The cold wind stripped away the sounds of hundred of beaten breaths, still as intense as the days that came before. It was miraculous to Lyse that no man refused to move back, despite the display laid before them. But he got the feeling that their loyalty to this woman was obviously above such dread they could derive from the encounters forced upon them so far. Besides, their priority was to protect their captain, nothing else. And if she was going into battle, it will be backed by a hundred swords and a hundred guns. But also, they seem somewhatas amiable towards Lyse as well, almost sympathetic. Many were his seniors, veterans in this life he now treads filled with danger. They must have sensed the impact of his failures. And for that he is thankful. Because he has one last thing to ask for them, and he is afraid that their lives will be far more in danger than before.

Once he had heard that there were metal creatures that roamed these lands, he knew it had some connection to this god of forges. Hephaestus the Makar, god in the mountain, apparently needed all the time he needed. This supported Lyse's theory that Hephaestus was indeed losing strength. His earlier attack may have seemed to do very little, but no doubt the god lost a little of himself every single moment, even now. The body of Garath decayed and turned to dust and rock. And without this thing that he sought, he will not last in this world. That was what he was counting on. Lyse knows that he alone will not be able to defeat this god, but hopefully, with the help of Edlund and Makyra, they might be able to halt him just long enough. Unfortunately, that will have to be the extent of their plans; keep the mechanized beasts busy, while the three of them tried their best to keep the god away from his desires. Lyse and Edlund both felt the same chill in their heart. But like so many times before, they simply had to ignore it. They won't be allowed fear to settle in now of all times. The pendant felt hot beneath his clothes and armor, comforting him in these moments.

"Lyse, there right?" Edlund pointed near the very back of the city, half-buried in the rolling snowy hills. But a clear path of melted ice, revealing the coarse dirt beneath, led directly there.

"Yeah," Lyse said softly. Makyra was on an adjacent hill with Tug and Ralia. They were waiting for their signal to begin. "This is our last chance. We either win here, or there will be nothing."

"You could have said those words at any point in all of this and it wouldn't change a thing," Edlund said, half smiling. "We have no other choice but to do all we can."

"The god is weakened, but he will not be easy to take down," Makyra said. "We will have to focus on keeping his attention, rather than blindingly attacking him. Flank him as much as possible."

"Yes," Lyse agreed. "This will come down to a battle of attrition rather than any other option unless we destroy this thing he is after. We won't know unless we get in there. And we have so little time. Give the signal, Makyra."

"She stood, and they watched as her body began to steam under the cold air. They watched as she morphed into that of a silver wolf, her clothes melting into fur and armor changing along with her physique. Then, once fully transformed, she gave a haunting howl that reflected off of the white hills that surrounded him. That was their signal. Moxie' heart pounded with adrenaline, her senses becoming as sharp as razors as they all gave a collective yell. A good and proper warcry, and what a warcry it was. Swords were already drawn, guns aimed down upon their enemy, a mass of men rushed down into the rocky ruins. The automatons, as if collectively possessed, immediately turned their full attention on these intruders. Their red eyes blared, and they started letting loose these wailing sounds that alarmed them. This must be their warning system. They all immediately began running in janky movements, twitching and sending sparks between their plates and moving parts. It appears that they had all been revived in quite the dilapidated state. They staged this correctly, however, as they drew away attention from the temple, and that was their own queue.

Makyra headed the charge. With a pistol, she fired off shots at those approaching her. Men with rifles stayed high on the hill to take shots whenever possible. Bullets ricocheted off of most of them, but some punched through the rather thick plate, or even exposed areas, causing the automatons to fall into piles of rusted metals. It appears that striking the plates themselves will be futile, and instead they will have to aim for weak points in the joints and in between plates. A thing easier said than done, but they were not going to turn back now. Swords and pistols drawn, the scene became chaotic as they all made wide separations from one another, and began to finally engage with their metal enemy. What became very apparent was who had the superior weaponry. These automatons appeared to be outfitted with a variety of things used in the art of killing. From flamethrowers to large blades sprouting from their faces. Those made after the images of animals simply used their modified applicants to take care of their opponents. The battlefield was chaotic, more so than Mer'Dith. And just like then, they were focused on stalling rather than winning. As soon as they engaged, they began to somewhat retreat and draw away their attention from Lyse, Edlund, and Makyra. Their job was now only to keep them busy enough and allow these godslayers to do what needs to be done.

