut down by Demons.

The cat’s eyes were awash with tears, and Silvenia herself stared at that girl before banishing her.

“There. You see? That was the start of it. That was how I began to be remade into a true mage of the battlefield. The part where I went to Demons? I warred mightily against the Demon King, then learned I was fighting for a lie. That’s how many of us came to the Demons’ side. Neither one is wholly…right, but the Blighted Kingdom personally outrages me. Yet that woman who went against the Blighted Kingdom and was exiled for it?”

An angry [Archmage], next, arguing in Wistram’s Council, fighting [Mages] who cast her out as she fled across the sea. The cat hissed, and Silvenia patted it as the image changed.

“Also not me. We always change. It gets harder as we age, but I am trying. That’s one secret to immortality, for me. You can be the same, do the same, but spirit atrophies after a year of drudgery. Imagine doing this for millenia? Either you let time pass you by and find ways to ignore it…or you change yourself. Neither is easy, but that is why I find meaning. Demons. This war is for a purpose.”

Then her eyes glittered, and she opened a window so they could see the land of Demons, shining like some kind of futuristic city. Buildings under forcefields, in blasted lands. Silvenia waved at it.

“Imagine this for your world of planets! Imagine my boundless gardens, my magic for others! It cannot be so long as Othius would see me dead, but if we win—this is why, Rinu. It is about pulling this world one step out of the sea, pushing it forwards. In my case, it is how I can use my talents and broken soul for some good.”

She wasn’t broken! The cat waved its head back and forth so hard he flopped around in her arms, and she nearly laughed herself sick.

“I’m not—? Oh, little cat!”

She tossed him up, and he floated there, swimming in the air. That was beautiful—but Silvenia pointed to her shattered body, and she smiled, bones showing through her magical flesh.

“I am the purest incarnation of war. More than Hayvon. More than Othius and his wretched line. I am too in love with it to quit. This is why the other Deaths are necessary. I am—but the Demons need Serinpotva and Czautha more than I. They are a reason to fight. For they deserve protection and justice and more. I would be nothing more than a mindless killer if I did not have cause. I still am.”

Nonsense! I love you! She laughed and laughed at the cat and let it float into her arms again.

“And you are ridiculously affectionate to a monster, which is why I quite like you. Silly cat. I wonder if you’ll think of me the same way all your life. I almost hope you don’t. But if I end up becoming your demon or inspiration—I hope I changed you.”

Her eyes glowed with magic and delight, and she looked him in the eyes.

“And so you see, you and this wildly entertaining world are why I continue. They could cut off my limbs—and they have tried—and I would drag myself through the mud with my teeth, will myself to live. For I want to see more. I want to one day take those Demons onto calm beaches and see them live in cities. For Bazeth to put away his sword…that noble goal keeps me going. And when that fails, I walk towards my next battle, for my foes deserve only Silvenia, the Death of Magic.”

Two shining brown eyes made her snort so hard she fell over in the sand. Then came the last question, though technically there had been a lot of mixed-questions in there. But the Death of Magic didn’t care. She was falling asleep again, and the little cat-Earther asked his final question.

Question 3. Silvenia, can you please give me a hug?

Somewhere out there, a would-be [Historian] exploded in rage, but Silvenia just chuckled. That was why she liked her one devoted follower, and she gently squeezed the cat as its eyes went wide and it possibly fainted. Then Silvenia took another nap.

“What strange days these are when children come from another world and follow great beasts like me around. What a silly world yours must be. I want to see it.”

And that…kept her going.

 

——

 

Silvenia, Czautha, and Serinpotva left the west of Rhir, the Blighted Lands, and made for their ‘vacation’. They took no Earthers.

No one would have survived, let alone silly cats.

“Silvenia!”

Czautha was sheltering Serinpotva as the Death of Wings flew. Her wingbeats sounded like thunder—but actual lightning crashed down.

Colored lightning, empowered with more than one element. Czautha could mitigate the electricity, but the burning red lightning that ignited the air? Freezing lightning that mixed electricity and ice?

That was how you fought Djinni. Yet she refused to budge, shielding Serinpotva with her body. Czautha was strongest of the three, able to heal her essence fastest with mana. Serinpotva was still wounded, but her aura was a lighthouse, destroying even Tier 6 magic raining down on them.

…But worse was coming. Silvenia was the lighthouse of the most attacks and the most fragile. She dove into the water, a thousand paces deep, as a storm raged around her.

The ocean began to turn to steam. How many fish, how much damage did the Blighted Kingdom do? She had put on every single barrier spell she knew…and they were melting away.

A check on even immortals. Czautha and Serinpotva were flying faster, but Silvenia slowed, drawing fire.

“Silvenia, don’t—”

She came up over the waves, skating on them, dodging left, right, slowing time—and looked up as she saw the sky open and gold shine down. Othius…wanted her death.

Silvenia bared her teeth—

 

——

 

Washed up on shore. She woke up after a minute and realized she had barely made it.

“…nO. wHEre AM i?”

Her voice echoed strangely. She felt leaden—and realized she wasn’t breathing. The magic that had followed her was—twisting. Silvenia looked around, realized.

Teleportation. She’d landed in the wrong spot.

“These lands are dead.”

She spoke as she pulled herself out of the [Greater Teleportation] spell. They were still following her, sending tracers. She shot magic back, a killing spell like she’d used on that Great Knight when she saw them teleporting, but it couldn’t pass between dimensions.

They were just…following her teleport. If she wasn’t careful, a kill-team would just appear right on top of her. Silvenia cursed and moved between worlds again—

Into a storm at sea, and the magic hummed on her skin once more as the onslaught resumed.

This was the price for ‘going to the beach’. She laughed upwards as, this time, Silvenia fired spells back.

 

——

 

Getting out of range of the Blighted Kingdom after that first hour made things easier. They had less options once she got far enough out at sea. The Deathslayer Arrows were annoying, but she made it.

What had nearly gotten her this time was the second party taking potshots at her with magic. She had thought it was Archmage Eldavin for a moment and had been considering heading to Wistram to give him a proper [Mage]’s thank-you.

…But that would have been stupid, even for her, even for Wistram as it was. Instead, Silvenia realized the talented spellcaster wasn’t in Wistram at all.

“Terandria? Ailendamus. What have I done to—oh. The Great Knight.”

She zipped left and right, dodging spells that came after her, then got tired and took aim at the glaring eye in the sky.

“Die, you wretched Demon!”

A roar from above. Silvenia laughed.

“[Sorcerous Curse-Needle of the Witch of Webs]!”

Her fingers glowed, and she threw a tiny speck of magic up. The glaring eye in the sky tried to close—but too late. She heard a refreshingly high-pitched scream—then the attacks ceased.

“I wonder who that was. It wasn’t regular [Mage]-magic.”

More enemies. Czautha would be angry at her, but the truth was that most nations in this world defaulted to ‘Demons must die’, and the Blighted Kingdom killed all the Demon [Diplomats] they could find. Silvenia had sniped the Great Knight because it was a perfect chance to rid her people of a talented enemy.

Perhaps that had been a mistake. And perhaps this was a mistake, but it was truly hard to send someone else in her stead. Czautha, Serinpotva were arguably better—but they couldn’t move as fast as Silvenia.

Besides, given who she was about to meet—Silvenia actually suspected she was the best one to do the negotiating. And wasn’t that hilarious?

They’d get to a ‘beach’ in time. But Silvenia made a detour, trusting that her two comrades would make a slower, more invisible journey. Serinpotva was a ruler of Izril; she had a trick once she got close enough that let her lose pursuers.

 

——

 

“Did Silvenia make it?”

“None of her direct magical enchantments are broken. She’s not dead—we have to assume she’s doing what we planned.”

Czautha and Serinpotva had used Silvenia’s distraction to dive underwater.

[My Wings Fly In Sky, and Under Sea].

Serinpotva cut the water like a great aquatic predator, and she actually stopped to grab a shark for lunch. Czautha was worried that the magic of the Blighted Kingdom would get them, but she was erasing their presence by reversing hers and Serinpotva’s magical signatures. Essentially creating a ‘null’.

You could spot it if you were…Silvenia…or knew how to track it, but they didn’t need to hold their breaths long. The air bubble that Czautha was creating for the two would pop soon, and the two spoke as they went straight for Izril.

