WARNING: Violence, disturbing imagery.

My finals start on Saturday, so wish me luck, please leave a review :D

Chapter 11: An Honorable Villain

"You're that frankfurter person," Anna said.

"I'm still that frankfurter person," Flynn said. "You think I was joking, but those sausages were amazing. So fresh, so juicy. They were too good for this world. You should've gotten some while I was still in business, lady."

Anna couldn't help but laugh, though it rang with a halfway-eerie echo through the chapter hall. Elsa and Judus were there, and Uriah, too, stood silently in the corner watching them with his listless gaze. It felt like he was there as a bodyguard. His eyes were trained on Elsa, and he had yet to participate in conversation; Anna had the feeling that he wouldn't start any time soon. She'd never heard him speak despite various encounters with him around the monastery.

"Flynn," Judus said. "Tell us what happened."

"Does it need explaining? Gwen jumped me. I didn't realize new members were being taught to mug people for their lunch money."

"I see you've picked up more vile vocabulary." Judus frowned but said no more on the subject. He turned to Anna, decidedly ignoring Elsa. "Flynn has been useful as a more anonymous personality, to gather information and take on more…subtle operations. He's been with me since he was thirteen—"

"It wasn't that long ago, I'm only nineteen years and sixty months old."

"—but as you can see, he acquired some unsavory habits from his informants."

"It's called personality," Flynn said.

"A very colorful one," Anna added.

"Yes, thank you! I tell everyone that, but they just roll their eyes at me. Oh, and congratulations, I noticed that you're not in a wheelchair anymore. Looking good, lady. Knew you could do it."

"Yeah, I can move around pretty freely with crutches now," Anna said, swinging one excitedly. Elsa deftly moved out of the way. "It's a little tiring, but I'm working on walking without them too."

Flynn nodded sagely. "You have to learn to walk before you can learn to fly."

"Didn't you say there was something important?" Elsa asked.

"Oh, right. It's not too much, just…" Flynn sobered. "Red Tempest will attack us soon."

Anna stiffened. As Flynn outlined what he knew of the Red Tempest, their members and their backgrounds, she realized that confrontation was inevitable. What she was doing now…she was hiding, hiding behind anonymity. Didn't she have a responsibility to these people? Whatever had happened to them, their sudden powers, their sudden worship—Anna knew she was at the heart of it.

And they would meet soon, face to face.

When they did, Anna only hoped she would know what to do.

Days passed in an uneasy trickle. Knights of the Order rounded the boundaries of the Temple from dawn to dusk, in heavier and heavier patrols, though their efforts seemed unwarranted as time passed in utter silence; but anticipation was the worst kind of attack, not on the body but on the mind. Each and every person was on high alert, nerves so frayed that they jumped at the slightest provocation.

But Elsa's anticipation was not a nervous one. In an odd way, she wanted the Red Tempest to come, and she waited not with wariness but relief. Everything they had done thus far had been from the shadows, but this once, they would be striking out in the open. Once they did, she would know who her enemies really were. Once they did, she would be able to root them out and destroy them.

Elsa wanted nothing more to do with these people. She'd had enough of intrigue and plotting, being stalked through the night and being backstabbed from the shadows.

And Anna deserved to have peace.

Elsa knew Anna would refuse to sit on the sidelines. Anna was just that kind of person, one who would want to take responsibility, one who would want to face conflict head-on. If she could do something to help, then she would, regardless of how much it hurt her too. Elsa wanted nothing less.

"You're here," Elsa said, stopping in the middle of the path to her room. There was no one else in her vicinity. Or, at least, no one visible. It didn't mean that no one was there at all, watching her every step.

Surprising, that they chose to act in broad daylight.

"Ohhhhh, you're really good at this."

"I could sense you before you ever made it inside the Temple."

Someone stepped out from the trees, bandaged and cloaked, and Elsa surmised that this one was Mani. There was something utterly vile about her aura. Elsa had the feeling that this was intentional, to throw off her senses by exuding foul magic. Her voice, too, was an ugly warble, like she was speaking through water or heavily diseased. What was under those bandages?

"I was told that you were mute," Elsa said.

"Oh, that. I'm not always actually there with them, I'm a busy person! So the me that they see…doesn't always have vocal cords," Mani said, tapping what seemed to be her throat. Elsa thought it unwise to make assumptions about what lay under her disguise. "Anyway, I'm here to lure you away."