A notion they knew would be much easier said than done. These creatures were unlike anything had ever seen before. Many made the mistake to treat them as beasts. Beasts hesitated. Beasts had a sense of survival that stopped them from making very risky attempts. But not these things. They had minds as focused as a falling rock. Moxie watched as one of her crewmen were pounced upon, as he mistakingly thought that simply gesturing with his rifle would be enough for it to hesitate and probably get a shot off. But instead, it took the obvious opening given to it and pounced. Long claws punctured his shoulder and chest as those massive steel jaws came down on his throat. Another was struck from the back by a humanoid one, and his missed rifle shot ranged into nothingness. She turned, bared teeth shouted, and calling for them to retreat further into the trees. Hopefully, the foliage will break apart these creatures' focus a little, and allow them to gather themselves. But just as she turned, another of these automatons came lounged. The arms of what appeared to be a full-body human had been fashioned into long crescent-shaped blades and were sent directly towards her head. She raised both her sabers but they were almost cut in half in a single blow,

She tossed the blades aside as the automaton nearly ripped them free and went for another attack. She managed to roll to the side, dodging another few slashes. She unhooked one of her guns and aimed at its head. Smoke and a loud bang following by a loud rang from the ricochet. She missed the area between the eye, and it was completely unfazed by what she had down. She growled at it continued to advance. She abandoned her guna as well and held up her hands. She allowed that part of her. That part was so poisonous that mere thought brought it to a rushing heart. Her eyes flashed in dull yellow light, pupilless. But she had to restrain it, just a bit. Her arms grew a bit longer and her gloves were ripped apart as large claws ripped through the metal plating of the automaton. Immediately its head was torn apart with a single swipe, and one of the arms severed. As soon as she could she allowed the poison to leave her, as it slowly did so. Her veins burned with pain, and she felt winded. But she dare not falter. She picked up the severed arm from that machine and used it as a weapon instead.

"Captain," Tug rushed over to her, helping her onto steady feet. It always took something away from her every time she switched to and from that form. "Get on your feet laddy, this ain't over just yet."

"We need to make a wide circle around the city," she said. "Keep these things busy, even if it's our corpses."

"Aye," he said. "And you."

She lifted the makeshift sword. "I'll manage. Let's pray that they do what needs to be done, Tug."

(X)

Lyse pushed aside the massive boulders that blocked the entrance to the temple. It was rather simple, not something you would expect for such a proud being such as Hephaestus, but they did not let their guard down. They entered a large circular shrine area. The tiled floor had rather bleak and colorless depictions of men and other creatures, walking away from a central figure, raising what appeared to be a hammer over a cauldron, and mountains at his back. Lyse looked around. Besides some of the much slower, shambling machinations, none really noticed them enter. But he doubts their arrival will be of any surprise to this god. And there appears to only be one entrance or exit, a massive hole that descended into the ground. This was it. It was just the three of them. It was clear what ran through all of their minds at this moment. Fear, anxiety, and anger. But those emotions would have to be set aside. Because they may very well die down here.

Lyse took the first step. The cave was old, yet greatly carved with a staircase that fell below. The commotion from the battle, the distraction of gunfire, and shouts outside faded from their senses. Swords and claws were drawn alike, as they carefully climbed down. The air became light and hazy. The residual heat from the god's presence most certainly felt against their skin. And for a brief moment, Lyse was reminded of that feeling of descending the dungeons caverns, and coming face to face with that flaming serpent. But that feeling was dwarfed by this. A souring malicious aura bled into the walls and ceilings, the air vibrating from the intensity as they approached. Lyse alone could feel the enormous pressure the god imposed on his surroundings. Edlund, Makyra, they could only imagine a faint buzz, like an extra sense screaming from within them. A warning, of what was to come. It was ominous, but as long as Lyse continued, they followed him. The stairs fell and fell until suddenly coming to a platform and a subsequent hall that led to an archway at the other end. And there, Lyse assumed, was the entrance of the forge And most likely, where the god now waited for their final confrontation.

