Episode 42: Belly of the Beast

Morning sunlight filtered through the curtains of Trace Mercer's apartment, softening the sharp lines of the furniture and painting the room in warm shades of gold. For the first time in weeks, the city outside seemed almost peaceful. Construction equipment hummed somewhere in the distance, birds chirped from the trees lining the streets below, and the chaos that had become Avalon City's normal rhythm felt strangely absent.

Trace sat in bed looking out the window, while Ashlyn Westbrook leaned against the bedroom doorway wearing nothing but one of his oversized shirts. Her black hair was still slightly messy from sleep, and there was something wonderfully ordinary about the sight that made Trace smile before he even realized he was doing it.

Trace Mercer: Good morning, my lady. My love.

She returned the smile immediately.

Ashlyn Westbrook: You're serenading me before coffee, and it's working. That should be illegal.

Trace Mercer: Gazing upon you in this beautiful morning sun is more powerful than the dark brew of the Bean Champion.

Ashlyn rolled her eyes despite the faint blush appearing on her cheeks.

Ashlyn Westbrook: You're getting smoother.

Trace Mercer: Am I?

Ashlyn let out a small laugh before sitting beside him in bed. For several quiet minutes neither of them spoke. They simply enjoyed the rare luxury of silence together, listening to the sounds of the city slowly waking beyond the windows.

Eventually Ashlyn looked down toward herself.

The smile faded.

She carefully placed her mug on the table before standing.

Without saying anything, she slipped Trace's shirt over her head.

He looked up instinctively before immediately realizing why she had become so quiet.



The scars had multiplied.

Some were thin white lines running across her stomach and ribs. Others remained faintly pink from battles that had happened only weeks earlier. One longer scar curved across her side where Glasswraith had nearly impaled her during the battle in the plaza. Smaller marks decorated her shoulders and back, reminders of blades, claws, explosions, and countless moments where luck had favored survival by inches.

Ashlyn slowly traced one of them with her fingertips.

Her voice was quieter than he had heard it in a long time.

Ashlyn Westbrook: I'm sorry, Trace. Being a hero has a price. It's been bothering me. I know what my mission is. What I have to do. I woke up the curse, and I have to see this through. I just...I don't ever want you to think I'm ugly.

Trace stood.

He walked over without hesitation.

Trace Mercer: Who told you that?

Ashlyn Westbrook: Nobody. I just...

She laughed softly at herself.

Ashlyn Westbrook: I keep finding new ones every time I look in the mirror. I know they're stupid little things compared to what everyone else is dealing with, but sometimes I wonder if this is what fighting forever looks like.

Her fingers rested over the scar across her ribs.

Ashlyn Westbrook: Jeanne Ark probably never looked like this.

Trace's expression softened.

Without a word he stepped forward and wrapped both arms gently around her.

She rested against him almost immediately.

He kissed her forehead.

Trace Mercer: You're wrong.

She looked up.

Ashlyn Westbrook: About what?

Trace Mercer: About all of it.

He carefully brushed a strand of hair behind her ear, before her held her body with his powerful hands.



Trace Mercer: These aren't flaws, Ashlyn. They're proof that you stood between innocent people and monsters who wanted to hurt them. Every scar says you refused to run away. Every one of them says somebody else got to go home because you stayed and fought.

She felt tears beginning to gather.

Ashlyn Westbrook: They aren't...ugly?

Trace almost looked offended she'd even ask.

Trace Mercer: They're beautiful.

Ashlyn blinked.

Trace Mercer: They're proof of how unbelievably brave you are.

She closed her eyes.

The words settled somewhere deep inside her where months of doubt hadn't been able to reach.

Ashlyn Westbrook: I just want Jeanne Ark to be proud of me.

Trace smiled.

Trace Mercer: She already is.

Ashlyn looked at him again.

Trace Mercer: I don't know everything about Jeanne, but I know enough. She believed courage meant protecting people even when it hurt. She believed knights weren't measured by victories. They were measured by what they were willing to sacrifice for someone else. If that's true...

He gently rested his hand against the scar on her side.

Trace Mercer: ...then she'd probably look at you and wonder how she ever inspired someone this amazing.

Ashlyn laughed through the tears before burying her face against his chest.

Ashlyn Westbrook: You're impossible.

Trace Mercer: Why?

Ashlyn Westbrook: Because every time I start doubting myself...you somehow convince me I'm stronger than I think I am.

Trace Mercer: Because you are.

She looked up one more time.

Their foreheads touched.

Ashlyn Westbrook: You're amazing. I'll admit I've been self-conscious. Like I said, I'm sure Jeanne had a much nicer body than-

Trace Mercer: I wouldn't know.

Ashlyn Westbrook: What? But weren't you two- I mean didn't you-

Trace Mercer: No, we were comrades. Trusted friends through and through, but never lovers. You...you were my first.

Ashlyn Westbrook: ...Wait....WHAT?!

Across Avalon City Central Park, another pair walked beneath gently swaying trees.

Ray Matthews wore his usual silver jacket over his black shirt while the woman beside him looked every bit the carefree college tutor known throughout Avalon Academy.

Rikka Spiral held a paper cup of coffee in one hand while idly swinging the other.

Anyone passing by would have seen nothing more than two friends enjoying a pleasant morning together.

Only Ray knew she was actually Sister Rosine.

Ray Matthews: You're getting disturbingly good at pretending to be Rikka.

She smiled innocently.

Rikka Spiral: Who says I'm not Rikka pretending to be Rosine?

Ray Matthews: Right.

Rikka Spiral: Besides, I'm adorable. I've grown attached to this wardrobe.

Ray couldn't help smiling.

Ray Matthews: You would.

Her smile faded.

Rikka Spiral: Unfortunately...I didn't ask to meet you because I wanted coffee.

Ray immediately became serious.

Ray Matthews: What's happened?

Rosine looked around to make sure nobody stood close enough to overhear.

Her voice lowered.

Rikka Spiral: Lughbow is sending people to Avalon Academy.

Ray stopped walking.

Ray Matthews: Sending?

She nodded.

Rikka Spiral: We obviously know Ashlyn, Miles, and Lena go to the school, and they're about ready to expose them and make their move.

Ray frowned.

Rikka Spiral: I know. We're running out of time.

Ray Matthews: Worzol attacks are increasing every week. Why are they suddenly obsessed with hunting the Kishirangers instead of stopping invasions?

Rikka Spiral: That's exactly what worries me.

Before either of them could continue, three figures stepped onto the pathway ahead.

All three wore long charcoal-gray coats embroidered with silver emblems.

Each carried themselves with unmistakable military discipline.

The tallest was a broad shouldered man with cropped blond hair and piercing gray eyes.

To his left stood a younger woman with silver hair tied into a tight braid and a longsword resting against one shoulder.

The final man was lean, sharp-faced, and wore a pair of black gloves despite the warm weather.

The blond man spoke first.

Unknown: Ray Matthews.

Ray sighed.

Ray Matthews: I was hoping this wasn't going to happen today.

The man's expression remained cold.

Unknown: Commander Alaric Weiss. Judgment Division.

He stepped forward.

Alaric Weiss: You abandoned your oath. You sided with enemies of Der Gralsbund. You are hereby declared a heretic against Der Gralsbund. No longer the Second Dominion.

Ray met his stare without flinching.

Ray Matthews: I'm no heretic.

The silver haired woman scoffed.

Silver Haired Woman: Says the man standing beside another traitor.

Her eyes shifted toward Rosine.

Silver Haired Woman: Sister Rosine. Or should I say... Rikka Spiral?

Rosine smiled pleasantly.

Rikka Spiral: Depends who's asking.

Silver Haired Woman: You're a disgrace to your vows.

Rosine's smile never disappeared.

Rikka Spiral: Whether I'm a disgrace is for God to decide, not you.

She stepped beside Ray.

Rikka Spiral: I swore to protect this man and stand beside him. I intend to keep that promise until my last breath.

The third man slowly drew twin combat knives.

Unknown Man: Then you'll both fall together.

Ray lowered himself into a fighting stance.

His expression hardened.

Ray Matthews: I really hoped we could settle this with words.

Commander Weiss drew a massive broadsword.

Alaric Weiss: Words ended the moment you betrayed us.

The peaceful park suddenly felt very small.

Commander Weiss lunged first.



Ray recognized the opening stance before the blade ever moved. Weiss brought the broadsword down in a brutal overhead arc, and Ray stepped aside at the last instant, letting the heavy blade carve through empty air before answering with an open handed strike to the man's wrist. He could have drawn his sword. He could have ended the exchange quickly. Instead, he fought with empty hands because every face in front of him still belonged to someone he had once been sworn to protect.

Rosine moved like smoke beside him.

Still wearing Rikka Spiral's cheerful disguise, she ducked beneath the silver haired woman's slash and drove two fingers into a pressure point beneath her opponent's elbow. The woman hissed in pain, but recovered faster than Rosine expected, twisting into a spinning kick that forced Rosine back across the park path. The third Gralsbund agent rushed in from the side, twin knives flashing beneath the morning sun, and Ray intercepted him with a sharp forearm block before sweeping his leg out from under him. The man hit the pavement hard, rolled with the impact, and came up already attacking again.

Rikka Spiral: You know, for people calling us heretics, you're the ones playing dirty.

The silver haired woman narrowed her eyes.

Silver Haired Woman: Still hiding behind jokes, Rosine?

Rikka Spiral: Not hiding. Come get some.

Rosine snapped her wrist, and three small throwing blades flashed between her fingers. She didn't throw them at exposed skin. Instead, each blade struck a buckle, strap, or weapon clasp with surgical precision. The woman's sword belt loosened, the knife fighter's sheath dropped awkwardly against his leg, and Weiss's coat sleeve pinned itself to a nearby tree with a sharp thunk.

Ray used the distraction immediately. He caught Weiss by the arm, twisted him forward, and drove him shoulder first into the grass. The commander rolled through the fall with impressive discipline and came back up with genuine anger in his eyes.

Alaric Weiss: You still hold back.

Ray's jaw tightened.

Ray Matthews: Because I don't want to hurt you.

Alaric Weiss: That weakness is why Father Lughbow was right about you.

The words struck harder than the sword.

Ray faltered for less than a second, but that was enough. Weiss surged forward and slammed the pommel of his broadsword into Ray's ribs, knocking the breath from him. The knife fighter followed by striking low, forcing Ray to leap backward as both blades sliced through the air where his legs had been. Rosine moved to cover him, but the silver haired woman intercepted her with a clean elbow to the shoulder that made the disguised sister stumble.

For several moments, the fight became ugly and close.

Ray and Rosine were better individually, but the Judgment Division fought like people who had trained together for years. The silver haired woman matched Rosine's speed with cold precision, forcing her to abandon the playful rhythm she'd used at the start. Ray felt the pattern closing around them, and he knew Weiss had chosen the location deliberately. The park path curved between trees on either side, limiting escape routes and keeping bystanders far enough away that no one would understand what they were seeing until it was over.

Rosine understood it too.

Their eyes met across the fight.

Ray gave the smallest nod.

Rosine smiled.

Rikka Spiral: Well, this has been a lovely morning walk, but I think we'll be going now.

Weiss moved to stop her.

Rosine dropped something at her feet.

A silver capsule bounced once against the pavement.

The smoke bomb erupted with a sharp pop, flooding the path with thick white vapor. Weiss cursed and swung his broadsword through the cloud, but Rosine had already moved. She seized Ray by the wrist and pulled him through the trees, guiding him with unnerving confidence despite the smoke blinding everyone around them.

Ray Matthews: Well done. Do you always keep those one you?

Rikka Spiral: Always, and you anticipated that.

Ray Matthews: I did.

Rikka Spiral: If you want, I'll show you where I hide them.

Ray Matthews: ROSINE!

Rikka Spiral: Rikka!

They broke out of the smoke near a maintenance path and kept running until the shouts behind them faded into the distance. Ray looked back once, his expression heavy with the knowledge that these were no faceless enemies. They were the inevitable consequence of choosing the Kishirangers over the Order that had raised him.

Rikka Spiral: That was only the beginning.

Ray nodded grimly.

Ray Matthews: I know.

The KED command center felt tenser than usual by the time everyone gathered.

Trace and Ashlyn arrived first. Miles entered with Lena moments later, mid argument about something inconsequential. Roland stood alone near the tactical display, his jacket immaculate but his face drawn with the kind of fatigue that came from carrying problems larger than himself.

Ray and Rosine entered last.

Rosine dropped the Rikka Spiral illusion only after the doors sealed behind them, and the sight of her real face immediately told everyone the morning had not gone well.

Trace Mercer: Trouble?

Ray exhaled.

Ray Matthews: Judgment Division found us in the park.

Roland's expression sharpened.

Roland Vander: Der Gralsbund has a Judgment Division?

Sister Rosine: Unfortunately, yes. Alaric Weiss, Celia Voss, and Garran Pike. They're not the strongest agents in the Order, but they're loyal, disciplined, and very good at making people disappear quietly.

Miles raised a hand.

Miles Rowan: Just to be clear, are we talking regular disappear or-

Rosine gave him a look.

Miles Rowan: Right. Bad question. I heard it as soon as I said it.

Ray folded his arms, his voice quieter than usual.

Ray Matthews: They're coming for you in your dorms next.

Ashlyn went pale.

Ashlyn Westbrook: My dorm...

Trace looked toward Dorian Vale.

Trace Mercer: Can we get ahead of it?

Dorian was already typing.

Dorian Vale: I can have our support staff sweep the most sensitive items from known residences within the hour. The challenge is that Der Gralsbund now has municipal authorization through Bastion Strategic Defense Solutions. Legally, they can present this as a safety inspection related to Worzol activity.

Roland's jaw tightened.

Roland Vander: That authorization is the problem.

Everyone turned toward him.

He had clearly been waiting to speak, though not because he wanted attention. There was a heaviness in his posture that immediately silenced the room.

Roland Vander: I spoke with Mayor Rennick this morning. Vander Industries has been formally removed from the Avalon City rebuilding initiative.

Lena's eyes widened.

Lena Solis: Removed? Completely?

Roland nodded, his voice controlled but strained.

Roland Vander: Our contracts are being suspended pending review. Bastion has been awarded emergency reconstruction oversight, infrastructure security, and priority access to damaged districts. The mayor informed me that the city appreciates everything Vander Industries has done, but that the situation now requires partners with military readiness.

Miles muttered under his breath.

Miles Rowan: That's political speak for getting stabbed in the back.

Roland Vander: My company employs thousands of people in this city. Engineers, construction crews, logistics teams, medical fabricators, relief coordinators. People with families. People who took these jobs because they believed we were helping Avalon rebuild rather than simply profiting from disaster.

He looked down at the tactical table, and for a moment the proud heir of Vander Industries looked painfully young.

Roland Vander: If I can't keep them working, paid, and useful to the city they love, then I'm failing them.

Trace stepped closer.

Trace Mercer: You're not failing them.

Roland looked up.

Trace Mercer: Der Gralsbund is forcing the city into depending on them. They're taking away every alternative so people feel like they have no choice.

Ray's expression hardened.

Ray Matthews: Which means we need to find out why.

Lena, who had been quiet since Roland's announcement, leaned forward over the table.

Lena Solis: I tried to speak with Professor Halden again.

Trace looked toward her.

Trace Mercer: At Avalon Academy?

She nodded.

Lena Solis: He wasn't in class. His assistant said he'd been called away for private research, but nobody could tell me where. The strange thing is that his office looked like someone had cleaned it out in a hurry. Books missing from shelves, drawers empty, personal items gone. It didn't feel like he stepped away for a day. It felt like he relocated.

Ashlyn's eyes narrowed as a memory surfaced.

Ashlyn Westbrook: Metro City.

Everyone looked toward her.

Ashlyn Westbrook: When we went there before, we saw that large industrial facility where they were manufacturing Der Gralsbund machines. Halden was connected to that place. If he disappeared from campus, that's where I would look.

Ray nodded slowly.

Ray Matthews: Gralsbund's external production site.

Sister Rosine: Officially it's registered as a Bastion research and logistics plant.

Miles Rowan: Of course it is.

Ashlyn placed both hands on the table.

Ashlyn Westbrook: Then we hit it. We knock the facility out of commission before they can produce more Stahlritter, and if Halden is there, we get answers directly from him.

Roland studied the map as Metro City appeared on the display.

Roland Vander: That facility supplies parts, weapons, and remote control systems for their machines. If we disable it, Bastion's expansion in Avalon slows immediately.