"And why would you need to do that?"

"You're too powerful! It wouldn't be fair for everyone else to have your help right from the start of the game. There wouldn't be any balance."

Elsa raised an eyebrow. "But you think that you'll be able to lure me away."

"Of course," Mani said. She giggled, but the sound was too thin, too raspy, too much like a rattle. "Because I have something that you need. I'll just…ask politely for you to follow me."

She reached under her cloak and behind her back, and when she withdrew her hand—

Elsa took a step forward.

It might have been blackened, like the color and the light had bled out, but what Mani held in her hands was unmistakably the Golden Flower. Even from a distance, Elsa could feel its intoxicating warmth, its honeyed nectar and golden ambrosia flooding her senses with sweetness. Perhaps the power of the Mirror in her heart recognized it, though she didn't know as friend or foe or something in between—maybe a treasured enemy, or a hated friend. Part of Elsa almost feared to approach the Golden Flower at all. She didn't know if she might lose her mind to the drunken euphoria that it promised.

"It's looking a bit dead right now," Mani admitted, thumbing the blackened petals. "But I really do think you should follow me. I promise I'll hand it over once I show you something fun!"

"You would just give it to me?"

"Yes." It was, perhaps, the most serious she had sounded yet. "I don't need it. It'd be in better hands with Anna. She's the one who deserves to have it."

Before Elsa could ask how she came to have it, Mani had turned and fled.

Elsa had only an instant to consider her next action. She could stay here and ward off the attack that was sure to come, but she would lose sight of Mani. She could follow and obtain the Flower, through force if necessary, but she would need to trust the people here to manage in her absence. It had never been easy for her to trust. Most importantly, she would need to leave Anna here, alone. What would Anna want? What would Anna do?

Anna would trust other people.

Anna would trust Elsa.

Elsa followed.

They came through the front doors.

Anna was sitting in the courtyard with Alek, resting under the shade of the pagoda when it happened. She heard low screams, the explosion of stone as the mastiffs guarding the gates were demolished. An acrid stench filled the air when a black phoenix soared over the walls, screeching its fury and burning the air with its dark wings; and then the doors swung open to admit the Red Tempest. She could see them clearly from where she was. Six people surrounded by a vortex of shadow magic, and behind them a drove of creatures so twisted by serglige they barely resembled humans—storming the Temple of Light.

She looked towards them, and her eyes met with Brennus.

"Burn it down!" Taranis screamed.

Their group spread out in all directions, met by an incoming wave of knights and trainees both. Black fire exploded into existence, dousing the buildings, the paths, the plants, devouring everything in its path. It was the same as any other battle, the screech of metal, the haze of smoke, the smell of blood. Anna remembered this sight from the Southern Isles. Only this time, she was not high above, but down on earth, in the blood and the grime.

Anna could recognize all of them—the members of the Order, the members of the Red Tempest. She had met those of the Order, and she could recognize those of the Red Tempest from Alek and Flynn's descriptions. Gwen had intercepted Eira; Valen had engaged with Morgan; Uriah was cutting his way through to Ayden. Taranis was seemingly looking for a specific someone as he cut down everyone in his path, the glint of his mask a golden flame in the midst of the darkness.

But there was one person that Anna didn't recognize, someone with the Red Tempest that she had heard nothing about. Though he seemed different from the victims of wasting sickness, he looked no more in control of himself than they did. His brown hair was long and matted in dirty thickets, and his posture was very slightly hunched like an animal, so that he always looked down with nervous, twitching eyes. His clothing was torn, just a cloak with shredded edges and ripped sleeves that revealed the horribly pale skin of his forearms, and he wore no shoes. For a while he stood there, watching the battle with wide eyes rimmed by red skin; and then with a shriek he leapt into the fray, seizing a knight and blackened nails sinking into his neck like knives—and he tore the man's head from his shoulders.

His tongue was hanging out to catch the blood. Even his lips were black.

"Aaaaahhhhh…"

It was absolutely disgusting.

"That's Kaleb," Brennus said.

Neither of them had noticed his approach.

"Stay back!" Alek said, but he was too slow; he was only halfway to his sword when Brennus moved his hand, an offhand twitch of his fingers, and Alek was paralyzed. A dark claw burst from the small of Brennus's back and dragged Alek up off the ground, leaving him dangling in midair for half a second before slamming him into a pillar of the pagoda.