"I trust you are all ready for what comes next?" Lyse asked them. They gave wordless nods. "Then let's get into the task at hand, shall we?"

Immediately, Lyse felt the presence of the gods envelope him in a cloak of power. His mind sharpened, his awareness of all deepened as the pendant warmed to a nearly searing level. And they moved forward. A dull orange glow flooded in from the room down this hall. The silence only amplifying the mystical nature of this place. What appeared to be rusting piles of scraps of metal, blades, and armor and shields cast aside and left to the stale elements of this chamber for hundreds, thousands of years. Bones as well, scorched and brown, littering the ground here and there. Some did not appear human. But with every step, the air became thicker, hazier. The cold humid air of a Frostlandian winter meeting was such a front of heat that it made everyone's hair stand on end. They crossed the threshold of the archway. Doors were ripped off of their hinges long ago, rotten into nothing at all to only leave a metal frame. And finally, they could see the forge.

Lyse immediately took in the vacant, spacious area around them. This forge was cut into several areas. A cauldron in the middle, now empty. Against many of the walls dozen and dozen of weapons, some in surprising condition despite their age. Opposite of them sat an anvil, different hammers, bevels, and other tools hanging on hooks made from some bronze material. Along the wall adjacent to them now, a pit of what looked like flowing magma snaked its way along the floor and even through the middle of the room. The air was even thicker than before, the heavy stench of charred, ashen material apparent all around them. The power of this god was everywhere. And he himself stood over the very centerpiece of this room. Up upon a pedestal, a massive stone anvil. And he stood over it, still as stone. Yes, fitting how much he looked like that. The strong glow that resembled lava that had sourced through him before now was heavily faded. Those rocky plates, some of them even fused into sold forms, grinding ever so slightly against each other through the small movements that the god made. He has turned away from them, at the moment. But no doubt he was well aware.

"I hope you've had a good journey here, mortals," he spoke, that powerful voice, while not as boisterous, was heavy upon them all. "How foolish of you, to come here, to my throne of power, despite knowing your demise eminent."

"You say these things," Lyse told him. "But you can not fool me, Makar. You weaken, even now. You will be dust, and there is nothing you can do to stop it except accept that outcome."

He chuckled, his shoulders rolling and flakes of igneous rock flying off. The chuckle was genuinely arrogant as if he had already won. But Lyse saw something beneath it. Something seemed off about him. They were all on their toes, waiting for anything that could attack them, but he has yet moved. He turned his head around, showing that face seemingly roughly carved from black stone. Eyes still blaring with flames, and black smoke radiating from him.

"It's true, that this form is unsuitable to my likings," he said. "But do not forget who you stand before. I am Hephaestus, god of forge. The god's weaponsmith, and hammer. Over the eons of my cursed existence, before the thought of humans ever graced the god's whim, I have made hundreds, countless weapons to decimate this world. To create a vessel, a worthy form of my own would not be of issue. All I need is my forge, my forge, and here I stand. So come to me, godslayers. If fate has sided with the unworthy, then may I perish by your shattered blades. Hephaestus will rise."

"You have sorely mistaken, Hephaestus," Lyse interrupted him.

Hephaestus gave him a bemused smile. "Oh, have I."

"You have," Lyse said. "The most egregious statement being that you are mighty."

The god stood fully. Now that he did so, Lyse could see his full stature. He still towered over him, at least twelve feet in height. But, slightly smaller than last he saw the god. This made Lyse smile, just a small moment in his mind. "You are not mighty, Hephaestus. And I can think of no greater proof, than I have never heard of you, just four months ago."