Trace looked around at each member of the team. Ray was tense, but ready. Rosine seemed troubled, though her resolve did not waver. Lena looked personally determined now that Halden's name had returned to the center of everything. Miles tried to look casual, but Trace could tell he understood the stakes. Ashlyn met his eyes with calm certainty.

Trace nodded.

Trace Mercer: Then we go to Metro City.

The trip to Metro City began before sunset.

Dorian Vale arranged the route, rerouting KED's transport logs through ordinary delivery channels so that anyone monitoring Avalon City's outgoing traffic would see nothing more suspicious than a routine equipment shipment. The team rode in tense silence for most of the journey, packed into the reinforced carrier beneath dim interior lights while the city gave way to highway, and the highway eventually gave way to the enormous industrial sprawl surrounding Metro City.

Miles was the first to break the quiet.

Miles Rowan: So... just to make sure we're all on the same page, we're sneaking BACK into a secret robot factory run by a fake security company that is actually Der Gralsbund.

Lena glanced over at him.

Lena Solis: You got it.

Miles Rowan: Heh. Great.

She took his hand for a moment which made him blush.

Lena Solis: We've got this.

Miles Rowan: Right. Yep! We got this.

Lena Solis: Hehe.

Ray sat near the rear doors with his sword resting across his knees. He had barely spoken since leaving Avalon. The others could see the conflict in him even when he tried to hide it, because this mission was not simply another strike against an enemy facility. Trace spoke up, as he continued to try and reconnect with his comrade.

Trace Mercer: Your sword. What is it called?

Ray Matthews: My sword? I guess it doesn't have a name. It's just what I've been using as Silver Templar.

Trace Mercer: You have to name a legendary weapon, if it'll be remembered in the history books.

Miles Rowan: At this point it might not be books, but it'll make a heck of a page on Geistbook.

Ray Matthews: It's not legendary. It wasn't a weapon forged centuries ago. It wasn't found in a stone inside of a cave. It was made for me.

Trace Mercer: That's the beginning of a legend. You get to choose what it is named.

Ray Matthews: ...Rosine? What do you think?

Sister Rosine: Oh, you're asking me? Wow.

Ray Matthews: It would...mean a lot to me if you named it.

Sister Rosine: Wow...well then. I think...Absolver.

Ray Matthews: Absolver?

Sister Rosine: Because you wielding it with the Kishirangers...is your personal redemption.

Ashlyn Westbrook: Rosine.

Sister Rosine: That's weird. I prefer when you call me Rikka.

Ray Matthews: Absolver it is.

Trace Mercer: The third sword of the Kishirangers will shine alongside ours as we complete our mission.

Ray Matthews: ...Right.

Sister Rosine smiled and laid her head against Ray's shoulder. For once, he didn't seem to mind.



Lena Solis: I don't want to panic anyone this close to the objective, but are we sure the other...payload...is going to make it safely?

Ray Matthews: If they saw us launch from the KED Building, they would be on the highest alert. However, if this train brought us within city limits? That gives us the advantage.

The group slowly rose up as they saw the city outside the windows.

Trace Mercer: Good thing we found out that the Stahlritter can be transported on these moving platform things.

Miles Rowan: Trains, buddy. They're called trains.

Trace Mercer: ...I think I like trains.

Miles Rowan: Yeah, I thought you might feel that way.

Trace Mercer: Let's launch!

Metro City was larger and louder than Avalon. Its towers rose in jagged clusters of glass and steel, advertising screens flashed across building faces, and traffic moved in aggressive rivers beneath elevated rail lines.

On the outskirts, far from the brightest districts, an EDF jeep idled beneath a flickering streetlamp outside an all night convenience store.

Jack leaned against the driver's side door eating chips from a crinkling bag while Travis sat on the hood with a canned coffee balanced on his knee. Both men wore Earth Defense Force field jackets, though neither looked particularly heroic at that moment.

Jack: I'm telling you, if a giant bug shows up tonight, I'm clocking out.

Travis: You can't clock out of an alien invasion.

Jack: Watch me.

Travis took a sip of coffee and looked toward the sky with the tired expression of a man who had seen too many ridiculous things lately.

Travis: You say that every time, and every time you end up screaming while firing a rocket launcher backward out of a moving vehicle.

Jack: They took my rocket launcher away. I don't get to do that anymore.

Travis: I know. I'm sad about that too.

A deep roar suddenly rolled across the sky.

Both men slowly looked up.



Six massive Stahlritter silhouettes screamed over the industrial district, flying low enough that the shockwave rattled the jeep and sent Jack's chips scattering across the pavement. Red, black, blue, green, yellow, and silver streaks vanished beyond the rooftops toward the northern manufacturing zone.

Jack and Travis stared after them.

Neither spoke for several seconds.

Jack carefully picked a chip off his sleeve.

Jack: Didn't see anything.

Travis nodded solemnly.

Travis: Absolutely nothing.

Jack: If it was aliens, the giant woman will handle it.

Travis: Definitely. She loves that stuff.

Jack climbed into the jeep.

Jack: We should patrol somewhere else.

Travis slid off the hood and opened the passenger door.

Travis: Absolutely.

The jeep started with a rough cough before peeling away in the opposite direction.

The Bastion Strategic Defense Solutions facility occupied an entire restricted zone near Metro City's old shipping yards. Tall concrete walls surrounded the complex, topped with sensor arrays, automated turrets, and armored watchtowers. Beyond the perimeter stood hangars large enough to house giants. Assembly cranes moved in slow, deliberate arcs over half constructed Stahlritter frames, and white hot industrial lights washed the entire complex in harsh artificial daylight despite the approaching night.

Six streaks of light descended beyond the facility's outer fence.

The Kishiranger Stahlritter landed in formation, with Silberritter touching down a moment later.

Within the cockpits, every pilot took in the scale of the operation.

Roland's voice came over the comms first.

Roland Vander: They built all of this while Avalon was still begging for reconstruction support.

Lena's tone sharpened.

Lena Solis: We came here once before to see if they were hiding Trace inside. They tried to kill us. I haven't forgotten that.

Ray remained quiet until the facility alarms began blaring. Floodlights snapped toward them, painting the machines in white beams as blast doors opened across the main wall.

Three Gralsbund Stahlritter emerged from the hangars.

The first was broad and heavily armored, silver plates reinforced with charcoal black plating and a massive tower shield mounted on one arm. Its head bore a narrow visor shaped like a knight's helm. Commander Alaric Weiss's voice came over the open channel.

Alaric Weiss: Ray Matthews. You thought you'd take us by surprise? Good strategy, but luckily for us, we were here itching for a fight. You bring enemies to holy ground.

The second Stahlritter was leaner, feminine in silhouette but no less dangerous, with wing like stabilizers folded along its back and a long energy saber igniting in its hand. Celia Voss spoke next.

Celia Voss: Sister Rosine, if you're listening...it's not too late to repent.

Rosine watched from the shadows, like the stealthy kunoichi she was. She didn't respond.

The third machine carried twin short blades and multiple thruster pods along its shoulders and legs. Garran Pike's amused voice slipped through the transmission.

Garran Pike: I was hoping we'd get another chance at this.

Ray gripped his controls.

Ray Matthews: Alaric, Celia, Garran...stand down. We don't want to fight you.

Alaric's answer was immediate.

Alaric Weiss: That's a pity. Because we want to fight you.

The facility opened fire.

Automated cannons mounted along the perimeter wall erupted together, sending streams of heavy shells toward the team. Hector stepped forward and raised its shield, absorbing the initial barrage while Kestrel and Spiegel broke to either side. Drakken launched high, weaving between anti air fire as Ashlyn searched for the turrets controlling the western wall, while True Krieger and Silberritter advanced together through the center.

The first clash shook the industrial district.

Alaric's shield slammed into True Krieger with enough force to halt its charge, but Trace answered by pivoting with the impact and driving his sword against the enemy machine's shoulder. Sparks burst across the armor. Before he could follow through, Garran's twin-blade Stahlritter flashed behind him, its thrusters carrying it in a predatory arc.

Silberritter intercepted.

Ray met Garran blade for blade, the silver mech's broadsword moving with controlled precision.

Garran Pike: You always were better with machines than people, Ray.

Ray Matthews: Maybe. But I'm still trying with both.

He shoved Garran back and moved to cover Trace.

On the western side, Drakken cut through two cannon emplacements before Celia descended upon her. The two machines collided in midair, blade against blade, their thrusters roaring as they spiraled above the facility.

Celia Voss: You turned him against us.

Ashlyn Westbrook: Ray made his own choice, but I'm trying to unite everyone under a common cause, like Jeanne Ark!

Celia Voss: You've doomed him! He chose damnation.

Ashlyn Westbrook: He chose family!

Drakken kicked off Celia's machine and dropped toward the perimeter wall, slicing through another turret as she fell.

Hector and Spiegel coordinated near the main gate, Roland using his shield to anchor their position while Lena's heavier strikes demolished artillery nests built into the concrete. Kestrel raced between them, his Stahlritter moving with speed the Gralsbund cannons struggled to track.

Miles Rowan: I don't want to brag, but I'm not getting hit at all.

A missile barely missed his head.

Miles Rowan: Okay, humility setting in. Got it.

The fight should have been turning in their favor.

Then the sky darkened.

Silver threads descended from above.

Every pilot recognized them at once.

Marrionetter landed atop the central hangar, its puppet like frame hanging limply for a moment before its head lifted with awful suddenness. Its eyes flickered violently, alternating between cold silver and something darker, something much less human.

Ray's blood went cold.

Ray Matthews: How can you think you're on the right path, when you're using cursed Worzol creatures as your tools!?

Marrionetter raised both hands.

The threads moved.

They pierced the three Gralsbund Stahlritter simultaneously.

Alaric's machine jerked violently.

Celia screamed over the channel.

Garran cursed as his controls went dead.

Alaric Weiss: What is this?!

Marrionetter's head tilted as though listening to a command only it could hear.

Then the three controlled Stahlritter attacked.

The sudden shift nearly broke the Kishirangers' formation. Alaric's shield machine slammed into Hector and drove him through a loading crane. Celia's saber flashed toward Drakken with unnatural precision, forcing Ashlyn onto the defensive. Garran's twin-blade unit turned on Silberritter, moving faster under Marrionetter's control than Garran had managed on his own.

Trace's eyes narrowed.

Trace Mercer: It's using them like extensions of itself.

Ray gritted his teeth as Silberritter parried Garran's controlled strikes.

Ray Matthews: They're trapped inside those machines!

Lena Solis: Then we disable the strings without destroying the pilots!

That proved far easier to say than accomplish.

Marrionetter's threads moved with terrifying grace, adjusting the stolen Stahlritter faster than their pilots could resist. Every time Kestrel managed to close in, Alaric's shield unit blocked him. Every time Spiegel lined up a shot, Celia's saber machine redirected her attack. The puppet monster had turned three enemies into unwilling armor, forcing the team to fight carefully against opponents who were already trying to fight themselves.

Trace realized the battle was slipping.

Trace Mercer: Ray, with me!

Ray Matthews: Understood!

True Krieger and Silberritter broke from opposite sides of the battlefield and converged at the center. Their cores synchronized, red and silver energy spiraling together as both machines locked into formation.

Trace and Ray: Lion Krieger!

The combined machine formed in a burst of brilliant light, fusing the lion knight's power with Silberritter's refined frame. Lion Krieger landed heavily before Marrionetter.

For a moment, the tide shifted.

Lion Krieger charged through the controlled Gralsbund machines, using the flat of its blade and carefully measured impacts to knock them aside without breaching their cockpits. It reached Marrionetter in three strides and carved through the first layer of strings with a blazing cross slash.

Marrionetter recoiled.

The three captive Stahlritter staggered as their pilots regained partial control.

Celia Voss: I can move!

Then Marrionetter screamed.

More strings erupted from its body, thicker and darker than before. They stabbed into the facility itself, hijacking cranes, cannons, half-built machines, and the three Stahlritter all at once. The entire complex became its puppet stage.

A loading crane swung like a club and smashed Lion Krieger across the back.

Automated cannons pivoted and fired point blank.

Alaric's shield unit slammed into its chest.

Garran's twin blade machine carved across one leg.

Celia's saber pierced the shoulder armor.

Lion Krieger dropped to one knee as alarms screamed through the cockpit.

Trace and Ray strained against the controls together.

Ray Matthews: Lion Krieger isn't enough!

Trace looked across the battlefield at the others.

Drakken, Hector, Kestrel, and Spiegel were battered but still standing.

Their cores pulsed in answer before he even gave the order.

Trace Mercer: Then all six of us.

Ashlyn smiled through the static.

Ashlyn Westbrook: About time.

Roland steadied his damaged machine.

Roland Vander: Formation ready.

Miles exhaled sharply.

Miles Rowan: We're really doing this? Combining all six?! Alright! Let's make the big one!

Lena Solis: What do we call it?

Trace Mercr: ...Voll Kaiser formation!

Six cores ignited.

Red.

Black.

Blue.

Green.

Yellow.

Silver.

The light swallowed the battlefield as every Stahlritter surged toward the center. Armor shifted, locked, unfolded, and reassembled around the combined frame. Lion Krieger expanded as the other machines merged into it, a red fiery mane bursting out of the back, flowing in the wind.




All Six: VOLL KAISER! GO!

When the light faded, Voll Kaiser stood before the Bastion facility.

Marrionetter pulled every string tight.

Voll Kaiser raised one hand and caught them.

Trace looked toward the others.

Trace Mercer: Together.

Ashlyn Westrbrook: Together.

Ray nodded.

Ray Matthews: Together.

Voll Kaiser pulled.

The strings snapped in a thunderous cascade.

Marrionetter screamed as the three Gralsbund Stahlritter finally collapsed free of its control. Voll Kaiser advanced through the exploding facility defenses, shield flaring against cannon fire.



Marrionetter tried to retreat, but Voll Kaiser slashed and slashed, and tore the monster machine hybrid apart before the final attack.

Trace Mercer: Voll Kaiser! Final Judgment!

The massive sword came down in a radiant six-colored arc.



Marrionetter split apart from crown to core.

The puppet monster dissolved into silver threads that burned away before they could touch the ground.

The three Gralsbund Stahlritter rose shakily in the aftermath.

For a moment, Trace thought they might surrender.

Instead, Alaric's battered shield unit pulled Celia and Garran back beneath a cloud of emergency smoke. Hidden launch rails activated inside the facility, and all three enemy machines escaped into the night before Voll Kaiser could pursue.

The Bastion facility stood exposed.

Damaged.

Defenseless.

Waiting.

Trace released a breath.

Trace Mercer: We go inside.

The ruined blast doors groaned as Voll Kaiser's massive hands seized them. Thick locking bolts screamed against reinforced tracks before finally giving way under the combined strength of six Stahlritter. Metal folded inward like paper, crashing into the enormous factory beyond with a deafening echo that rolled through the cavernous structure.

The manufacturing floor stretched for what looked like miles beneath a ceiling supported by enormous steel arches. Automated assembly lines crisscrossed the chamber in every direction, carrying unfinished armor plating, weapon systems, reactor housings, and mechanical limbs suspended from magnetic cranes. Towering skeletal frames of unfinished Stahlritter stood in orderly rows, each one held upright by maintenance scaffolding while hundreds of robotic arms welded, riveted, and assembled them in eerie silence. The polished silver armor gave every machine the appearance of standing soldiers frozen in prayer, waiting only for someone to breathe life into them.

Roland's expression hardened.

Roland Vander: This isn't just a factory...they're building an army.

Lena stared upward at dozens more incomplete giants hanging from assembly rails that disappeared into the darkness overhead.

Lena Solis: Just how long has this been operating?

Ray slowly shook his head.

Ray Matthews: Years...maybe longer. The funding records were hidden inside charitable reconstruction accounts. We thought we were rebuilding churches...schools...hospitals. We never imagined they were diverting resources into this.

Trace looked across the endless production lines. Every few hundred meters another completed Stahlritter waited inside launch cradles, dormant but ready.

Trace Mercer: They're preparing for a war far bigger than Avalon City.

Their combined cockpit remained silent for several long seconds before Dorian Vale's voice came across the communications channel from the KED support vehicle outside.

Dorian Vale: Sensors indicate the main command center is directly ahead. Whatever controls this facility is behind the central blast chamber.

Trace Mercer: Then that's where we're going.

Voll Kaiser began walking.

Each thunderous footstep shook the enormous assembly floor. Conveyor systems collapsed beneath its weight.

The deeper they traveled, the stranger the factory became.