“As soon as we reach the north of Izril, we will be safe. Until then—trust they can’t see us. I think that other mage actually fouled the Blighted Kingdom’s attacks. Whomever that was—they wanted Silvenia dead.”

“Mm.”

It would take hours for them to stealth their way to Izril. Silvenia could teleport using [Greater Teleport], but the Blighted Kingdom could actually lay ambushes even in that spell. Besides…the Death of Magic had two targets.

 

——

 

Silvenia reached her first beach after a day of travel. Once she’d lost the main spells tracking her, she spun off fourteen decoys, some cloaked, some as obvious as the sun, and sent them every which way.

Doubtless, the Blighted Kingdom was monitoring her via word-of-mouth, and they might have alerted other nations she was on the move, but the truth was that old Othius would have probably loved for Silvenia to start burning a city to ash.

Nothing like that to galvanize anti-Demon sentiment. If only they could beat his ability to lie and claim they’d performed the ritual spell.

Such was the power of rulers for you. Serinpotva was theoretically Othius’ check, but her kingdom was lost. And he was simply a good liar.

[Kings].

Silvenia chuckled sadly as she flew. She recalled that her lessons on Earth had come with the understanding that there was still royalty there, for some reason. Flora said they were antiquated…but Earth?

She wanted to see it. That was what had convinced the other two Deaths.

 

——

 

“We lack perspective, Czautha, Serinpotva.”

“Perspective? We have Earthers here, Silvenia.”

The Djinni was skeptical. Yet Serinpotva nodded.

“Words will never be enough. A single individual is a good picture—but only of them. I agree, Czautha. There is worth in Silvenia’s suggestions, more than even her other plans. Flora. I wish to see your world. If I could—what would you recommend?”

The young woman was blank—then began to suggest a bunch of silly and grand sights that she thought were the most worthy things the Deaths might like if they ever got a chance. And that convinced Czautha, who loved edifices.

For all her people had labored to make so much, and suffered—she liked the things made with hand and effort. Mortal creations the most, because she knew how hard it was for them to drag stone, unlike herself.

The prospect of seeing a mountain carved into faces, or cities, or gigantic statues, titillated the Djinni. Silvenia was actually disappointed as she took notes.

“So…it’s not a giant Golem that comes to life?”

“No magic, Silvenia. But how are you going to see it? Simulate it with magic?”

“I can’t do anything I can’t imagine, Flora. But I’ll take mage-pictures, and if it works—perhaps we should try to take you once the Blighted Kingdom stops burning us every time we leave Rhir. Czautha?”

The Death of Chains sighed longingly.

“Oh, very well, I agree. I must see Earth. It fascinates me. Another world.”

It still blew them all away. Even Silvenia, who knew other dimensions. She was delighted by it, but Czautha murmured as she turned her eyes to the sky.

“That world deserves a chainbreaker.”

Rather funnily, Flora grew instantly defensive. She glared around at other Earthers suspiciously, whom she had argued with, and began to speak, flustered.

“It’s had one. You don’t know my world that well, Czautha. It’s not—whatever the others have told you, I’m not defending any—”

Czautha placed a hand on her arm. She raised a finger, and Flora fell silent a moment. The Djinni shook her head.

“Oh, Flora. I don’t know your world so well. I have not seen it. I cannot judge it directly as I can this one. I meant it only so: the world always deserves a chainbreaker.”

That was her perspective. Silvenia? She just rubbed her hands together.

“Truly, I wonder how many other nations know Earth exists, yet. I can see why other nations would be concerned or preparing their own countermeasures or wars. The King of Destruction must be having so…much…fun. Dead gods.”

She dreamed of the two worlds meeting and their weapons of war meeting this one. Silvenia was sure it would be a great mess. Czautha and Serinpotva looked appalled at that vision of the future. But that was why they agreed.

They had to see it.

 

——

 

But first, Silvenia had a side-quest. She honestly would have liked to save this for the end for perspective’s sake, but this was a good cover for the other two’s journey. So she emerged onto a beach after canceling a [Waterbreathing] spell.

It looked, to anyone who saw her, like a silver-haired woman flying out of the surf. Silvenia flew low to the ground, skimming over the coast. She avoided cities via [Detect Life], but people still saw her.

She waved at a staring [Fisherman] holding his catch, skimmed over a remote farm, moving faster as she picked up speed.

Silvenia raced several flocks of birds, leaving them in her wake as the vibrant coastline turned dry. She left the people below her alone. The few who recognized her as a threat barely had time to scream before she was past them, anyways. There wasn’t anything aside from distant magics that could harm—

“Whoa!”

Silvenia stopped as a blade nearly cut her out of the skies. She dodged left, then realized it wasn’t an actual sword, but an aura of threat.

Like a warning. She glanced down, and an unremarkable farmstead in unclaimed land between nations…suddenly grew very interesting to her.

Someone had noticed her, and she halted a second. A man was standing outside his farm, and when she looked down…

The [Hero] of Zethe, Doubte, stared up at the Death of Magic.

She waved slowly. He drew his sword. Silvenia backed up, showing her hands. She scowled, but he kept watching her as she flew in an exaggerated circle around his home.

“[Heroes]. That one’s better than every single one in the Blighted Kingdom put together. Like weeds, really.”

She hated [Heroes]. They cheated their way to power. Fair was fair, so had she, but she’d found ways to parlay her magic into more power. They were given a boost from the start.

Aside from that one encounter, Silvenia had an uneventful flight. She only stopped once more.

“Hello! Are you open for business?”

The [Traders] jumped on the road and turned as a swarthy man with a huge mustache greeted them. Silvenia’s illusion beamed at the [Traders], who half reached for their swords, but she swaggered around, flashing gold at them.

“I would love to purchase your finest wares. People. Slaves. I meant, wares. That’s how you must think of them.”

She waved at the terrified people, seeing resignation in some eyes—hope in some others as she showed them her eyes.

They shone like a rainbow. But she didn’t let the rightfully suspicious Traders of Roshal see them. In fact, she earnestly haggled them down as she picked out two [Slaves], even produced a bunch of gold.

Then she dropped the illusion and let them run and scream and beg.

You had to have fun.

Half monster, half liberator. She couldn’t take the free [Slaves] with her, so she gave them the best advice she could. Hopefully, they’d escape capture, and she left the [Slavers] in enough pieces that they could be looted for their equipment.

Then she reached her destination after making a few other little arrangements. Silvenia felt her old heart beating faster as she flew across the open desert, and she felt the thrum of a recent battle in the air. She beamed wider and wider.

She had been asleep for so long that she’d had to be told about a recent legend of Chandrar. Then she’d been busy keeping the Demons on the offensive, repairing all her broken magics. But she just had to do it to him.

One legend had to greet another.

 

——

 

The sky split with horn calls, and lightning flashed from the Bastion-Fortress before the Death of Magic descended out of the clouds.

Archmage Amerys flew higher, surrounded by lightning, a living ball of electricity. But she hesitated and arrested her climb, flying downwards to join the rest of the King of Destruction’s vassals.

[Soldiers] were flooding back towards the fortress, but they halted and took positions; they wouldn’t get through the gates in time.

She had descended with virtually no warning. Silvenia, the Death of Magic, was here.

“Prepare for battle! She’ll be in the skies! Amerys, don’t go alone! We must take the battle to her or she will destroy us with impunity! Mars!”

Orthenon was roaring orders as Mars changed into armor. Even the Illusionist looked pale, but she was smiling through the sweat on her brows.

“I’ve got a spare pair of Boots of Levitation.”

The Lord of the Skies held out a wing-arm, staring up grimly at the approaching woman.

“Give them to me. She’ll tear my tribe apart if I send them up there.”

“Hold them back unless we have no choice. Your Majesty, inside!”

Orthenon shouted at a single figure staring up at Silvenia, but Flos Reimarch refused to move. He just exhaled slowly and shook his head.

“If she makes war, no walls will save me, Orthenon. I will not run from the Death of the Demon King. Stop baring your weapons. We greet her on the battlements.”

He rested his hands on the ancient stone, and Orthenon hesitated. Amerys was blazing with magic, but she, too, was staring in a kind of horror upwards. Even Gazi—all five of her eyes were aimed upwards.

“No being can have that much mana in them. What is she?”

Death of Magic. It was one thing to hear of her legend, another to see that recording of her on 5th Wall. In person?

