Strom sipped the peach wine from the clay bottle, sighing as he tasted the sweet alcohol. He hummed quietly, all the while the nearly two dozen Iyrmen stood nearby. Most of them had been sent to escort him to the river south of the Iyr.

One was Shaool, who had been assigned to Strom for some time, and another was a Gold Rank Iyrman, Zardon, who had been assigned to the figure after losing his bid for Elder Wrath. Another pair of Mithril Rank Iyrmen also escorted the figure, and the rest were made up of Silver Rank and Steel Rank, save for one.

“Up!” the girl said, pointing up towards the sky. She was small, though much bigger than when Strom first saw her. She wore the Iyr’s clothing, as well as a small hat and gloves, the symbol of her family stitched across the centre of her hat. A blue circle, followed by blue diamonds.

“You want to fly?” Strom asked, before picking the girl up, floating upwards with her, before he flew across the land, following the nearby river, which spat up water towards them.

The girl clapped her hands excitedly, before screaming as she threw out her hands, the soft mist of water tickling her face. Strom kept her close to his chest as he flew her about, the wind rushing past them as they flew.

“Has your papa taken you out of the Iyr yet?” Strom asked, slowing until he was floating above the river.

“Papa,” the girl said, looking up at Strom, before her eyes scanned the area to try and find them. However, Lanarot was unable to find the two, and she pointed forward, for Strom to lead her forward.

“Are you having fun?” Strom asked, causing her to cackle with joy. “Do not worry, your papa will return and he will take you out the Iyr, one day.”

“Baba,” the girl said, hugging his chest tight as they flew. Her tiny orbs stared up at him, only full of childish glee.

Strom smiled, feeling the tiny hands grip his clothing tight for support. ‘Coming to the Iyr was the best choice.’

Zardon threw a look to Shaool, who shook her head. It was strange to see the Lord of Storms, as the pair were informed, flying around with a child of the Iyr. The others were slightly perturbed by the prospect, as they would be unable to assist the child if something happened.

Strom eventually floated down with the girl, brushing her hair. “You will forget me one day, little child. What a shame it is that I will not be able to see you reach such heights.”

Lanarot babbled back at him, patting his chest gently, before smiling up at him. The girl was so much bigger now, and though she mostly babbled, she could at least understand some of the things people said.

Strom smiled, brushing her hair once more. “No. I’m sure, if it’s you, you will reach even greater heights. Ah, though, if I wasn’t dying, perhaps you wouldn’t be able to reach such heights?”

Lanarot cackled at him, slapping his chest eagerly, hearing the soft patting. She continued to drum along his chest, before she yawned. “Mama?”

Strom handed the girl to Sonarot, and smiled. “You should return. I will remain here for some time, and I will join you once evening comes.”

Zardon looked to Shaool, who was technically in charge at the moment. She nodded, and the Iyrmen began to return back to their shelter, some ways away from the river which had been split to form the boundary of the Iyr and the Aldishlands.

Strom reached for his chest, which was much heavier than before. Lanarot had filled quite a large portion of it, her blissful ignorance of the world only a child could possess had corrupted the old man.

‘Dessert for the heart,’ Strom recalled. He closed his eyes, thinking about his time within the Iyr, and how fun it had been thus far. He had wished his friend had still been alive, for it would have been a good fight, but then he could have also shown off to her.

He continued to drink through the late afternoon, thinking about what he had experienced within the Iyr until that day. It had been a wonderful little retirement, though it had been far too short. ‘I should have come here years ago…’

Strom continued to rub his heart, which was still trying to keep him alive without his Spark. He looked down at his hands, which had grown thinner, and without a drink, would shake slightly. Yet, whenever he held the girl, he would not shake.

“She certainly is no Umbra, but she’s cute enough,” Strom said, still not wanting to admit anyone was cuter than his daughter. He sipped from his drink, tossing it aside.

