Max’s arm hairs stung with the dry heat, but he continued forward. Each step he took, his boots clashed against the odd white material of the portal. Through his mind’s eye, he traced lines of space. They only appeared every few seconds in a pulse of sorts, which made creating a map somewhat difficult. In his water-based hand, a sword of sparking mana was held low. A trail followed the blade, but it disappeared after a short delay.

A pulse came and went, this time Max knew where to look. He teleported forward, slashing quick. As he did, he pushed out with his mana. While testing his newest spell, Max found himself able to control the length the trail held. If he was correct, the auto fixing aspect of the portal would fail after the next pulse. Holding the trail during this event disconnected the framework, like cauterizing a lizard tail.

The line of space crumbled as the next pulse went off, taking its connected neighbors with it. The portal was still active, however. Max teleported again, arriving at the next location. He slashed, then moved to the next. And the next. And the next. As the ninth line was disconnected, the portal flickered. A low hum sounded like a foghorn during the storm months.

Max froze, a sickening feeling overcoming the area. Slowly he turned, viewing a red substance pooling from below the white material. It gathered, squeezing through the nearly invisible seams of the plated construct. As feet began to form, Max turned and ran. Teleporting, slashing, and teleporting again. His mind worked in overdrive, memorizing the lines while staying steps ahead of the pattern.

A kick came to his left, he couldn’t guard fast enough. One of his ribs was shattered as he sailed across the sky. Teleporting, he reset his momentum while gathering water. When he looked back, Max expected a clone of Serana Cresthill, the Blood [Queen]. Instead, a mannequin, similar to Vel’s own. A faceless, stiff being made entirely of blood. Long lanky arms, disproportionate to its body, attached to oddly thin chest and torso.

That was… Good, Max thought. As far as he understood, mannequin spells were preprogramed voiceless clones. They serve one purpose unless the caster changed their programming. This one must have been triggered after the portal flickered, which gave Max assurance he was on the right track.

Now, the issue became finishing the job. With a reluctant sigh, Max sent Emi a bonded message. She was waiting within the Pocket World, as the close proximity of the heat dried her scales and affected her gills rather harshly. The familiar purple shimmer appeared just beyond Max’s shoulder. A clawed paw appeared, followed by the little monster. She clamped to her partner’s shoulder, having already been informed of the situation.

Attack and defend.

Max moved just after his rib set. Three bubbles of water formed, compressing and locking-on to the mannequin. They sprayed pressurized streams far and fast, keeping the enemy pinned down. After every teleport and subsequent slash, the orbs refocused from the new position. The attacks did little damage but kept it far enough away.

It switched tactics, firing off bullets of blood. The projectiles twisted mid-air, elongating, and widening, forming into a pellet spread. Most of the blood spread wide, but enough had to be sprayed down with water. Emi refocused, opting to create large covering sheets of water as protection, limiting her use of the sentry orbs. The mannequin made up ground.

While not Serana Cresthill, they were still her creations. Meaning they adopted their creator’s speed. A punch broke the plane of water, like a child jumping into a calm lake. The rebounded water was quickly reconnected with Emi’s mana, freezing around the crimson arm. Max teleported, a slash having just been made. For a breath, Max, and Emi combined power. They bombarded the mannequin with bolts of water heated with steam, making use of the infinite salted ammunition of the infinite beach.

The clone exploded and reformed multiple times, each quicker than the last. It was adapting, fast. A scattershot of blood rained forwards, hidden behind the dense white air. Max was forced to teleport away, missing his opportunity to slice the space line. Instead, he brought the pair close. While he sheared down with a frozen sword, Emi reformed the extra surrounding water into a cage.

They knew their attacks were not going to kill the beast but slowing it down was the name of the game. A quick teleport later, another line was cut. The blood took a moment to reattach the arm, which gave the duo pause. Blows to its torso and head reformed incredibly quick, but an arm? Max would have to argue that an arm was important…

During the appendage regrowth, the mannequin stayed eerily still within the cage. Only after it was fully healed did it attack. A single punch destroyed the frozen prison, and the chase resumed. A plan was created through the shared bond. Target arms and legs. Something in the spell’s programming told it to hastily fix its most vulnerable parts, arms not included. The same program most likely only told it to attack when it was at top strength.