Orthenon could not speak to what Gazi saw, but there was no time to make any plans. Parasol Stroll, the company of [Mages], was on the walls, and they were being contacted by the Blighted Kingdom, Wistram—

All eyes were on her. She came to a stop, a hundred paces from the walls, and then called out. Her voice was magnified, cheerful, and without fear.

“Sands hold ye a thousand seas, King of Reim! To the Shield Kingdoms and the thousand legacies of Zeikhal! I am the Death of Magic, Silvenia! In the name of the Demon King—I greet you! Will you speak with me?”

Speak? The company of Flos Reimarch had thought, when they sensed Silvenia coming, that she had been hired somehow to slay him.

Or that the Demons thought of the King of Destruction as a threat. But the sudden relief turned to a different kind of fear as Flos stared upwards.

Oh no. Orthenon was speaking into Flos’ ear, insistently.

“Your Majesty, the Demons are a foe to the world. You cannot—”

“Death of Magic! Silvenia, the Traitor of Wistram! You are a foe to every nation on Chandrar. I would make enemies just hearing you speak. Why should I not hurl my armies at you and banish you to your lands? What has the Demon King to do with me?”

Flos bellowed back, but his eyes were aglow with excitement. Silvenia wagged a finger.

“Not the Demon King. Just I, alone. And—do my eyes deceive me? Is the sand in my hair and the dryness of the air not Great Chandrar?”

She looked around, and Flos frowned.

“It is.”

Silvenia spread her arms, beaming.

“Then where is my greeting? I recall a land where any visitor could knock on any door, be it [King] or [Beggar], and receive welcome if nothing else! Or does the King of Destruction, who I have longed to meet, fear the Blighted Kingdom’s wrath over mere words? If I am foe to every nation of Chandrar—I could say no less of you.”

“Someone stop him.”

Orthenon actually tried to put Flos in a full-nelson hold, and Mars and Takhatres tried to drag him back. But the King of Destruction was too strong, and he just fought them off.

“Why then did you come, Silvenia? If you are truly here to speak—let us speak peaceably and not shout at each other! If you cast no spells, my people will not attack! Approach!”

He was going to get them all killed. But—if there was any one man stupid enough to speak to a Demon in public, and fearless of reprisal, it would be him.

Silvenia landed on the battlements and beamed. She ignored the ready vassals, the soldiers, but she did eye the girl with the sword and the sand-mage, peeking at her behind Flos’ defenders. Her eyes twinkled as the King of Destruction glanced at them and grew suddenly—tense.

“Thank you for sparing our voices, Your Majesty. I should love a brief word. Though, I warn you, my foes may soon send firestorms down upon me.”

Indeed, the only reason she hadn’t been blasted was probably because she was on top of the King of Destruction’s armies.

Many nations might consider that two birds with one stone…but even they hesitated to attack another sovereign nation with a cataclysmic spell the likes of which Thelican had used. After all…Flos Reimarch might decide to reply in kind.

However—the Blighted Kingdom could not allow this. Mirin, the [Mage] of Parasol Stroll, was speaking urgently in Gazi’s ear, and the Gazer spoke up.

“My lord—wghmf—we cannot allow this meeting to happen. Even your curiosity aside—the Demons are treachery and poison, and I must insist you turn her away.”

Her voice wobbled, and Gazi clapped a hand over her mouth, flushing as everyone looked at her. She shifted in place, and Flos exhaled slowly. He looked tired, suddenly, and lifted a hand.

“I suppose not. But look at her! Can I not exchange a few words? No—argh.”

What an unexpected reversal. Everyone not near Flos was astonished, but the King of Destruction was eying some emphatic [Messages] being held up to him.

“Oh, come now, King of Destruction. Where is your hospitality? Your willingness to speak?”

Silvenia stomped a foot and gave him a challenging look. He hesitated, clearly torn, as more [Messages] appeared.

“—I am being told even talking to you is toxic. And you are a spellcaster without peer. I would love to exchange words, but I confess—even I find a woman who would salt the ground with Crelers and kill cities somewhat abhorrent.”

Silvenia tilted her head, clearly let down.

“…Have you never sacked a city, King of Destruction? How pacifistic of you.”

He bared his teeth, refusing to rise to the bait.

“There are some standards in war, Death of Magic. Your Demons are known to slaughter innocents.”

“So you won’t…talk?”

“Greetings only. I will not go inside and sit at a table, merely parlay from here. Is that acceptable, Gazi?”

Flos looked like he might explode as he compromised. Gazi had to nod. She glared as Silvenia swung a displeased gaze to her.

“Well, well. It looks like Othius has his fangs even in the most famous warlord of this era. I should have met the Titan of Baleros instead. What a shame. But then—I suppose the whipping boy of Roshal wouldn’t have the guts to sit down with a Death of Demons. For a man who destroys, you chose to ignore the greatest foe.”

Silvenia sighed, rubbing her fingernails on her robes. Flos’ face went slack—then he reddened.

“Death of Magic. Watch your words, here.”

Orthenon’s voice was icy as Flos’ vassals put their hands on their blades. The Death of Magic looked around.

“How strange. Did I say anything wrong, [Steward]?”

“No. Please go on.”

Trey muttered so loudly that Silvenia started cackling. But Flos Reimarch calmed down surprisingly fast. He stared at the Death of Magic, standing on his battlements, then looked sideways.

“Amerys. Hit her.”

Silvenia’s head snapped up—and the bolt of lightning struck her straight off the walls.

She had seen it coming, but it had been so fast that even the Death of Magic couldn’t block the fist of the Archmage of Chandrar.

It looked like a hand made out of lightning, trailing seeking lines of electricity, striking the Death of Magic in the cheek—that was the image seared into everyone’s eyes.

Silvenia hit the ground, a hundred feet below, and bounced once. She lay there as everyone fell silent and looked at Flos in horror. He calmly waited—and Silvenia sat up.

“Hm.”

She felt at her cheek, and the faintest of scratches was on her magic-flesh. Then she flew up, seemingly unharmed by the blow or fall. Her barrier-spells had eaten most of the blow, but she still nodded.

“So. There is someone qualified to call themselves an Archmage of Wistram. Hello, apprentice. Who are you?”

“Amerys of Chandrar.”

The woman’s eyes were sparkling with lightning. Silvenia just rubbed at her cheek and nodded. Then she smiled like, well—

Like a Demon. Her teeth were pointed, her smile full of suppressed wrath. She turned to look at Flos.

“It seems I had far less pleasant a meeting than I wanted. Very well. In truth, I just came to look at you, King of Destruction. Your legend is not wholly exaggerated.”

“To hear an old monster of Rhir say it is a compliment. May I ask if you just came here to look at me? It seems quite an honor.”

Flos was tense, but he did smile. Silvenia slapped her thigh in amusement, sitting back in the air and letting out a genuine guffaw.

“Heh. Hahahahaaha. Did you think that we just sat around? Oh, Your Majesty of Reim! You do make me smile. No—why should I not meet a man who, the stories say, might one day trouble my Demon King? I respect might, even if you and I cannot speak peaceably. Fine, if we cannot meet—then at least this!”

She reached for her side, and Orthenon whirled his spear up. But Silvenia, with a look of amusement, just placed something down on the tip of his spear, aimed at him.

He balanced it, and the simple bottle of wine caught the fading light of the sun. Silvenia produced two crystal cups.

“Will you, at least, toast with me, King of Reim? Or do you not have the courage to drink some wine with Death itself?”

She taunted him, and he frowned—but then held out a hand. She tossed him the cup, and no one could stop him as the bottle floated, uncorked itself, and poured him a generous cup. Silvenia poured herself a cup. Flos inspected his cup as his emerald eyes flicked up towards the Death of Magic.

“What might we two toast on?”

“War, of course!”

She threw out her arms expressively. The skies were turning black, and spells were targeting her, preparing to be unleashed. Yet the Death of Magic just raised her cup to the sky. To the bloody battlefield, which she sensed even long after the blood and bodies had been cleaned away, here. To the King of Destruction—his armies—she took it in with a smile, and even Reim’s soldiers shuddered.

“Let’s toast to a broken world and an ocean of our foes! To our end, may it be glorious! You and I walk the bloody road of warriors to its end! To our deaths!”

