Armand stared deeply at the burning crimson flames engulfing his mortal foe, his curiosity growing but ultimately being doused by the tides of vengeance within his own heart. The momentary distraction opened an attack of opportunity from the flaming Goblin King.

  The hulk of a figure swiftly grabbed the construct’s free hand by the wrist in a vise-like grip. The bracer crushed beneath the enhanced strength; he needed to make some distance.

  Armand attempted to pull away from Glordon, but the grip was too tight. He could see molten drops of mithril falling to the earthen floor and sinking deep within the earth. Decisive action was needed, so Armand swung at the already weakened vambrace and cleanly sliced through the superheated metal.

  Freed from the grip of his foe, he quickly jumped back. He was down a hand, but that was momentary. Glordon smiled viciously with glee as he crumpled the severed gauntlet in his fat fingers. When he released his grip, all that remained was molten slag that dripped through his fingertips.

  The Goblin King did not give him much time to think as the now-molten arm was thrown at him. Armand channeled some mana to create a simple water barricade. They met and created a mass of steam that obfuscated the battlefield.

  “Find him and bring him to me,” Glordon commanded the remaining lieutenants, who immediately dived into the steam in search of the construct. Armand had created some breathing room.

  The mana was too thin here to create an attack to outright crush the Goblin King; he needed to experiment with using soul energy. Thoth had discussed the applicative effects of using soul energy and mana, but he had never experimented in doing so.

  Armand skillfully dodged the lieutenants within the fog. He began by pouring bits of his purple soul energy into the runes for his water blade spell. Fueling the spell with just soul energy caused no effect.

  Most likely, mana was needed for the elemental conversion, so he started with mostly mana and a drop of soul energy. The lieutenant he chose to test the spell on was cleanly cut in two, but the effect still felt the same as before.

  Next, he tried an equal ratio of soul energy to mana. The result was better, but the strength of the spell still wasn’t on par with Glordon’s hellfire. Perhaps it was the method of combination? Armand pondered as he cut down another minion in the steam.

  He had to figure it out fast because the steam was fading away, and his cover was shrinking. So he tried premixing the energies before fueling the spell. His first attempt fizzled out immediately; it made him think of mixing water and oil—the best way to do so was through agitation.

  The construct began to pull the ambient mana into his very soul, mixing it within. The clearness of his soul faded and became cloudy, nearly becoming tangible. He then fed this energy into his water blade attack and swung at the remaining lieutenants who had clustered together.

  The resultant magic released a concentrated burst of purple water that cut cleanly through the remaining attackers, but also through several of the large trees, felling several ancient oaks. Even the Goblin King was not spared, as the stream of purple water severed both his mace and the underlying arm in twain.

  Armand winced as trees, goblins, and constructs collapsed around him. This was probably why the demons were so intent on returning to the material plane. With soul energy and mana, they could dominate anything they desired, the construct thought to itself.

  However, his gaze refocused on the Goblin King—more specifically, the severed arm without the rest of the body. He had most likely fled, and Armand could not allow him to escape.

  Unfortunately, the Goblin King did not leave a blood trail; the smell of burnt goblin flesh stunk up the air. Luckily, he had crafted a form of smelling magic for the construct. He had most likely used magic to cauterize the wound.

  He decided to try tracing the massive goblin through his perception of souls. The goblins were pretty indiscriminate in their massacre, so there were very few people alive in the area.

  Armand perceived the presence of a strong soul to the north, so he followed it. The spark of red in his vision soon grew larger as he got closer and closer. The Goblin King was not moving, only making the catch-up easier.

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  The construct exploded into a clearing; the Goblin King was waiting there for him. A smug grin graced the fat face of the soon-to-be-disposed king as he held the flickering golden soul in the palm of his remaining arm.

  “I can’t believe the runt that I couldn’t bother to kill would put me in such a situation,” the gravelly voice echoed out. “All of this over the soul of a pathetic human.”

  Armand stepped forth, slow and deliberate, well aware of what would happen if he were to act hastily. “Pathetic is not quite the word to describe her; she was strong even to the end,” echoed the metallic voice of the construct.

  “And yet here I am, and there you are…” The Goblin King looked towards the doorway to the dungeon, “…trapped and only able to fight with this toy.”

  “There are indeed many limitations to my condition,” the soul clone replied with shrugged shoulders, “but many benefits as well.” The magic circles carved within glowed faintly.