The industrial precision slowly gave way to architecture.

Steel walls transformed into black stone.

Assembly cranes became towering gothic pillars.

The white factory lights dimmed until only flickering torchlight illuminated the corridor ahead.

Roland frowned.

Roland Vander: Does anyone else find this...odd?

Ashlyn looked around the shared cockpit display.

Ashlyn Westbrook: This wasn't here when we fought before.

Ray's voice became noticeably quieter.

Ray Matthews: It was...it was just sealed away. Why is it wide open now?

The walls surrounding them were no longer those of a manufacturing plant.

Ancient cathedral masonry now surrounded them, seamlessly fused with computer terminals, reactor conduits, hydraulic lifts, and industrial piping. Marble saints overlooked humming generators. Stained glass windows depicting medieval crusaders had somehow been built directly into reinforced steel bulkheads.

Lena felt an unpleasant pressure building in the back of her skull.

The sensation was familiar.

Painfully familiar.

She closed her eyes for only a moment.

The memory struck immediately.

Fire.

Ash.

A battlefield beneath a black sky.

She staggered inside the cockpit.

Lena Solis: I've felt this before...

Everyone turned toward her.

Trace Mercer: Lena?

She placed one hand against the console.

Lena Solis: The Voidsent the one I fought in the past...it felt like this.

Her breathing became shallow.

Lena Solis: That's...that's impossible...isn't it?

Silence followed.

Ahead, the cathedral corridor widened into an immense circular chamber.

The ceiling vanished into darkness high above while hundreds of candles floated in the air without supports, illuminating a vast chamber whose walls were lined with unfinished Stahlritter standing like silent honor guards.

At the center stood Professor Halden.

He waited with his hands folded behind his back.

There was no fear.

No surprise.

Only quiet satisfaction.

He looked almost exactly as he always had.

His white laboratory coat was immaculate.

His glasses rested neatly upon his nose.

His gray hair remained perfectly combed despite the devastation surrounding him.



He smiled warmly as Voll Kaiser entered. The six Kishirangers ejected from the massive machine to confront him.

Professor Halden: Excellent work.

The words echoed strangely throughout the chamber.

Professor Halden: Marrionetter had exceeded its usefulness. You have saved me considerable effort by removing it yourselves.

Trace narrowed his eyes.

Trace Mercer: You're behind this.

Halden chuckled softly.

Professor Halden: Oh no. Professor Halden was behind many things. Research. Funding proposals. Engineering breakthroughs. Urban reconstruction initiatives. Truly remarkable man.

He slowly removed his glasses.

His smile remained.

But something behind his eyes...

Changed.

Professor Halden: I simply inherited the position.

Lena felt every muscle in her body lock.

The air grew heavier.

The candles dimmed.

Somewhere deep beneath the chamber, something enormous seemed to awaken.

Halden lifted his head.

His pupils disappeared.

Absolute darkness flooded across both eyes until there was no white remaining.

Only black.

An endless abyss looking back at them.

Lena gasped.

Her voice barely escaped.

Lena Solis: No...

The pressure exploded across the chamber.

Ashlyn could barely breathe.

Roland's heartbeat pounded inside his ears.

Even Trace felt his instincts screaming that something standing before them was fundamentally wrong.

Only Lena understood why.

Her eyes widened with genuine horror.

Lena Solis: I know you...

Halden smiled wider.

Not unnaturally.

Professor Halden: Of course you do.

Fragments of memory flooded Lena's mind.

The ancient battlefield.

Lena Solis: You're the darkness...

Her voice trembled.

Lena Solis: The Voidsent.

Halden applauded.

Slowly.

Almost proudly.

Each clap echoed throughout the impossible cathedral.

Professor Halden: Very good.

He began walking toward them.

Each step left black cracks spreading across the marble floor.

Stone became something darker wherever he walked.

Professor Halden: You opened the prison fifteen centuries ago. A tiny fracture. Barely enough for a whisper. Barely enough for one insignificant fragment of myself to escape into your world.

Professor Halden: I wandered for centuries searching for a suitable vessels. Sewing chaos and discord.

His smile returned.

Professor Halden: Then I met Professor Halden.

He spread his arms.

Professor Halden: Brilliant. Compassionate. Curious. Everything I required.

Ray's face darkened.

Ray Matthews: You murdered him?

Halden tilted his head.

Professor Halden: Eventually I will.

A long silence followed.

Then his expression became almost amused.

Professor Halden: Though to be perfectly honest...he has lasted far longer than expected. He fights me every single day. Admirable, really.

Lena clenched her fists.

Lena Solis: Who are you? Name yourself. I want to know the name of the darkness I'm about to destroy!

The candles extinguished simultaneously.

Darkness consumed the chamber.

Only Halden remained visible.

His eyes glowed like twin bottomless voids.

When he spoke again...

The voice no longer belonged to Professor Halden.

It was impossibly deep.

As though countless ancient voices spoke in perfect unison.

?: Professor Halden was merely the latest name I borrowed.

Black energy erupted behind him.

It expanded into an immense halo of living darkness stretching nearly to the ceiling.

Ancient symbols burned within it.

?: Call me...Chemosh.

The very name made the chamber tremble.

Chemosh: God of War.

The darkness spread farther.

Chemosh: God of Destruction.

His smile became infinitely colder.

Chemosh: And the first of the Void Gods to awaken once more.
 
To Be Continued...
 

Episode 44: The Iron Rose

Ashlyn Westbrook had learned how to hide pain long before she became Kishi Black.

She had learned it in classrooms where professors drilled ancient history into head, before she's go tomb raiding and prove them absolutely wrong. She learned it during training sessions where every mistake felt like proof that she did not deserve the armor she carried, and in battles where stopping to admit that something hurt could place everyone around her in danger. The habit had kept her moving through injuries that should have forced her to rest. It also made lying to the people who loved her far easier than it should have been, as she unfortunately had just found out. 

Days after the encounter with Chemosh, the corruption remained beneath her skin.

It no longer covered her body in visible black cracks, but she could feel it along her left ribs and shoulder like a second pulse. Whenever Ashlyn became angry, frightened, or worried about Trace, the mark grew warm beneath her clothes. When she slept, she dreamed of black armor closing around her while Chemosh watched through Professor Halden’s eyes. When she woke, Gravebrand was sometimes already in her hand.

She had told nobody. She kept to herself in her makeshift new dorm room. 

Trace knew she was hiding something. She could see it every time he watched her leave the KED command center early or caught her rubbing the place beneath her jacket where the corruption had spread. He had not forced the issue after the night they returned from Metro City, but his patience had begun to wear thin. Every time he gave her space, Ashlyn felt as though she were abusing the trust behind it.

She still said nothing.

The team had too much to handle. Roland was attempting to keep Vander Industries from crashing after being cut off from the Re-Development and Defense plan. Ray and Sister Rosine were preparing to enter the Gralsbund cathedral through the old storm tunnels. Dorian was organizing evacuation routes in case Bastion began searching the Academy dormitories. Trace had spent most of his time reviewing the route to the Chapel of First Mercy and studying everything they had recovered about Chemosh. The Voidsent were new to him, not an enemy he was familiar fighting at all. That put him on edge. So much of the world was still a mystery to him, but the Void posed an even greater mystery, especially when Worzol was lurking and waiting to attack. 

Ashlyn refused to become another crisis competing for his attention.

That decision brought her to the Avalon Academy athletics building shortly after midnight.

She had begun using the old boxing room after the regular training facilities closed. The space sat beneath the eastern gymnasium and still contained several heavy bags, a worn practice ring, and enough free weights to keep her occupied until exhaustion forced the corruption back down. The workouts did not cure anything, but they gave her a few hours of quiet, and working out here kept everyone else off of her back. 

Ashlyn had just finished wrapping her hands when voices passed the hallway outside.

Woman’s Voice: I heard Kincaid put Marce in the hospital last week.

Second Woman’s Voice: No way. Marce was walking around campus this morning.

Woman’s Voice: She still won.

Second Woman’s Voice: That was a qualifier. If she takes the Iron Rose, nobody at the Academy will challenge her again.

The footsteps continued toward the rear stairwell.

Ashlyn stopped beside the practice ring.

Avalon Academy had several unofficial clubs, most of which existed because students wanted more than what the Academy had to offer. The Iron Rose was not one she had heard mentioned before. The women outside had not sounded excited about an ordinary club, and the eastern stairwell should have been locked after ten.

Ashlyn pulled her jacket over her training clothes and followed.

The women disappeared through an access door near the old pool maintenance wing. Ashlyn waited until they were out of sight, tested the handle, and found the lock had been removed entirely. A narrow stairwell led beneath the athletics building into sections of the Academy that no longer appeared on modern floor plans, much like the area the renegade Zauberers used, the Academy was truly a labyrinth at times. 

The air grew warmer as she descended.

Music reached her first, followed by the sound of a crowd reacting to something heavy striking metal. The stairwell ended behind a thick black curtain. Ashlyn opened it enough to look through.

The abandoned maintenance chamber beyond had been transformed into an arena.

Temporary bleachers surrounded a large steel cage built over the drained lower pool. Work lights hung from exposed pipes, illuminating several hundred women packed around the cage and along the upper walkways. Some wore Avalon Academy athletic uniforms. Others wore clothes from rival schools. Money changed hands near betting tables, while food and drinks were sold from temporary counters beneath banners displaying a black iron rose.

Inside the cage, two women fought without gloves.

One drove the other into the steel and followed with a knee to the body. The crowd reacted loudly as the second fighter caught the leg, lifted her opponent, and threw her onto the padded floor.

Ashlyn’s first thought was that Roland would have several concerns about building codes.

Her second was that whoever organized the event had access to far more money and influence than an ordinary student.

Her third came when the announcer stood in front of the cage.

Malvora wore a dark green suit with gold trim, high boots, and a long coat draped over her shoulders. She carried no staff and made no attempt to disguise her face. To the crowd, she appeared to be an elegant promoter with a theatrical sense of style. Ashlyn knew the woman directing the fight was one of Worzol’s most dangerous generals.



Malvora raised a microphone while the winner stood over her defeated opponent.

Malvora: Another excellent demonstration of what women should do with their anger.

The crowd cheered.

Ashlyn stepped away from the curtain.

She reached for her Oathlink, but the device produced only a weak pulse. Something inside the chamber interfered with its signal. She could still transform if necessary, but she could not contact the others without leaving the underground level. Ashlyn also assumed the weak pulse had something to do with the secret she was keeping from the others. The break in their teamwork and trust. Why was she keeping it a secret? Ashlyn knew better. She knew by now they'd understand. Was it the influence of the corruption? Was she in her right mind? She couldn't tell anymore. 

Ashlyn turned toward the stairs.

Malvora was already standing behind her.

The Worzol general leaned against the wall with her arms folded, wearing the pleased expression of someone who had caught a guest leaving before dessert.

Malvora: Ashlyn Westbrook. I had begun to wonder how many signs I would need to place before you became curious.

Ashlyn glanced toward the curtain and then back at her.

Ashlyn Westbrook: You set this up for me?

Malvora: I set this up because Avalon City contains an impressive number of angry women with limited opportunities to hit people legally. You were an anticipated benefit.

Ashlyn reached for the door behind her.

Malvora moved one finger.

Thick vines pushed through the frame and locked the door in place.

Ashlyn Westbrook: What are you doing here?

Malvora: Recruiting.

Ashlyn Westbrook: For Worzol.

Malvora: I prefer to call it identifying talent.

Ashlyn’s expression hardened.

Ashlyn Westbrook: You’re using these fights to choose thralls.

Malvora did not bother denying it.

Malvora: Worzol has spent centuries relying upon frightened men who mistake cruelty for strength. I have decided to broaden our options. There are women in that room who have spent their lives being told to become smaller, quieter, and easier to manage. All I offer is the power to stop asking permission.

Ashlyn Westbrook: You offer slavery.

Malvora: Only after the introductory period.

Ashlyn brought her hand toward her Oathlink.

Malvora caught her wrist.

The general’s smile disappeared as soon as her fingers touched Ashlyn’s skin.

Green light passed through the sleeve of Ashlyn’s jacket. The corruption beneath her ribs reacted immediately, sending a sharp pain through her shoulder and down her arm. Ashlyn pulled free, but Malvora had already felt enough.

Her eyes narrowed with genuine interest.

Malvora: That is unexpected.

Ashlyn stepped back.

Ashlyn Westbrook: Don’t touch me again.

Malvora’s smile slowly returned.

Malvora: Chemosh touched you first.

Ashlyn tried to conceal her reaction.

Malvora laughed softly.

Malvora: You have always been a poor liar when frightened. The Black Armor is waking up again, and this time your devotion to the red knight is not enough to lull it back to sleep.

Ashlyn Westbrook: You don’t know anything about it.

Malvora: I watched the armor being created.

That stopped her.

Malvora stepped closer, keeping her voice low enough that nobody beyond the curtain could hear.

Malvora: I know what color it wore before the Void blackened it. I know what weapon it carried before Gravebrand became its restraint. I know why its first bearer went mad with corruptive power and killed his team, and I know where the only object capable of purifying it was sealed.

Ashlyn stared at her.

She should have left. She should have forced the door, fought through the interference, and warned the others. Every sensible part of her understood that Malvora wanted something and had arranged the situation to make desperation sound like more of a choice than a preverbal hostage situation.

The mark beneath Ashlyn’s jacket began to burn.

Ashlyn Westbrook: Tell me.

Malvora looked toward the cage.

Malvora: Win the Iron Rose Tournament.

Ashlyn followed her gaze.

The victorious fighter inside the cage raised both arms while the crowd chanted her name.

Ashlyn Westbrook: You want me to fight in your tournament?

Malvora: I want to see what remains of Ashlyn Westbrook can do. Not Kishi Black, but you. I feel your Ehrvolt, it's surging through you. Your life force is pulsing! This room is lined with nullglass taken from an old Zauberer prison. Oathlinks function poorly inside it. No armor. No Gravebrand. No convenient rescue from your hunka hunka burning love.

Ashlyn Westbrook: What happens if I win?

Malvora: I tell you how to remove the corruption permanently.

Ashlyn Westbrook: And if I lose?

Malvora’s green eyes brightened.

Malvora: You pledge yourself to Worzol and accept my mark willingly.

Ashlyn felt the trap close around the decision. It was a bad bargain. It was obviously rigged against her. Why was she about to accept it?

Ashlyn Westbrook: How many fights?

Malvora: Three in one night. Eight fighters begin. One leaves with the Iron Rose.

Ashlyn Westbrook: When?

Malvora: Friday.

That gave her four days.

Malvora extended her hand.

Malvora: Do we have an agreement?

Ashlyn looked at it without moving.

Ashlyn Westbrook: Your word means nothing.

Malvora: I'm not asking for your trust or for you to believe I'm a loyal person, but I do keep my word. Ask Lena.

Ashlyn hated that Malvora was right.

She took her hand.

Ashlyn Westbrook: If I win, you tell me everything I need to know to remove the corruption. You do not leave anything out.

Malvora’s smile widened.

Malvora: Very careful. You have been spending too much time with Roland.

Ashlyn Westbrook: Agree.

Malvora: I agree.

Green energy passed between their hands.

The bargain settled into place.

Malvora: Friday night. Do not disappoint me. I am excited that the Black Rose will be making her debut.

Ashlyn Westbrook: I’m not using that name.

Malvora: But Ashlyn, the posters have been printed.

For the next four days, Ashlyn trained as though the Iron Rose Tournament were another battle for Avalon City.

She attended classes, reported to KED meetings, and helped prepare the operation against Father Lughbow, but every free hour went into conditioning.



She returned to the old boxing room before dawn and stayed after midnight. She worked on takedown defense, close range strikes, movement against larger opponents, and fighting from the cage wall. The nullglass meant she could not rely on the armor’s protection, and Malvora’s fighters would have far more experience inside that environment.

Ashlyn studied recordings of underground fights wherever she could find them. The Iron Rose used no timed rounds, which meant each match continued until a knockout or surrender.

Whenever Ashlyn exhausted herself, black lines appeared beneath her wraps, reinforcing her wrists or tightening around bruised ribs. 

The others noticed the change immediately.

Miles entered the KED lounge one afternoon carrying two takeout bags and stopped when Ashlyn crossed the room wearing training clothes and carrying a towel over one shoulder.

Miles Rowan: You’ve been working out for six hours.

Ashlyn took a bottle of water from the refrigerator.

Ashlyn Westbrook: You’ve been counting?

