Rorshawd had been knocked out of the sky. Their greatest champion was formidable, but he’d been beaten once before. The twisted mortals assaulting their city had prioritized him as a target once he’d flown back and was now too injured for her to risk losing. The city wouldn’t fall. Not enough monsters remained, and surviving hunting teams like Farthest Run had returned to aid in the city’s defense. If anything, they feared the possibility of some lying in hiding for a secondary strike once they dropped their guard.

  The Bastion Saint couldn’t worry about that right now. They were fighting for their life. The greatest concentration of remaining threats was clustered around the Eye, having flown there once enough of the city’s defenses had been penetrated. They hadn’t been expecting a number of fliers to this degree. Even accounting for new variants the region didn’t spawn too many that were a threat in the air, but this army had been recruited from Threst.

  The siege had failed, but the Crest still tried to claim the life of the master of this place. They filled the air so thickly that Ashier didn’t dare leave the Proxy they currently inhabited. Between advancing to level 3 and acquiring powerful vassals like Gtoll, they had tools at their disposal, but their greatest weakness would always be their personal strength. It was quite the statement to make when Ashier could draw on the powers and mana of their champions, but the attack had left all drained.

  Only the Spires and the benefits possessing Famar gave them kept Ashier alive. His attributes could partially stack with theirs, for example, allowing Gtoll’s Regeneration to keep them both alive as dozens of attacks were thrown at them at a time. Anything less than an army would have trouble getting through that defense, but that was what the enemy had brought.

  Isolated, Doran and others having pulled back when the Eye was targeted, Ashier rode on a summoned gust that pushed them out of the way of a spray of diseased bone from a sickly, rotting yet powerful monster. It was one of a few with the potential to devastate them by making use of Regeneration’s weakness. Famar wouldn’t last long if infected with something the self-healing power would exacerbate, and he was their shield.

  The Shroud was not. Ashier had been tempted to make use of it, but the swarm of monsters made sure to keep enough pressure on the towers that if they commanded them to protect their master, those inside would be exposed. They could help in other ways. A searing beam from the Sun Spire roasted three where they flew, and a pulse of atmospheric pressure from the Wing Spire knocked others out of the way to give Ashier breathing room. That one they understood the use of the best, intrinsically connected to the air as they were.

  What ballista could be angled toward the center of the city also joined the volley now that the lower city was contained, but Aughal had neither the quality nor quantity of anti-air weapons that somewhere like Aurus would have. That glaring weakness would have to be addressed considering this attack wave didn’t account for a quarter of those lost from Threst. It had been, and still was, more populous than Aughal, and its failure to repel that first wave had given the Crest the foothold it needed to launch this assault.

  Ashier could see it, the malice of their enemy. It struck from beyond their reach, taking from one to use against the other. The aegis of the Octyrrum was broken. As difficult as this current war was, every region that fell would feed into an unstoppable cascade as the fallen were used to destroy the next. While it was true that hubward regions were better equipped, more entrenched, when it came to the Forlothan kingdom they did not have that advantage. Rikendia was lost, sabotaged at the start of their struggle. This entire section of the Realm could become a chink in the armor from which defeat spread.

  The Tyrant had thought it was in land the Octyrrum’s true power was derived. It was what all the stories said, and who could deny the need for the everlasting march to destroy the Crest? Seeing the nature of their foe now, reflecting on their own history, they saw the mistake they’d made. A failing Ashier ascribed to their origin, for gestalt tended to value community higher than the individual. One possessing a strong enough will, such as themself, could easily direct others through the empathic connection linking them after all.

  It was the people. Those living in each region, spread out across the Realm. They empowered the Octyrrum. Every soul mattered. There was still cold calculus to it, if presented with the trolley problem Ashier would find the answer obvious, but they had been wasteful in the past. Murdon… perhaps he had decided on abandoning the Thormundz too quickly, but they would concede now that his had been the righteous course in the end.

  So Ashier fought alone, confident enough that if the swarm claimed any it would be Famar. A great loss, but they could rely on desperate, limited measures to escape if forced to, and it posed the least risk to Aughal’s population. They would survive, make improvements, and be more ready when the Crest came again.