“I think of her death at least once a day,” he said, summoning another clay bottle from his ring, before sipping from it. “It’s become a ritual of mine.” He shook his head. “I keep wondering if I should have caged her, like I had done to so many of my other children. I couldn’t, obviously. Not her. My sweet little Umbra.”

He sighed long and hard, the rushing river keeping him company. “I called for her to return. I stooped low enough to pay the Gods their gold, thousands upon thousands of gold, but they refused to return her back to me. Her soul was severed from our realms. Something had dared to take her away from me, not just those Leviathan bastards.”

Strom tossed the clay bottle aside, which scattered across the earth before them with such force, the bottle almost turned to dust. “I beat them good, though. Freed all those Mermen, the undersea dwellers. Where are they now? Those rat bastards, did they flee to the Red Sea? The Land of the Dead? I don’t know…”

The sad old man drank another bottle, one made by a certain Orcish Iyrman, causing him to wince. “I always wondered why she died. Why she was taken away from me. How she died was also a question. It would have been hard to kill her, considering who she had taken with her, and I’m sure she hadn’t slipped between worlds.”

“I really did lose my mind for a while.” He chuckled, thinking about how many people he had killed back then. It was during a time he was still young and hot blooded. “It turned out all for the best though, didn’t it? I returned. Reclaimed my throne. Ruled over an empire, with over a millennia of peace, other than the Demon Incursions. Peace. Order.”

Strom narrowed his eyes. “I can’t help but think that’s why she had to die. So that Order could finally be brought to the land. Me, the old bitch, Soza, Stokmar, and if you really want to include him, Shama. We held the keys to peace, and Order, for the last two thousand years. Against the Undead. Against the Demons. Against each other.”

“Peace and Order.” Strom finished the last of his drink, and dashed it across the ground, the dust floating away.

“Order,” he said, turning to look across the river, facing the heavily armoured figure opposite. “I can’t help but think that someone knew that Order could only be achieved once I had set my mind to it.”

The Champion of Order remained silent, staring at the figure ahead. He, who once ruled over thousands of islands, stood before him. He, who had once stood so tall, so powerful, stood opposite him as a dying old man.

“You’re awfully silent, boy.”

The Champion remained silent, his eyes glued to Strom.

“You’re rather lucky I decided to show you mercy. If I had chosen north of the Iyr, it would have been too late. It would have been my month, and you would have stood no chance. Still, I couldn’t help but choose the south, so I could beat you as soon as I could.”

“Peace and Order. It was quite hard to maintain, what with all the other Champions that other Lord sent. Your cousins, right? Three of them. He sent three, but after the third time, he gave up. How many years does it take to train a Champion? A hundred or so? Three hundred years worth of rat bastards, your uncle, sent to me.”

The Champion remained silent.

“What about your father?” Strom asked, narrowing his eyes. “He was rather happy, wasn’t he? Awfully happy that my sweet little Umbra was dead.”

It fell silent for a moment, save for the rushing river, which continued to flow between them, separating the pair.

“At least the Champions of Chaos were fun to talk to,” Strom said.

The Champion did not respond.

“Fine then. I’ll just beat the truth out of you.” He raised his hand, and blue lightning shot out towards the Champion. The lightning blasted the Champion’s sword, which absorbed the crackling plasma. As the moments continued to pass, the lightning faded.

Strom sighed. He could already feel how much it was draining him, but he didn’t care. “I’ll be merciful. I know torture won’t break you, but… it would be awfully terrible for your Lord to train another Champion for a hundred years, wouldn’t it? It would be a shame if you let Adam run rampant on the land.”

The Champion narrowed his eyes at Strom, who smiled in return.

“You’re not doing a very good job as the Champion, are you?” Strom asked, before raising his hands together. He blasted out another beam of lightning.

The Champion of Order slammed his blade into the earth, but he was forced back by the lightning, which crackled against the earth, kicking up bits of stone and earth. The blade cut into the earth as he skid backwards away from Strom.

The torrent of lightning stopped, and he lifted his blade, only for Strom to slam into him, tackling him into a tree. The Champion brought the hilt down towards Strom’s back, but the old man pulled back, and the pair faced off against one another.