Miles Rowan: I was here when you started. I left, attended a class, ate lunch, forgot why I attended the class, came back, and you are still dressed exactly the same.

Ashlyn Westbrook: I changed towels.

Miles Rowan: That does not address the concern.

Lena sat at the central table reviewing the storm-tunnel plans.

Lena Solis: He has a point. You missed dinner last night and breakfast this morning.

Ashlyn Westbrook: I ate.

Miles Rowan: Coffee is not food.

Ashlyn looked at the bags in his hands.

Ashlyn Westbrook: You consider fried cheese a meal.

Miles Rowan: I'm eating my feelings.

She almost smiled, but the corruption tightened beneath her side.

Ashlyn Westbrook: I have another training session.

Trace entered as she moved toward the door.

He stepped into her path.

Trace Mercer: Training for what?

Ashlyn held his gaze.

Ashlyn Westbrook: We’re planning to break into an armed cathedral controlled by a Void God. I have to be ready.

Trace Mercer: You’ve barely slept.

Ashlyn Westbrook: Neither have you.

Trace Mercer: I’m not disappearing every night and coming back with bruised knuckles.

Ashlyn tucked her hands into the pockets of her jacket.

Ashlyn Westbrook: I overdid it a little.

Trace looked toward the red abrasions visible above one wrist.

Trace Mercer: A little?

Ashlyn Westbrook: It was an intense session.

She moved around him.

Trace caught her hand gently, careful not to grab the bruised area.

Trace Mercer: Ashlyn, talk to me.

The concern in his voice made the corruption heat beneath her ribs. She wanted to tell him everything. She wanted to pour out her heart and soul to him and never come up for air. So why wasn't she? She fought it. She fought him. She pulled away before he could feel anything through her sleeve.

Ashlyn Westbrook: I’m handling something. I’ll tell you when I have it handled.

Trace Mercer: That is not the same as telling me what’s wrong.

Ashlyn Westbrook: I know.

She left.

Miles watched the door close.

Miles Rowan: That went badly.

Trace looked at him.

Miles Rowan: I’m going to eat my feelings somewhere else.

He gathered both bags and moved toward the couch beside Lena.

Trace remained near the doorway.

He trusted Ashlyn. That had never been the issue. He trusted her judgment in battle, her loyalty to the team, and her ability to make decisions under pressure. He also knew that she how she handled fear. She was afraid of something. 

Later that evening, he found Ray and Roland in the Stahlritter maintenance bay.

Silberritter’s damaged shoulder remained open above them while repair platforms moved across its frame. Ray stood beneath the machine reviewing an old map, and Roland compared it with updated city construction records.

Trace approached without pretending he had come to discuss the tunnel.

Trace Mercer: Ashlyn’s hiding something.

Ray lowered the map.

Ray Matthews: You are asking us?

Trace Mercer: I’m not asking whether she’s hiding it. I know she is.

Roland Vander: You want advice about confronting her.

Trace Mercer: I want to know whether confronting her means I don’t trust her.

Ray considered the question.

Ray Matthews: You can trust someone and still believe they are making a bad decision.

Trace Mercer: She said she’s handling it.

Ray Matthews: That is what people say when they are clearly not handling it.

Trace looked toward Roland.

Trace Mercer: You agree?

Roland shut down the blueprint display.

Roland Vander: Trust does not require pretending a person is incapable of hurting themselves. Ashlyn is disciplined, intelligent, and extremely private. Those qualities make her dependable. They also make her very good at hiding how much trouble she is in.

Trace Mercer: I don’t want to control her.

Roland Vander: Insisting that someone accept help is not the same as controlling them. Sometimes affection requires patience. Sometimes it requires becoming irritating enough that the person can no longer avoid you.

Ray glanced at him.

Ray Matthews: That sounded personal.

Roland Vander: I manage a corporation and work with five other Rangers. Most of my relationships depend upon persistent irritation.

Trace folded his arms.

Trace Mercer: She asked me to trust her.

Roland Vander: Then trust that she has a reason for what she is doing. That doesn't make it safe.

Ray returned the map to the table.

Ray Matthews: You know Ashlyn better than either of us. What does she do when she is frightened?

Trace Mercer: She works until she can’t think about it.

Ray Matthews: And what has she been doing for four days?

Trace did not answer.

He left the maintenance bay ten minutes later and waited outside the athletics building.

Ashlyn emerged shortly after midnight carrying her training bag. She did not return to the dormitories. She crossed the courtyard, entered the eastern gymnasium through a side door, and disappeared inside.

Trace followed at a distance.

Friday night brought twice as many people to the Iron Rose.

Ashlyn stood in a small preparation room wearing black shorts, a fitted training top, and red hand wraps. She had tied her hair back to keep it from being used against her, though several loose strands already framed her face. Bruises from training covered her ribs and shoulders, hidden beneath athletic tape.

A small black rose had been painted beside the room’s door.

Ashlyn disliked Malvora more every time she looked at it.

The Oathlink in her bag produced no response. Nullglass had been built into the walls, floor, and cage supports. 

Malvora entered without knocking.

Malvora: You look tense.

Ashlyn Westbrook: You’re standing in the room.

Malvora: I was beginning to worry you would involve the others.

Ashlyn Westbrook: This is between us.

Malvora: That attitude is why I like you.

Ashlyn looked toward her.

Malvora adjusted one of Ashlyn’s hand wraps before Ashlyn pulled away.

Malvora: The Black Armor was designed to isolate darkness inside one bearer. Every instinct it encourages tells you to suffer alone because isolation makes the Void easier to control. Unfortunately, it also makes you easier for the armor to control.

Ashlyn Westbrook: Save the lesson until I win.

Malvora: Confident.

Ashlyn Westbrook: Desperate.

Malvora’s amusement faded slightly.

Malvora: Better. Desperation is honest.

She opened the door.

The first fighter waited outside.

Tessa Moraine was a compact woman with powerful shoulders and close cropped brown hair. The screen beside her name identified her as an Avalon Academy wrestling captain who had been suspended twice for fighting outside competitions.

Tessa looked Ashlyn over.

Tessa Moraine: They told me you were supposed to be dangerous.

Ashlyn Westbrook: Maybe you should listen to "them".

Tessa smiled.

Tessa Moraine: Good. I was worried this would be easy.

The crowd reacted when Malvora entered the cage and announced the opening bout.

Ashlyn stepped through the door.

She hadn't fought without her armor in some time. 

Tessa did not give her time to adjust.

She crossed the cage quickly, lowered her center of gravity, and drove into Ashlyn’s waist. Ashlyn sprawled backward, but Tessa caught one leg and pushed her against the steel. The cage shook as Ashlyn’s back struck it.



Tessa worked for the takedown.

Ashlyn drove an elbow against the side of her head.

Tessa absorbed it and lifted.

Ashlyn hit the floor hard enough to lose her breath.

The crowd grew louder as Tessa moved into side control and trapped Ashlyn’s right arm beneath her knee. Ashlyn tried to turn, but Tessa stayed heavy across her chest and began working toward a shoulder lock.

Tessa Moraine: Dangerous, huh?

Ashlyn drew her free knee upward and struck Tessa beneath the ribs. The first hit created space. The second forced Tessa to shift her weight. Ashlyn pulled her trapped arm loose, turned onto one hip, and swept Tessa over her body.

Both women rose.

Tessa charged again.

This time Ashlyn moved aside, caught the back of Tessa’s head, and drove a knee into her body. Tessa stumbled, but recovered quickly and swung a wide right hand. Ashlyn blocked, struck the body twice, and followed with a short left that caught Tessa near the eye.

Tessa grabbed her before she could retreat.

They hit the cage together.

The fight became physical and ugly. Tessa used her forehead, shoulders, and knees whenever clean techniques failed. Ashlyn answered with short punches, elbows, and foot sweeps, refusing to remain in any position long enough for Tessa to establish control.

Tessa finally caught Ashlyn’s waist from behind.

Ashlyn planted one foot against the cage, pushed backward, and sent both of them onto the floor. She rolled through the impact, trapped Tessa’s arm, and locked her legs around the shoulder.

Tessa tried to stand.

Ashlyn increased the pressure.

Tessa held on for several seconds before striking the mat.

Malvora stepped between them.

Malvora: Tessa Moraine submits. The Black Rose advances.

Ashlyn released the hold and stood.

The crowd accepted the name enthusiastically.

Ashlyn looked toward Malvora.

Ashlyn Westbrook: I still hate it.

Malvora: Keep it up. Two more to go.

Her second opponent was Yuna Park, a kickboxer from Metro City who fought with far more patience than Tessa. Yuna kept Ashlyn at range, attacking her legs and body while refusing to be drawn into close exchanges. Every time Ashlyn tried to advance, a sharp kick met her ribs or thigh.

The first kick against Ashlyn’s corrupted side nearly dropped her.

Pain tore across the mark beneath the athletic tape. The black energy reacted even through the nullglass, trying to reinforce the injured area. Ashlyn forced it down and returned to her stance before Yuna noticed.

Yuna attacked the leg again.

Ashlyn checked the kick and stepped forward.

A straight punch caught her nose. She tasted blood, but continued closing the distance. Yuna attempted another kick, and Ashlyn caught it beneath one arm. Yuna jumped into a spinning strike with the other leg.

Ashlyn ducked.

Yuna’s back hit the floor.

Ashlyn followed her down, but Yuna pushed her away and returned to her feet.

They exchanged in the center of the cage. Yuna landed more cleanly, but Ashlyn continued attacking the body and forcing her backward. The cage removed the distance Yuna needed. Ashlyn trapped her against it, took another knee to the ribs, and answered with a series of punches beneath the arms.

Yuna tried to circle out.

Ashlyn hooked her ankle and swept the supporting leg.

Yuna fell against the cage wall rather than the floor. Ashlyn caught her with a right hand as she rebounded, then drove a knee into the body and followed with another punch.

Yuna remained standing for a moment after her balance had gone.

The referee caught her before she collapsed.

Ashlyn had reached the final.

She returned to the preparation room with swelling beneath one eye, a bleeding lip, and a deep ache spreading through her left side. Malvora stood near the mirror pouring herself a drink.



Ashlyn Westbrook: Enjoying yourself?

Malvora: Immensely.

Ashlyn Westbrook: You haven’t had to fight anyone.

Malvora: Management has privileges.

Ashlyn sat while an attendant placed ice against her ribs.

Ashlyn Westbrook: Who is in the final?

Malvora nodded toward the monitor.

Rhea Kincaid entered the cage.

She stood well over six feet tall and carried enough muscle across her shoulders and arms to make most of the other fighters look unprepared by comparison. Her blond hair had been braided tightly against her scalp, and old scars marked both eyebrows. She wore dark red shorts and no shoes.

Her semifinal opponent lasted less than two minutes.

Rhea took several punches without reacting, trapped the smaller woman against the cage, and lifted her completely from the floor. She carried her across the ring and slammed her onto the iron rose. When the opponent tried to rise, Rhea struck her with a right hand that ended the fight immediately.

The crowd chanted Rhea’s name.

Malvora watched the monitor with interest.

Malvora: Rhea Kincaid. Former competitive powerlifter, former private security officer, and current student in Avalon’s civil engineering program.

Ashlyn Westbrook: She sounds stable.

Malvora: I call it...potential.

Ashlyn stood.

Her legs felt heavier than they had before the second fight.

Malvora: You may still withdraw.

Ashlyn Westbrook: And pledge myself to Worzol?

Malvora: I did not say it was an attractive alternative.

Ashlyn moved toward the door.

Malvora’s voice stopped her.

Malvora: Rhea knows about the prize.

Ashlyn turned.

Malvora: Not the details. She knows I offered you something connected to Worzol, and she believes defeating you will make the offer hers.

Ashlyn Westbrook: You told her?

Malvora: I encouraged ambition.

Ashlyn Westbrook: You’re trying to get one of us killed.

Malvora: I am trying to discover which one of you is worth keeping.

Ashlyn opened the door.

Ashlyn Westbrook: You’re going to be disappointed twice.

Trace had watched both fights from the upper walkway.

He wore a dark hooded jacket and remained behind the standing crowd near the rear supports, but he knew Malvora had recognized him before the first match began. She had looked directly toward his position and smiled.

Trace had considered contacting the others. The nullglass prevented communication from inside the chamber, but he could have left and returned with the team. He had not done it because he understood enough of the situation to know that Ashlyn had entered voluntarily and that Malvora had attached some kind of condition to the tournament.

Interrupting without understanding the wager could make the situation worse.

It was one of the hardest decisions he had made all week.

Watching Ashlyn take hits without armor had made it harder.

She moved well and fought intelligently, but something was wrong with her left side. Yuna’s kick had nearly folded her, and Ashlyn had hidden the reaction by changing stance.

The cage door opened for the final.

Ashlyn entered first.



Malvora stood between them with the microphone lowered.

Malvora: The final continues until knockout or surrender. The winner claims the Iron Rose and the personal reward I promised before the tournament began.

Rhea looked toward Ashlyn.

Rhea Kincaid: She isn’t taking my reward.

Ashlyn wiped blood from her lip.

Ashlyn Westbrook: I don't want your reward. Neither do you.

Rhea Kincaid: Worzol has been calling people since the first attacks. Most are too frightened to hear it. I’m not.

The crowd noise faded from Ashlyn’s awareness.

Ashlyn Westbrook: You want to become one of them?

Rhea Kincaid: I want to stop living in a world where weak people decide things.

Ashlyn looked toward Malvora.

The general’s expression confirmed that Rhea meant every word.

Ashlyn Westbrook: Worzol will use you until there’s nothing left.

Rhea Kincaid: That sounds like every institution I’ve ever worked for. At least Worzol is honest about it.

Malvora stepped back.

Malvora: Begin.

Rhea crossed the cage before Ashlyn could establish distance.

The first punch struck Ashlyn’s guard and drove both arms into her face. The second hit the body. Ashlyn moved away before Rhea could trap her, but the larger woman cut off the angle and drove her shoulder into Ashlyn’s chest.

Ashlyn hit the cage.

Rhea struck the body repeatedly.

Ashlyn covered the corrupted side and used the opposite elbow to create space. She tried to circle out, but Rhea caught her hair near the base of the ponytail and threw her back into the steel.

The crowd reacted loudly.

Rhea pulled Ashlyn into a headlock and began squeezing.

Ashlyn struck the ribs. Rhea ignored it.

She attacked the knee. Rhea shifted her stance and increased the pressure.

Ashlyn’s vision blurred along the edges. The corruption beneath her skin pushed against the nullglass suppression, offering strength she had promised herself she would not use.

She forced her hand between Rhea’s forearm and her throat and created enough space to breathe. She turned toward the hold rather than away from it, stepped behind Rhea’s leg, and drove her backward into the cage.

The grip loosened.

Ashlyn pulled free and landed a right hand.

Rhea barely moved.

Ashlyn hit her again.

Rhea smiled.

The return punch caught Ashlyn across the cheek and sent her to the floor.

Trace gripped the railing above the cage.

Ashlyn rose before Rhea reached her, but her balance remained unstable. Rhea threw another right. Ashlyn ducked and attacked the body, landing three fast strikes before moving away.

Rhea followed without slowing.

Ashlyn realized raw damage would not win the fight. Rhea had too much strength, too much endurance, and enough willingness to absorb punishment to make every exchange dangerous. Ashlyn needed to force her to move, turn, and reset until fatigue reduced the advantage.

She began circling.

Rhea pursued.

Ashlyn used short kicks to the legs and quick punches to the body, never remaining in front of her long enough for Rhea to plant both feet. The tactic worked for almost a minute.

Rhea stopped chasing.

She waited near the center and watched Ashlyn move.

Rhea Kincaid: You think I’m stupid because I’m bigger than you.

Ashlyn Westbrook: I think you’re dangerous because you know you’re bigger than me.

Rhea moved toward the cage door rather than Ashlyn, cutting off the widest section of floor. Ashlyn changed direction.

Rhea charged.

Ashlyn avoided the first grab, but Rhea caught her wrist and pulled her back. A short elbow struck Ashlyn’s jaw. Rhea lifted her across one shoulder and carried her toward the center.

Ashlyn struck the side of Rhea’s head.

Rhea held on.

Ashlyn hooked one leg around Rhea’s arm and shifted her weight before the throw. Both women fell, but Ashlyn landed beside her rather than beneath her.

She scrambled for Rhea’s back.

Rhea rose with Ashlyn clinging to her shoulders.

Ashlyn tried to secure a choke.

Rhea reached behind, caught her by the arm, and threw her overhead.