"After our last encounter, I thought you were dead," Brennus said. "I assume that Ayden has something to do with you living, but…"

Alek said nothing. He could not, not with the claw smothering his face, and his fingers dug into the leathery limb to no avail.

"Let him go!" Anna said. Brennus tilted his head to look at her and she repeated, quieter, "If you want anything from me, let him go. Let. Him. Go."

Brennus's clawed tail retreated into his body, and Alek crumpled, motionless, to the ground. But he was alive, and, perhaps, safer than he would be if he were conscious and fighting. Anna felt a guilty relief from that, truthfully.

She watched carefully as Brennus claimed a spot next to her, but he made no move to take her as Morgan had, or even to do anything at all. Truthfully, she felt no danger from him. Anna knew that he would act eventually, but not yet. Until then, they would share an uneasy amnesty. Even camaraderie, because they were as close to siblings as anyone could be without the ties of blood. Anna could feel the same magic inside him, inside all of them and inside herself, resonating in recognition of its kin.

Even Kaleb.

"Do you recognize him?" Brennus asked.

"…No, but I've heard of him. Kaleb is…the missing member of the Order, Naomi's apprentice," Anna said. How was it possible? Even if she knew nothing about the rest of the Red Tempest, how did Kaleb, an ordinary member of the Order who never possessed magic, suddenly gain this power as well?

"Yes. Mani tortured him until he…broke."

"Do you think something like that is right?" Anna asked. "Or something like this, coming here and killing people? You have no right to hurt anyone."

"I regret it," Brennus said. "But I feel no guilt. There will always be sacrifices on the path to change."

She wasn't going to get through to him. She could hear the conviction in his voice, and she knew that this was a man who would never let anyone change his mind. It was all he had left.

"May I ask a question?" Brennus met her eyes again, his own reflecting such mad zeal that Anna knew he would never hear her words. "What was it like…? What was it like, to be the vessel of God?"

"There was never a god," Anna said. "And I was never a goddess."

"It's just a term," Brennus said eagerly. "Please, tell me."

"It was…freedom."

Anna remembered the feeling of having no inhibition, no limits. Being so powerful that nothing in the world could shackle her anymore, being so powerful that she was above the laws of men, the rules of nature. She had been a creature of instinct, without the need for rationality and reason. It had been freedom to do what she wanted, freedom to destroy what she hated, freedom to have what she desired.

"Freedom," Brennus repeated. "Exactly. Freedom from constraints, from oppression—"

"But," Anna said, "I was also enslaved by freedom."

"Enslaved by…freedom? I don't understand," Brennus said, and he sounded so confused, so lost, that for a moment Anna felt the deepest pity for him. He yearned for direction, but she had none to give; nor should she have been the one to give it.

"I wish I could explain it to you, but I don't really understand it myself." Anna shook her head. "But I can tell you that giving yourself away to this idea of freedom isn't going to do you any good. If you're looking for happiness…you won't find it by chasing after Queen Anna."

"No, I can't believe that." Brennus placed his hand over his heart, wisps of dark flame hovering at his fingertips. "She blessed us. She charged us with the continuation of her legacy."

"I don't remember doing that."

"Perhaps not you, the human, but you, the vessel of God."

"What do you want from me?" Anna asked. "It's like you said, I'm just a vessel. Back then, Edmund had possessed me. That person, that God you want, doesn't exist anymore. I don't have anything to offer you anymore. Stop this, Brennus."

Brennus smiled thinly. "I know all this. But, Anna, are you so sure that person doesn't still exist?"

Anna looked away. She had no answer to that, not one she believed.

"I believe that you are the key to the revival of God. Inside you, Queen Anna slumbers. I only need to wake you, and I know how to do that. For the same reason you are here," Brennus said, gesturing around them. "You are the map to the Golden Flower."

"I won't help you."

"We are bound to this fate. Our magic is proof of our connection, proof of our destiny," Brennus said. "You'll wake to it soon enough. Once you do, you'll see that you are one of us. You have no choice, Anna. You are meant to help me."

Anna looked out to the battle and watched the carnage, unable to help, unable to act. Dark heat built in her chest, the power of her magic straining to be free, so she could help, so she could act. She needed it to do anything. She was bound to it, as she was bound to her past. Maybe she really had no choice. Maybe she could only be one thing.