Blade met fist as the pair clashed. Strom managed to catch the blade with a fist, and he leapt off of the ground, which felt far more solid to him, before he kicked the Champion away, denting his armour. He leapt forward, but his punch was caught by the side of the greatsword, before he was kicked back.

“You’re not as strong as the other Champions,” Strom said, struggling for breath. He raised his hands, as though beckoning the Champion, all the while the sky turned dark above them.

Lightning fell, striking the old man, which caused his eyes to crackle with lightning. He could feel himself grow lighter, though the heaviness was still ever present within his body. Strom pointed a finger out to the Champion, blasting him with a beam of lightning, though it split in half as the Champion cut through it. The greatsword hummed quietly, glowing.

Once again the pair clashed, flesh meeting steel. The earth beneath cracked, though Strom’s steps seemed far more stable upon the land. Thunderous might struck Strom, who slid back, before he caught the blade which meant to split his head in half.

Lightning fell against them, and Strom used it to mimic just a portion of what his Spark would have allowed for him to do, using it to fuel his strength. He forced the sword away, feeling the burning of his muscles, before he kicked the Champion’s knee, causing him to almost drop down, only for the Champion to spin with his blade, almost cutting into Strom’s side, if the old man hadn’t leapt above the swing.

Strom’s body crackled with lightning, and he forced the Champion back with his barrage of fists. “I’m sure you can do better than that, you rat bastard! It isn’t fun if you hold back!”

Strom’s fist struck against the blade, which hummed with magic, but this time he felt it as it invaded the space around them. The Champion glowed brightly, almost forming a heavenly visage, while the light oppressed Strom down, burning his skin.

As the pair’s mighty forms fought, Strom found himself backing away slightly. He had managed to force the Champion hundreds of steps away from the river, but now he was finding that, in between every other blow, he was taking a half step back.

“That’s more like it!”

The pair continued their fight, which threatened to crack the air with the force of their blows. Strom caught the sword in hand, feeling the weight of it, which caused him almost to buckle under it. He inhaled deeply, before roaring, blasting the Champion with thunderous force. The Champion flew backwards, sliding across the earth.

Strom stepped forward, ready to press his advantage, aiming to crush the Champion’s chest, but his heart throbbed, and his entire body rocked with pain. He had the upper hand for most of the bout, and though the Champion had managed to force him back after using the might of his Oath, he was still confident in his abilities.

Yet. He was too old. He was thousands of years old, and though his kind only grew with power, that was only with one’s Spark. Had he still possessed his Spark, this Champion would have been child’s play, and he would have forced multiple Champions together to try and deal with him, if they really wished to kill him. However, without his Spark, which would tear his soul away from these realms permanently, he had lost much of his strong, both his physical might and his magical might.

Each time he had used his lightning, even as a trick, and each time he had flown, it had chipped away at his strength. It was like he possessed an hourglass, and every moment the sand flowed, speeding up when he used his magics. Each time the sand flowed completely into the bottom, it would flip after he had rested. Yet, any time the sand flowed, a small portion of it leaked out of the hourglass. One day, when the last grains of sand flowed from one half to the next, no longer would the grains of sand pile up, for he would have run out.

‘No,’ Strom thought. ‘Not yet. Not yet!’ He willed his body forward, which began to shift slightly, scales appearing across his skin, and two horns emerged from the top of his head. He leapt up, fists ready to hammer the Champion. He slammed the earth, leaving a small crater, before the large blade forced him back.

The Champion charged forward, his divine magics still oppressing the Lord, before crashing his blade down, ready to bisect Strom in half, though the old man managed to defend by crossing his arms above his head. Strom’s muscles burned with effort, and the earth beneath cracked from the force of the blow.

The two clashed once more, transforming the land around them with their blows. From the divine magics, to the lightning, the area was unearthed and changed. The powerful, thunderous blows continued to echo into the distance, but the blows soon began to slow as the pair found themselves growing tired.