Ashlyn hit the floor hard.

The corruption surged.

Black lines spread beneath the athletic tape on her side. Strength poured into her arms and legs, tempting her to rise faster than a normal body should allow. Ashlyn pressed one hand against the floor and held herself there until the energy receded.

Rhea saw the hesitation and attacked.

Her knee struck Ashlyn in the ribs.

Ashlyn rolled across the floor and reached the cage.

Rhea grabbed the back of her neck and pulled her upright.

Rhea Kincaid: Whatever she promised you belongs to me.

Ashlyn Westbrook: You haven’t won anything.

Rhea Kincaid: Look at you.

Ashlyn looked through the cage.

The crowd had become a wall of movement and noise. She could not find a familiar face anywhere until someone on the upper walkway pushed through the people around him and reached the railing.

Trace pulled down his hood.

Ashlyn stared at him.

Shock reached her before embarrassment.

He knew.

Trace met her eyes.

He did not call for the fight to stop. He did not tell her she had made a mistake or demand that she leave the cage. He looked at the way Rhea controlled her against the fence and shouted the same kind of instruction he would have given during training.

Trace Mercer: Stop fighting her strength! Make her turn!

Rhea glanced toward the voice.

Ashlyn moved.

She trapped Rhea’s wrist against her chest, stepped beneath the larger woman’s arm, and turned sharply toward the cage. Rhea’s own grip carried her forward. Her shoulder struck the steel.

Ashlyn attacked the body.

Rhea tried to turn back, but Ashlyn hooked her ankle and drove her weight into the trapped shoulder. Rhea fell against the base of the cage.

Ashlyn moved behind her and wrapped one arm beneath the chin.

Rhea stood again.

Ashlyn kept the position, shifted onto her back, and locked her legs around Rhea’s waist.

Rhea slammed backward into the cage.

Pain tore across Ashlyn’s spine, but she held on.

Rhea did it again.

Ashlyn’s grip began slipping.

Trace remained at the railing.

Trace Mercer: She’s using the cage. Pull her away from it!

Ashlyn planted one foot against the steel as Rhea prepared another impact and pushed hard. The motion turned both women away from the wall. Rhea lost the support she had been using and stumbled toward the center.

Ashlyn tightened the choke.

Rhea reached for her arm.

Ashlyn shifted the grip before the hand could break it.

Rhea stayed standing for several seconds through force and anger alone. Her movements became slower. One knee touched the mat.

Ashlyn held on.

Rhea tried to rise.

Her other knee dropped.

The referee asked whether she surrendered.

Rhea refused.

Ashlyn increased the pressure without allowing the corruption to help.

Rhea’s hand lifted.

For a moment, Ashlyn thought she would tap.

Instead, Rhea planted it on the floor and pushed upward again.

Trace leaned over the railing.

Trace Mercer: Ashlyn, she can’t carry both of you forever! Stay with it!

Ashlyn closed her eyes and held on.

Rhea’s strength finally failed.

She fell forward.

The referee checked her arm, stopped the fight, and pulled Ashlyn away.

For several seconds, Ashlyn remained on her knees beside the iron rose, breathing hard and trying to understand that it was over.

Malvora entered the cage and raised her hand.

Malvora: The winner of the Iron Rose Tournament, Ashlyn Westbrook, the Black Rose.

The crowd erupted.

Ashlyn looked toward Trace.

He looked relieved, worried, and angry enough that she understood the victory had only delayed the conversation between them.

Malvora followed her gaze.

Malvora: Your devoted knight appears unhappy with our arrangement.

Ashlyn Westbrook: He’ll survive.

Malvora: I admire your confidence.

Ashlyn pulled her hand away from Malvora.

Ashlyn Westbrook: I won. Tell me how to remove the corruption.

Malvora took Ashlyn into a private chamber beneath the arena.

Trace followed without waiting for permission.

Two Dreadlings moved to block him near the door. He looked at them once.

Malvora sighed.

Malvora: Let him through. He has spent the evening proving he can follow instructions. I would hate to ruin his progress.

Trace entered.

Ashlyn sat on a bench with ice pressed against her ribs. She would not meet his eyes.

Malvora poured a drink for herself and leaned against a table.

Trace Mercer: What was the wager?

Ashlyn Westbrook: I won.

Trace Mercer: That wasn’t my question.

Malvora answered for her.

Malvora: If she lost, she would pledge herself willingly to Worzol.

Trace became completely still.

Ashlyn finally looked at him.

Ashlyn Westbrook: I didn’t lose.

Trace Mercer: We’ll discuss that outside.

The calmness in his voice worried her more than shouting would have.

Malvora raised one hand.

Malvora: The red knight may glare after I have honored my agreement. Ashlyn won fairly. I will tell her what I know.

She approached Ashlyn and placed an old metal emblem on the table between them. The design resembled the modern Kishi Black crest, but its surface was violet and silver rather than black and red.

Malvora: The armor you carry was not black when it was created. It was built to contain a measured portion of the Void so its bearer could sense the Voidsent, understand their movement, and strike back at them. The Voidsent were watching the war with Worzol. It was assumed they would make a move, hence dabbling with the realm of the Infernals.

Ashlyn studied the emblem.

Ashlyn Westbrook: Who created it?

Malvora: The first Kishiranger order. Jeanne Ark opposed the plan. Mordred supported it. Both had reasonable arguments, which made the eventual disaster much more interesting.

Trace stepped closer.

Trace Mercer: The eventual disaster.

Malvora looked at him.

Malvora: When Mordred turned against the team. He learned how to use the armor’s link to the Void and exploited it during his betrayal. He killed every member of the order except you, Trace Mercer. You killed him instead. You were close to the one who was Void touched, and you killed him. OH, that's so fitting right now, isn't it?

Ashlyn looked sharply toward Trace.

Malvora continued.

Malvora: Afterward, the armor could no longer return to its original color. The Void inside it had absorbed too much fear, rage, and grief from its bearer. It became black, and the original sword rejected it.

Ashlyn Westbrook: Gravebrand isn’t the original weapon.

Malvora: Gravebrand is a restraint. A powerful one, but it was created to keep the armor obedient. The first blade could purify the Void within the armor or destroy the bearer if the corruption had progressed too far.

Ashlyn’s fingers tightened around the ice pack.

Ashlyn Westbrook: Where is it?

Malvora: Mount Seraphine, north of Avalon beyond the old imperial road. The sword was sealed inside the Shrine of the First Night, much as Kingslight was hidden until Trace reclaimed it. The route has been closed for centuries, and the mountain reacts poorly to visitors carrying Void corruption.

Trace Mercer: What is the sword called?

Malvora smiled.

Malvora: You will know when it accepts her...or kills her.

Ashlyn rose despite the pain in her ribs.

Green light formed around Malvora’s fingers as she traced the old crest.

Malvora: Your feelings for Trace and your desire to honor Jeanne have kept the armor from consuming you. They gave it something stronger than fear to follow. Chemosh’s presence changed the balance. The Void inside your armor recognized the source from which it had been taken, and now it is trying to return to its original nature.

Ashlyn Westbrook: Can the sword remove it completely?

Malvora: It can purify the armor...or kill you. Nobody has attempted the rite since the betrayal.

Trace looked toward Ashlyn.

Trace Mercer: We go to Mount Seraphine.

Ashlyn did not answer immediately.

Malvora’s eyes moved between them.

Malvora: How satisfying. Love, trust, and severe physical trauma.

Ashlyn Westbrook: You finished the bargain?

Malvora: I did.

Ashlyn Westbrook: Then we’re leaving.

Malvora stepped aside.

Malvora: You should rest first. Rhea hit you very hard.

Ashlyn Westbrook: You sound disappointed.

Malvora: Not at all. The evening provided two excellent candidates.

Ashlyn stopped at the doorway.

Ashlyn Westbrook: Two?

Malvora looked toward the arena, where Rhea had regained consciousness.

Malvora: You won the information. She won my attention.

Trace drew Ashlyn away before she could turn back.

Rhea Kincaid sat alone inside the cage after the crowd had begun leaving.

A medic had checked her neck and advised her to visit a hospital. Rhea had refused. She remained beneath the work lights with an ice pack held against one side of her face, staring at the iron rose painted on the floor.

Malvora entered through the open cage door.

Rhea Kincaid: She got the reward.

Malvora: She won the tournament.

Rhea Kincaid: I want another chance.

Malvora: Against Ashlyn?

Rhea Kincaid: Against anyone.

Malvora crouched in front of her.

Malvora: You knew what I was before you entered.

Rhea Kincaid: I suspected.

Malvora: You felt Worzol calling.

Rhea Kincaid: Every time the sky changes. Every time those things attack. I felt the calling.

Malvora extended her hand.

Malvora: So did I. So long ago. After I helped create Ashlyn's armor. After they stole the credit and banished me. I felt the calling. Ashlyn was unwilling to lose herself for power. Are you?

Rhea looked at the green energy gathering around Malvora’s fingers.

She smiled.

Rhea Kincaid: Show me what strong really means.

Malvora touched her forehead.

The iron rose beneath them ignited green.

Ashlyn and Trace left the athletics building through the eastern courtyard.

The Academy had gone quiet. Most dormitory windows were dark, and the streetlights cast long shadows across the empty paths. Ashlyn moved carefully to hide how much every step hurt, but Trace noticed the stiffness immediately.

He removed his jacket and placed it around her shoulders.

Ashlyn Westbrook: I have one.

Trace Mercer: Yours is covered in blood.

She looked down.

A dark stain had spread across one sleeve from a reopened cut.

Ashlyn Westbrook: It isn’t all mine.

Trace Mercer: That doesn’t improve it.

They walked several yards without speaking.

Ashlyn finally stopped near the old fountain.

Ashlyn Westbrook: I’m sorry.

Trace turned toward her.

Ashlyn Westbrook: The corruption became worse after Chemosh. It spread through the armor and stayed after I transformed back. I thought Malvora might know something.

Trace Mercer: You could have told me.

Ashlyn Westbrook: We were preparing to reach Lughbow. Halden was trapped. Chemosh had nearly killed us. I didn’t want you dividing your attention during a life or death situation.

Trace took a slow breath.

Trace Mercer: During the fight with Chemosh, keeping it to yourself may have been the right tactical choice.

Ashlyn had expected anger or immediate reassurance. The agreement surprised her.

Trace Mercer: We were trapped inside an enemy facility. We were trying to keep six machines functioning, Ray was dealing with Lughbow, and Lena had just learned she released a Void God fifteen hundred years ago. Telling everyone in the middle of that could have made the escape harder.

Ashlyn Westbrook: That’s what I thought.

Trace Mercer: The fight ended.

His voice tightened.

Trace Mercer: We came home. You had time to tell me. I asked you directly, and you looked at me and said you were fine.

Ashlyn looked away.

Ashlyn Westbrook: I was trying to fix it first.

Trace Mercer: You agreed to become a Worzol thrall if you lost a cage fight.

Ashlyn Westbrook: I knew I could win.

Trace Mercer: You could have lost.

Ashlyn Westbrook: I didn’t.

Trace stepped closer.

He did not raise his voice, but Ashlyn had never heard him speak to her with that much anger.

Trace Mercer: That was a dangerous gamble.

Ashlyn’s first instinct was to defend herself again. She had fought three women without powers, won the information they needed, and prevented the team from being distracted. Part of her still believed the result justified the risk.

She looked at Trace and saw fear beneath the anger.

He had spent the entire tournament watching her get hurt while knowing one loss would take her from him.

Ashlyn Westbrook: I was afraid you would stop me.

Trace Mercer: I might have tried.

Ashlyn Westbrook: That’s why I didn’t tell you.

Trace Mercer: You don’t get to decide what I can handle because you’re afraid of my answer.

Ashlyn fell silent.

Trace continued before she could retreat behind another explanation.

Trace Mercer: I trust you more than anyone. That doesn’t mean I’m supposed to watch you destroy yourself and call it respect. I love you. Sometimes that means believing you know exactly what you’re doing. Sometimes it means telling you that what you’re doing is reckless and refusing to step aside.

Ashlyn had seen Trace angry at enemies, at himself, and at situations he could not control. She had never seen him angry with her.

It did not make her feel rejected.

It made the depth of his fear impossible to ignore.

Trace Mercer: I want to protect you, even when you don’t want to be protected. I know you can protect yourself. That isn’t the point. We're a team. All of Kishiranger are a team, but you and I, are much more than that.

Ashlyn’s eyes burned.

Ashlyn Westbrook: I didn’t want to become another problem you had to carry.

Trace Mercer: You are not a problem. You are never a problem.

Ashlyn Westbrook: The armor is.

Trace Mercer: Then we deal with the armor. Together.

Ashlyn Westbrook: What if the sword can’t purify it?

Trace Mercer: We find another way.

Ashlyn Westbrook: What if there isn’t one?

Trace placed both hands gently against her face.

Trace Mercer: Then you tell me, and we face that truth together. You do not gamble your life without giving me the chance to stand beside you.

Ashlyn closed her eyes.

The corruption beneath her ribs pulsed, but it did not spread. Trace’s anger had not fed it the way fear usually did. His honesty gave it nothing to distort.

She leaned into him.

Ashlyn Westbrook: I haven't been thinking clearly. I think it's the corruption, but I can't use it as an excuse. I’m sorry.

Trace Mercer: Don’t do it again.

Ashlyn Westbrook: I won’t.

Trace Mercer: I mean it.

Ashlyn opened her eyes and almost smiled.

Ashlyn Westbrook: I know. I’ve never seen you this angry with me.

Trace Mercer: I watched a woman built like one of those large transportation automobiles throw you around a cage.

Ashlyn gave him a tired look.

Ashlyn Westbrook: Those are called a bus, and Rhea was just a person.

A laugh escaped Ashlyn before she could stop it. The movement hurt her ribs, and she immediately regretted it.

Trace steadied her.

Trace Mercer: Don’t laugh.

Ashlyn Westbrook: You made me.

Trace Mercer: It wasn’t meant to be funny.

Ashlyn Westbrook: That made it funnier.

The courtyard lights flickered.

Trace’s expression changed.

Ashlyn felt the corruption react before she saw the green mist forming across the path.

Dreadlings emerged from behind the trees, climbing over walls and dropping from the rooftops around the athletics building. Their weapons scraped across the pavement as they surrounded the fountain.

Malvora appeared on the upper steps.

Beside her stood something that had once been Rhea Kincaid.



The new Worzol Beast towered over the Dreadlings. Thick black armor covered its body, shaped around massive shoulders and arms. Sections of a steel cage formed its ribs, with green energy burning between the bars. Heavy chains wrapped around its forearms and connected to enormous gauntlets lined with blunt spikes. Rhea’s braided hair had become a mass of dark cables hanging behind a horned metal mask.

Malvora rested one hand against the creature’s arm.

Malvora: Allow me to introduce Cagewrath.

The Worzol Beast struck both fists together.

The impact cracked the pavement.

Cagewrath: I want another fight.

Ashlyn stared at her.

Ashlyn Westbrook: Rhea. No. You gave in. You let her control you.

Cagewrath: She isn’t controlling me. She finally gave me enough power to stop holding back.

Malvora smiled.

Malvora: I agreed to tell you how to remove the corruption. I never promised you would reach the mountain.

Trace stepped in front of Ashlyn.

Trace Mercer: Are you able to transform?

Ashlyn reached for her Oathlink.

Ashlyn Westbrook: I can fight.

Trace looked toward her.

Trace Mercer: I know you can.

They raised their Oathlinks together.

Trace Mercer: Burning Oath!

Ashlyn Westbrook: Darkness Conquered!

Trace and Ashlyn: Kishiranger, arise!

Red and black energy swept across the courtyard.

Kishi Red and Kishi Black landed back to back as the first Dreadlings attacked.

Kishi Red drew Kingslight in his right hand and met three enemies near the fountain. He blocked the first weapon, kicked the second Dreadling backward, and cut through the third with a rising slash. Kishi Black moved in the opposite direction, striking low with Gravebrand before turning the blade into a reverse grip and driving the hilt into another attacker’s helmet.

The Dreadlings tried to separate them.

Kishi Red caught one by the shoulder and threw it toward Kishi Black. She stepped aside, used the flat of Gravebrand to redirect its momentum, and sent it into two more enemies.

Trace Mercer: Left side.

Kishi Black ducked.

Kingslight passed over her shoulder and cut through a Dreadling approaching from behind. She swept the legs from another and moved back into position beside him.

Ashlyn Westbrook: Right side.

