Before the Battle
"Excuse me," the Guard Commander called out as the meeting broke apart and people began moving toward their assigned positions.
Elsa had taken only a few steps before she stopped and turned back.
"Yes?" she asked. "What is it?"
"You are a ritual mage, correct, young lady?" the Guard Commander asked. His tone was polite, measured, but there was a tension beneath it that hadn't been there moments before.
Elsa blinked once, then nodded. "Yes, I am. Why do you ask?"
The Guard Commander inhaled slowly, deeply, as though steadying himself. For a brief moment, his gaze drifted downward to his right hand. It was shaking—subtle, but unmistakable. He clenched his fingers, forcing the tremor to still, then looked back up at her.
"Miss Elsa," he said, voice quieter now, more personal, "I want you to help me."
Elsa tilted her head slightly, surprise flickering across her face. "Help you… how exactly?" she asked.
"I have heard," he continued, "that ritual magic can enhance a person's physical strength, their agility, even their mental acuity." His eyes never left hers. "I want you to do that to me."
Elsa hesitated, studying him more closely now. "Why?" she asked carefully.
The Guard Commander exhaled again, slower this time. "Because I fear that I am the weakest link," he said plainly. "Between Sir Calvinel and Prince Mark." His voice did not waver, but something behind his eyes did. When Elsa met his gaze fully, she saw it clearly—age-worn exhaustion, fear pressed down and hidden for far too long. Not cowardice. Just a man who understood his limits.
"I cannot afford to be the one who falters," he continued. "Not now."
Elsa's expression softened. "I… can do that," she said after a moment. "I had prepared rituals to apply to Xain, but he chose to go without them." She gestured faintly with one hand. "I could apply sigils to you and—"
The Guard Commander lifted a hand, palm outward, stopping her mid-sentence. He shook his head once.
"Not sigils," he said. "I have learned enough about your craft to understand that sigils are among the weaker applications of ritual magic. Useful, yes, but limited." He straightened slightly, posture firming despite the tension in his body. "No. I want the rituals that will strengthen me the most."
Elsa stared at him for several seconds, silent. Then she spoke, carefully. "Are you certain?" she asked. "Because the strongest ritual I can perform right now—the one that will push your body the furthest—requires carving directly into your skin."
There was no pause.
The Guard Commander nodded immediately. "Then do it," he said. "I am ready." His jaw set. "I am willing to suffer wounds upon my own body if it means protecting the city and its people."
Elsa let out a quiet sigh, a mix of resignation and resolve. "All right," she said. "Follow me. I'll do whatever I can with the time we have."
Back to the battle
The ritual carvings etched into the Guard Commander's skin burned as the air hit them. The recency of the cuts evident—dark lines scoring across his chest and back, the dried and drying blood still weeping faintly from their edges. Each breath pulled at the wounds, each movement reminded him they were there. He clenched his teeth, forcing the pain down, and brought his chainsaw-sword closer to his body, the weapon whining as he tightened his guard.
Kharveth tilted his head slightly as he studied the exposed markings. Whoever had carved them possessed real skill. Not the best, Demon Lord Rimus would have been far more precise, but these ritual carvings were still refined enough to force an old man of the Fifth Generation to survive against him. That alone placed the ritualist well above most. The Knight Commander raised his bone greatsword, the massive weapon angling upward with deliberate calm. He intended to grant the man a quick death—an honor, for one willing to carve his own flesh so deeply for the sake of his people and his home.
He drew the blade back.
Before he could strike, the world fractured.
An upper wall of the coliseum burst outward in an explosion of stone and dust, the shockwave rippling through the battlefield. Chunks of masonry rained down as the clash of combat faltered, every head turning toward the sudden rupture.
"Well, wow," a voice called out from above, casual and amused, cutting cleanly through the chaos. "Would you look at all the demons down there?"
As the dust settled, a tall woman stood in the shattered opening, framed by broken stone. No one recognized her.
*Who is she?* Calvinel's heart lurched, thinking she's an enemy. *We would have noticed someone like her if she had already been inside the coliseum.*
*She's on the same level as the Healing Springs,* the Guard Commander realized. *Is she the reason the door was blocked?*
Kharveth shifted immediately, greatsword rising into a guarded stance, his focus snapping to her alone, as though sensing something no one else could.
Her eyes, glowing purple, swept across the battlefield. Then they turned red.
In the same instant, every demon within her line of sight—every single one except Kharveth—ignited. Flames erupted from their bodies without warning, consuming them from the inside out. The suddenness sent several guards stumbling backward, some falling as the demons screamed, their cries tearing through the air while fire devoured them alive.
"Oh, my mistake!" the woman said cheerfully, tilting her head and tapping her temple as if she had misspoken. "All the demons that were down there!"
She grinned wider as burning bodies collapsed. "Well, I guess they still are down there. Just not for long."
Her gaze locked onto Kharveth.
"Now you," she said, voice sharp with interest, "the one who seems to be ignoring my power because you're simply too strong for it to work."
Her eyes shifted from red to gold.
In a burst of golden light, she shot forward, crossing the distance to the Knight Commander in an instant.
"I'm Violet Absaar. Nice to meet you."
Her fist slammed forward.
Kharveth managed to block. The collision of their forces detonated outward, the impact outright dusting the buildings flanking them and caving the ground beneath their feet into a fractured crater. The shockwave thundered through the city as Kharveth himself was launched skyward at impossible speed, a sonic boom cracking the air as he vanished into the clouds above.
To everyone watching, it looked as though she had simply appeared—and he had ceased to exist.
Silence fell, broken only by settling debris.
Then Violet turned back toward them, that same vicious grin etched across her face. The guards, Calvinel, and Guard Commander stared in horror, dwarfed by a being so far beyond them that they felt like ants gazing up at a star.
"You kids deal with the other demons in this place," she said casually. "I'll take care of the problematic one, 'kay?"
Her eyes shifted from gold to cyan.
And then she was gone—vanishing as if she had teleported—leaving behind only destruction and the dawning realization that a hero from five hundred years ago had returned to wage a battle none of them could truly comprehend.