Strom panted, barely able to hold the blade from cutting across his shoulder. He groaned and roared in pain, before a thunderous explosion struck the Champion. However, the Champion continued to force his blade down, trying to push Strom to take a knee.

Strom bowed his head, trying his best not to kneel before the Champion, something which would have been unimaginable not even a year ago. His body shuddered and twitched, and his scales began to expand as his entire body shifted. He spun, striking the Champion with his giant tail, before he expanded further.

Lightning fell, and Strom’s shadow covered the land, as he stared down at the Champion, who had stood from the pile of trees which had splintered under the force of his landing.

Strom floated in the air, his entire form dwarfing the Champion, who was no larger than Strom’s mighty maw. His long, serpentine form continued to twitch, as he felt the effort of keeping his most natural form without his Spark. It was trying to force him back into a humanoid, but he fought back the strain, the heaviness.

The Champion stood, glowing brightly still, and wings of light formed behind him, before he flew up, blade in hand. The two clashed once more, with Strom’s giant form barely resisting the heavy blows which rained against his scales, and he tried to slam, slash, and bite the Champion, whose armour was refusing to buckle under the great Lord’s might.

Strom’s maw opened, and a sea of lightning fell across the Champion, who twitched violently, but refused to fall into the earth, until Strom finally flew forward, charging at the Champion like a bull, before his horns skewered the Champion into the earth. Strom had charged with too much force, so crashed past the Champion, shifting back to his hybrid form, with just his horns and scales. It slowly healed his wounds as he stood, though his regeneration was nothing compared to when he still possessed his Spark.

He panted for air, the pair having fought long enough that the stars had appeared. The air around them had grown warm, though Strom wasn’t sure if that was because of the lightning, or because he was dying.

The Champion stood, still heavily injured, but he was not keeled over, clutching at his heart as Strom was. The Champion’s muscles were burnt by the lightning, and his body pulsed due to Strom’s blows, but he stood, ready to fulfil his duty.

“Are you in such a rush to kill a dying old man?” Strom asked, struggling to stand to his feet.

The Champion raised his sword, and he glowed brighter. He chanted the words of an ancient language, and called forth the divine magic from his Lord. He flashed white, and the wounds which littered his body began to disappear.

Strom sighed, holding onto his knees as he half squatted down, his shoulders raising and falling with his breath. “Right. I forgot you could do that.”

Strom raised his hands, and willed the storm to fall across his form. “I can do it too!” The lightning fuelled the dying old man once more, but it had not healed him as it once would have.

Strom charged forward, still crackling with lightning, and punched the Champion with the lightning which had coalesced around his fists. The divine magic fell across him, and the pommel struck him against his back, causing him to twitch. Fist met blade, and blade met flesh, as Strom was forced back once more.

Whereas the Champions body had mostly healed, and even the fatigue had washed away, Strom could feel still it. The weight of his age. The heaviness of his approaching death. The emptiness of his hourglass.

He reached up to his shoulder, and looked down at the wet crimson against his fingers. ‘Blood? Ah…’ It was a refreshing feeling. Though he wished to ask about Umbra’s circumstances, truly, he also wished to beat the Champion and the Lord of Order a little before he passed. Lightning shot forth from the old man’s finger tips, but it lasted only a moment, before his fist crashed against the Champion’s jaw, causing the figure to stumble backwards.

The Champion called forth his magics and slashed at the old figure ahead of him, trying to force Strom to another realm, and yet the Lord of Storms resisted the magics as he kicked the Champion’s gut, causing him to fall back. The blade hummed with divine magic, and though Strom blocked it, his entire body rocked with pain as the flames engulfed him.

“Who do you think you are?” Strom growled, his lips forming a smirk. “To use fire against me? Do you believe yourself to be Shama?” Strom pushed the blade away, and kicked the Champion away, before leaping towards him once more.

The Champion landed on his feet, slamming his blade into the earth, calling forth words to the Lord of Order. The entire area shuddered under the force of his magic, which blasted out, striking Strom with enough force to crash him into the earth some ways away.