Was Brennus…right?

"Fancy seeing you again, Gwen!"

Gwen swung her sword without any care for precision, for form. She only wanted Eira to die, and painfully, but her rage only grew when Eira moved out of the way with a ballerina step and a smile. Gwen leapt towards her again, stabbing for her head, and Eira blocked it with a metal handheld fan.

"My parents died protecting you, you waste of space," Gwen hissed.

"I wish they hadn't been around at all," Eira said. "Maybe I would have been taken to my new family sooner. I might have been free sooner. Instead, I squandered eighteen years chained to my parents."

Eira snapped the fan open, and Gwen leaned back to avoid the serrated edges spinning towards her neck. It was such a stupid weapon. Especially when Eira started fanning herself, like she just didn't care. Eira shouldn't have been a match for her at all, an untrained, pampered girl who had been waited on hand and foot for her entire life. Gwen couldn't understand this sudden ability. Last time she had seen Eira, before her kidnapping by the Red Tempest, she had been a helpless civilian.

"I was a little scared when I was taken away," Eira admitted. "But I was also relieved. Just being away from my family…being away from obligations…I didn't realize I would feel so happy."

"It must have been easy for them to break you," Gwen spat. "How long did it take? A day, maybe two?"

"Oh, no, Taranis kept me blindfolded in a closet, didn't feed me, didn't let me sleep," Eira said, with such a matter-of-fact tone that she could have been talking about someone else. "I was crying for my parents even though I hated them. Isn't that strange? But…they didn't do anything to help me."

"Yes, they did—"

"Someone would come speak to me, sometimes," Eira continued. "She told me such beautiful stories. Her voice was the most soothing thing I'd ever heard, especially after the clocks—tick tock, tick tock, tick tock. But her voice, her voice… Oh, Gwen, I didn't know I could fall in love with a voice. And that was all I heard, for months. Eventually…I wasn't scared anymore because I didn't care what happened!"

"Your parents did everything they could," Gwen said. "But even you should know that it was impossible for them to feed everyone in Corona. Taranis was being—"

"Facetious. Oh, I apologize, facetious means…flippant, joking." Eira smiled, twirling the fan between her fingers. "But I know. Taranis didn't expect anyone to really pay that ransom for me. I really don't care."

Eira threw the fan. Gwen held her sword vertically to block its advance, but the fan spun like a buzzsaw and continued cutting against her blade, spitting orange sparks where the metal grinded. With a grunt, she shoved it away. Eira caught the fan again, her steps so light she practically floated off the ground, and they clashed again, and again, and again.

Gwen refused to lose.

"Having a hard time killing me?"

Despite the growing ache in his side as his breath ran ragged, Valen kept talking while Morgan tried again and again to decapitate him. She was good, in the way that only talented amateurs could be—instinctive enough to try new things, untrained enough to risk death. She had a dozen openings, but nothing that would kill, only injure her and leave him open; Valen didn't want to test if she might be willing to sacrifice her life in exchange for taking his, because she was determined. So far, Morgan had a one-track mind. If he were just a little slower, he was sure that he could be a hydra and still be dead.

"Listen," Valen said, parrying another swing, again for his head, "I think you might need to talk to someone about possible issues."

No response, but he could tell she was annoyed.

"Any hobbies other than blowing things up and trying to kill or kidnap people? Leading a diverse lifestyle is key to emotional and mental health. Knitting, for example, repetitive enough to relax—"

"Shut up, you stupid boy," Morgan hissed.

"From what Flynn told us, I'm four or five years older than you!" Valen retreated so he could catch his breath, and he put on a lopsided grin. "How about some respect for your elders?"

Morgan scoffed. "Doesn't that just make it worse, then? Older than me, and still a naïve boy. You don't know anything about the world, about struggle and having to fight to just survive."

Valen dropped his smile.

"Am I wrong?" Morgan said, and then, enunciating each syllable, "Sir Valen."

"That's Prince Valen."

Valen regretted it the moment the words left his mouth, because the derisive laugh coming from that smug woman told him that she knew very well she had gotten under his skin. Worse. She wasn't even just mocking him to get a reaction. She meant every word she said, that he didn't know about struggle and that, of all people, he didn't know about fighting for a place in the world.

What a joke.