Kishi Red turned.

Gravebrand struck across the front of his armor and caught an enemy blade inches before it reached his chest. Ashlyn twisted, disarmed the Dreadling, and kicked it into the fountain.

Their movements settled into the rhythm that came naturally whenever they fought together. Neither needed to look toward the other for long. A word, a shift in stance, or the sound of a weapon behind them was enough.

Cagewrath charged.

The Worzol Beast hit both Rangers with one sweeping arm and threw them across the courtyard.

Kishi Red rolled and rose quickly.

Kishi Black landed harder.

The impact drove the corruption through her armor. 

Chemosh’s voice returned inside her helmet.

Chemosh: Use what you are becoming.

Ashlyn forced herself upright.

Ashlyn Westbrook: Trace.

Kishi Red looked toward her.

Ashlyn Westbrook: It’s spreading.

His reaction lasted less than a second.

Trace Mercer: Can you control yourself?

She flexed her hand.

Ashlyn Westbrook: Yes.

Trace Mercer: Then fight, Ashlyn. No giving up!

Cagewrath attacked again.

Kishi Red raised Kingslight and blocked the first gauntlet, but the force drove him down onto one knee. Kishi Black moved around Cagewrath’s side and cut through one of the chains wrapped around its elbow.

The chain came alive and struck her across the chest.

Ashlyn hit the ground.

Cagewrath turned toward her.

Cagewrath: You beat me when I was weak.

Ashlyn Westbrook: You were stronger than everyone there.

Kishi Black pushed herself up.

Ashlyn Westbrook: You lost because you thought strength was the only thing that mattered.

Cagewrath drove a fist toward her.

Kishi Black moved aside and used the same turn that had won the tournament. She caught the Beast’s wrist, stepped beneath the arm, and redirected the charge toward the fountain.

Cagewrath struck the stone base and destroyed it.

Water erupted across the courtyard.

Kishi Red ran through the spray, jumped onto the broken fountain, and struck Cagewrath across the back with Kingslight. The Beast staggered but remained standing.

Kishi Black attacked from the opposite side.

Gravebrand and Kingslight hit together.

Red and black energy crossed over Cagewrath’s chest and forced the creature backward through a line of Dreadlings.

Malvora raised her hand.

Green mist opened behind Cagewrath.

Malvora: That is enough for her first evening.

Cagewrath: I can still fight.

Malvora: Of course you can. Learning when to leave is part of becoming useful.

The remaining Dreadlings withdrew into the mist.

Cagewrath pointed one massive gauntlet toward Ashlyn.

Cagewrath: The next fight ends differently.

Ashlyn Westbrook: Train harder.

Cagewrath roared and disappeared through the portal.

Malvora remained long enough to look at Kishi Black.

Malvora: You're running out of time. Ta-ta for now.

She vanished.

The courtyard grew quiet except for the water running from the destroyed fountain.

Kishi Black released her transformation first.

Ashlyn dropped to one knee as the armor disappeared. Trace dismissed his own suit and caught her before she fell.

The corruption remained beneath her skin, but it had stopped near her shoulder.

Trace Mercer: We’re leaving for Mount Seraphine as soon as possible.

Ashlyn Westbrook: The operation with Lughbow—

Trace Mercer: Ray and Rosine can continue preparing. Roland, Miles, and Lena can cover anything Worzol tries while we’re gone.

Ashlyn Westbrook: You’ve already decided.

Trace Mercer: Tough love. Plus, I'm the team leader. It's about time I played that card.

Ashlyn looked at him.

She leaned against him.

Ashlyn Westbrook: You don’t have to come with me.

Trace helped her stand.

Trace Mercer: We just discussed this.

Ashlyn Westbrook: I know. I wanted to hear the answer again.

Trace Mercer: I’m coming with you.

Ashlyn took his hand.

Together they walked toward the KED Building while the first light of morning began reaching the eastern edge of Avalon City.

Far beyond the city, Mount Seraphine stood above a line of dark forests. Snow covered its upper slopes, and the abandoned Shrine of the First Night remained sealed beneath centuries of ice and stone.

Deep inside the mountain, an ancient sword rested in a silver chamber.

For the first time in fifteen hundred years, the blade began to glow.

To Be Continued...

Last edited by Machismo (7/16/2026 7:16 pm)

Episode 46: The Sword of the New King

The main display in the KED command center showed a detailed cross section of the Der Gralsbund cathedral, including the older foundations that had been sealed beneath the current structure. Several routes glowed across the map, though only one remained highlighted from beginning to end. It began inside a storm drainage tunnel west of the cathedral, passed beneath an abandoned reliquary, and reached the lower corridor outside the Chapel of First Mercy.

Ray Matthews stood near the display with Absolver resting against his shoulder. Sister Rosine occupied the console beside him, dressed in her usual habit rather than the Rikka Spiral disguise. Roland Vander had provided the final construction records that allowed Dorian to confirm the route, while Ashlyn had spent the previous evening testing Evensong against several samples of corrupted Ehrvolt. The blade had removed each infection without damaging the object beneath it.

The plan had become possible, but it remained far from safe.

Ray Matthews: Father Lughbow is scheduled to return to Avalon in thirteen days. Bastion has announced that he is inspecting their northern command posts, although Rosine believes the trip is meant to keep him away from the cathedral while security measures are installed.

Rosine expanded the upper level of the cathedral. New checkpoints appeared across the public chapel, the residence wing, the armory, and the old ceremonial halls.

Sister Rosine: The security changes are excessive even by Der Gralsbund standards. They have installed Ehrvolt sensors at every major entrance, placed armed guards outside the private chapel, and moved two Stahlritter into an underground hangar beneath the eastern transept. Chemosh knows we intend to reach Lughbow, although I do not believe he knows how.

Miles Rowan: He probably assumes we’ll come through the front door because Trace has spent years training villains to expect that.

Trace Mercer looked over from the opposite side of the table.

Trace Mercer: It has worked more often than it should.

Roland Vander: That doesn't mean it's a sound strategy.

Trace Mercer: Results.

Roland Vander: Consequences.

Lena Solis: Distractions.

Dorian Vale folded his hands behind his back as the map shifted toward the Chapel of First Mercy. The room had been built centuries before the modern cathedral and employed the use of Nullglass. Their plan was to intercept Lughbow after his return, move him through the hidden passage, and use Evensong to separate Chemosh’s corruption from his mind.

Whether Lughbow would cooperate after the corruption was removed remained unknown.

Dorian Vale: We will use the next thirteen days to prepare the passage, study Bastion’s patrol rotation, and determine whether Evensong can safely be used on a human host. Until then, nobody approaches the cathedral without authorization.

Miles leaned against the table.

Miles Rowan: Are you looking at Trace or Ray when you say that?

Dorian Vale: I am looking at everyone.

Ashlyn stood beside him in a dark violet jacket that matched the new color of her Oathlink. The corruption that had plagued her armor was completely gone, and her Ehrvolt readings had remained stable since returning from Mount Seraphine. She rested one hand against Trace’s arm.

Ashlyn Westbrook: We understand. It's just hard to deal with. We've had this issue so close to use for so long. We're all pumped up to get to it.

Trace Mercer: Yeah. Pumped up. Pumped up? What does that mean?

Ashlyn Westbrook: Hyped? No, you wouldn't get that one either. We're feeling the urgency, and we're ready to get to it.

Trace Mercer: Ah, we're jittery. That's what the Bean Champion calls it.

Ashlyn giggled, a large weight had been removed from her shoulders as the cathedral map closed, and a new screen appeared.

Each member of the team recognized the layout. Their names were listed beside colored bars representing their current Ehrvolt measurements. 

Miles straightened immediately.

Miles Rowan: I can't be last again, can I? I'm definitely the fastest one here.

Lena Solis: I hope your score includes the energy you spend avoiding responsibility.

Miles Rowan: That is one of my most developed abilities.

Dorian activated the full display.

TRACE MERCER — 30.8

ASHLYN WESTBROOK — 30.5

RAY MATTHEWS — 29.9

ROLAND VANDER — 29.5

LENA SOLIS — 29.0

MILES ROWAN — 28.5

The command center became quiet.

Miles looked from his own reading to Trace’s, then back again.

Miles Rowan: I expected to feel better about reaching twenty eight.

Lena examined the numbers more closely.

Lena Solis: We have all nearly caught him.

Ray glanced toward Trace.

Ray Matthews: Seems like we're about your equal now, Trace. Strange considering you recently took up Kingslight.

Roland Vander: The initial projection placed him above thirty five by now.

Trace studied the display without answering.

Ashlyn knew him well enough to notice that his expression had changed, even though his posture remained relaxed. Trace had never cared about being stronger merely for the sake of ranking above the others, but he had carried the team’s highest Ehrvolt since their powers first awakened. More importantly, Kingslight was supposed to be the weapon that allowed his inherited power to reach its full potential.

Instead, everyone else had continued advancing while his progress had nearly stopped.

Dorian brought up a graph showing the past several months. Ashlyn, Ray, Roland, Lena, and Miles had all climbed steadily. Trace’s line rose sharply when Kingslight awakened, then flattened.

Trace Mercer: Is the reading accurate?

Dorian Vale: We tested it three times.

Trace Mercer: Is something wrong with Kingslight or me?

Dorian Vale: The sword is stable, and your bond with it remains exceptionally strong. There is no damage to your Oathlink or any decline in your existing power.

He looked back at the numbers. Ashlyn stood only three tenths behind him, and Ray had nearly reached thirty. Trace was proud of them. He knew how much each member had endured to reach those levels, and there was no part of him that wanted them weaker so he could remain comfortably ahead.

That did not stop the doubt from taking hold.

Ashlyn Westbrook: My new armor caused a large increase after Evensong removed the corruption. Ray’s bond with Absolver changed at the Gral Liner. Roland, Lena, and Miles have all had breakthroughs of their own. The numbers don’t mean you’ve become weaker.

Trace Mercer: I stopped getting stronger.

Ashlyn Westbrook: For now.

Trace Mercer: We are about to enter Der Gralsbund’s cathedral and confront a Void god who has already taken control of two people we were supposed to protect. For now is not especially reassuring.

He did not raise his voice, but the concern beneath it silenced the room.

Dorian closed the individual results.

Dorian Vale: The measurements are just information, not judgment. We will investigate the cause without allowing it to interfere with the cathedral operation.

Trace looked toward him.

Trace Mercer: Understood.

The meeting ended soon afterward, though nobody left with the excitement that had usually followed a major Ehrvolt increase. Miles tried to celebrate reaching twenty eight point five, but even his performance felt restrained. Roland returned to Vander Tower to continue negotiations with Geist Corporation. Ray and Rosine resumed work on the cathedral route, while Lena joined Klara in examining Evensong.

Trace remained near the central table.

Ashlyn Westbrook waited beside him until everyone else had moved away.

Ashlyn Westbrook: You’re about to say you’re fine.

Trace Mercer: I wasn’t.

Ashlyn Westbrook: You were thinking it.

Trace finally looked at her.

Trace Mercer: I’m not upset that you caught up.

Ashlyn Westbrook: I know.

Trace Mercer: I’m glad you did.

Ashlyn Westbrook: I know that too.

She stepped closer and rested both hands against his waist.

Ashlyn Westbrook: You’re worried that we needed you to keep pulling ahead and that you somehow failed by letting us reach you.

Trace Mercer: That sounds bad when you say it like that.

Ashlyn Westbrook: It sounds like you.

Trace sighed and looked back at the dark screen.

Trace Mercer: Kingslight belonged to Uther. It carries his power, Aurelius’s power, and everything the royal line built before me. I thought once I awakened it, I would finally understand what I was supposed to become.

Ashlyn Westbrook: Maybe understanding yourself was never something a sword could do for you.

Trace Mercer: That sounds very wise, my lady.

Ashlyn Westbrook: I’ve had an educational month.

She rose slightly and kissed him.

Ashlyn Westbrook: Go rest. You've been working yourself to near death. I would know. You practically hauled me up that mountain...and took good of me at my weakest moments. Plus, that dog you allowed into your home might destroy the place to show he misses you.

Trace smiled despite himself.

Trace Mercer: That happened once.

Ashlyn Westbrook: It was an expensive chair.

Trace Mercer: He apologized.

Ashlyn Westbrook: The dog apologized? He slept on the remains!

Trace wrapped one arm around her and held her close for several seconds. 

Trace Mercer: I’ll see you tomorrow.

Ashlyn Westbrook: You’ll message me tonight.

Trace Mercer: That didn't sound like a question.

Ashlyn Westbrook: It wasn't a question.

Trace Mercer: I'm still figuring out this whole "texting" thing.

Ashlyn Westbrook: I don't see how. I've seen the cockpit of Voll Kaiser.

Trace spent the following morning in the KED training hall with Kingslight in his right hand.

He completed every exercise provided, then repeated them after the system reported that the session was over. He moved through defensive forms, offensive transitions, and controlled Ehrvolt releases until sweat ran beneath his training clothes and the muscles in his arms began resisting each strike.

Kingslight responded perfectly.

Every motion carried the same strength and precision it had shown during recent battles. Its golden energy remained steady, and its connection to Trace’s Oathlink never weakened. The sword was not failing him.

That left the possibility that he was failing the sword.

He drove the blade into the final target and released a concentrated wave of energy. The reinforced figure split apart while the wall behind it remained untouched.

The training system displayed the result.

The number did not change.

Trace dismissed Kingslight and stood alone in the quiet room. He had spent most of his life moving toward the next fight. Even during the years when he did not understand the full truth about his family, he had believed there was always another level waiting if he trained harder and refused to stop.

The modern era had given him things his ancestors never possessed. He had a home, friends, a woman he loved, and the opportunity to live portions of his life without expecting war at every door. Perhaps comfort had softened him. Perhaps the lack of constant survival had allowed the edge inherited from Uther and Aurelius to grow dull.

He knew the thought was unfair to the others. Miles could laugh through almost any situation, yet his Ehrvolt continued climbing. Roland spent much of his time running a company and planning for his employees’ future. Lena enjoyed food, movies, and arguments that had nothing to do with battle. Ashlyn had learned to accept love without allowing it to weaken her.

None of them had become soft.

Trace still could not stop applying the accusation to himself.

That evening, he took his dog through a residential neighborhood several blocks from his apartment. The large brown animal pulled at the leash whenever it discovered something interesting, which meant Trace spent much of the walk being dragged toward trees, fire hydrants, fences, and one discarded food container.

Trace Mercer: You already ate. Several times in fact.

The dog continued straining toward the container.

Trace Mercer: Well...if you insist.

A pair of children played on the pavement near a small neighborhood park. Each wore a plastic headset connected to a popular augmented reality game called Realmforge. Glowing figures appeared above the sidewalk through the lenses, allowing them to battle creatures and collect materials from landmarks around the city.

One child carried a plastic sword decorated with blue lights. The other held a plain wooden handle fitted with several interchangeable pieces.

Child One: You should use the royal sword. It has better damage.

Child Two: I can’t finish the Crown Trial with that one.

Child One: Why not? It belongs to the old king.

Child Two: That’s the problem. The game says it was already used for somebody else’s path. The new king has to make his own weapon from the pieces his party gives him.

Child One: That takes forever.

Child Two: It gets stronger every time one of your friends helps build it. The old sword can’t do that because its story is already finished.

The dog pulled Trace close enough that the children noticed him.

Child One: Mister, your dog is standing on our dragon.

Trace looked down.

The dog stared happily at the empty patch of pavement, wagging his tail.

Trace Mercer: His name is Barley. He has strong opinions about dragons.

Child Two: Can you move him? We need the drop item.

Trace guided the dog several feet away. The children thanked him, collected their invisible reward, and continued arguing about which material would improve the weapon.

Trace remained near the park. Those kids, doing whatever they were doing confused Trace, but then they offered him incredible wisdom. 

Kingslight’s story was not his.

The realization did not diminish what the weapon meant to him. Kingslight had saved his life, connected him to his lineage, and allowed him to understand parts of Uther and Aurelius that history had reduced to names. It was still one of the greatest weapons ever carried by a Kishi Red.

That might be precisely why it could take him no further.

Kingslight had already become everything it was intended to be.

Trace took out his phone and after several failed attempts to figure it out, called Asher.

Asher: Trace, you're using a phone? Is something wrong?

Trace Mercer: I think I know why Kingslight stopped increasing my Ehrvolt.

There was a short pause.

Asher: Come to KED.

Trace Mercer: You don’t sound surprised.

