What a sight to behold.

  Anyone with even a dull sense for intent could feel a fight like that from miles away. The air itself still trembled, heavy with residual force, concrete dust hanging as if gravity hadn’t quite decided it was time to settle. Shockwaves had rippled outward in uneven pulses, bouncing off buildings and rattling windows.

  I never knew Hematite was so powerful.

  That wasn’t admiration. It was assessment. Surprise. His presence had spiked far beyond what the reports suggested—raw, ugly, inefficient power, but power nonetheless.

  I’m glad he’s out of the way now.

  Atlas, however, will live.

  That much was never in question. Hematite didn’t know... couldn’t know... the true extent of Atlas’ endurance. Very few did. Fewer still lived long enough to update their assumptions afterward.

  The east had always been Obsidian’s territory, mostly a cold expanse ruled by pressure and inevitability, but even we never crossed into Atlas’ land. Borders existed for a reason. Some weren’t drawn by treaties or politics, but by consequences. The Hero King and his two squires were enough to deter any attack from us Minerals.

  Not because we lacked strength, but because the cost-benefit ratio never balanced. You don’t throw assets into a meat grinder unless the return justifies the loss. Atlas’ land offered nothing worth bleeding for.

  Zion learned that the hard way.

  Atlas and Zion went at it once. Just once—and Atlas won. Zion had been on Restriction Level 1 at the time, but even so, that fact carried weight. Restriction or not, Zion was still Zion. Still a monster by any sane metric.

  Zion was the strongest Mineral.

  Well, Borschmack always contended with him for that title. Depending on the day. Depending on who you asked. Titles like that were fluid, slippery things, and pride often blurred the margins.

  After that, we didn’t mess with Atlas’ territory.

  Three cities locked in eternal winter didn’t matter. Not strategically. Not politically. Not even symbolically. If we truly wanted to take them, we could—but it would require sending at least four Minerals. Four. For three cities that offered nothing but cold and resistance. That math never worked.

  I was told to kill any of Vellin’s allies.

  This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

  He will die on his own, so who cares really? Fate would handle Hematite.

  Grand Sasebella is larger than you think.

  Large enough that even now—standing this close to overlapping intent fields—I doubted anyone could sense Hematite's when it was this weak. Diluted. Spread thin. A whisper rather than a roar.

  Should I help Atlas?

  I snapped my finger.

  Two shadows peeled themselves out of the air, kneeling instantly to my left and right. Black cloaks draped over disciplined frames, hoods low, faces completely obscured. Even their breathing was controlled. Perfect dogs.

  One asked, “Your orders, sir?”

  I pointed casually, “Take Atlas to get medical attention. Also, were you here the entire time?”

  The other nodded. “Yes, sir. We were told to avoid fights with transcended unless there were more than seven officers present. Even Mateo and I can’t intervene alone.”

  Good. They followed protocol.

  I asked, “You were going to kill Hematite if he was in better shape, right?”

  Mateo nodded without hesitation. “Yes, sir. We’re not amateurs.”

  I shrugged. “My bad, my bad.”

  They didn’t react.

  They moved.

  One took Atlas by the legs, the other securing his upper body with practiced efficiency. In a single fluid motion, they leapt—clearing the alley, landing atop a nearby building with barely a sound. Another leap, then another, and they were gone, Atlas’ weight vanishing with them into the skyline.

  Transcended being killed is outright rare.

  There have been more deaths of transcended this year than the last twenty combined. Not because the world had grown more violent—but because transcended rarely fought one another. When they did, the results were catastrophic, final, and impossible to hide.

  I sensed three fights between transcended within the past hour. I didn’t know how they ended.

  I need to make myself useful.

  Hematite lay one step below me on the stairs, his body slack, blood pooling beneath him in a slow, spreading stain. Too much. Far too much.

  I sensed a presence behind me.

  Transcended.

  Hopefully it’s Vellin.

  I turned back, yawning, my posture loose, dismissive. “Come out. We’re alone now.”

  Who stepped out made my breath hitch.

  A man in his early fifties, wrapped in a white robe worn thin by time and conflict. His posture was straight despite his age, his presence heavy in a way that had nothing to do with raw output.

  Wait.

  That’s Zero.

  You’re kidding me.

  I’m this lucky?

  I twiddled with my hair, unable to stop the grin from creeping in. “What luck! I get to kill Vellin’s beloved master!”

  His voice was deep, steady, layered with experience. “I don’t have time to play with you, Roach.”

  I bent my knee and kicked Hematite down the stairs.

  His body tumbled limply, striking stone with dull thuds. “You don’t have much time...”

  Zero roared, the sound tearing through the space like an explosion. “You bastard! When I was in charge you were in diapers!”

  I stared at him blankly.

  He formed two spear hands, intent sharpening to a lethal edge. “Vellin told me what you did to the people of Trivoko! I’ll kill you on his behalf!”

  He dashed forward, killing intent unleashed, pressure flooding the space, crushing, righteous, absolute.

  “Was the gold you were paid with worth it, bastard?!”

  I met him in the middle.

  I dodged his thrusts with minimal movement. “Gold?”

  If he truly thought I did any of this for something so small, so crude, then he’d already lost. It was never about gold. It was about breaking the souls of warriors.

  I planted my palm over his face.

  “I never really cared about that.”