Valen rushed forward, and he swung hard enough to knock Morgan's sword out of her loosened grip. His blade drove into her gauntlets when she hastily brought up her arms to block, and he pushed harder, trying with all his might to amputate her arms altogether, but something on the other side pushed back. Not flesh, though he knew he had cut through her gauntlets. Morgan shoved him away, and he saw the shadow magic swarming inside the grooves of her gauntlet, covering her skin like an angry haze.

"You're a little different from most of the so-called knights with their chivalry," Morgan said slowly. "I wasn't expecting you to attack me out of the blue. You play the fool well."

"Well." Valen breathed deeply and smiled. "Thanks, I wasn't expecting you to be so nice."

"En guarde."

Uriah felt his pulse quicken at the sight of him, the one who had managed to match him—Ayden. It was an odd realization, that he could feel such excitement. Even his hands were trembling, not with fear as another might think, but with anticipation.

"You switched up your weapon," Ayden said.

His lance, unwieldy and simplistic, was a self-imposed handicap. Uriah had substituted it for a silver spear. It was almost crystalline in appearance, so silver it gleamed white, a blue horsehair tassel close to the blade and a corkscrew drill at the base. Either end was dangerous. Ayden deserved nothing but his best, so this time, he would fight with his chosen weapon. Just like Ayden, he would use the spear—the noblest of weapons.

"Now we match," Uriah said.

"…Yeah, we do." Ayden's face was hidden beneath his mask, and this time, even his eyes were hidden away; but Uriah thought he heard a hint of a smile in his voice, a hint of wonder. "Do we have to fight?"

"Of course." Uriah surprised himself with the fervor in his voice. It was very unlike him. "We must do battle. I am your Reaper, Ayden of the Red Tempest. No matter where you go, I will be there too."

"Why?"

"Because those are my orders."

"Is that…the only reason?"

"It's the only reason I need," Uriah said.

Their stances mirrored one another perfectly, and in unison, they leapt into battle. Uriah had the advantage of height, and he felt no compunction in keeping his distance, attacking with the outermost tip of his range. Ayden was slightly faster and slightly more agile, just enough to mitigate his advantage by staying one step ahead of Uriah. Once again, Uriah found himself impressed. More than impressed; captivated. How graceful, he thought, watching the beautiful, fluid movements of his would-be enemy. Like water, but also like steel; like wind, but also like stone; fast and strong, elegant but deadly. It was mesmerizing. Very suddenly he realized, he did not think of Ayden as an enemy, or even a target.

Ayden swept for his legs with a flurry of ground strikes, and when Uriah leapt back, Ayden instantly adjusted into an upwards arc, coming dangerously close to his glasses; Uriah felt a gust of air fan over his face. He'd landed on his feet for no more than a second before Ayden was pressing him again. Too direct, Uriah thought. It was unlike Ayden to attack so furiously. Though his movements had the lethality of an expert, his temperament was that of a novice trying to prove himself. Another slash, too close to his face. Uriah steeled himself and allowed himself to react, fully and viscerally as he never did.

Danger provoked instinct.

When was the last time he let himself fight so instinctually?

Uriah blocked the next strike and shifted, moving both blades to the side, angling the base of his own spear to point directly at Ayden's mask; and he thrust the corkscrew end forward. Forced to stumble backward, Ayden was already off balance; Uriah pivoted on his heel, swinging his spear up and around and powering down on Ayden again, spear blade-first. Ayden blocked with his spear held horizontally, overhead. A mistake, Uriah thought. All he had to do was reverse his grip, strike under his guard with the spear butt, and he would knock the spear from Ayden's hands. That would be a disappointing end.

Ayden shunted him back, breathing harshly, and Uriah did nothing.

Next thing he knew, there was a blade pointed at his eye.

"What was that?" Ayden asked. "Are you mocking me?"

"You spared me once, too." Uriah gestured to his shoulder, the torn epaulette on his coat from their last encounter. He had yet to mend it. He rather liked the flaw. "Don't mistake me. I was returning a favor."

Slowly, Ayden moved out of his readied stance.

"Are we going to keep fighting, or are you going to let me pass?"

"You're here to avenge your family," Uriah said. "Last time, I recognized your spear stance—General Culann's distinctive form, I believe. You are his son, then."

Ayden nodded. "Will you let me pass?"

"No." Uriah raised his spear once again. "We'll continue. You can walk over my corpse, if you think yourself capable. I have never underestimated you, and I will never make an allowance for you."

