“Sword!” Serra’s voice was as merciless as the desert.
Hadjar extended Moon Beam. The witch grabbed the blade with her palm, leaving a trail of glowing white hieroglyphs on the metal. Hadjar felt like this was no longer his old sword made from the fang of Azrea’s mother. Of course, it was still Moon Beam, but it had become more... profound. Stronger. Sharper. Faster.
“The spell will last about an hour,” Serra said, rising, “then the sword will crumble.”
Hadjar nodded. He understood perfectly well that they would have to use every single advantage they had in the upcoming battle. So, if this battle ended up being the last one for Moon Beam... Well, so be it.
A powerful explosion rocked the garden. A dozen cannonballs had hit the shimmering hieroglyphs of the seal that blocked the entrance to the Palace. Then the cries of the wounded came, when all the cannonballs simply bounced back. Clouds of black smoke rose. They covered the sun, making Serra’s skin look like burnished copper. She stood next to Hadjar. Shoulder to shoulder. Just like her husband always had...
She said something in a language that was unfamiliar to Hadjar. A line of hieroglyphs swirled around her fingers, and then a small, blue light appeared between her palms. It grew, turning into a dragonfly the size of an index finger.
Hadjar threw a hood over his head and thrust his bloody blade forward. The white hieroglyphs shone, giving off an aura of unprecedented power. Hadjar realized that he was fueling the spell with his own energy. That meant that if the blade didn’t shatter, its owner would most likely die.
“We’ll kill them!” Serra said. “We’ll kill them all!”
The five legionnaires cut through the shroud of Hadjar’s protective stance and a desperate battle began. Four of them immediately surrounded Hadjar, apparently thinking he was the most dangerous of their opponents. How wrong they were...
As soon as the witch waved her hand, the dragonfly flew. Hadjar couldn’t pay it a lot of attention because he was trading blows with four enemies at once. They moved so quickly that a mere mortal could’ve only seen the occasional flash of their blades and the blurry silhouettes leaving black and green plumes behind them.
Serra stood still. Opposite her, the Imperial burned with a blue flame. He was in such horrific pain that he tried to cut off any parts that were burning. His blood drenched the white marble. The fiery dragonfly burned inside his body, eating him from the inside. It followed the movements of Serra’s hands and fingers, and her gaze was merciless. The legionnaire was dying in agony.
Hadjar blocked an enemy’s blade, let the second one pass over his head, pushed his third opponent back with his shoulder and, as he turned, bisected the fourth foe. The man’s two perfectly symmetrical halves fell to the floor.
Before the halves of his body touched the marble, Hadjar caught the enemy’s sword. It had slipped out of his weakened grip. He rammed that sword into the throat of the nearest legionnaire and, growling from the pain in his wounded leg, leapt back to give himself some room. He cracked the marble with the force of his jump, which slowed down the two surviving warriors.
Hadjar landed next to Serra, who was holding the fiery dragonfly. Hadjar’s clothes were covered in blood. His injured right leg buckled, but his hands still gripped Moon Beam tightly. Only three foes remained.
“Apparently, a genius can sometimes be born even among backwoods bumpkins,” the Governor lamented. A thin, long blade appeared in his hand. “Alas, kiddies, I’m bored of this farce. It’s time for you to join your friend.”
The Governor took a step forward and the world stilled under the pressure of his power. Hadjar couldn’t move a muscle. He watched the Spirit Knight approach him with a resigned glare.
The gray energy radiating from the Governor’s body formed a multi-armed figure behind him. In each one of its hundreds of hands, the creature held a blade. That was the Governor’s spirit, the concentration of his power and might. South Wind had told him that each Knight had their own spirit, which was always unique.
The Governor raised his sword over his head and the spirit mimicked his movements. The power of this simple action was potent enough to cause the remaining columns to split in half, the walls to crack, and the ceiling to explode, revealing the distant, blue sky. The Governor was much stronger than the Knight who had led the nomads on the Blue Wind Ridge had been. That meant Hadjar had been right to not believe the predictions of the Tree of Life.
“Don’t forget about us, Mad General.”
Hadjar squinted at Serra. The dragonfly had disappeared from the witch’s hands, leaving behind a barrier of blue flame. Apparently, that had saved the witch from the pressure of the Knight’s power.
Serra was chanting something, and her skin was rapidly turning white. This was no trick of the light and shadows. It really was becoming as white as the first, purest snow. Suddenly, Serra emanated a power ten times greater than the Governor’s own. Hadjar didn’t understand what was happening, but the Imperial seemed to.
“Stop!” He screamed and tried to lower his blade, but, like Hadjar, he now couldn’t move.
Dozens of stone ivy thorns shot out from the floor. Shrouded in blue flame, they wrapped themselves around the Governor. The two legionnaires that were still alive couldn’t resist the spell. They fell to the ground, stabbed through by the vines. Burning in the blue flame, they held out their hands toward Serra as they screamed in agony.
Tears of blood flowed down Serra’s cheeks. Her hair turned red. A second sun came into being over the witch’s head. Her red cloak billowed like a strong wind was blowing, and the witch flew across the ground. A moment later, she and the Governor turned into two blue pillars. The burning Imperial screamed
