The lobby of the Obsidian Spire was a cathedral of silence and shadows.
Twelve arrows. Twelve razor-sharp steel tips, glinting in the faint blue light of the Ley Line.
They weren't aiming at Ciro. They weren't aiming at Elara. They were all trained on the center mass of Ghost, the pale nightmare crouching beside the Princess.
Silas, the Ranger Commander, stood on the grand staircase, looking down at them like a disappointed father.
"Stand down, creature," Silas said calmly. "My men are using Wyvern-Bane tips. Explosive payloads. If that thing moves an inch, I will turn it into a puddle of white soup."
Ghost hissed, its sensory slits flaring. It sensed the threat. It vibrated with the urge to kill, but it didn't move. It waited for Elara's command.
Elara stood frozen. Her hand was still raised, pointing at the massive geometric Warden construct hovering behind her outside the gate.
"I control the city, Silas," Elara warned, her voice trembling with adrenaline. "That Warden can vaporize you before you draw a breath."
Silas chuckled. He stepped down one stair.
"You control the machines, Princess. But machines have a weakness."
He pulled a small, spherical object from his belt. It hummed with erratic purple energy.
"Old King tech is powerful," Silas explained, tossing the sphere casually in his hand. "But it's unshielded against static discharge. We raid these ruins too, you know."
He threw the sphere.
It didn't fly at Ciro. It flew over their heads, through the open gate, landing directly at the feet of the massive Warden construct.
ZZZAAAAAAP!
A blinding flash of purple light exploded.
It wasn't an explosion of fire; it was an Electro-Magnetic Pulse.
The Warden let out a distorted, mechanical shriek. "SYS... TEM... ERR... OR..."
The floating geometric shapes that made up its body lost their cohesion. They crashed to the ground, heavy dead metal slamming into the ancient tiles. The blue light in its eye died.
Elara gasped, stepping back. Her god-like protector was now just a pile of scrap.
"Now," Silas drew his sword—a curved, serrated blade meant for gutting beasts. "It's just us. Flesh and blood."
He looked at Ciro.
"The King wants the girl alive. The Prince wants the weapon. I don't care about the weapon. But I do care about the bounty." Silas pointed his sword at Ciro. "Kill the Jester. Kill the beast. Secure the package."
"Ghost!" Elara screamed. "Kill them!"
Chaos erupted.
TWANG. TWANG. TWANG.
Twelve bowstrings released at once.
Ghost moved with terrifying speed. He didn't dodge; he leaped forward, taking the volley meant for Elara.
BOOM. BOOM. BOOM.
The explosive arrows detonated against his armored carapace. Chitin shattered. White blood sprayed across the floor. Ghost roared in pain, but the momentum carried him forward. He crashed into the line of Rangers like a bowling ball made of muscle and hate.
He grabbed a Ranger in his jaws and shook him like a ragdoll, snapping his spine. He swiped with his claws, disemboweling another.
But the Rangers were elite. They didn't panic. They drew short swords and flanked the monster, stabbing at his soft underbelly, at his sensory slits.
"Ciro, go!" Elara shouted, drawing her glass dagger.
Ciro didn't argue. He sprinted toward the stairs, intercepting Silas before the Commander could reach Elara.
CLANG.
Steel met steel.
Silas was strong. He parried Ciro's thrust and countered with a heavy kick to Ciro's wounded ribs.
Ciro grunted, stumbling back, tasting blood. The fever had weakened him. He wasn't at 100%.
"You look tired, Jester," Silas sneered, circling him. "The Ashlands have chewed you up."
"I'm just warming up," Ciro spat a mouthful of blood.
He changed his stance. He dropped the rigid, military guard of a soldier and adopted the loose, unpredictable sway of the Jester.
Silas lunged.
Ciro didn't block. He pirouetted.
He spun past Silas's blade, moving like water. He slashed Silas's thigh as he passed.
Rip.
"Argh!" Silas stumbled, checking the wound. "Tricky bastard."
"I am not a warrior, Silas," Ciro whispered, dancing just out of range. "I am the entertainment."
Meanwhile, Ghost was losing.
The monster was powerful, but there were too many of them. Five Rangers had him pinned with nets made of steel cable. They were stabbing him repeatedly with spears. Ghost shrieked, thrashing, his white skin stained with his own blue blood.
"Stop it!" Elara screamed.
She raised the crossbow she had stolen. She aimed at the Rangers pinning Ghost.
Click.
Empty. She had used her last bolts on the Scorpion Queen.
"Useless!" she cried, throwing the heavy weapon at a Ranger's face. It hit him, breaking his nose, but he didn't stop stabbing Ghost.