She laughed as she lifted the cup, then looked at Flos. The King of Destruction’s crimson hair blew in the wind. His skin, tanned slightly, lifted the cup, and he stared into the red depths. He did not join her toast, though part of him lit up at her words. Instead, he solemnly held the cup out.

“To the journey’s meaning.”

Heads swung to Silvenia, and the Death of Magic pondered his offering. She nodded, and they sipped slowly. Then she thrust the goblet out to him, sitting cross-legged in the air.

What a sight.

“To a thousand shining souls for better or worse. Enemy and friend?”

He drank. Then Flos wiped at his mouth.

“To a reason for it all.”

He said it like a question, searching her gaze, and Silvenia lifted her goblet and nodded.

“Of course.”

They held their gazes, taking a measure of each other, and then Silvenia whispered.

“To a will to break this all apart.”

This time, they both drank, draining their cups down, and Flos tossed the crystal cup off the walls. Then, Silvenia’s chuckle was deep and satisfied. She straightened and held out a hand.

“Ah, you are a man worth the effort of visiting. Someday, King of Destruction. If I defeat the Blighted Kingdom and you unite your continent and break at least one apart, we might run out of foes. Perhaps this second world will never appear or we’ll just grow old and lose interest. We could war with each other, then. Doubtless, we’ll clash like beasts before then. Would you make a pledge with me, though? Just in case?”

“Pledge? What, exactly?”

He folded his arms, and Silvenia pointed. Eastwards, towards the horizon. And beyond it, the sea. Her voice grew eager, excited.

“A great fleet. If we have the chance—let’s sail it off the edge of the world. An armada, like the ones who went before. Armed with every weapon to shatter sky and land. Serinpotva isn’t interested, but I hoped you might be game.”

“If we both conquer our continents?”

“Yes. Say you will! I need an army, and you are the only king who might be game. I have promised it before, but I offer it to you again.”

She held out that hand eagerly, and Flos eyed it—then lifted his hand and turned away.

“I will drink and toast with you, but I cannot offer you peace, Death of Demons.”

Silvenia’s face fell, and she stood in the air. Then with a great sigh, she lowered her hand.

“Oh, another blind [King], however much I take to your warring nature. Your vassals are respectable, and you are braver than many, Flos Reimarch. But I fear we may have parted as enemies.”

“Did you expect anything different?”

She gave him a morose look.

“Perhaps. Had we spoken. But—very well.”

She straightened, sighed, and for a last time, everyone tensed. Yet Silvenia just flew backwards, staring up and holding out her hand as if the spells locked onto her were rain. She looked like she was regretting the visit, but she did pause as she floated away from the walls.

“Oh. One last thing. I suppose it was a fun little meeting—but one thing was personal.”

She turned her head, and her gaze snaked backwards. Amerys stiffened as Silvenia pointed at her. Silvenia touched at her cheek.

“The next time we meet, Archmage of Lightning, I’ll pay you back for that one. Stay away if you have a favorite city or nation. For it shall be ash between us.”

A cold chill ran across the ramparts—but Silvenia just flew off. Before she was a thousand paces away, foul, putrid lightning stabbed downwards.

A final resort, a spell of destruction from Nerrhavia’s Fallen. Just like the Djinni they had sent against Flos, but they feared she could free them, so they sent just deadly magic instead.

Silvenia turned, cursing, and the bolt turned even her magic to rot.

She fled, and the King of Destruction stood there for a long moment. If the watching eyes saw his disappointed face—well, at least he had only drunk with her. Who knew what would have happened if they had talked.

 

——

 

Silvenia fled Chandrar as more spells meant for foes like her burnt the skies. Not every nation had the means like Germina, but even Khelt sent Razzimir’s Arrows after her, and she swatted them down.

They were weak compared to the actually dangerous putrid lightning and other spells that nations were unleashing on her. Silvenia fled to sea again and dove into it. What a wasted visit.

An attempt had been made, but even the King of Destruction had refused to parlay with her.

Doubtless, various nations were sighing in relief. Silvenia just smiled as she entered the sea, despite her new injuries.

That was what she wanted them to think.

 

——

 

“My lord—”

Gazi of Reim was speaking when the bubble of magic engulfed Flos Reimarch and the closest people on the battlements. It stopped in front of Mirin, snagging Flos, his Seven, Orthenon, Trey, and Teres.

“—what is your will?”

Gazi finished, then blinked in horror and drew her claymore. She was faster than Mars by a moment, but then the rest of Flos’ vassals realized something was wrong.

“Spell!”

Takhatres leapt at Silvenia—and she dodged back from the kick. The half-Elf floated backwards, and Takhatres caught himself on the wall’s stone battlements and pulled himself back onto solid ground.

“Hold, hold!”

Flos shouted, looking around. He stared left, then right—at the statues that had become of his people. He reached out to touch Mirin, who was speaking in a low murmur—or paused in the doing. Her mouth was open, and she was halted. Flos tried to move her, but even when he strained, she didn’t budge.

“You can’t move her or even harm her. Also, try to remember where you stood, everyone. The [Time Stop] needs to be convincing. Also—I’m burning magic here. So if we talk, can we do it faster?”

Silvenia floated back, and Trey stared at her.

“You stopped time?”

She winked at him.

“Ah, someone’s familiar with my magic. That’s Earth’s children for you. In this world, few people think you can even slow it.”

“Impossible.”

Amerys spat, raising her hands that shimmered with lightning…then stared at the particles of lightning that froze in the air. Anything that left their grip, even Teres’ sword, just hovered in the air.

Stopped in time.

“Impossible for you. For me? It’s just taxing. But we are in a bubble, and so we can talk without the Blighted Kingdom soiling their nappies, Your Majesty of Reim. May we speak? You can chase me off for the look of it, but I heard you were a man who had the daring and wisdom to at least speak to Djinni. The one you freed as a younger man told me the story.”

“You knew Couilekurne?”

Flos blinked, and Orthenon made to block him, but Silvenia came to sit on the stone battlements, smiling down at Flos.

“Of course. All Djinni flee to the one safe place if they are freed. I wish that Djinni you unshackled had tried to make it to us. Ah, but I won’t speak of Djinni or Roshal to a Chandrarian. Let’s talk about Earth, Earth! Hello, Trey Atwood and Teres! I have something for you.”

Both tensed, but Silvenia tossed something which Gazi intercepted. It was…Trey blinked at it.

“What’s that?”

“A ‘storage device’. Apparently it’s one for your phone, loaded with music and videos and whatever the children had. They prepared it when I said I’d meet with you. It’s a little gift. IT won’t work since your phones are apparently worthless without your internet, but if you ever have the right device…music, videos, and more.”

“It could have malware on it, Trey.”

Teres whispered, and Silvenia laughed.

“Oh, yes, it could! Or I could have stopped time and killed you all! Ah…well, it doesn’t work quite like that or I’d just stop time, walk into Paranfer, and kill Othius. Bubbles are possible, but we share them, and we can’t change the world beyond the bounds. One’s self in perfect stasis? I’d have to halt this very world’s turning to do it, and I’m not that strong.”

She spread her arms, and Trey wanted to write that down. But the USB stick—Flos Reimarch eyed it and turned to Silvenia as he indicated the bubble.

“Astonishing. So you wished to speak to me?”

“Gossip. Truly, just get your measure and perhaps talk about Earth. It’s so boring talking to the other Demons, who are responsible people like Czautha, who’s worried about another nation of slave takers, or Serinpotva, who’s all…politics and diplomacy. I wanted to talk to a real bastard, and the Titan of Baleros would probably run if I came close to him. Not that I’ve met him, but he’s said to be cautious. I can’t even get close to other Earthers.”

Silvenia sat there as Flos and his vassals eyed her. Then she lifted something up brightly.

“Plus, I even stopped time in two other places! And not to put a fine point on it, but keeping you here is draining my mana so fast I can’t keep up even with this mana potion.”

She began drinking it, then drew a rectangle in the air.

“I’ve asked them all to join me here. Please say you’ll attend? I can do thirty minutes. Please? We’ll discuss Earth, and I swear upon my magic it’s safe.”

She put her hands together, and Flos stared at the portal door that led to a blank room—

“Dimensional magic. Flos, I can’t sense anything, but she could be sending us to our deaths or imprisonment.”