  The balance broke when the lower city was fully cleared. Most of Aughal couldn’t fly, but many could use a bow. The setting sun further allowed exhausted duskers to fight at the fullness of their strength, the city combining its efforts to fight for the Tyrant fighting for them. When the last wing was broken and bodies littered the Eye, Ashier released Famar to the care of the Hand and returned to their throne, inspecting the city and the desert beyond.

  Discontent remained, but through several of Ashier’s powers they could feel more of the city rallying around them. Deeply held convictions could break, and the Collapse was the ultimate crucible. Those who had griped at being forced from their villages into overcrowded spaces now looked to the streets and wondered how quickly they would have died if left forgotten in the wilds. Rationing seemed less extreme. A Tyrant preferable to real monsters.

  The approach of their Praetorian made Ashier suspend their musings. Inhabiting the fresh Proxy that had accompanied the man, Ashier asked, “What is the state of the city?”

  “We’re combing the place to make sure we found them all. Unfortunately, most good area detection powers don’t work well in cities, but we’re going to make sure not a single one is left.” The unease she saw on Doran’s face was no doubt spread throughout the city. Not every monster that had attacked looked like their former race, but enough had. “Casualties are in the hundreds, total. Dozens of Blessed, no one higher than level 2. There was minimal structure damage, and none infiltrated the Spires.”

  “Were any humans spotted among those assaulting the city?”

  “Saint?” Doran asked with confusion, the title still uncomfortable on his tongue. But less so than this morning.

  Ashier stroked the long hair of the body they currently inhabited in thought. “This is to be considered private information, Praetorian. Share it with no one without my express permission. There is a faction of humans still operating within the Thormundz region. I believe they were there before any loyal to the Octyrrum colonized it.”

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  “If that were true, then they’d have been…”

  “Yes,” Ashier affirmed. “Among their number are those who can modify monsters. I encountered a few during this struggle that I suspect their touch on. Neither is this the first time I have seen those that appeared as mortals from a glance. I want you to, covertly, investigate this matter but be warned, there is at least one among them whose power could break our walls with a thought.”

  That did little to ease Doran’s nerves. “If someone like that wants this city, why send these monsters after us?”

  “I don’t know. Perhaps they wish to have claimed my life and then appear as saviors. It matters little.” They were going to leave it at that and confer with a few others before resting when a voice entered their mind.

  This is Fate Silora Thelonas, contacting you on behalf of Regent Soraso of Threst. Is this, uhm, the Tyrant Ashier?

  “Saint?” Doran asked, seeing them narrow their Proxy’s eyes.

  It is, Fate. Tell me, how fares the one chosen by the gods? News from your region has been hard to come by as we lack one to pierce the boundaries of Aughal. Such as yourself.

  They could almost picture the gulp the shavi took a region away before replying. That is, I mean to say, uh, not the purpose of my message. I apologize immensely.

  Then tell me what it is you have to say and be brief. Aughal was just the victim of a serious attack by the forces of the Crest, populated by those your Regent failed to protect. I would be grateful if you expressed my discontent with their hoarding of certain resources. Perhaps you should remind them that their region is not the only one within the Realm.

  I- Silora transmitted a choking noise for a second before silencing that. Ashier wouldn’t say she enjoyed tormenting the shavi, but their absence was another weakness. The Tyrant wondered how many lives had been lost because they didn’t have someone who could passively observe the far reaches of the desert. I apologize, again. We were trying to reach you earlier but were running into some strange form of interference. I’ve never seen anything like it. I was the first one to get through.

  I see. That certainly confirmed the mystery faction’s presence in this attack. Your message, Fate. What is it? Do not waste my time.

  Well, Tyrant, with tremendous respect for your devotion toward the Octyrrum and, um, deepest condolences for your recent struggles, of course! The Regent of Threst, Soraso of the air gestalt, is extending an offer toward every remaining member region of the former Forlothan kingdom. Ashier sat up with that, not liking where the preamble was going or the fact that Silora now sounded like she was reading from a script. We acknowledge the continuing effect the loss of Rikendia has had on defensive efforts. The region’s centralized support infrastructure and industry, now crippled by the total loss of its capital city and mass evacuation, must be replaced if we are to weather this storm. As…

  In what was a physical impossibility, given that Silora had been given an underwater Focus chamber and she was mentally communicating, her throat ran dry. As Threst has time and time again shown its competence, both in maintaining commerce and society against dire attacks from the Crest, we state to these lost people of the kingdom to rally under the wings of Threst. It is this region that stands as the gate and the… the bastion against the approaching Crest, and this region in which power must be concentrated to ensure our continued survival. Soraso, Regent of Threst, with the blessing of Cloak’s direct will, seeks a formal compact to acknowledge Threst as the center of a new nation, and its ruler as King of all lands therein. Threst pledges full cooperation with every region that signs, for it is only together that we can survive this storm.