It made sense to Max. While somewhat flawed, if an enemy was able to deal irreparable harm, whatever the mannequin was protecting would be lost. It was better to minimize mana usage while protecting the main body, as the main draw for mannequins was their ability to never relent. Ever. Unless destroyed.

Emi began to use one of the first spells Max learned. Water Scythe. The idea was simple, slice off arms, maybe legs, at range. Attacking with a sword was much more accurate, but exponentially more dangerous. As she fired off spells, the constant bombardment caused the duo plenty of time to progress along the ring. But, as their progress was only stationed to a single quadrant of the portal, an issue arose. The bane of all mages: mana.

Max didn’t want to leave the portal while waiting for his mana to regenerate. Too many variables could reset their progress. Maybe the mannequin knew a way to fix the severed lines, maybe they would simply be fixed if given enough time. Whatever the reason, Max was keen on seeing the portal destroyed. Now. His main expenditure was teleporting. He changed to running, only teleporting large distances or when he needed to dodge a blood bullet.

Emi, on the other hand, stopped forming scythes, the most consuming aspect of the spell. Instead, she kept a buzz of three, manipulating them constantly instead of letting them fall to the ground. She made use of Vel’s previous advice, using two as decoys to get the target to move where she wanted, then the third to inflict significant damage. Every few moments, an arm would be detached. But a worry grew in her mind as the mannequin slowly picked up on the pattern.

Until it was able to dodge everything. The clone sprinted, full speed, towards the duo. They had made significant distance, however, giving them a few free breaths. The Anchored Portal supplying the endless salt water appeared above Max, creating a waterfall suspended mid-air. Working together, Max and Emi quickly encompassed a large portion of the halo in water while freezing it. The result created a smooth, slippery surface high in the air.

But the clone walked with lead feet. It traveled across the ice as if it were dirt, uncaring of the obstacle. Again, Max teleported close, slicing a knee off this time. The clone stumbled forwards, tripping and sliding. A wedge summoned by Emi transformed the ice, launching the mannequin far off the ring. It made an effort to reach the ring but found itself short by a few meters. Max quickly did the same for the remainder of the knee, as it began forming into a much smaller version of itself.

“Huh.” Max said, staring out over the horizon. It was beautiful this high in the air. He had seen this view before, standing on Immovable Platforms above Lesterwood, but it never got old. But, as the land below was dimpled with holes and charred with flame, the moment ended. “I guess we should have just launched it off from the start…”

Emi didn’t respond right away, as she was embarrassed to not have thought of that solution earlier. “Let’s go…”

Soon they finished the first quadrant. The portal flickered again, this time staying out for a hair longer. A good sign. A few curious flying monsters attacked the duo but were quickly shooed off. Max figured the extra noise must have attracted them. As they were above the opening, it made it so monsters couldn’t easily get to them.

They progressed smoothly after that, at least, until the portal flickered again, and another mannequin formed. But they knew what to do. Slice off the legs, launch the main body. Repeat with the dismembered legs. Finishing the second quadrant became trivial at that point. The third clone was launched before it even had a chance to fully form, as did the fourth.

Max stood before the final space line, Emi resting on his shoulder. Without ceremony, a sparking blade passed through seamlessly, a wake forming in its path. A moment later the portal pulsed again, cauterizing and severing the last of the intact constructs. The portal flickered out. Permanently. A gentle hum sounded, like dying engines. As the sound muted, the massive halo began to fall. Max didn’t wait around.

Their return to the Centauri base camp was greeted with wild cheering. Over the course of the last few hours, everyone had come to learn about Max, his bond, his title, and his odd and rather unique magic. Testing spells out in the open wasn’t exactly anonymous. So, when the portal flared one final time, falling, and creating a resounding quake, they looked around for answers. The duo’s haggard reappearance told the tale of their victory.