Asher: I have my own suspicions. Let's meet up and discuss it. To be honest, I'm still uncomfortable with these phones, but I'm told by Blake that I have the best data plan, whatever that means.

Trace looked toward the children.

Trace Mercer: Kingslight was never supposed to be my final sword.

Asher exhaled slowly.

Asher: Bring Kingslight with you.

Asher placed Kingslight on the table beneath the relief.

Asher: Kingslight was given to Uther Arcturus before he united the first Oathlink bearers. Later, he sealed the sword away, so that his son Aurelius would forge a sword of his own, the one he eventually bequeathed to you, but even that was not truly your sword. In regard to Oathrender, every member of his team contributed a material, a portion of Ehrvolt, and one strike of the hammer. The weapon responded to Aurelius because it contained the bonds he had formed rather than merely the blood he inherited.

Trace examined the relief.

Trace Mercer: Why was it passed down if every Kishi Red was supposed to forge a weapon?

Asher: I think it was a necessity at the time. You were fighting a war. You and Jeanne were rallying us all together for the final strike against the Worzol Dimension. If you had time, I'd imagine you'd have been able to go on your own quest to forge a sword.

Trace looked toward the weapon that had carried him through so many battles.

Trace Mercer: Kingslight isn't technically mine. Oathrender wasn’t mine either. My own destiny was borrowed. It came to me, because I was the last one standing.

Asher: Don't go doubting yourself. You are worthy of them both. You are the son of Aurelius Arcturus. Plus, you're my friend, and I don't want to see you doing that.

Trace ran one hand along Kingslight’s guard.

Trace Mercer: I have spent my entire life carrying swords made for other men.

Asher: They carried you far enough to reach the forge.

Trace looked at him.

Asher’s expression remained steady, but the emotion in his voice was unmistakable. 

Trace Mercer: The forge? Where is the forge?

The Magnus Foundation was housed inside of an ancient mansion in the mountains overlooking Hanta City. Trace had heard the name in connection with the Rune Lenses, though the Foundation’s exact location had been kept secret even from most of KED, and for good reason. 

Asher: The royal forge was moved there hundreds of years ago and sealed away. We also possess the Rune Lenses for the job.

The display showed six circular objects made from crystal and dark metal. Each lens carried a different pattern.

Asher: The Zircon gems inside the Oathlinks were made from the same celestial material used to create the Rune Lenses. A Zircon stores and stabilizes the power of one knight. The Rune Lenses can help us forge a new Zircon, and a new sword.

Trace Mercer: I need the lenses to forge a sword.

Asher: Correct. The process will place your Zircon under significant strain, and there is no guarantee the forging will not destroy it.

Trace Mercer: When do we leave?

Asher: Tomorrow morning.

Trace looked back at Kingslight and nodded.

He understood why the others could not accompany him. The Magnus Foundation’s secrecy was keeping the Worzol Dimension from finding the Rune Lens they needed to tear open the rift permanently. 

The relief on the wall showed Uther surrounded by his knights.

Trace wondered whether the trial had already begun.

Asher drove them to Hanta City before sunrise in an unmarked vehicle containing no KED insignia. Trace tried to be concealed, while Kingslight remained sealed inside a case in the rear compartment. The route led through the eastern industrial district, and by the Geist Corporation building and into an underground parking garage. The garage opened up into a long tunnel, one that would lead them from the underground to the Magnus Foundation building. 

A Magnus Foundation security officer met them at the elevator.

The doors opened onto an ornate room surrounded by sections of much older stone.



Modern equipment filled the outer ring. The center of the chamber contained a circular forge surrounded by large mechanical frames. Each frame held one of the Rune Lenses above channels leading toward the central anvil.

A woman in a grey Foundation uniform approached.

Woman in Foundation Uniform: Trace Mercer, welcome to the Magnus Foundation. My name is Doctor Elian Voss. I would normally provide a tour, but the Rune Lenses have been responding to your Oathlink since you entered Hanta City, which suggests we should begin as soon as possible.

Trace Mercer: So a big alert that I was approaching?

Doctor Elian Voss: It was fascinating. They've never done it before.

A metallic hum came from the nearest frame.

Trace Mercer: That one?

Doctor Elian Voss: Yes.

Trace stepped toward the forge.

The main doors opened behind him.

Miles Rowan: I expected the secret foundation to have better parking.

Trace turned.

Miles entered first carrying two large bags of food. Lena followed with a case of tools over one shoulder. Roland walked beside Ray, both dressed for travel, while Rosine came behind them in her Rikka Spiral disguise. Ashlyn entered last with Evensong secured at her back.

Trace stared at the entire group.

Asher did not look surprised.

Trace Mercer: You told them.

Asher: I did not.

Roland Vander: Dorian informed us that you were leaving for Hanta City. Miles used that information to locate Asher’s vehicle.

Miles Rowan: Ace Detective Miles Rowan followed a series of highly advanced investigative clues.

Lena Solis: He checked the parking log.

Miles Rowan: The first clue was a parking log.

Ray approached the forge.

Ray Matthews: So this is the legendary forge? Der Gralsbund would kill to have this information, probably literally right now. We knew you might want some privacy when making your new sword, however Ashlyn threatened us until we became cooperative.

Ashlyn looked at Ray.

Ashlyn Westbrook: I did not threaten anyone!

Sister Rosine: She described the process or what she was going to do in a firm voice.

Ashlyn Westbrook: ...Maybe...I was a little heated.

Trace looked toward Asher again.

Trace Mercer: I got here because of this team. We're still here because of this team. If I do this, WE should do this, together.

Asher: Well...as I recall Oathrender's forging required the presence of the king’s companions. Sending them away would have defeated the purpose.

Trace Mercer: You could have said that yesterday.

Asher: I had a feeling they would come without being asked. I did it this way so you would know and they would know, what they're willing to sacrifice to complete this task.

Miles placed the food beside the forge.

Miles Rowan: We passed the test.

Lena Solis: Get the sandwiches off the mythical, legendary forge.

Ashlyn stopped in front of Trace.

Ashlyn Westbrook: You were going to forge your sword without us.

Trace Mercer: I had faith that if this failed, you would all be more than enough to keeping fighting in my place. Seeing you all here though, I wouldn't ask you to leave if I could.

Ashlyn Westbrook: You came with me to Mount Seraphine. You stood beside me while I faced the corruption, and you never once suggested that my trial belonged only to me. You do not get to decide this one belongs only to you.

Trace looked around the chamber and smiled.

Trace Mercer: All right, my faithful comrades. Let it never be said that you're any less courageous than my allies I fought with all those years ago. Ever since I awoke from my long sleep, you've stood by me. We do it together too.

Ashlyn kissed his cheek.

Ashlyn Westbrook: That was the correct answer.

Doctor Voss watched them with visible amusement.

Doctor Elian Voss: The Rune Lenses could actually have their power magnified with their Zircons in use. High risk, but higher reward.

The first stage required Trace to melt a bar of celestial metal recovered from the ruins of Avalon’s original royal armory. The material had once formed part of the forge itself and carried faint traces of every weapon created there.

Trace placed the metal into the furnace while the Rune Lenses focused red and gold energy into the chamber. The bar became bright enough to lose its shape, allowing Doctor Voss to guide the liquid metal into a long sword mold.

When the blade cooled enough to be moved, Trace placed it across the anvil.

It remained dull, uneven, and unfinished.

Doctor Voss handed him the hammer.

Doctor Elian Voss: Every strike must carry an intention.

Miles Rowan: We INTEND to make the baddest sword of all time!

Trace raised the hammer.

His first strike carried red Ehrvolt into the blade.

The sound filled the chamber.

The metal brightened but did not change shape.

Roland stepped beside him.

Roland Vander: May I?

Trace handed him the hammer.

Roland looked down at the blade before striking.

Blue energy entered the metal.

Roland Vander: When we first became Kishirangers, I believed leadership belonged to the person most capable of creating order. I had plans, resources, and enough confidence to assume those things made me the obvious choice.

He raised the hammer again.

Roland Vander: You taught me that people do not follow a leader because he always knows the correct answer. They follow because they trust what he will do even when he does not.

The second strike caused the blade’s central ridge to form.

Roland Vander: You trusted me after I gave you several reasons not to. Whatever title you carry, I will remember that before I remember the crown.

He returned the hammer.

Trace accepted it with both hands.

Trace Mercer: You are the shield of this team. You are a trusted friend and comrade. Thank you, Roland.

Miles stepped forward next.

He took the hammer, tested its weight, and nearly dropped it when the green lens activated.

Miles Rowan: I had that under control.

Lena Solis: Of course you did.

Miles positioned himself beside the anvil.

Miles Rowan: You were the first person on this team who treated me like I belonged here. You never acted as though being...me meant I had less to give, although you did repeatedly tell me to stop running into danger by myself.

Trace Mercer: You repeatedly ran into danger by yourself.

Miles Rowan: We all have bad habits.

He brought the hammer down.

Green energy raced along the blade and lengthened it slightly.

Miles Rowan: I still don’t know whether I’m ready for half of what we face, but I know you’ll let me fight beside you while I figure it out.

Miles struck again, this time with better control.

The blade’s edge became sharper.

Miles Rowan: Also, you have saved me from Lena at least four times.

Lena stared at him.

He handed the hammer to her before she could respond.

Lena stepped into position.

Yellow energy gathered around her hands.

She struck the blade.

Yellow light spread through the metal, strengthening the core.

Lena Solis: You accepted me before I knew I was a Zauberer. You accepted me after I knew. You did not ignore what I was afraid of becoming. You helped me decide what I was going to be.

Her second strike sent a shower of sparks toward the lens.

Lena Solis: You can be a goofball and a real blunt instrument sometimes, but you have a talent for believing in people and showing them how to believe in themselves.

Trace smiled.

Trace Mercer: I think that was mostly kind.

Lena Solis: Take what you can get.

Ray accepted the hammer after her.

Ray Matthews: I once believed you were dangerous because you refused to respect authority, and had that curse burning inside of you. I eventually learned you respected responsibility more than authority, and the distinction mattered. I also learned that you burn hotter than anything formed to defeat you.

He struck the blade.

Silver lines formed along the unfinished guard.

Ray Matthews: When Der Gralsbund declared me a traitor, I expected you to tolerate my presence because the team needed Silberritter. Instead, you gave me a second chance to be your friend.

Ray looked directly at Trace.

Ray Matthews: A king should understand judgment, but he must also understand mercy. You have shown both.

He raised the hammer again.

Ray Matthews: I will stand beside you, not just because you are the heir to Avalon, but because you have proven that the future you want is worth defending.

The hammer struck.

The silver lines joined the other colors and created the beginning of a crossguard.

Trace accepted the hammer from him.

Trace Mercer: When this started, I thought you were the most stubborn person I had ever met.

Ray Matthews: You were correct.

Trace Mercer: No, I have since accepted that we share the position.

Rosine covered a laugh with one hand.

Ashlyn approached last.

The violet Rune Lens had already begun glowing. Evensong responded from its sheath, sending thin lines of silver through the energy around her.

Trace offered her the hammer.

Ashlyn placed her hand over his instead.

Ashlyn Westbrook: We strike together.

They stood on opposite sides of the handle.

Ashlyn Westbrook: You once told me my scars were proof that I was brave. I believed you because you looked at me and saw something I could not see in myself.

Violet light surrounded them.

Ashlyn Westbrook: When the corruption took hold of my armor, you did not try to fight my battle for me. You stood by me, and believed in me. You let me fight that fight.

Trace’s Oathlink began glowing with hers.

Ashlyn Westbrook: I love you because you never ask me to become smaller so you can feel stronger. I love you because every time the world tries to decide who we must become, you remind me that we still have a choice.

Ashlyn smiled beneath the violet light.

They brought the hammer down together.

Red and violet power entered the blade, pulling every other color toward the center. The unfinished weapon rose several inches from the anvil as the six Rune Lenses aligned around it.

The blade had not yet been completed, but its form was finally visible.



It was a straight, broad sword with a black central channel and six colored lines running along the silver edges. The guard curved upward into the shape of a lion’s wings, while the pommel contained an empty setting waiting for a final stone.

Doctor Voss checked the readings.

Doctor Elian Voss: The weapon has accepted all six frequencies. The remaining process must be completed by Trace alone. The team’s energy provided the shape, but the final oath will determine what the sword becomes.

The floor shook.

Alarms sounded throughout the Foundation.

The laboratory lights changed from white to red.

One of the security monitors displayed outside of the mansion. Dreadlings attacked the guards.

A larger figure stepped through the smoke.

Malachor carried his massive axe across one shoulder.

Malachor: At last, the Rune Lenses.

The transmission carried through every Foundation speaker.

Malachor: Your loyalty has saved us years of searching, little knights. Because you could not resist standing together.

Asher: He followed their Ehrvolt signatures.

Doctor Voss rushed toward the main console.

Doctor Elian Voss: The lenses cannot be moved while the forging process is active. If we shut them down now, the unstable resonance will destroy the weapon and possibly the entire chamber.

Trace reached for the unfinished sword.

The Rune Lenses pushed him back.

Doctor Elian Voss: It is not ready.

Ashlyn drew her Oathlink.

Ashlyn Westbrook: Trace finishes the sword. Everyone else comes with me.

Trace looked toward her.

Trace Mercer: Ashlyn...I'll be out there as soon as I can.

Ashlyn Westbrook: Heh. We'll be waiting. Violet Absolution!

Lena Solis: Might and Magic! 

Miles Rowan: Knight of the Wind!

Roland Vander: Shield of Justice! 

Ray Matthews: Holy Silver!

All Five: Kishiranger, arise!

Violet, blue, green, yellow, and silver light filled the chamber as the others transformed. Asher remained behind with Trace and Doctor Voss, while the five armored heroes ran toward the upper laboratories.

Kishi Violet took the lead.

Dreadlings had already overwhelmed the first security station by the time the Kishirangers reached the main corridor. Dozens crowded between the laboratories, using curved blades and heavy clubs to destroy every locked door they encountered.

Kishi Violet did not allow them to reach the Rune Lens chamber.

She drove Evensong through the weapon of the first Dreadling and kicked it into three others. Kishi Green moved past her before they hit the floor, striking each one with Gungnir and clearing the left side of the corridor.

Kishi Blue raised Shield Vanguard as a volley of black arrows came from the upper walkway. The projectiles struck the shield and shattered.

Roland Vander: Eight archers above us.

Miles Rowan: I have them.

Kishi Green ran up the side of the corridor, used a support beam to change direction, and reached the upper walkway before the archers could fire again. Gungnir swept beneath their legs, knocking four over the railing. He spun the spear, struck two more, and drove the final pair backward into Kishi Yellow.

Lena waited with Aymr resting against one shoulder.

Lena Solis: Your plan delivered them right to me.

Miles Rowan: Call it a gift!

Aymr struck the floor.

Yellow energy launched the Dreadlings into the ceiling before dropping them in a pile.

Silver Templar and Kishi Blue held the central corridor while Kishi Violet moved toward the next security door. Dreadlings attacked from three directions, but Shield Vanguard prevented them from surrounding the team. Absolver cut through their weapons, leaving the stunned creatures open for Roland’s counterattacks.

The wall ahead split apart.

Malachor stepped through the broken concrete.

His axe swept across the corridor before anyone could reposition.

Kishi Violet crossed Evensong in front of herself. The impact drove her into the wall, but the silver blade prevented the axe from cutting through her armor.

Kishi Blue charged from the side.

Malachor struck Shield Vanguard with the lower shaft of his weapon and threw Roland across the laboratory. Silver Templar attacked the exposed opening, but Malachor turned and caught Absolver against the head of his axe.

Malachor: The traitor has found another master.

Ray Matthews: I serve the oath you abandoned.

Ray pushed against the axe.

Malachor’s strength forced him backward.

Kishi Violet cut across Malachor’s side.

The blade opened his armor and released a burst of green energy.

Malachor stepped away, more surprised than injured.

Malachor: Your darkness is gone.

Ashlyn Westbrook: You sound disappointed.

Malachor: Vantrex believed it would consume you.

Ashlyn Westbrook: Vantrex must be tired of getting me all wrong.

She attacked again.

Evensong’s lighter balance allowed her to redirect Malachor’s axe rather than meeting every strike with force. She turned the weapon away, cut across his gauntlet, and created enough room for Kishi Yellow to attack his legs.

Aymr struck Malachor’s knee.

The Worzol knight dropped low enough for Kishi Green to drive Gungnir into his shoulder.

Malachor roared and released a wave of black energy.

All five heroes were thrown backward.

