Stillness fell over the courtyard as the Crimson’s silver eyes surveyed. The two in front of it were too intoxicated to care, but the Numbers tensed and tested the weight of their weapons. How many wanted to strike right now? Its eyes moved from face-to-face. All of them, to one degree or another. But who was the strongest? Maybe the girl with the long blond hair? She seemed as paralyzed as the rest, but her eyes were alive with understanding; mind paving the route the victory. Maybe the boy on the other side. He wasn't paralyzed but waiting. Every ounce of energy within him stood still, making sure it didn't go to waste. It looked at its Blue patrons. Could the Numbers get past them? Getting comfortable, it leaned back to watch. The Blues looked. It nodded shallowly. They looked at each other, and Blondie gave Bulk the go-ahead.

The ground came apart as he took off, becoming a bullet in the wind. Aiming the shot at Hunter, he came for the head. The boy moved to block and Abigail yanked him back. She took the blow like a sledgehammer against her shield. Pushing it away, she jabbed for Bulk’s face. Wings folded, taking the hit. Her lance thrust next and Bulk tugged and reeled her in. His fist hooked down into her shoulder, as she switched her weapon. As the plating cracked, the greatsword swept up; a blue Luminance saving his neck. Amplifying her own, she brought the greatsword ripping down. Red and Blue fought Pink in a rapid clash of lights. The size of her sword didn’t slow her down, each swing carving more of his Luminance away. As it watched, the Crimson could feel Bulk’s growing dread. Why was she able to match him? Why was she able to keep up? Two sources of power were at his disposal, but he couldn’t beat this girl with less than one. It foresaw the embarrassment of his defeat. She would do more than hold him off, she’d stand over his grave. It shared that feeling with a blast of thought, and chest-eyes looked its way. It asked a question in a psychic exchange. Are you not strong enough to win alone?

Bulk stomped, smashing the pavement into disheveled chunks. As Abigail teetered, he put the same power in a backhand swing. It missed as something tore his calves. Hunter stood behind him, glowing that tiger orange. The other blade went for Bulk’s neck and sunk into his palm. The chest-eyes looked around; the others were stirring too. The greatsword clattered to the ground, and Hunter punched the free blade through his cheek. As it withdrew and came again, he caught it in his teeth. He would not let this boy hold him until that girl got up. Between the Blue and the Red, he should be beyond human. The eyes in his chest pleaded to the Crimson. The monstrous thing raised its hand. Lightning struck within him, snaking through his chest to the ring above his head. It arced, dying the color purple. As his flesh changed to match, he snatched something back. Hunter’s arm ripped red from the shoulder. The boy screamed, and Bulk’s leg swept low. It broke through armor, flesh, and bone, rupturing Hunter’s shin. The boy fell back and Bulk grabbed his shoulder, lifting him like a prize. Whatever kept The Numbers still was replaced. Bulk could see hesitation now—cautious—as if they could do anything but watch. He smiled as his jaw began to click. Click. Crack. Until it hung loosely from his face. A gaping mouth dropped open. When it snapped shut, a part of Hunter's head sat between his teeth. He tossed the body like a suddenly broken toy, chewing the viscera, testing the flavor. Rotten. It seemed like none of the Enclave livestock was good. He spat and looked around. King fidgeted with his band behind Knight, and Bulk flashed his bloody teeth.

Assassin came in, blade already swinging. A purple Luminance flared and parted like butter. Bulk leaped away as it almost slit his face. Suddenly, he was on the run again; the boy a fatal error, always on his heels. Chest-eyes turned to the Crimson—equally surprised. Eyes went to Blondie next, and blades sawed forward. As Assassin came for another cut, he found himself at odds with the wind. It only managed to scratch his armor, but that was more than enough to make him defend. Bulk’s gaze fell like boulders upon him. As his arms raised to match, they were swiftly cut down. His Luminance kept them attached, but the raising greatsword said that wouldn’t last for long. He turned to smash them against Abigail’s head. And found a lance ramming at his face. His body jerked back and the greatsword hacked his side. His Luminance burned hard, flaring so much it was almost solid. Knight switched to his broadsword, running a streak down Bulk's face. The two Numbers slashed together—Knight writing fast and sharp lines, while Abigail made them stretch like cracks. Bulk swung with desperate abandon, but the two evaded, wearing his barrier more and more.