She looked around. The lobby was vast. In the center, a pillar of light—an elevator shaft—pulsed with energy.
The Weapon. We need the Weapon.
"Ciro!" Elara yelled over the din of battle. "The elevator! We have to go up!"
Ciro heard her. He ducked under a lethal swing from Silas that sheared off a lock of his hair.
He grabbed a handful of ash from a decorative urn and threw it in Silas's face.
"Dirty trick!" Silas roared, blinded for a second.
"Survival!" Ciro countered.
He broke away from the duel. He sprinted toward the cluster of Rangers pinning Ghost.
He didn't attack them. He attacked the net.
He slashed the steel cables with his sword. Snap. Snap.
"Ghost! Up! Go!" Ciro commanded.
The monster, freed from the net, roared. He backhanded a Ranger, sending him flying across the room to smash against a pillar.
Ghost limped toward Elara, bleeding from a dozen wounds.
"Into the light!" Ciro shoved Elara toward the central pillar.
They ran into the beam of blue energy. It wasn't a mechanical elevator; it was a gravity lift.
As soon as they stepped into the light, they felt weightless.
WHOOSH.
They were yanked upward, accelerating toward the top of the Spire at breakneck speed.
Below them, Silas wiped the ash from his eyes. He watched them ascend.
"They're going to the Armory," Silas growled. He turned to his surviving men. "Get the grappling hooks. We climb the shaft. And someone kill that damn machine outside before it wakes up!"
The Ascent.
The sensation of the gravity lift was nauseating. The world blurred into streaks of black obsidian and blue light.
Elara clutched Ghost's fur. The monster was wheezing, blue blood dripping from his side onto the invisible floor of the lift.
"He's hurt bad," Elara whispered, her hands covered in his blood.
"He'll heal," Ciro said, though he looked worried. "High metabolism means high regeneration. But he needs food. And rest. Neither of which we have."
The lift slowed.
They arrived at the apex of the Spire.
The doors slid open.
They stepped out into a room that took their breath away.
It was a panoramic observation deck. The walls were made of crystal clear glass, offering a 360-degree view of the entire Ashlands. They were so high up they could see the curve of the horizon.
But in the center of the room, there was no massive cannon. No giant laser.
There was only a pedestal.
And on the pedestal sat a single, small object.
It was a gauntlet.
A glove made of white ceramic and gold, embedded with a gemstone that swirled with the fury of a contained star.
The Hand of A.R.E.S.
"That's it?" Elara asked, disappointed. "A glove?"
"It's not a glove," Ciro said, walking toward it slowly, as if approaching a sleeping dragon. "It's a localized reality editor. The legends say the wearer can rewrite the physical laws of anything they touch."
He reached out.
"Don't touch it!" Elara warned. "The skeleton downstairs... maybe the weapon killed him."
"We don't have a choice," Ciro said. "Silas is coming up the shaft. We need firepower."
He reached for the gauntlet.
"WARNING," the room's AI spoke. It was different from the city voice. Soft. Feminine. Dangerous. "GENETIC. LOCK. ENGAGED. ONLY. THE. KING. MAY. WIELD. THE. HAND."
A force field shimmered around the pedestal, knocking Ciro's hand back with a spark of pain.
"Of course," Ciro cursed. "More blood magic."
He looked at Elara.
"It has to be you."
Elara stepped forward. She looked at the gauntlet. She looked at her bleeding hand—the hand that had opened the lab, controlled the monster, and commanded the robots.
She reached out.
The force field didn't repel her. It rippled like water, welcoming her.
She slid her hand into the gauntlet.
It fit perfectly.
CLICK. WHIRR.
The mechanism tightened around her arm, clamping onto her skin. Needles extended from the inner lining, digging into her nerves.
Elara screamed.
Pain—white, hot, absolute—flooded her system. Her vision went white. She felt the power of a star surging into her veins.
"Elara!" Ciro shouted, trying to pull it off her.
"No!" Elara gasped, falling to her knees. Her eyes glowed with blue energy. "It's... it's bonding."
CRASH.
The glass windows of the elevator shaft shattered.
Hooks grappled onto the ledge.
Silas pulled himself up onto the observation deck. He was followed by six Rangers.
He looked at Elara, kneeling on the floor, the Gauntlet glowing on her arm.
"Well," Silas smiled, drawing a fresh dagger. "This complicates things. Cut the arm off, boys. We'll take the weapon and the girl separately."
Ghost tried to stand, to defend his mistress, but he collapsed, too weak from blood loss.
Ciro drew his sword. He stood alone between the Rangers and the Princess.
"You'll have to go through me," Ciro said.
"That," Silas lunged, "was the plan all along."