He raised the axe toward the Rune Lens chamber.

Malachor: The permanent gate will open tonight. Abaddon will cross into this world with every army the Worzol Dimension can produce, and Avalon will become the first city burned in his name.

Kishi Violet stood.

Ashlyn Westbrook: You’ll have to get through us first.

Malachor looked at the team gathering behind her.

Malachor: Trace Mercer left his soldiers to fight while he hides.

Ashlyn Westbrook: He trusted us to handle you.

Malachor charged.

Kishi Violet met him without giving up another step.

The unfinished sword floated above the anvil while the Rune Lenses poured energy into its six channels.

Trace stood before it with both hands raised. The final setting inside the pommel remained empty, and none of the blank Zircon Doctor Voss offered would remain inside it. Every stone cracked when brought near the combined resonance.

The battle shook the levels above them.

Trace could hear Dreadlings striking the security doors and Malachor’s axe tearing through the Foundation. Every instinct told him to leave the forge and help his team.

Asher blocked the passage.

Asher: They are buying you time because they believe this matters.

Trace Mercer: They matter more.

Asher: Honor what they chose to give you, my friend. I know it hurts. I know it does. I wish I could do more.

Trace looked toward the weapon.

The six colored lines were beginning to fade.

He placed both hands around the unfinished hilt.

The laboratory disappeared.

Trace stood inside the ruins of the old Avalon throne room.

The chamber looked as it had before Vance Lot’s betrayal. Sunlight entered through tall windows, and the banners of the first kingdom hung undamaged along the walls. The throne remained empty.

Aurelius Arcturus stood near it.

He wore no armor. His dark red coat carried the royal crest, while Oathrender rested inside a sheath at his side. 

Aurelius Arcturus: You took longer than I expected.

Trace did not move closer.

Trace Mercer: You knew I had to forge a sword.

Aurelius Arcturus: Every true heir does.

Trace Mercer: You could have left instructions.

Aurelius Arcturus: I left you all that I could given the circumstances. I did leave you a mentor.

Trace’s expression hardened.

Trace Mercer: You left me with a man who loved me enough to raise me, but you never gave that a chance.

Aurelius accepted the accusation without looking away.

Aurelius Arcturus: If Vantrex had known you were my son, he would have killed you to reach me. Their hatred of our bloodline ran that deeply. They would kill you, because of Uther.

Trace Mercer: That explains why you hid me. It does not explain why you stayed away.

Aurelius looked toward the throne.

Aurelius Arcturus: I kept you closer than anyone knew. Gideon Mercer was my most trusted friend, and I placed the future of my bloodline in his hands because I knew he would protect you even if the kingdom fell. I watched from a distance whenever I could, but being seen with you would have exposed everything.

His voice weakened slightly.

Aurelius Arcturus: It was the hardest sacrifice I ever made.

Trace felt the anger he had carried rise again. He had imagined this conversation in several different ways, and in each version Aurelius offered an explanation that made the King he had sworn to serve less of a monster for abandoning him.

Trace Mercer: That is your way of seeing it.

Aurelius looked at him.

Trace Mercer: You made a sacrifice. I grew up believing my father had decided I was not worth staying for. Both things can be true.

Aurelius lowered his head.

Aurelius Arcturus: Yes.

Trace had expected him to argue.

The simple admission left nowhere for the anger to go.

Aurelius Arcturus: I told myself that keeping you alive mattered more than anything you might one day think of me. Perhaps that was courage. Perhaps it was another way of avoiding a choice I feared I could not survive.

Trace looked around the restored throne room.

Trace Mercer: My team taught me something you never learned.

Aurelius Arcturus: What is that?

Trace Mercer: We face the impossible decisions together.

The six colored lines appeared across the floor.

Trace Mercer: I will never abandon them.

Aurelius smiled sadly.

Aurelius Arcturus: Then you are a better king than I was.

Trace Mercer: I’m not trying to become you.

Aurelius Arcturus: That is why the sword is ready.

The empty throne dissolved.

In its place stood the unfinished weapon.

Aurelius drew Oathrender and held it horizontally.

Aurelius Arcturus: Oathrender was my gift to you, and the Zircon I gave you when I met your team, was a guiding light. Kingslight carried Uther’s oath through every generation that followed. It awakened you, but it cannot define you. Give your sword a name that belongs to the future rather than the past.

Trace placed one hand around the unfinished hilt.

The six colors flowed into the empty setting inside the pommel. They compressed into a dark red gem with a small golden star burning at its center.

The blade became solid.

Trace Mercer: Regulus.

Aurelius lowered Kingslight.

Aurelius Arcturus: The brightest star of the Constellation Leo. The heart of the lion.

Trace Mercer: The sword of the king who does not stand alone.

The throne room filled with red light.

Aurelius began fading with it.

Aurelius Arcturus: Trace, I never stopped loving you.

Trace looked at him until only his outline remained.

Trace Mercer: I believe you.

Aurelius disappeared.

Trace returned to the forge with Regulus in both hands.

The Rune Lenses released a final surge of power.

His Oathlink changed.

Kishi Violet’s back struck the security door hard enough to dent it.

Malachor advanced with his axe raised. The others were scattered across the laboratory, each held down by several Dreadlings. More creatures continued entering from the upper levels.

Ashlyn forced herself upright.

Ashlyn Westbrook: Everyone regroup on me!

Kishi Green escaped first. He slid beneath a Dreadling’s blade, struck two others with Gungnir, and reached Ashlyn before Malachor completed his next attack. Kishi Yellow followed, using Aymr to clear a path for Silver Templar and Kishi Blue.

The five heroes formed a line outside the Rune Lens chamber.

Malachor laughed.

Malachor: Your leader has failed you.

A red light spread beneath the door.

Every Dreadling turned.

The reinforced metal doors opened from the center.

Trace walked through them carrying Regulus.






His new armor formed with each step.

A black underlayer covered his body first, followed by crimson plates edged in gold. 

Regulus ignited in his right hand.

The blade carried a dark central channel surrounded by silver edges, with red energy running from the pommel to the point.

The Oathlink announced the transformation.

KISHI RED — KING'S CORONATION

Malachor stared at him.

Malachor: Another stolen relic will not change your fate.

Trace raised Regulus.

Trace Mercer: This sword and my fate...are mine.

He moved before Malachor could answer.

Regulus struck the axe and broke the outer blade.

The impact sent Malachor through two walls. Trace followed, cape streaming behind him as red energy carried him across the distance.

Malachor recovered and swung the damaged axe.

Trace caught the shaft beneath Regulus’s guard, turned the weapon aside, and drove his armored shoulder into Malachor’s chest. The Worzol knight staggered. Trace cut across his torso, reversed the blade, and struck the opposite side before the first wound finished releasing energy.

Malachor tried to retreat.

Trace remained close.

Every strike carried the combined rhythm of the team and allowed Regulus to cut through Malachor’s armor.

Malachor finally blocked a direct attack and forced the blades apart.

Malachor: You think your new sword makes you powerful?

Trace Mercer: No, my team makes me powerful.

Malachor released a wave of black energy.

Trace forced it back with a yell and a swing of Regulus. 

The Ehrvolt monitor that Doctor Voss had began to flash wildly.

TRACE MERCER — 38.4

The number continued climbing.

Malachor saw the reading on a damaged Foundation screen.

His confidence disappeared.

Trace pulled Regulus free.

Trace Mercer: You found the Foundation, which means you and every Dreadling here can lead Abaddon back to it.

Malachor tightened his grip on the broken axe.

Malachor: You intend to kill us all?

Trace Mercer: WE will do what we must.

He turned toward the others.

Trace Mercer: Lion Cannon formation!

The team moved immediately.

Kishi Green and Kishi Yellow took the forward positions and created the base. Kishi Blue, Silver Templar, and Kishi Violet stood beside Trace, placing one hand over his as Regulus entered the central channel.

The Kishi Lion Cannon blasted into the building from its launcher at the KED Building and landed perfectly in place. 

Its golden lion head opened, drawing power from all six Oathlinks.

Dreadlings charged from every corridor.

Malachor raised his axe and forced the surviving creatures into a defensive wall.

Malachor: Hold the line!

Trace looked toward Ashlyn.

She tightened her hand around his.

Ashlyn Westbrook: Finish it.

All Six: Kishi...Lion...Cannon!

The lion crest roared.

Six-colored energy filled the entire security hall.

The blast passed through the Dreadling army first. Their weapons, armor, and bodies dissolved into sparks before the energy reached Malachor. He attempted to block with the remains of his axe, but the weapon disintegrated against the beam.

Malachor’s armor split apart.

His final roar shook the Foundation before the blast carried him through the upper levels and into the night sky above Hanta City.

The energy detonated several hundred feet above the building.

For a moment, nothing remained.

The team lowered the cannon.

Miles looked across the ruined hall.

Miles Rowan: Did we get all of them?

Roland checked the Foundation scans.

Roland Vander: No remaining Worzol signatures inside the facility.

Ray looked toward the sky.

Ray Matthews: One signature is reforming above us.

Green lightning spread through the clouds.

Malachor’s shattered essence gathered around a rapidly expanding core. His body rebuilt itself on a gigantic scale, forming heavier armor, a new axe, and broad horns that curved behind his helmet.

The giant Malachor landed outside the Foundation.

The impact shattered windows across the industrial district.

Malachor: I WILL TEAR THE LENSES FROM THE EARTH ITSELF!

Trace looked toward the others.

Trace Mercer: Stahlritter deployment!

Six colored lights appeated in the sky, as the Stahlritter had been brought in the Gral Liner that was not too far from Hanta City. 

The Stahlritter reached the Foundation as Malachor brought his axe down toward the building. Hector intercepted with Shield Vanguard while the others attacked from both sides.

Malachor drove the Stahlritter backward.

Roland Vander: He's angry, desperate, and driven!

Ray Matthews: If he reaches the Rune Lenses, he may be able to anchor it permanently.

Trace Mercer: Then we end this before he gets another step.

The six machines launched into the combination sequence. However, in the process, the normally black Drakken suddenly began to shift Violet. 

The system identified the change.

TRUE DRAKKEN CONFIRMED.

Ashlyn stared at the display.

Ashlyn Westbrook: It changed with me.

The transformed Drakken locked into place.

Voll Kaiser landed before Malachor, blasting out its red mane.

Malachor attacked.

Voll Kaiser caught the giant axe between Shield Vanguard and its right hand. The impact drove both machines into the pavement, but the shield held.

Trace Mercer: Regulus synchronization!

Inside the cockpit, Trace raised his new sword.

Voll Kaiser’s weapon changed with it.

Voll Kaiser pushed Malachor’s axe away.

Kishi Green’s speed systems carried the combined machine around him before he could recover. Kishi Yellow’s power drove the sword across his back, cutting through the Worzol armor.

Malachor turned and released a wave of green fire.

True Drakken was able to kick it away with ease. 

Malachor charged with the axe held overhead.

Trace tightened his grip on the controls.

Trace Mercer: Everyone together.

Each member placed a hand against their station.

Red, violet, blue, green, yellow, and silver power flowed into the weapon.

Voll Kaiser raised the sword.

The combined machine moved through Malachor’s attack.

The axe shattered against Shield Vanguard.

Voll Kaiser’s sword crossed Malachor from his left shoulder to his right side, turned, and struck again in the opposite direction. The two cuts formed a six-colored cross across his body.

Violet light filled the center.

All Six: Voll Kaiser! Final Judgment!!

The cross detonated.

Malachor’s giant form broke apart above Hanta City. His armor vanished first, followed by the body beneath it. The remaining Worzol energy scattered into thousands of fragments and disappeared before reaching the ground.

Voll Kaiser lowered its sword.



The Magnus Foundation remained operational despite extensive damage to the upper levels. The Rune Lenses survived without being moved, and Doctor Voss confirmed that no external transmission had escaped during the attack.

Asher stood beside the forge while Trace examined Regulus under the restored lights.

Kingslight rested inside its case nearby.

Trace did not intend to discard it. The weapon remained part of his family and a reminder of everything that had brought him to this point. 

The others gathered around him.

Roland checked the latest Ehrvolt reading on his tablet.

Roland Vander: Your stabilized level is forty point five.

Miles looked offended.

Miles Rowan: We spent one morning catching him, and he immediately ran ten points ahead.

Ray examined Regulus.

Ray Matthews: The weapon contains all six Ehrvolt signatures, but the core still belongs to Trace.

Trace Mercer: It belongs to the team.

Ashlyn stepped beside him.

She touched the red gem inside Regulus’s pommel.

Ashlyn Westbrook: You found what you needed?

Trace Mercer: I found you. I found all of you. Or better to say, you all found me.

Trace looked around at the others.

Trace Mercer: I thought falling behind meant I had become too comfortable or stopped pushing hard enough. That wasn't the case at all.

He lifted Regulus.

Trace Mercer: Every one of you helped forge this. Whatever happens, we face it the same way.

Roland nodded.

Roland Vander: Together.

Miles Rowan: Together...after I finish eating.

Lena looked toward the table.

Lena Solis: You brought twelve sandwiches. There are three left. How much do you have to eat?

Miles Rowan: Do you have any idea how many calories I burn being that fast?

Ashlyn leaned against Trace’s shoulder while the argument continued. He looked over against at Kingslight. 

Trace Mercer: Thank you.

The old sword gave a faint golden pulse inside its case.

Regulus answered with red light.

The next day, the team was back in Avalon City, things somewhat returning to normal. 

Trace Mercer strode through the corridors of the KED Building, the hum of distant machinery vibrating through the walls. His mind was still tangled up on everything that had happened recently, and the battles yet to come. He rounded a corner and nearly collided with someone stepping out from a side alcove.

Ashlyn Westbrook steadied herself with a hand on his arm, her eyes meeting his. She had changed. Gone was her black and red look, replaced with a new violet look.



The color suited her perfectly, bold and liberated.

Ashlyn Westbrook: Trace! Hi! Sorry, I didn't see you there. Hehe. Well? What do you think?

She did a quick turn, the fabric shifting elegantly. 

Ashlyn Westbrook: I wanted to wear something that fit my new color. And my freedom from all that corruption.

Trace managed a nod, but the words stuck in his throat. 

An awkward silence stretched between them in the empty hallway. He rubbed the back of his neck, eyes flicking away.

Ashlyn tilted her head, studying him.

Ashlyn Westbrook: Trace? What’s wrong?

He exhaled slowly. 

Trace Mercer: So much I don’t really know how to approach it?

Ashlyn Westbrook: Well, you got to start somewhere.

Trace Mercer: I guess...what happened on the mountain.

She softened immediately.

Ashlyn Westbrook: Yeah. That and a bunch of what came before. That was all the corruption making me more of a handful than I ever intended. I’m sorry for causing so much disruption to the team—

Trace Mercer: I’m not talking about that...exactly.

Ashlyn paused, her expression shifting as realization dawned. A faint flush colored her cheeks. The dilapidated cabin. The raw intensity that had overtaken them.

Ashlyn Westbrook: You mean-

Trace nodded, the memory hitting her hard. Her pushing him down onto that old cot, eyes wild with need, taking full control in ways they had never explored before. Their previous times together had been tender and loving. This had been urgent and unrestrained, with her in charge. She had guided him into claiming her in the deepest, most intimate way possible for their first time venturing there together.

Trace Mercer: I should’ve stopped you. The corruption was forcing you into things you would’ve never done otherwise. I feel like I failed as a Knight, letting it happen.

Ashlyn stared at him for a long moment. Then she blushed deeper, but a genuine smile curved her lips. 

Ashlyn Westbrook: Trace...the corruption didn’t make me do that.

He blinked, stunned.

Trace Mercer: What?

Ashlyn Westbrook: If anything, it just loosened my inhibitions enough for me to finally try the things I’d been curious about. New things. With you.

Her voice softened with warmth. 

Ashlyn Westbrook: And I enjoyed every second of our new closeness. A lot.

She held his gaze for a heartbeat longer, then turned with a playful smirk. Her violet outfit swayed as she walked away down the corridor, leaving him standing there, mouth slightly open, heart racing, and utterly unsure how to react.

Trace Mercer: ...I'm never going to recover from this.

Far beyond Earth, the scattered fragments of Malachor entered the Worzol Dimension.

They drifted through a dead landscape beneath a red sky, too damaged to form a complete body and too corrupted to disappear. Pieces of armor, bone, and green fire moved across the wasteland until a vast shadow covered them.

As the dimensional tear closed, Malachor’s body very slowly began rebuilding in the dark.

To Be Continued...