Amerys was urgent as she tugged on his arm, but Flos had seen someone else entering the room, led by a clone of Silvenia, and he began to walk forwards.

“I could do that anyways, little lightning mage.”

Silvenia smiled down at Amerys, and the Archmage glared. But Trey’s mouth slowly opened as he saw…

 

——

 

Time stopped even more as Amerys told the rest of the King of Destruction’s vassals to get back into position. Gazi had to change what she was saying, but the truth was, even the Death of Magic didn’t want or have the power to stop ten people in time.

Three, plus herself, was already pushing it for half an hour, and it would only work in this dimensionally locked room she’d made, which had a table, chairs, and a bowl of cashew nuts.

Fetohep, the Quarass of Germina, and Flos Reimarch all traded looks as Silvenia rubbed her hands together.

“Flos Reimarch. Quarass.”

“Fetohep.”

The Revenant looked unfazed by this strange meeting, and the Quarass was cool and unshakable. Flos just rubbed his hands together.

“Oh, this has the makings of a conspiracy. In truth, I had planned on summoning you two together, but Fetohep has been cursedly obstinate and you busy, Quarass.”

“I tend to avoid danger to my kingdom. If the Death of Magic hadn’t insisted, I would stay away, but I was given an ultimatum.”

Silvenia laughed as she hurried everyone into chairs and seated herself.

“Ignore her. I’ve known the Quarass, and she is always reasonable. Khelt, less so. Thank you for joining me. Czautha will kill me, because she wants ‘diplomacy’, but all I want to do is talk Earth. We have twenty-nine minutes and twelve seconds, and so let’s begin.”

The three monarchs and Silvenia paused one second, then Flos began speaking.

“Do you wish for an alliance?”

“Khelt will not parlay with Demons in any visible way.”

“Nor Germina. Though it seems the Blighted Kingdom was the one who may have summoned the Earthers, including Trey and Teres. They have thousands.”

The Quarass murmured, and Flos’ brows darkened.

“Then the ritual that killed the children—”

“You cannot trust me on truth spells, but I swear by the Demons and my magic, it was not us. Othius can lie to truth spells. That is all I shall say on that.”

Silvenia placed her hand on the table as the three monarchs chewed on that. Fetohep’s golden eyes were blazing.

“If he has lied to me—I shall hold him accountable for the three children of Khelt who shall never know it as home. If this is true, and I trust even you, Flos Reimarch, know better than to trust a Demon’s word unguarded.”

He glanced at Flos, and the King of Destruction drummed his fingers on the table.

“This alone is valuable. But why did you say you were here to gossip?”

Silvenia smacked her arms on the table, and Flos nearly drew a sword on her. But she just stared down at the wood.

“Because I don’t care. I don’t care about politics or making allies for the Demons, even if I could. Let’s talk Earth. All three of you have Earthers. I saw that [Innkeeper]’s spell, and I replayed my memories, and you were all there.”

“That thoughtless, would-be wretch of a queen.”

Fetohep cursed Erin, unexpectedly vehement. But being held semi-hostage by the Death of Magic explained his agitation. The Quarass just sighed.

“And you wish for an alliance regarding Earth?”

Given what he knew about Earth…Flos’ brows drew together, and he thought even Fetohep might listen. In the unlikely event the two worlds met, the Demons might be a necessary ally to counter Earth’s pure destructive might.

Silvenia waggled a finger.

“I said, no politics, Quarass. How can you not understand me? You’ve been a Demon.”

“…I have not. And even if I had, it would have been for perspective. Nothing more.”

The Quarass avoided Fetohep’s and Flos’ suddenly intent gazes. Silvenia nodded, checking a magical hourglass ticking down time.

“No alliances. No promises. Just—let’s say we and Earth meet. Two worlds. Gateway, or our continents physically mix, or the worlds join across the horizon.”

“Is…that likely?”

Silvenia nodded.

“Magically, if the two worlds meet—that’s what happens when dimensions intertangle. Big door, lots of tiny doors. Or the two mesh together, in which case you will be lucky if you don’t fuse with the earth. Very messy.”

She meshed her fingers together, and Flos added that to a list of nightmares to have, including falling to his death. Even Fetohep looked queasy at the idea.

“Assuming it is not that calamitous?”

“Earth. Nations upon nations. Eight billion people, or seven, or nine, I don’t particularly care when it’s that high. Guns. Have you seen guns?”

“I have…been apprised of their effects, yes.”

Fetohep murmured. Silvenia looked around, eyes shining.

“Fighter jets. Nuclear weapons. No magic, and lots of disparate nations. But they’re all Earth, we’re all of this world. The instant the door opens. How do we kill them all?”

The Quarass had been frowning at the Death of Magic, clearly wondering where this was going. Flos had been wondering if she knew what a gun looked like in reality. Then the three rulers…blinked.

“Kill them…”

“Yes, hurry up! I was thinking—magical plague. Fire one through at each airport and then take cover and seal the exits. I was told that would probably work. They can’t cure magic. Now, they could destroy a city with their bombs, but I’ll probably dimensionally shift out, and they’ll have to work out how to follow. What’s your first move?”

She just…wanted to talk about fighting Earth. That was it. No deceit, no trickery. Just a level of battle-craze that would have had Adetr Silverfang checking in for rehabilitation.

Indeed, even Flos stared at her, and the Quarass put her face in her hands.

“All the power in the world in the mind of a female Flos Reimarch.”

“Come on. Please. Please. No one will engage with me, and no one’s smart enough! I have this cute little cat who tries, but I need you to make me smile.”

Silvenia was almost in tears. Flos looked at Fetohep, who was actually pinching himself. Apparently on the basis that if he felt something, he was dreaming. Fetohep glanced at the Quarass, and then all three reached for the bowl of nuts. Fetohep plucked a ghostly pecan and stared at it.

“Is this edible?”

“Please. I’ve talked to ghosts.”

He didn’t eat it, but it seemed to be sucked into his mouth, and Fetohep’s eyes gleamed as Silvenia watched. Flos saw Fetohep jerk.

“The taste of—! I had forgotten how food tasted. Repugnant. I hated cashews.”

He began to eat them as fast as he could. Meanwhile, the Quarass lifted a stern hand.

“Silvenia, you are approaching this under the assumption that if our two worlds met, we would not simply join hands and talk as reasonable peoples. Surely our nations would talk before making all-out war.”

Silvenia turned to the Quarass as Fetohep stopped eating and Flos looked at her. Then—everyone in the room began laughing.

Even the Quarass had to hold herself on the table before she literally laughed herself off her seat. Flos pounded the table and coughed out a pecan.

“Oh, Quarass—that was excellent. Alright.”

They grew serious. Silvenia rubbed her hands as Flos murmured.

“I have thought about the issue of guns before. You can make armor that is impregnable to mundane weapons, but I’m told that the ‘force’ of a bullet or missile will turn what’s inside to paste. Or bake the occupants alive. Or irradiate them. Which is this…”

“Yes, yes. We have that all over Rhir. That’s just a matter of making armor that can resist all kinds of things, including force. It’s not impossible—but you’d have one warrior. Unfeasible at scale. Djinni will probably tear their armies a new one, at least, the strongest of them.”

“Until they learn magic. Which they will. I consider their world magically-null, but if our worlds meet, they’ll acquire the power. And levels. So any advantage is lost after the first week. Potentially the first day.”

The Quarass had clearly been thinking of what a battle would look like. Flos rubbed at his chin.

“True, but we have the advantage in intelligence. Assuming—and I cannot prove this—that our young are not switching into Earth.”

Silvenia’s eyes gleamed as Fetohep raised a finger.

“To my understanding, they have not. Their world shares information, and if a similar amount of Earthers were switching places with our people…it would have been known.”

“So we have an advantage—but even if I planned out an attack, I could not fly a carpet into Earth and reach any targets fast enough. Relic-grade magic is rare, and if we compare mundane against mundane…their weapons will tear our steel armor apart.”

The Quarass was sour about the limits of their capabilities. Flos interjected.

“Kevlar Stitch-folk.”

“I love you.”

Silvenia burst out, then waved Flos to explain. Flos turned to Fetohep and the Quarass.

“Kevlar is this bulletproof fabric. If you made Stitch-folk out of it…”

“They’d simply burn or explode them. You are thinking too small-scale, Flos. As ever.”

Flos glared back at Fetohep.