The old man coughed up blood, and he reached for his chest, trying to steady his breath. A glowing form appeared before him, and Strom mistook it for the Champion, shooting it with lightning to try and force it away. However, it was but a form made of divine magic, and as the lightning tore it apart, a blade cut through his shoulder. The old man howled in pain. His ragged body screamed at him, the pain rocking through his form.

It had been so long since he had felt like this, so close to his end. Strom tried to stand, but the Champion kicked Strom back, with enough force that the old man skidded back almost twenty steps away.

‘Damn. It.’ Strom’s thoughts came to him in a stutter, and he could see the darkness around the edges of his eyes. His entire body felt hot, and then the divine magic pressed against him. With every step the Champion took, more of Strom’s body was put under the pressure of the divine aura.

‘So this is it?’

The steps stopped as the shadow of the Champion loomed over Strom, a spectre of Death ready to claim his prize. The Champion held his blade above him with both hands. “Order must be maintained.”

Strom managed to spit out blood at the Champion’s feet, before grabbing his ankle. “Fuck your Order.”

The Champion aimed his sword to take Strom’s head, but before it fell, lightning blasted him from below. It started at his ankle, and it cut through his entire body, ripping his skin, forming a scar across his skin. The Champion stumbled aside, and dropped before Strom, but as the lightning threatened to tear apart his heart, Strom’s finger’s loosened their grip, and his hand, and entire arm, dropped to the side.

The Champion panted, having not taken the lightning so clearly before. His entire body was hot, and though his blood was boiling, his heart hammering wildly in his chest, he still held his mind. He pushed away the daze which had overcome his pounding head, and struggled to his feet. He inhaled deeply, pulling the blade away from where he had cut Strom’s arm, and grabbed his blade with both arms again.

He hadn’t expected that a single day would have made such a great difference. He had used most of his spells to resist Strom’s lightning, but he was nearly out of magic, and his mighty Avatar Form was beginning to end. If Strom truly had used the lightning of the next month, then he would have stood no chance.

The Champion’s form felt as though he was wading in a river of fire, as the heat continued to pulse, but he ignored the feeling, and clutched his blade with both hands. “Order must be maintained,” he stated, the words a prayer to his Lord.

“Young man, why don’t you step aside?” called a voice from behind him, before a large, strong hand clasped his shoulder.

The voice was familiar, and caused the Champion to freeze in place. The dark voice and the fiery sensation prickled the back of his neck. He did not need to turn around to see who had come.

The old man’s form was partly aflame, in the same way Strom’s body had crackled with lightning. He was an older man, adorned in light clothes, even in the season of duskval, which was cool, with a chilly wind, and rain every so often. The outfit he wore was similar to that of the Iyrmen, though the stranger was no Iyrman, for though his forehead was tattooed, it was a collection of four dots in the centre which formed a diamond.

The Champion had not felt the figure approaching, and if he had used his Spark to empower himself, he would have been certain he would have felt the figure approach. Had he been too engrossed within the fight, trying to survive against Strom, that he hadn’t felt another Lord approach?

Why now? He was but an instant away from doing it, to catching Strom’s essence, which would have empowered the Lord of Order with such a great power.

Chaos, caught by Order.

Shama felt the body tense, but as quickly as it had tensed, it relaxed. No, it wasn’t quite that the figure had relaxed, as a figure blasted past Shama, and through the Champion of Order, creating a large hole where the Champion’s head and torso had been, leaving only his legs and blade behind.

“You still have the habit of stealing someone else’s prey,” Shama said, his eyes glancing backwards towards where the small figure had landed. He hadn’t felt the figure’s presence, but that wasn’t a surprise, considering that it was the Lord of Earth. He wasn’t sure why she was taking such a form, it wasn’t any which he recalled.

“It’s not my fault he smelled of shit,” she replied, showing no respect to the Emperor. “What are you doing here, Lord of Flames?”