  “Wouldn’t you want to escape the dungeon?” the Goblin King asked. His tone was different, and Armand picked up on the cadence immediately.

  “Mammon, you can’t help but speak, can you?” the construct asked rhetorically. “What I fail to understand is how you know about her. I do not remember mentioning anything about that to you,” Armand wondered.

  “We have many supporters across many dimensions,” spoke a new voice out of the Goblin King’s mouth, originating from another of the dark red masses upon the fat goblin’s soul.

  “"Even the heavens! Celestia itself is ours!” the Goblin King couldn’t help but exclaim, one that turned into a scream as all the cancerous masses on his soul assaulted him.

  “Fool! Information is our game. Keep your mouth shut, filthy mortal,” one of the other tumors hissed. Armand had already sent the information to his main body, and Uriel by extension.

  “Whatever…” The Goblin King shrugged it off as if used to the beratement of the demons. “With this…” He held up the flickering golden soul. “He is under my control.” The grip slowly closed around the soul, causing the flickering to intensify.

  Armand stood there; unfortunately, he was right. His foe had him cornered, and he had nothing in his construct that was quick enough to save her.

  “Kneel…” the Goblin King said, oozing with sadistic glee.

  “Fetch…” Armand replied, causing the Goblin King to falter. Only in that instant did the fat goblin realize that his arm holding the flickering soul was now gone. Beside the construct stood a towering beast of metal holding the Goblin King’s arm like a stick, the soul still within its grasp.

  Armand the goblin had sent Fenrir out to help the construct the moment the Goblin King chose to flee. Luckily, the wolf construct could communicate with the construct as soon as it entered the material realm.

  The soul clone only needed to distract his foe long enough for the warbeast to get into ambush range. Now Glordon was armless—a long way to fall for someone who once led an army.

  Armand took a vial from his chest cavity, a piece of forbidden technology that Cassian had found for him. A soul jar could house a soul and prevent it from being pulled to another realm. The flickering golden soul was sucked in.

  He could only find two of such vials, and he planned to use the second to take his mortal enemy's soul to torment in his dungeon for all his wickedness.

  But the Goblin King was far from harmless as he roared in rage, blood-red energy pouring through every cut and crevice. With no leverage remaining, the Goblin King had finally decided to pull out his final ace. The burning of his soul intensified to the point the air warped as it was pulled into him.

  The earth even began to melt as the fat goblin charged; the heat was so intense the Goblin King’s body began to melt as well. The scene was horrific, but Armand didn’t have time to consider that as he acted.

  Purple lightning manifested at his fingertips as it arced at the charging figure. But even the supercharged thunder magic merely caused the once Goblin King to stagger, yet continue to charge forward.

  For once, Armand was stunned and unsure of what to do. So he kept casting, bolt after bolt of purple lightning. The flaming behemoth continued indomitably on its final reckless charge. The construct tried to cast another lightning bolt, but the already thin mana had run out.

  The knight construct began to stagger backwards, but he could barely move. In his panic, he stopped monitoring the magic, and now his path of escape was gone too.

  The fat of the Goblin King had long rendered off his body; any scant piece of flesh was blackened and dried upon the burning figure, but it continued its forward charge.

  He waited for the inevitable destruction of his avatar, a fate that never came. Armand tried to reach out and stop him, but he couldn't as the large warbeast began to march forth with slow and strained steps. The loyalty and determination of Fenrir pushed the warbeast past the limitations of mana.

  The Goblin King and the construct collided head-on. The battle was not intense, the skeleton falling upon the metal beast and grasping tight with what little strength was left, and Fenrir kept pushing as its body began melting.

  Armand couldn’t even yell, not having enough magic to fuel the voice transmission magic. He watched one of his oldest companions slowly melt away into a pile of molten slag. Within the flames, he saw the two souls, the Goblin King’s and the wolf’s.

  Fenrir stood his ground with pride, a soul of a mixture of green, gold, and purple standing strong before the crimson tide that was the Goblin King. The crimson slowly encroached upon the old wolf as it engulfed it.

  Armand stood there, stuck in place as he saw the soul of the Goblin King smile in smug satisfaction as it continued to burn. It waited to be pulled to hell, but nothing happened.

  After a moment of silence, the environment was flooded with a silver glow, and Armand felt an energy flood him. It wasn’t magic, but something more primal and uncontrolled; it was faith.