(X)

They had long passed the road markers telling them that they have passed into Liontari. It was a small shock to Massua, that she had been gone from home for nearly a month. A month. A month in boxes, cells, and pain. A prisoner. Her world, the world she had become far too familiar with seemed an empty mirage. She does not know what to think of what this word meant anymore. Just four months ago, she would perhaps think seeing her brother become a knight to be the most shocking thing to occur in her life perhaps. She'd spent the rest of her life in BrokenArrow, having a regular life as her mother intended. Marrying a nice guy and finding a house in town, or maybe her father would have one built just for her. She'd have children. No doubt with Lyse's new stats they would have been more than well off. Who knows, she could have married into the noble faction if she wished. Yes, these projections, projections she thought horrid visions of her not-so-distant future seemed so childish to her now. Now, she didn't know what to think.

She felt a shell to herself. Not the little girl, playing knight with her brothers. Not the farmhand, not the baker. Not the friend to Sia, Anna, or Lynn. Not the sister of Lyse Opal or Edlund. Not the daughter of Wilbur the farmer and Celia his wife. No. She was the daughter of two great warriors, spoken in hushed tones among soldiers and knights, living their life of grand stakes a lie. She was the sister of men who battled with beings far beyond her comprehension. But what scared her more than any of these, is that she didn't feel like Massua Opal anymore. She has memories of a life she never lived. Her mother's face, first she saw it, seemed unfamiliar. When Lyse was mentioned, it was a distant memory. These people, they were not her family, and yet they were? Her name. . . what was her name. Not Massua, no. She swore it was something else. In that chamber, since then her mind has been a mess of voices and memories. She has found no solace in her mind. She has found only further confusion. She remembers intense training. Years of experience that did not belong to her. Fighting all sorts of creatures and make of men. IT terrified her, a part of her, of the things she knows how to do, the things she may have done, this other her.

"Are you feeling well?"

Celia called for her. Her mother. "Yes . . . mom. Just a bit lightheaded."

She nodded. She admired that sure look on her face. Very stoic and imposing. Yet kind. She wanted to be that. Have that confidence.

"There is no telling the side effects of your experience," she said. "I intend on talking with Remmus. Or perhaps the library might hold some kind of information. No matter, all things will be well when we reach the capital, dear."

"The capital? We're not stopping at BrokenArrow?"

Celia shook her head. "The sooner we get to the capital, the better. We'll be safe there. We'll be safe. We promised to meet Lyse there."

"Lyse," she realizes that they spoke very little of her brother. A lot of focus was devoted to her time in Talin's care. Every detail was brought out of her. She did not dislike it. Somehow, the more she talked about herself, her past, the things became clearer and clearer. IT's like recalling a dream, bit by bit. She told them about the rooms they held her in, what it was like. How she managed to be rescued once, but then immediately captured by the Plithos, Death, which made Celia give a very bitter look. apparently, they had a previous encounter that did not go so well.

"Yes," Celia said, almost absently. "Edlund and Makyra hopefully. If all goes well at least."

"Who's Massua?"

Gray sighed. He didn't talk all that much, a trend among the knights she was beginning to understand. But when he did, he was always complaining about something. And this time was no different. "Well, at least your talking. But with all these questions I'm gonna start to wonder what you do know."

"Leave the girl alone you hammer-headed mule," Elena hissed at him. "We have no idea what she went through."

"Well, she's in safe hands, isn't she," he rubbed his side, an unconscious effort, and turned to her. "You know, your brother is honestly amazing. I wouldn't worry about him. I personally think Fate has it out for him."

"And what does that mean?" Massua asked him.

"You know," Gray went on. "I only know a tad bit about this godslayer business or whatever, but it appears that if Fate has some grand play with Lyse, it won't end in some unknown ruin halfway deep in Frostlands. I for one have faith in his safe return."

"And the insinuation being that we don't?"

"Just trying to keep the mood up and light you know," he said defensively. "Anyway, will be blessed to get back to the capital. Wander what my father's been up to. My god, four months. He probably blew up the damn forge by now."