“I have come to kill him,” Shama replied, staring down at Hadda’s near lifeless corpse. It was nearly unrecognisable considering how thin he had become, and how he was currently dying. The man’s smell had changed too, though he had smelled it only a few days ago, clinging to the young Half Elf. He hadn’t put it together, the fact that Strom had given up his Spark, he had assumed it was the Dragon heart which was within the ring.

“Then hurry up so you can leave already.” The seemingly Dwarven woman drank from a cask of ale, which had been buried under the Iyr for at least a few centuries. “You’re spoiling the taste of my drink.”

Shama let out a long, sad sigh. ‘I was too late.’ He had come this entire way to fight with Hadda, and yet he had been refused a glorious fight. Truly, he had come this entire way to send off his friend in the best way possible, since that old Kraken wouldn’t have killed him.

Yet, to think he had come all this way to see his old enemy half dead from having faced a Champion. Not a Demigod, not even a true Avatar, but just a Champion. He let go of the shoulder he had held, letting it fall between he and Hadda.

The rain fell across the two Lords, the pair remaining silent. Shama’s flames fell away, his thoughts no longer of killing Hadda. He was uncertain of what he wanted to do with Hadda, but he reached down to stop the bleeding with his fire.

Stokmar’s eyes fell to the side, feeling the presence of another, who had appeared from seemingly nowhere. She continued to drink from her cask, as though she were a baby who was drinking milk.

“It seems I have arrived late,” the figure said, holding his cane with both hands apologetically.

“What is one of the Nine Guardian Stars doing here?” Shama asked.

“Is it not a little rude to be asking me of my business, when I do not ask you of yours?” Crowseer smiled politely.

Shama narrowed his eyes. “I was denied a good fight, but I do not mind playing with you.”

“I wouldn’t dare to think of it,” Crowseer replied, bowing his head. Maurice shifted in a manner so he would not appear to be bowing. “Though, I would like to ask you if I may heal Lord Hadda.”

Shama’s brows turned aflame, as he tilted his head slightly. His entire body was tense, ready to charge forward to kill Crowseer. The air around them grew hot, and began to suffocate the Crowseer. “What need of you to heal him?”

Stokmar understood why Shama was enraged, considering that the Nine Guardian Stars remained neutral, and would only step in to further their plots. Each of them worked on their own machinations, but it was the Crowseers who moved most mysteriously.

“It just so happens that I cannot allow him to die just yet,” Crowseer said. “The die should not fall in such a way yet.”

Shama stepped forward, and within an instant he appear before Crowseer, who raised his cane to defend himself. Crowseer caught the fist with his cane, the flame splashing outwards rather than around him, but he was still forced back as he slid in the wet mud.

“You have healed completely since meeting with the Iyrmen,” Crowseer noted.

Shama turned his fist into an open palm, before forming a fist once more, as the fire around them began to swirl, and formed a dome around Crowseer, who raised his cane and called his own magic to defend himself. The dome of fire began to grow smaller, threatening to crush Crowseer, though his magic managed to stave off the fire for too long.

Stokmar stomped her foot, causing the earth under Crowseer to shoot upwards, launching Crowseer up. He floated up at the peak of the height, and then slowly floated towards the ground.

“What are you doing?” Shama asked, his eyes falling across the small form of the Lord of Earth.

“You’re such an annoying bastard,” Stokmar replied, before drinking the rest of her ale, tossing the cask aside. “Why are you making a mess so close to the Iyr?”

“Can you really say something like that?” Shama asked.

Stokar fell into a sitting position, but as she fell, the earth around her formed a throne of dirt, and she sat in a position which overlooked the Emperor. “You are too far from home to be thinking you’re anybody in front of me, young man.”

Shama narrowed his eyes at the woman, all the while walls of fire circled around the pair of them. However, he thought about whether a fight with her was a good idea, especially since there was so much earth all around them, and they were right next to the Iyr’s borders.

“May I heal the good Lord now?” Crowseer cleared his throat, awkwardly standing before two Lords, he, who had no chance to survive if he fought either of them.

He was stuck between a rock and a hot place.