“Try this!” King called out, “Luminance Arm!” They repeated, and the iron of their weapons shifted, becoming frames for blades of light. The Crimson grinned to itself, looking at this boy in surprise. It had not registered his strength, not one of body, but mind. The Crimson looked at its wrist, and its smile softened. This encounter was better than it ever expected.

Bulk felt his Luminance come apart. The glowing blades moved and passed like acid, burning away whatever they touched. His Luminance was an opened shell, and they came tearing for the holes. He beat his wings and escaped, but not before Abigail carved his stomach. Holding his spilled guts in, he sneered at them, then at King behind. It was that boy’s fault. Not only was he Blue; he also taught the livestock how to survive. Even with the Crimson's power, they could still get in his way. If it wasn't for that boy, he would be done and ruling New York by now. His wings hardened, jutting back like jets. From them, blue light propelled, driving him forward as it turned his body from purple to red. He cut past the duo like a rocket, opening his mouth wide as King drew close. Knight's outstretched shield met him like a brick wall. How did the boy outspeed him? As a broken face repelled him, something touched his shoulder. Abigail's sword sank through him, parting him from shoulder to stomach. He reached for King, and spears fired forward. He wished he knew he could do that; five of them sticking through Knight was an amazing scene. The boy’s body dropped and fury filled Abigail's swing. A wing beat pushed him out of the way, and his unhinged jaw opened. Swooping around, he sunk his teeth into her collar. Twisting his head, he ripped up flesh from her left side. She coughed and tried to swing again, but her body headed for the ground. Bulk made sure to step on her as he healed, and walked to King. If the boy still had some fight, it was gone now—the rest of him drowning in the sorrow of his impaled friend. Bulk reach to take hold of King’s head, and suddenly, it was like he forgot how to move. This was not paralysis. The only thing that could move were the eyes in his chest, looking around for answers.

The Crimson had its hand up. As its index finger pointed, power in Bulk pulled into his chest, It erupted upward, following the finger. The light hit the ring above his head, pushing and twisting it away from something deep within. The final push came like shattered porcelain, and Bulk clawed at his chest. There were no eyes now, but something else was missing too. He slowly turned to the Crimson. He felt all alone; Blondie was fighting the other kids. His eyes pleaded to get anything back. And the Crimson smiled, shaking its finger.

“Not fair…” Bulk whimpered.

King’s glaive spun around, divorcing his head from his shoulders. The ring clattered to the cement, settling as a crystalline halo. The Crimson pointed from it to King, as if it were a reward.

♦

The other battle was one of complete control. At least, that’s how Blondie saw it as he stood at the center of three different fights. Different. Just like he liked it. None of them were able to work together. None of them were able to use numbers to overcome their odds. They were just individual sheep, slowly moving toward the slaughterhouse. The crazy one was still blocking his blades, and the girl still dodged, but neither of them could see the future beyond that. They couldn't even see the present. Luminance Arm? They didn't have the time to say that. Ten blades? How had Blondie ever thought that was enough? Between his four hands, he had forty, making him an army by himself. He was already forgetting Bulk's name. Today, they set out together, but history would only remember him. He'd cut these kids down, one by one. Then he'd get the survivor behind him, and the Crimson next. He was going to be the only one to survive this situation, and that felt better than being alive. It tempted him to play with his food, but time was power, and he should be fast.

The one in front of him managed to say the words. Jade blades shined out from his arms, but they only made him slightly faster, and that was far from enough. The boy's armor was cracked and splitting—oozing in the places he was cut too deep. It truly made Blondie laugh to see him still standing. The other two could not be human. But this boy? He was little more than flesh and bone. He was the weakest link, holding together the chain of their lines. So Blondie slashed to break. And slashed to take apart. And though the armor tore more and more, Ace did not go down. The sight fed kindling to the building fire of a laugh. Nothing could be funnier than livestock daring to challenge a king. Those other two were a problem, but this boy? Blondie would finish him in one blow. Swords flew for every bleeding wound, and Ace raised his arms in front of his face.