"…I see." Ayden readied himself, but there was, perhaps, less tension in his body, less of the desperate need in his movements. "Thank you. I'll remember what you said, no matter what happens."

Uriah didn't reply, but, he knew, he would remember this too.

I will remember you, Ayden of the Red Tempest.

It wasn't hard to find Mani.

Elsa walked slowly towards the frenzied crowd growing at the base of the clock tower, and one glance upward revealed the cause for the commotion.

"Please! Please come down, come down—"

At the very top of the clock tower, nearly eighty feet above the ground, was a ring of more than a dozen people. There was a little boy, no older than nine or ten. There was a middle-aged woman, gap-toothed and wide-eyed. There was a young man, scarred on the chin. And many, many more, standing there unresponsive to the world. Together they shambled over the railings of the observation deck, their motions horribly spastic, their faces terribly blank; and they ignored the screams of their loved ones watching below until there they were at the rooftop, their bodies swaying in the wind, the tips of their feet hovering over open air as they stood hand-in-hand at the very edge.

Elsa could see it in their faces. Without hesitation, they would leap to their deaths. At any moment, their bodies would fall to the earth, and their fragile, human lives would be extinguished in an instant.

How's this for a show, Elsaaaaa?

Mani was sitting at the center of them, her legs kicking at the stopped clock. Up above, she wouldn't have been heard if she spoke; Elsa heard her voice in her head. If it were possible, Elsa would have willingly dug through her skull to get Mani out, but what worried her was that Mani could get in at all. Not even Edmund had been able to get in her head like this. Somehow, Mani had completely bypassed the defenses of her magic, without Elsa even noticing.

"What are you planning?" Elsa asked.

Nothing! It's Anna messing with their heads, so you can't blame me. They wanted to die, so here they are, ready to take that final leap…

"What kind of sick—"

I'm giving you a chance to redeem yourself! Save them. Save them from themselves!

Elsa clenched her jaw. She could save them. She could save them with magic, but then everyone would know who she was. If this were before, when she hated the world, she really would have left them to their deaths. But now…now was different. Each of them was a person. Each of them had full lives with their own dreams and hopes and fears. She wasn't the only person in the world. Each of them up there was a real person, just like Alek or Hans or Rapunzel or Anna, and they had their own quirks, their own friends, their own families, their own lives as vivid as her own. No. She couldn't just leave them.

Especially not when she, too, had killed herself once.

She knew what it was like to be desperate, as though the soul, flayed of its old hide of hopes and pretensions, recorded every touch and thought as pain.

You're pretty worthless, aren't you? You're just a side character now. Everything that made you special, you threw away for this weird sentimentality. You don't matter anymore.

Just like these people.

They jumped.

They were free-falling through the air without so much as a sound, but—Elsa would save them. She needed to save them. She outstretched her arms, pushing with all the might of her magic until even her lips parted in a throaty yell. An avalanche of snow rose from nothing and surged upwards, and then—

Mani outstretched her hand.

Immediately, Elsa felt a hammering pressure in her head, and her concentration broke, the snow fell to the ground. She didn't even notice as the crowd scattered in a panic. If there were mental walls in her head to keep other people out, the feeling just now had been like they were being shredded. She could still hear the echo of a thin screech in her ears—the echo of foreign magic consuming hers, pushing hers back into her body.

It was all happening in an instant. Elsa looked up, saw that the people were still falling, sixty feet, fifty feet, closer and closer to the ground and to death, and she tried again to summon up the wealth of her magic.

Let's play, Queen Elsa.

Up above, the Golden Flower glowed with light.

Elsa was magically more powerful. Despite the odd sensation of her magic being swallowed, being eaten, she knew she could push Mani back if she concentrated—but as the people fell, forty feet, thirty feet, she only felt terror. Her heart leapt in her throat and choked her breath, and she vaguely wished that for this one moment it wasn't still in her body, just so she could do this without interference.

With one last push, Elsa freed herself of Mani.

She redirected her efforts to the snow, moving it to catch the falling people—

This is so fun!

Mani leapt off the tower, kicking off the clock and cracking the glass surface as invisible magic whipped her forward. She reached Elsa in an instant, her hand curled into a claw as she reached for her face.

On instinct, Elsa dodged under her grip, seized her by the throat – her neck should have snapped, how is this girl, this thing, even still alive – and flung her down.