“So says the king who could only take a beachhead on Izril by sacrificing ten thousand undead troops.”

Fetohep folded his arms.

“So says the ruler of Khelt who bested the Walled Cities’ armies in the field. As I recall, you never made it past Zeres. I didn’t even need to engage it. And I have a simpler answer to Earth’s conundrums, which is why I have not wasted my concerns on it. Ere we ever come to blow—it will be destroyed.”

Huh? Even the Quarass looked astonished, and Silvenia turned to Fetohep. He chuckled as they focused on him.

“Consider an undead’s perspective. Magic shall indeed leak between worlds if ours meet. Earth shall gain the power…and all the consequence, to quote a simple aphorism. What could you imagine might happen?”

It took Flos a second, but the Quarass just exhaled and slapped her forehead.

“Undead.”

Silvenia gasped in delight.

“Dead gods! It’s beautiful. Every single corpse in their world…?”

“Sadly, they do not practice mass cremation, and few caskets are lined with silver, let alone other means. I do not relish the thought; if anything, I am prepared to send immediate aid…once their nations begin to overrun. We may, in fact, wish to prepare not for armies of steel and thunder, but the greatest of undead feasting on the death magic of billions.”

Fetohep’s eyes flashed with his dark concerns of the future, and Flos sat there. He had never thought of that! Suddenly, the might of Earth became different in his mind. Even assuming that wasn’t true, Silvenia waved an urgent hand.

“Plagues, too. Magical plagues without even [Healers]? That could…transform the people of Earth. They apparently don’t do well with plagues. Imagine fighting horrific plague-monsters or super-undead.”

She sat back in her chair, closing her eyes in bliss.

“Thank you. This is what I came for.”

Then she cracked an eye open.

“We have nineteen minutes. Please, go on. The first thing I’d do, incidentally? If none of that happens, I’d just open a permanent gateway at the bottom of a sea floor somewhere in each nation I hated. They might dispel it…once they learn how to breathe underwater.”

“You’d drain our oceans?”

The Quarass looked horrified at the idea. Silvenia smiled.

“Sure. This world can be all land. Theirs can be all water. I also hear they have sensitive electronics. Even the Archmage of Lightning back there could probably turn off a nation if she could fly high enough.”

Flos Reimarch coughed.

“…Is there a quill or anything here? I could use a sheet of paper. But what about bullets? I still haven’t found a perfect way to beat them with my [Soldiers]. My current model for immediate defense is [Darkness] spells and commanding the Loquea Dree to attack, or using [Ricochet Arrows] until I get some. Or a full-scale [Anti-Flame] ward that stops the combustion-thing from occurring.”

Silvenia had been producing a quill and ink before her mouth opened.

“Anti-combustion?”

She began to write furiously and excitedly.

“I have to try this at home.”

All three monarchs looked at her, and Silvenia glanced up.

“What? You don’t have guns?”

She looked at their faces, and then a huge, happy grin spread over her face. She was very bad at keeping secrets, and the Deaths would kill her.

“You don’t have guns? Heh. Hahahaha. Ahahahaha—”

 

——

 

When Flos Reimarch returned, he had seconds to get into place and think of a way to refuse Silvenia. Amerys’ punch hadn’t been entirely fake, either.

She had parted happily, and he had a lot to think of—but he was not blind. Fetohep and the Quarass had looked at him the more they discussed Earth and agreed that, Silvenia aside—

They should meet once more.

The Death of Magic was not as simple as she pretended. Nor did she leave simply with a smile and thanks. She handed him something, and Flos Reimarch stared at it.

“What is this?”

A tremendously long weapon, heavier and wider than any longsword, but not yet a full greatsword, was wrapped in cloth. When he removed the wrapping, he stared at the wretchedly sharp blade and distinctive rust-red color.

“This? Just a little thank-you gift. I heard you lacked for a great sword, so I made this myself. Not the sword itself; I can’t smith. But I upgraded the magic. You had one forged of Naq-Alrama steel, but it was bad?”

Silvenia gave him an innocent look. Flos almost tried to return it, but the Adamantium blade was enchanted, and if she had enchanted it—the [King] of Reim knew it was potential trouble. The [Warrior] in him refused to throw it away.

Flos imagined he could claim he’d found it in an armory…if he used it. He wondered what it did. Teres and Mars would probably mug him for it if he didn’t use it. To answer Silvenia, he exhaled with disappointment as he shook his head.

“It never came to be. I gave my old one away. Death of Magic—I cannot be friends with Demons. Did you truly come to aid me?”

She winked at him.

“You are a great concern to the established nations. And if you should be my ally…I think you may be, in time, if you trust and listen to your Earthers. But regardless, just listen to me: the Demons have a story to tell. You have heard only the Blighted Kingdom’s. I could have killed you.”

He came to a decision as he hefted the sword with a nod and hid it in a bag of holding.

“This is a beautiful blade. Who am I to turn away the greatest weapon I could lay my hands on? Assuming it isn’t cursed, I accept your gift.”

Silvenia smiled widely, but for once, her amusement faded and she gave Flos an almost maudlin look.

“I cannot smith, King of Destruction. It’s one of my great regrets, that I cannot create as well as destroy. I would be a better protector of Demons if I could. A worse Death. Take care of that weapon, but cast it aside when you find a true masterwork. That is just an Adamantium blade enchanted by me.”

“Name a better blade. Even Orthenon’s relic from Khelt…Mars goes through swords like I do spoons.”

Flos gestured at his frozen followers, and Silvenia just pointed.

“Her armor may be cracked, but look. No magic and it lasted her decades of war. Respect her blade, King of Destruction. And armor. For it was made by Dwarves.”

Flos turned, and Gazi, frozen in time, stared ahead as she put one hand on the claymore’s hilt. Her armor showed that telltale fracture, and he wondered if it would break. But come to it—he turned to Silvenia.

“I know it was made by Dwarves.”

“No.”

She swooped closer one second, and her eyes were suddenly focused. She leaned down and whispered in his ear.

“It was made by Dwarves.”

Flos stared at her for a moment in frank incomprehension, then his eyes flickered and opened wide.

But before he could ask, Silvenia stepped back, ended the spell, and Flos stared at her as the drama played out.

When she offered him a toast…he looked her in the eyes. And he thought long and hard and wondered if he was being tricked. But then she was gone.

 

 

——

 

Silvenia was dodging hellfire on her way to the meeting place. She had to lose her trackers, travel under the ocean, but she still made it more or less on time.

Serinpotva had to preen her wings. She wanted to eat the shark like a civilized person and made Czautha gather local ingredients. Then, when the Djinni nagged her, she insisted they at least tour First Landing from afar so she could talk about when the Humans had come onto her continent.

She was…an [Empress]. And a history nerd. And sometimes, Czautha, who hated lingering around seats of power, had tiffs with her about timing.

But Serinpotva did have her ways. Once they flew to First Landing, they could either have gone through the sea around the entire damn continent to their destination or through the air.

Both ways would have gotten them detected; the Blighted Kingdom was narrowing its search for the duo, and Czautha could not keep them safe near a coast, even with her tricks.

The Walled Cities, the north, all had means of detecting foes, and even for the Deaths, it was a dangerous trek. Czautha would have gone all the way around to Izril’s south if it were her alone, via deep sea, but the sea was churned up, and a Kraken was dangerous to her.

Serinpotva had a unique solution that the Blighted Kingdom hadn’t dreamt of. It was arrogant, amazing—and no one noticed until they ran into someone just south of the High Passes.

It had been a three-hour flight with absolutely no danger. Indeed, the one person who spotted Serinpotva and Czautha might have been a threat…but really, the Deaths just sort of felt bad for her.

She made the mistake of inhaling and then began to choke to death. She leapt away—and Czautha, providing a bubble of air for Serinpotva, shook her head.

“Uh oh. Do you think she’ll tell someone?”

“I doubt she’ll ally with Rhir, but we’ll listen. I feel bad for her. Should I wave?”

The Harpy Empress fanned a gracious wing as she kept flying, and her shadow passed over Mihaela Godfrey as the woman reappeared—and flinched. She backed away, holding a wand, but Czautha just nodded. She tried to shout—and realized there was no air. So the Djinni just flashed her a peace-sign she had picked up from the Earthers, then a salute.