It took half an hour for the station [Commander] to regain control on his troops, and when he did, he gave explicit orders. Leave the boy alone. Max was thankful for the intervention, especially as he needed to finish catching up on sleep. The soldiers had to prepare for the upcoming first push, anyways. Their goal was simple, create a well-crafted foothold in the last terrain.

Max and Emi were not expected to attend, along with most of the surviving Coalition members.

Vel stood beside King Tobyn Salae and his oldest son and daughter. Three of the four greeted the fresh arrivals with broad smiles, animated with excitement. Eden, however, frowned with envy. The prince did not think Max a savor as the others did. He thought he saw the Earthling as what he was, a changeling. His torment and nightmares refueling his sentiment that Max was a spy and traitor.

During Max and Emi’s solo mission, Tobyn had taken Eden and Alia aside and explained his goal of drawing Max to Salae. The plan was relatively long term, adopting a timespan of a few years. But the King was adamant about this Lost Lord joining his kingdom, as he already saw Max outshining Lester’s prime. During the conversation, Alia asked questions and helped her father iron out some of the finer details. Eden stayed silent.

“Very good, Max.” Vel said. Max grunted in response; Emi huffed at the lack of recognition. “And you little one. I’m sure you saved his life up there. That tear in his robes must have come from somewhere.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. I’m sure she’ll tell you all about it while I sleep.” Max said, “Now if I may, I would like to sleep. Blood mannequins are no joke.”

“Mannequins?” Alia asked.

“Automated clones. Weaker than the ones from earlier, as they are not being directly controlled. Ah, that reminds me. There should be four mannequins walking around down in the wreckage.”

“Very well.” Tobyn said, “I will inform the [Commander]. You rest now, you’ve earned it.”

Max nodded, walking past the group. Emi stayed behind, joining up with Vel. Just before he crashed into bed, he went over his notifications for the last day and a half.

Congratulations, Manipulate Water has become level 13!

Congratulations, Manipulate Space has become level 4!

Congratulations, Manipulate Space has become level 5!

Congratulations, Manipulate Space has become level 6!

Congratulations, you have learned the spell Sentry Orb (Rare):

Set an orb of water to attack or defend. Targets are picked in order of priority unless overwritten.

15 Mana to create.

3 mana a minute to maintain.

Minimum 18 damage per three seconds.

Congratulations, Sentry Orb has evolved into Sentinel Orb (Evolved Rare):

A stronger version of Sentry Orb, Sentinel Orb makes use of pressurization to extend range and firepower.

18 Mana to create.

5 Mana a minute to maintain.

Minimum 25 damage per three seconds.

Congratulations, Astral Blade of Omission has become level 2!

…

Congratulations, Astral Blade of Omission has become level 6!

Congratulations, Leap has become level 9!

Finally, a few dozen kill notifications gave Max about one sixth an entire level of experience. But Max didn’t read through them, the call of sleep becoming too much.

Clammy arrived in her old bedroom, a fitting arrival for the princess. The girlish decorum caused a wave of nostalgia that lasted only a moment. As she inspected her odds-and-ends, she realized just how much she despised her old life. While her younger self loved the varnished trim of her bedframe, now, she found it tacky. Her full height mirror was crude, especially as it still retained the crack in the upper right corner. She had gotten mad at something years prior and thrown a tantrum that ended up in a thrown lamp.

A child’s rage, a child’s misgivings.

She sat on her made bed, thinking over the past few hours. Hunting through the city to meeting a God. Her plan had worked, she found a work-around to get into Salae. The hard part was over, now she could focus on removing the threat her home faced. It felt like years ago, but in reality, only a day had passed since her enduring vision. She didn’t know what events would transpire while in Salae, only the final outcome and her place in it all.

The sound of breaking glass and an alarming scream broke Clammy out of her own head. The realization moved her body before her mind could react. She kicked open the door, sprinting towards the noise. Her muscles pleaded to remain still, but adrenaline pushed her faster and faster. Rushed muffled words came out of her elder sister’s room. Threats mixed with pleas of safety were enough for Clammy to understand the situation.

