The air around the port was thick with the scent of ozone and something far more primal, something that tasted like old graves and pressurized clay. Jian stood at the center of the command circle, his skin a dull, vibrating bronze. Suddenly, he lurched forward, his jaw unhinging as a geyser of brown, calcified energy erupted from his throat. The blast punched a hole through a nearby stone warehouse, the structure collapsing into a pile of fine, grey sand.

  "Too much," Jian rasped, wiping a trail of glowing, muddy ichor from his lip. "Haxar was a glutton. He didn't refine the youth he stole; he just packed it into his marrow. It’s heavy. It’s stagnant. I need the wind to move it, or I’ll turn into a statue before the sun sets."

  Zelari stepped into his personal space, her eyes hard as she adjusted her commander’s sash. "Then we move now. The countdown has started, and I’m not losing my army because you decided to detonate in the middle of our vanguard. Listen to the plan, Jian."

  She gestured to a massive map spread across a drum. "The First Gate is the threshold of the Heaven-Sovereign territory. It’s held by the Gerty Sisters. They command a combination of Metal and Wind energy—a razor-thin, vibrating atmosphere that can shred a legion in seconds. The Mist sisters will take point there."

  The twin daughters, their forms shimmering like moonlight on water, stepped forward. "We’ve got this, Father," one of them said, her voice a soft, melodic chime. "We’re Nascent Soul Elders now. Their metallic wind is just another texture for us to dissolve. Just trust us."

  Jian looked at them, his eyes performing a frantic, surgical scan for any sign of a script-leak. He saw only their pride, a bright, iridescent flame that defied the darkness he had raised them in. He let out a short, jagged laugh. "Trust is a heavy word, little ghosts. But the play needs its heroes. Go. Break their toys."

  Zelari continued, her finger sliding up the map. "In the mid-field, we expect the Imperial Commander, a woman they call the Ice Phoenix. She’s a sultry, cold-blooded nightmare who specializes in absolute-zero suppression. Caelum, that’s your target. Your Dragon-Yang is the only thing that can burn through her frost without being extinguished."

  Caelum, his skin carrying a permanent bronze-scale sheen, cracked his knuckles. A puff of steam erupted from his palms. "I’ll melt her crown before she can even blink, Mother. Then I’ll rejoin the main force for the Second Gate."

  "And the Second Gate?" Saphra asked, her eyes on Jian.

  "I’ll handle the commander there," Jian said, his voice a low, rhythmic thrum. "The script usually places a tragic figure there, someone with a noble cause and a boring back-story. Or perhaps the 'Eternal Immortal' will step out of the wings. The old man is tricky like that; the track only shows itself once it’s been walked."

  "Either way," Zelari said, her voice cutting through the metaphysical gloom. "We have fifteen million troops flowing through the gates in a continuous sweep. The high-tier beings are yours and the children’s. The rest is just a matter of logistics."

  "Useless puppets," Jian muttered, his stomach letting out a thunderous, predatory growl. "They don't even taste good. Too much salt in the common soldier."

  "Father, stop talking about eating people," Lyzara said, her face flushing with a mixture of embarrassment and dread. "It’s gross."

  Jian’s head snapped toward her, his pupils narrowing into vertical slits. For a heartbeat, the "Battle Maniac" peered through his eyes, searching for the puppet-master’s touch. "The Old Man hated it too, Lyzara. He preferred his meals 'pure.' He liked the tragedy of a clean soul being snuffed out. I prefer the rot. It’s more honest."

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  Caelum slinked back a bit, his tail-scale hardening instinctively. "Consuming the essence of an immortal soul isn't eating someone, Father. It’s just... taking back the spirit stones they stole from the world."

  Jian frowned, then gave a slow, terrifyingly sane nod. "Right. But it’s still eating them. You can feel them squirm and writhe against the nothingness as they realize their 'eternity' was just a very long wait for a hungry man."

  The tension was broken by a scout rushing into the pavilion. "Majesty! Figures in the town! They ask for an audience. They say they are the 'Exiled Kin' from the deep."

  Jian sniffed the air, his nose wrinkling in disgust. "Dwarves. They smell like wet dirt. You know what dirt is full of? Poop. Those little stone-men spend their lives in the bowels of the world and don't even realize they smell like the plumbing. Let them in."

  The dwarves arrived in a clanking, rhythmic phalanx, three entire battalions of heavy-armored infantry. At their head was the masked woman, Valen, her obsidian mask reflecting the torchlight.

  "We are here to pay our debt, Jian," Valen said, her voice resonant even through her rebreather. "We are an outcast group now, but we will not sit in the dark while you march on the sun. Our hammers are at your service."

  "You're putting yourself on a bad footing with the Empire, Princess," Saphra noted, her eyes narrow and observant.

  "We are already on a bad footing," Valen replied, her gaze lingering on Jian with a heat that didn't go unnoticed by the Alchemist. "We prefer the company of the Calamity to the chains of the Sovereign."

  Before Saphra could respond, a second report arrived. A massive swarm of goblins was approaching the northern gates, flying a banner with a strange, violet squiggle.

  "The squiggle banner," Jian said, a faint smile touching his lips. He looked at Kiri, who was currently sharpening a dagger in the corner. "Your people, Kiri. Go see to them. Tell them the Great Leader has work for them."

  The goblins arrived in their thousands, a ragtag but lethal force of scouts and saboteurs who immediately pledged their loyalty to the man who had united the Three Warrens. The children watched in awe as their father, a man they had thought was a ghost, effortlessly commanded the respect of the world’s outcasts.

  Saphra watched Valen as the dwarf princess spoke with Jian. She saw the way the woman’s posture softened, the way her eyes traced the scars on Jian’s arms. She wants to bear his children, Saphra realized with a sharp, cold jab of jealousy. She’s seen the heirs, seen the power in their blood, and now she wants a little disaster of her own.

  Saphra shook her head, turning back to the maps. The plan was solid, the armies were ready, but the air was still too heavy. Jian was becoming more restless by the second, his skin beginning to hiss with a faint, brown steam.

  Suddenly, Jian stood up. He didn't say a word. He didn't look at the maps. He turned and walked out of the pavilion, his pace fast and erratic, like a man who desperately needed to find a private corner to relieve himself.

  "Jian? Where are you going?" Zelari shouted.

  "Expelling Earth!" Jian barked back over his shoulder. "The Haxar-rot is bubbling! I need to walk it off!"

  He didn't stop at the courtyard edge. He kept walking, his boots smashing through the ancient stone of the port as he headed toward the Northern Highway. He wasn't just walking; he was accelerating, his aura expanding until the air behind him began to warp.

  "He's going for the First Gate!" Saphra realized, her eyes wide. "He’s not waiting for the vanguard! He’s just... walking there!"

  "Scramble the legions!" Zelari roared, her voice echoing through the port. "If he hits the gate alone, he’ll have half the Empire dead before we can even set up the supply lines! Move, you idiots! Move!"

  The three million soldiers in Storm-Anchor erupted into a frantic, panicked march, thousands of horses and millions of boots chasing after the vertical streak of shadow that was currently power-walking toward a war. Jian didn't look back. He could smell the wind on the mountain, and he was finally, for the first time in thirty years, really looking forward to the next act.