[The Courier’s Last Road] had no air. But the Djinni could produce some with her body, and Serinpotva flew down Mihaela Godfrey’s Skill. Normally, they kept away from the north, but since Mihaela’d been moving, they’d hoped she wasn’t using it.

Ah, well. The Courier stared up at the Deaths, completely dumbstruck. Let her tell the Blighted Kingdom that Serinpotva had her Skill. That wasn’t how the [Empress] was doing this.

This—was a Skill for the last Harpy Queen, the heiress of Izril. 

[Shadows of Empire: Every Door and Land Opens to Me].

Including Skills. The Empress of Wings realized that Mihaela was following them after a bit. She turned her head as they neared their meeting place. The Courier was slower, having to pause to breathe, but she had kept up. So—Serinpotva paused as a door opened for her, and she called back as air rushed into this place.

“Nevermore. Never again, but one last time. Remember who flew these skies.”

She dipped her head, once, and fixed Mihaela with a golden stare. Then she was gone. The only thing Serinpotva had ever wondered was if…

If her mother’s door would not open for her. She wished she could go to the garden, but it was too dangerous. Named-ranks and Walled Cities.

Someday. But not yet. They were bound for somewhere even more special, at least right now.

 

——

 

There was a lot of nonsense between the moment when the Deaths separated and reunited. When Czautha saw Silvenia’s injuries, she pulled on the half-Elf’s ear.

“Aah, ah, gentle, Czautha! It’s going to come off!”

“You can’t take such risks! Tell me it was worth it.”

Silvenia gave her two comrades a huge smile.

“It was. I gained a lot of valuable information, and I didn’t make people hate us more than before.”

“Amazing.”

Serinpotva’s remark was dry as she held Czautha’s hand. She stared at her hand, then felt at her toes, which she stared at as they wiggled in two colorful sandals.

“This is disgusting.”

“I know. But it’s so fascinating. So this is how it feels. My kin would love this place.”

The Djinni paused in scowling at Silvenia, who looked much like herself. Actually—she had bandages all over her face, and passersby, who were not shrieking about Deaths and Demons, were giving her concerned looks.

Possibly because Silvenia had on one of those green uniforms, and she had broken out of a hospital. But Czautha treasured this because, looks or not, she was a person amidst people.

A Djinni’s twisted wish. Serinpotva wasn’t over the toes. She pointed at them.

“They’re so fragile. And they make me hungry, like worms. Also, why do I have ten? They’re not useful. I know toes. They break.”

“Dear…”

Okay, maybe they weren’t blending in. For one thing, Czautha’s physical size had apparently meant that, as a Human, she was six foot six, and Serinpotva was actually shorter. Both liked that.

“So apparently, I wasn’t the largest of Harpy Queens. I told you I wasn’t overweight.”

She was very smug, and Czautha turned to Silvenia.

“It’s random, isn’t it?”

The half-Elf sighed.

“Am I just your walking encyclopedia for magic and Skills?”

“Yes.”

The half-Elf gave her a snide look as she sipped from her drink.

“Why am I covered in bandages? I am sure this Skill takes from reality. It doubtless has some random components, but logic supports Serinpotva’s assertion.”

“Aha.”

If it was not clear already…all three were Humans in the great Skill, [The World of You and Me], in the Meeting of Tribes. Czautha shook her head, amazed.

“The power of Gnolls. Even if this was made of Earthers, I could not imagine this happening in Wistram, even.”

“That’s shamanic magic for you. They don’t worry about having to justify all of this. Mages would have to build some kind of memory-based transference to logical data and…eugh. [Shamans] are simpler. Mind you, they can’t do spell circuits for shit.”

Silvenia was delighted by this place. She beamed around, and a woman hurried up to her.

“Are you—excuse me, are you alright?”

“What, this? Don’t mind the bandages. I’m fine, see?”

Silvenia removed her eyepatch and her gaping eyesocket, bloodied, stared the woman in the face. She screamed, then fainted.

“Weak. I changed my mind, we’ll conquer this place easily. Want to try?”

Serinpotva and Czautha immediately scolded Silvenia and hurried her off. But Serinpotva ran back to add a huge tip to their table.

“Serinpotva, they’re fake. This is pointless.”

Silvenia complained, but Serinpotva turned.

“I will not be a thief, even in a dream. Besides. Courtesy matters. Now, stop causing trouble. Didn’t you say you could break this Skill if you did too much? I would not trouble the Gnolls. Hopefully, they did not notice our entry.”

“They’re smart. They won’t bother us. Hopefully.”

Czautha was optimistic. Silvenia? She just beamed as she looked around. She smiled, and the years melted off her.

“Another world. This is worth staying alive another thousand years for, even if I have to build a proper bridge myself.”

She smiled and looked—young. A half-Elf who had figured out how not to age. Czautha envied her that, and even Serinpotva stopped to look around.

Earth.

They stood in a common destination for travellers, Los Angeles, a place that Rose, one of the creators of the Skill, knew well. There was a lot for the Deaths to do.

Including, but not limited to, scaring the piss out of everyone else that was here. Serinpotva was scolding Silvenia by pecking her with her face, which looked stupid.

“We are here to confirm things, Silvenia.”

“And have fun. This is already…magnificent. Look at all these cars. Although, they’re not that efficient. Let’s find that metroline thing.”

Czautha shook her head.

“I hear it’s dangerous and filled with urine.”

“Flora said that, but she admitted she’s never been to California and hates it on principle. Come now, Czautha, I can still cast magic. You could probably push over that skyscraper, there. But shall we save that for later? I need to find the internals of everything so I can copy the designs. Oh! And shall we see how many people in chains there really are?”

Silvenia’s eyes glittered, and Czautha, a huge woman with dark skin, drew herself up as she looked around. Serinpotva, who had long, braided hair and looked like she hailed from Inkar’s home or close by, interestingly, raised her brows.

“This land shines so vibrantly. But every happy land has a dark underbelly. We needn’t start there, though. We have…two hours?”

“Don’t worry about that. I’ll extend our stay. You can bully Skills.”

Silvenia said it like it was easy. They were so…normal. Normal and terrifying. Again—someone emerged from the restroom of a local pub.

“I need to go to the bathroom again. Dead gods, we’re dead. We. Are. Dead.”

Pisces jumped as Ceria whispered in his ear. He turned and nearly screamed at her—and then saw Ksmvr, Yvlon, and five Gnolls half-crouched and staring at the Deaths through the pub window. They were getting odd looks, but the terrified people in the Earth Skill were more terrified of the real…

“Pisces, what are you doing?”

Even Ceria was scared. Pisces was petrified so bad that he had leaked a bit into his pants, and he was shaking uncontrollably every time he stared at Silvenia’s raw mana leaking from her.

So he was about one fourth as terrified as his friends and the other Gnolls. He was less scared because Czautha…

He wanted to go over and thank her. But Yvlon would probably murder him first. He whispered back.

“What am I doing? I’m acting normal. If they see you squatting down, they’ll know you’re not from here.”

“He’s right! Everyone, act normal!”

Instantly, Yvlon threw herself into a seat and dragged Ksmvr into the seat. They pretended to be reading from a menu, and one of the Gnolls whimpered.

“Go to Earth, they said. Nothing can hurt you. If we die here, do we die in real life?”

“I bet you Silvenia could kill you in a dream and make it stick. I need to go to the bathroom again!”

Ceria fled into one. Pisces turned back. What were they say—

“Aha. Look what I found? A little [Necromancer] and a [Cryomancer]. Yum, yum. And some Gnolls.”

Silvenia appeared at the window of the pub. She’d turned herself invisible! Now, the bandaged half-Elf appeared as a Human with silver hair and bandages.

“Aaah!”

Pisces screamed. Ksmvr screamed. The Gnolls ran, shrieking, as Ceria leapt out of the bathroom, wand raised, jeans down around her ankles.

“[Ice Spike]!”

“No, d—”

Yvlon threw a wild punch, and her arms elongated and broke straight through the glass. The fake Humans screamed in confusion—and Czautha caught the fist.

“Silvenia. Stop scaring them. I apologize. We aren’t hurting anyone.”

The Djinni flicked the fist back, and Silvenia caught the trio of [Ice Spikes] in midair. She snapped off the tips and inserted them into her drink.