“Auxiliary Weapon.” His weapons switched to gauntlets and greaves, breaking Blondie's blades as he blurred around. The building laugh died, and Blondie pulled his other swords over.

And Blondie pulled his other swords over. Away from Assassin. Away from Fang. As the swords came for Ace, the two followed close on their tails. They met Blondie before he met the boy; Assassin's stabbing through his stomach, tearing up through the shoulder. Fang jumped off his back, burying her swords in Blondie's head. His blades came apart as she jumped back. He looked to the Crimson for a drop more power, and the monster tilted its head. It hurt too much to say, Give me more, but he knew the Crimson didn't need to hear it. This was a rejection. How could this thing turn so boldly against a king? Didn't it know he was chosen? Didn’t it know how important he was? How dare this thing think to say no? Fighting the pain, he pulled a sword together and let it cut loose. As it spun toward the Crimson, it raised a hand. Blondie's upper arms bent up toward his head—one on top, one below. They snapped his head around, turning his chin toward the sky. The blade stopped and came apart. A ball of red light shot from the corpse, bringing the ring toward the Crimson's feet. The light poured into it, and the Crimson set it above its head.

“Finally.” It said. Its body burst into a star of light—a crimson sun, burning too hot to approach. The Numbers could only watch as it molded like clay, kneading its shape into a vaguely human form. Crystals speared out from its body, growing black as their light was drained. They cracked, broke, came apart, and smoothed, becoming the dark skeletal frame for flesh of Crimson light. The Ring shattered next, falling into pieces to make horns from its head. It tightened its fingers. It rolled its neck. It took in a deep breath and smiled at the sky. "I have returned." It made a broadsword—black hilt, red blade. It'd only let one of the Numbers survive. As it rose to take a step, a feeling held it back. A seed of joy found soil within it. Something familiar was drawing closer.

It came from beyond the guard post—a man in armor just like theirs. He was on the older side, with warm dark skin, and hair cut buzz short. Axes hung at his side, but the grip around them grew stronger as he got near. He looked around, slowly taking in the battlefield. His eyes stopped on the Crimson, and his words came as cold as bitter winters.

“Why the hell are my kids dead, you Red son of a bitch?”

“Slasher!" The Crimson grinned, coveting the fury burning in his eyes.

“Judge…” King looked at him. His mind didn’t feel like it was working. He didn’t know how to get out of this alive.

“Go. All of you go. You have a mission here! You didn’t come to die, you came to graduate!”

The Crimson lowered its blade as if to allow it.

“But Judge, that thing is too strong.” Assassin said, etching the truth in stone.

“Doesn’t matter. You kids got more important things to do.” That was final, regardless of truth or lie. Fang ran over to pick King up, and they ran past the Crimson to the building they so easily forgot. The dark glass peeled away to reveal a door, and the Numbers looked back one last time, as they stepped through and the glass fell again.

Judge looked at the Crimson. “You really came back, Savior." The Crimson chuckled.

“And the world awaited. Savior is no longer my title, Slasher. Call me the Crimson Prophet.”

“You thought that since the moment you found that book.”

“And behold. The truth, Slasher. If it is true for me, then it is true for you.”

Judge thought about the Numbers. Raven. Hunter. Abigail. Knight. They came with eight and only four remained. If those kids died too, then what happens to the ones at the Enclave? He couldn’t let anymore be sent to their death. He still couldn’t fix this city, but he could stop this man from ever seeing those kids again.

“Luminance Transplant.” His weapon band shifted to needles standing on his wrist. They pierced, and his arm exploded into a forest green beam. His armors centerpiece shook violently, and he took it in his hand. "Luminance Maximize." His body burst—Green light burning every inch away. The Refraction Armor orbited in shards as the light fought to find its form, returning to the shape of the man. The refraction shards fell against his spine, clustered in his shoulders, and traced down his arms. He felt the power in the anatomy of his new form, feeling even air change as he breathed. The Crimson smiled.

“Already drifting, Slasher?”

Judge shook his head. “Don’t worry about me. Worry about where you’re gonna be in a few minutes.” Drifting? Not this time. His reason to fight was far more concrete, and the world would die before he gave that up…