Anja, who was only a few years older than Clammy, knelt in front of the youngest of her elder brothers, Zayne. Zayne was beaten and bruised; his hands were broken along with the sword he cherished dearly. Anja’s hands were aflame, threatening magical attack. Her eyes were puffy, but otherwise she looked unharmed. A man, shrouded in obscuring armor and magical items, shifted forward like a lion stalking prey.

“Weak hands, shall I test the girl?” The man snarled, licking his lips with obvious intent. The intruder carried a dagger in one hand, a black puff of mist in the other. Clammy recognized the duo of weaponry, a particularly gruesome faction of the Assassin Guild. The Dustshade.

Clammy didn’t hesitate; she launched forward; all semblance of fatigue gone. Books, lamps, make-up packs, brushes, everything not nailed down raised as her ire exploded. Gravity shifted on the man, pulling his knees out from under him. He fell in an odd angle, stretching one leg in a direction he was not accustomed to. A walnut dresser slammed in from the side, knocking him across the room. Clammy pounced.

The room went black, disorienting dust filling the air. The man forced himself to stand, cradling a broken hand. Ironic. A pulse of mana originating from the doorway came next. The room’s vision cleared as all dust was pulled down. Before the man could fully examined his attacker, a wallop of a punch landed on his chin. Anger fueled with gravity magic shattered his bones, along with busting a hole through the wall he struck.

For a moment, he became weightless. His eyes spun looking for the threat, but as his body moved forward without consent, he began to scream. Broken, muted, pain filled screams reverbed through the room, as the man finally saw his maker. A young girl, wearing commoner clothing of a fashion not native to Salae. Her eyes were wicked silver, which matched the foreboding frown she wore.

With his arms locked to his sides and his feet a few inches off the ground, the man couldn’t defend himself. Clammy punched without magical assistance into the man’s gut. Spittle spewed out of his broken jaw. Blood began to run down his cheek, pooling from his lips. The next strike landed in his kidney, followed by a liver punch. Then another to the gut, another to the jaw.

The human punching bag sobbed with death cries. The gravity magic faded, casting the [Assassin] to the ground. He laid, sprawled out broken and confused, fearful and ghastly. Clammy gave the man one final look before turning to her siblings.

They watched with intrigue and horror, as the realization of just who their defender was dawned on their stunned viewing. Anja jumped a little as her sleek iron bedframe, along with her firm mattress, raised into the air. Without remorse or guilt, the bed fell onto the man, splattering his head open like a dropped watermelon. Even Zayne let out a small yelp.

“Are you two alright?” Clammy asked, rushing to her siblings’ side. They both were older than her, but both cowered away as she neared. They were afraid, “Oh, Zayne, your hands!”

Ignoring the nervous movements, Clammy dropped beside her brother. A curtain ripped from the dowel it hung from, moving through the air as if attracted to Clammy’s hand. She tied two ends together, slowly slipping it over Zayne’s shoulder. Gently she placed one arm through the sling while removing another curtain and doing the same for the other.

“Bella?” Anja finally said, “Wha-Wher-How?”

“None of that matters. I’m here now, and I’m not going to let anything happen to you.” Her words flowed naturally, reminding her of a time she was the one being saved. She smiled internally at how far she had grown.

“Who was that?” Zayne’s words were meek and tired.

“Muscle for hire. Vast Empire is in Salae. If one of them already made it here…”

“Then the castle must be over run.” Anja finished. “Is that why there was no guard stationed in this hallway? They moved to assist somewhere else?”

Clammy nodded, “Or they were assassinated. That man was a Dustshade.”

Anja gasped, Zayne’s pride of losing an earlier duel reduced. But that raised the question, if that man was a part of a world-famous assassination faction, just who had their sister become? Clammy’s next words solidified an idea in their head’s.

“I need a weapon.” The youngest princess said.