“Not bad ice. Hey, this one’s poisoned. Hello, sister. Hello, Antinium-thing. Mirrex will be happy I met one of you. And a metalflesh woman. They’re so interesting—”

“Do you want to have the Blighted Kingdom torture them?”

The Gnolls had run off screaming, and Silvenia pouted as she stared at the Horns. Czautha pretended not to know Pisces as he sat there, staring at her. Silvenia sighed.

“Oh, very well. I was going to invite them to—”

“No. Interrogation squads. Torture.”

“Right. Well, farewell. Oh, and here. This is a proper [Ice Spike], sister.”

Silvenia pointed at Ceria, and the half-Elf threw herself down. Pisces felt a faint breeze and then—silence. He stared ahead as Ksmvr and Yvlon took cover and saw Czautha yank Silvenia away with a sigh. Then Czautha’s head turned—

And she winked at him. Pisces whispered.

“Thank you—”

They left, and only then did he turn and see Ceria lying flat on the ground, staring at the hole just where her head had been. That hole had punched itself through the next fifteen buildings, and she lay there, staring at a perfect hole in the world before things began crumbling.

“I…I need new pants. Also, I have to see what that ice spike looked like. We’re alive, right? Horns, run like cowards! Tactical retreat!”

 

——

 

In the end, Serinpotva made them all fly to another city to get away from the commotion they’d caused. Even then, Silvenia ended up having to disguise them with magic. Czautha was staring at a phone, sighing as she spoke to Silvenia.

“They really are good at sharing information. Your face is on the news.”

Silvenia was in tears. When Czautha demanded to know why, she almost burst into sobs.

“I want to come back here every day. Imagine it, I could cause so much trouble—”

Serinpotva sighed, but Czautha was wondering how long they could stay. A little date with Serinpotva would be nice.

Actually, the two holding hands were fairly conspicuous given Czautha’s size, and she had bought a bunch of clothing for a new look. What she liked wasn’t just that they were Humans—she liked the fact that, even here, there was a war to be fought.

She felt it in her bones. At least one older woman had not approved of her and Serinpotva holding hands and said something in whichever city this was—but before Czautha could say anything, another Human had come to their defense.

The entire fight was reassuring because it felt like a real world. Rather than focus on the negatives, Czautha looked at it as a place she could understand. Amidst even the world of chains—there was always something beautiful.

Like this bar, which was having an open-mic night and was, apparently, a shelter for her kind. She did not know the steps, but she knew the dance, and Serinpotva was questioning another person in here for all the cultural details.

“She wants to go to a museum. Good luck.”

Silvenia smiled evilly as Czautha groaned. They were going to split up after this, but as Rinu had asked…

What did the Deaths do together? This. They did this.

It didn’t matter where, or how short, or how long. Silvenia climbed up onto stage, microphone in hand, and got a round of applause.

“So we sing? My name is Silvenia, and I’m here with my two friends, Serinpotva and Czautha. And I don’t have practice with this style of song, but I—”

“Get on with it! No one wants to hear your life’s story.”

Someone else impatient for their turn shouted. Silvenia aimed a finger at them, then thought about it and merely smiled.

Czautha didn’t miss the magic that sent the person into the bathroom with [Crippling Indigestion], but that was restrained for Silvenia. The Death of Magic took a breath—then began.

“Your world hasn’t heard of me, but a terror I’ll be. I’m Silvenia, the Archmage of Demons. The person who…is the terror of legions! When my foes see me, they turn orange. A monster I can kill is called a Morang! Great Elves. This is so annoying.”

She made it about three verses, and then Czautha was reminded of Silvenia’s great weakness: she couldn’t rhyme. The audience laughed at her lyrics and Silvenia’s flush and Serinpotva gave Silvenia pity-applause, standing up, which only made the half-Elf grow more embarrassed. The Harpy muttered to Czautha.

“How can an [Archmage] capable of dual-chanting two Tier 7 spells into existence not rhyme?”

Silvenia came back to her seat and got a free drink from the bar for humiliating herself. She took a long drink, then responded, flushed.

“I always think of orange. If you’re so smart, you do better.”

“I wish Czautha to do it. You’ve been listening to them all night, and you have a look in your eye. Go on.”

Serinpotva prodded Czautha, but the Djinni waited shyly until there was a lull. When she got up, people stared at the giant among their kind, but Czautha just took the microphone and, unlike Silvenia, stood there in silence.

But it was an expectant silence, for her, and when she did speak, it was in a different style than Silvenia, a rush of words and emotions. And Czautha…

“Chain-born I broke them again and again until I learned also to mend. I wanted to see a Jinn’s face, but it was everywhere I looked only half of mine was fading away immortal flesh before mortal dreams love dangling on hooks. 

The longer I look the less villains I see only complacency—minds my flesh cannot change a thousand burning cities for each a brick I’ve laid. Someday I must be stopped but until I drop—my folk must be free first of all. 

We were gone already like Dragon and Halfling and Giant and more do you even remember them and their stories or wars? For all I fight and even if I win it’s done and lost but I stand here so it matters because they stood there and I watched them and here we are today. 

Endless hope no matter how deep it lies we rise.”

She didn’t know how well she did; the thunder in her heart and her closed eyes made it so that she felt alone. But when she cracked an eye open in the resulting silence—she saw staring faces. Then a whoop from Silvenia and applause. The Djinni raised the microphone and burst into a relieved smile.

Serinpotva smiled as she patted Silvenia on the arm.

“You were right. This was a good idea. We’re bound for another city, soon, if this simulation allows it.”

“Oh, where? I’m going to raid their military base and see what’s in it. Hopefully the Skill copied…reality.”

“Castro…in a city close to where we first appeared. It’s apparently a place for us, and there will be a street fair and dancing. You should come.”

“Once I visit my spot. I’ll try not to cause a national incident.”

In truth, Silvenia left them alone because when she found them the next day…she peeked at their smiles, and they had no end at what they had found, a happy place in this reflection of Earth.

And that—that was worth it.

 

——

 

That was just a fraction of it. It always was. To describe a day would take a day of writing, and it was enough to say that the Deaths took their time there. Silvenia had to be caught by Serinpotva and stopped from harassing the half-Elf she had taken a liking to. Czautha looked for misery and found it.

The [Necromancer] watched her, and Serinpotva took the Antinium aside for a quick chat to see what was up, although she had to throw his fierce half-metal guardian into the sea to get a word in.

Then they left, leaving the Gnolls alone, because their presence brought trouble. It was hard to be their friends or allies. Even if you wanted to be.

Serinpotva and Czautha took their secret route back, and this time with Silvenia. Then they broke for home, and the Blighted Kingdom was waiting once more.

They winged Silvenia, and it seemed like multiple nations had sent firepower down. But they hesitated, as they had this entire trip. From Nerrhavia’s Fallen to Zeres—they hesitated.

Wait, is this really Silvenia? Should we unleash our magic on…?

It was that hesitation that gave her the moment to dodge or live, but even then…

 

——

 

She was smoking when she landed in her tower, and her flesh was scarred further. The Demons were in uproar, triggering a return volley of fire to make the Blighted Kingdom relent their assault.

“Silvenia!”

Bazeth and [Healers] charged at her, and a terrified cat was almost trampled by Flora as Silvenia collapsed onto the ground.

She lay there, but then shooed them and the healing potions and scrolls of magic away. She was just hurt. She wasn’t dead.

The half-Elf dragged herself into her rooms. Bazeth was furious, and so was the Minister of Defense.

“Death of Magic, you’re hurt. You’ve burnt out your mana—and all for what? Intelligence? This is—”

Silvenia tossed a cat at the Demon, and the Minister fled. But Bazeth stayed, looking disapproving, with Flora worriedly staring at Silvenia. Yet the Death of Magic, Islandbreaker, the Curse of Elves just lay there, looking wan, exhausted, and panting.

Her eyes were still alive. She spoke to Bazeth before he could muster a complaint.

“Thirty-seven. I wasted thirty-seven failsafes in two days. Killing spells in vaults, held in reserve by nations like Nerrhavia’s Fallen. The like of which they used to burn that Gathering Citadel down to ash.”

His eyes widened. Silvenia smiled tiredly.

“Other nations panic when they see me. Thirty-seven, and I saw Earth. I had a beer, and I have all the designs I could plunder. What did you do today?”

Then she put a cat over her eyes and fell asleep on the spot.