I win!

No.

No, no, no, no, no.

It was too late.

Elsa heard the dull crunch of bones, the wet squelch of flesh, long before she actually saw the bodies. Slowly, she looked around. There were screams all around her from the crowd, but she barely heard them. She only saw mangled bodies lying prostrate at the base of the tower, utterly ruined, cracked skulls and strewn organs. Her hands wouldn't stop shaking. She clenched them tightly, one of them squeezing Mani's windpipe even as she exhaled whooping laughs.

"I really haven't learned my lesson!" Mani said. "But maybe next time."

"There won't be a next time," Elsa said.

"Ohhhhhhh?"

Another flash of light; Elsa squinted her eyes, cursing with cheated rage as she felt herself pushed back. By the time she could open her eyes without pain, Mani was on her feet, twirling the Flower between her fingers and making a play at smelling it; and then she threw it. Without ceremony, as though it were nothing but garbage, she tossed it towards Elsa. Elsa barely reacted in time to catch it, and the feel of it was—not unpleasant, but strange. Uncomfortably warm, like she was holding the sun in her hands.

"Maybe next time? But I'll admit that this was your win." Mani dipped into a bow. "You should probably be heading back to the Temple. Killing me might take a little too long! I'm very persistent. Like a cockroach? Ungeheures Ungeziefer. So I mean, you can step on me, and, umm…sticks and stones may break my bones? Huh. What's the second part again…?"

At her words, a loud screech sounded over the tumult. Elsa looked in its direction, in the direction of the Temple, and even from a distance she could see the firebird circling its walls. Mani was gone by the time Elsa looked back, and angry as she was, there was nothing she could do. She needed to go back.

Elsa took one last look at the carnage, at the people she had failed to save.

She pushed her way out of the crowd, feeling the weight of failure and, for the first time, the bitter taste of defeat.

Anna clenched her hands as she continued to watch the battle, hostage under Brennus.

"Did you know that Lazarus was part of the firing squad meant to execute Taranis?" Brennus asked. "By now, I suspect Taranis will have found him. Ahh, and look, another reunion."

Naomi had reached Kaleb, and despite her pleas for him to stop, the boy didn't seem to recognize his once-mentor; or perhaps he did and it exacerbated his madness, because his shrill screams only grew louder as he lunged for her with bloodied hands. Barrages of arrows from the soldiers on the walls tore at his skin as he advanced, but he paid them no heed, only healing through his injuries with astonishing speed. Up above, the phoenix charged down the archers and flung them down the balustrades.

"What do you want from me?" Anna asked again.

"Your cooperation."

"Then stop this, please, what good does this do?"

"Like I said," Brennus murmured, drumming his fingers on the railing of the pagoda, "I need to awaken the goddess slumbering inside you, and this, I think, is the quickest way. It's for the best. You'll see."

Anna watched as Naomi continued to dodge Kaleb. Every motion of his clawed hands sent a blade of fire tearing through the ground, until everything around them was burned—even his own flesh. Skin peeled from his exposed feet and regenerated again, the flesh burned until even blood ran dry, and then healed without scars. When one unfortunate knight blocked his path, Kaleb punched through his armor, renting the metal and tearing through flesh and bone until his arm reemerged out the knight's back.

"Kaleb!" Naomi yelled, as Kaleb shoved the corpse off his arm. "Look at me, I'm Naomi—"

"Tick tock tick tock tick," Kaleb muttered under his breath, again and again. "Scritch scratch scritch scratch scritch… Close my eyes and shut my mouth, sew them shut and they won't crawl out…"

That explained the skin scratched red and raw under his eyes, and his torn lips.

"She's never going to reach him," Brennus said.

"What did you people do to him?" Anna said. "How does he have magic? How is any of this happening? Just—give me an answer. If you want me to do anything for you, then tell me—"

"I don't know. I only follow; God is not meant to be questioned."

Anna remembered too late that this man could provide her with no answers, ensnared so deeply in his own conviction that he saw nothing but a farfetched dream. This was the type of man who was most dangerous, she realized. Not someone who schemed and plotted, but this, the man who had no path but a destination. They would destroy everything to get to it.

There was an unbearable heat in her chest, something monstrous; something crawling on a tangled web wound around her heart and lungs, looking out with a thousand ink-black eyes.

Gwen was being pushed back. She had yet to recover from her injuries, and Eira was pressing her advantage by aiming for her wounds. In the distance, Uriah and Ayden at a standstill; Valen lying defenseless on the ground with Morgan poised to strike; and then from the chapel came the loudest explosion that Anna had ever heard, as the windows shattered, as the towers groaned with arthritic strain until they finally collapsed, and the doors blew away, and Lazarus was flung out of the collapsing ruin as Taranis stalked towards him.

Everything was going to hell.

They're going to…

"For the wages of sin is death," Brennus murmured.

…die.

Anna tore from her seat.

She had never felt more powerful. She was moving so fast it felt like her skin might tear from her body, like her soul might altogether abandon her weak, mortal body. Her legs no longer hindered her movement; she had no need for them; she was weightless shadow, flying across the courtyard as rings of flame and shadow spiraled all around her in a nebulous haze.

At once, drawn to her magic, every member of the Red Tempest looked to Anna.

Anna reached Kaleb before he could react, passed him by before he could ever register her appearance—and he was mewling on the ground, missing half his torso when she left, vaporized by the magic she exuded. Now that magic was reshaping into tendrils, red-black spider legs outstretched in all directions; Morgan, at least, tried to move, to do anything—too slow, too weak. Her magic was a pittance compared to Anna. Morgan opened her mouth in a scream as her magic was swatted aside and Anna's snapped forward, impaled her through the chest and stomach again and again like a piston tearing through paper flesh, lifting her off the ground entirely and flinging her limp body away.

Whoever was left was coming at her now. On its own accord her magic surged from her body, catching Eira full in the face, wrapping around Taranis and crushing his arms and legs, reaching up and then stabbing Ayden through the shoulders. She was at once still and scattered, the person crouched and also the shadow and the fire washing over the entirety of the Temple.

It was power distilled to absolute perfection.

But it was intolerable.

No matter what she did, her magic never calmed, only seethed and churned and frothed. It was a cesspool of burning, living water. It was fire that might boil her insides, venom that might melt her eyes and bleed from her pores. Her chest was tight with heat and terror and so she lashed out, curling into herself and screaming as she blasted the flames outward at everything and everyone, again and again.

After hours or days or seconds, Anna felt herself burn out.

She was crouched in a crater gouged out by flame, all the green replaced by ash and soot and blackened dirt. There were schisms wherever her magic had torn through the ground, bottomless trenches that formed a pattern-less web. Everyone was downed. Dead. Dying. She couldn't tell. Almost everyone.

"Now we see the extent of your powers," Brennus said. Anna hardly had the strength to turn her head to look at him. "Greater than all of us. You are our prophet, Anna."

"N-No. Y…You're wrong."

"…But the gift of God is eternal life."

Brennus reached out.

Rapunzel swung for his head.

It was an attack from behind, but Brennus moved out of the way without ever looking back; though there was distance, now, between him and Anna. Rapunzel kept up her mad barrage with a ruined sword that looked just as deadly to its owner as its enemies, and Brennus moved away, one step at a time, circling her as she continued her fruitless efforts.

"Run, Anna!"

"Princess Rapunzel," Brennus said calmly. Not even his breathing seemed to quicken. "It would be an honor if you might come with us, too."

"Go — to — hell!"

Brennus caught the sword in his hand and snapped it; but before he could seize Rapunzel, an arrow pierced the ground between them.

"Hello again, Bren."

Sol was perched on a nearby rooftop, crouched and at the ready with bow and arrow. Brennus looked first to the arrow at his feet, then to Sol, and for a long while he did not speak. Anna felt Rapunzel move her away, but she barely even registered her touch. She was so tired. She wanted nothing more than to sink into the earth and fall into a deep sleep.

"Sol," Brennus said simply. "Where's Eugene?"

"With Judus," Sol said. "I suggest you take everybody and leave before I keep you any longer. Cut your losses before Elsa arrives?"

"You think I won't hurt you."

"Tell everyone I hope they're doing well!"

Slowly, Brennus nodded. "One day, you'll understand."

Sol smiled.

Brennus departed, the black phoenix collecting his fallen comrades and bearing them all into the sky.

Anna was left lying on the ground, smothered by an invisible carapace—exhaustion, confusion, despair. She took one last fleeting look at the scene around her, the fallen bodies and the flames; and then, with great relief, she let her vision fade to black.