  King. It was no accident that the Forlothan Kingdom had been named as such. The class wasn’t as historically feared as Tyrants because they did not rise through instability, but a sign of their security and cooperation. Farther from the Crest, one needed to fear conflict between them as much as with monsters, and regions could become battlegrounds should disagreements turn for the worst.

  The gods allowed it. Some, Scythe rumored to be chief among them, encouraged it. Advancement could occur through mortal combat, and regions with a wide support net needed never to fear falling to monsters. None had ever truly feared that until the Thormundz anyway. While Kings could compete against each other, the ruling bodies of the regions under them would have a harder time. Joining a kingdom was far easier than leaving it.

  If you wish to make a reply now, honored Tyrant, you may, Silora spoke into the silence, layering on a subservient attitude as if what she’d just said hadn’t contained multiple dire insults.

  And if I am not ready to, how exactly am I to communicate my decision?

  It would be my great pleasure to check in with you daily until such a time, Silora lied. If that is your will.

  Praetorian, Ashier addressed Doran, taking infinite care to contact him through the private telepathic link between them. The Fate was no doubt watching as she communicated with them. I want you to gather every Blessed that has visited Threst in the past, Aurus especially, and bring them before me.

  Should I attend to this before the investigation?

  Yes. This is now your highest priority. Assign the other matter to someone you trust, but do not reveal the reasons behind it. Ashier waved for him to go, but then added, Wait! Conceal it as concern for remaining Spiritualists aiding the monsters in getting this close to our walls without notice. Further, instruct them to search for reports on mortals aiding the enemy, not humans. I do not wish this to appear racially targeted, even if I believe the enemy force is solely compromised of them. This may be a good way to separate out false reports.

  Doran had questions for them, considering they had not been listening in on the Fate’s offer, but he nodded and left after there was nothing further. Do that, Fate, Ashier thought, turning back to the other conversant. I find myself unable to make decisions of state while there are dead left to be counted.

  Oh, of course, we completely understand!

  I do wish to ask if your Regent wants the remains.

  T-t-the remains? Silora stuttered, confused.

  Yes. Of the people under their care they allowed to be taken and twisted into monsters. Dead silence from the other end. If we do come to an accord, an allotment of carts could be counted among the support we require. I fear Aughal cannot supply enough for this task. Due to the extensive number of bodies. Well, Fate?

  I, I will convey your needs to the Regent.

  Very well. I expect their answer tomorrow. Ashier stormed as they cut the connection, infuriated at the brazenness of Soraso. Perhaps a new King was needed, and one from another region might care about Aughal now that they were standing in the way of a monster tide, but Threst was not the option. Why base power so close to the Crest, in a region where surprise attacks could come from any direction? Establishing the kind of supply lines a kingdom’s capital would need there would be a nightmare! Aughal faced similar problems, and Ashier wasn’t prideful enough to claim they could do it either. There was only one conclusion Ashier could come to, and that was the reason for the second task she’d given Doran.

  This was not base incompetence. It was treachery. Spiritualists had infiltrated the Thormundz, Aughal, even Rikendia. Why hadn’t they struck elsewhere? Coordinated attacks on that scale, all happening within a week, would have spelled the end for the entire kingdom. But that’s not what the enemy wanted. That’s not what the Crest wanted.

  The one thing Ashier could be certain of was the sincerity of Soraso’s offer. Only, they weren’t making a kingdom that would be aligned with the Octyrrum. Ashier alone knew the depth of the conspiracy from the glimpses they’d stolen in the Thormundz. Assembling a coalition of the other regions would take too long, and be too ineffective against the resources Threst had.

  Only one course of action remained viable. They would have no chance at killing a King once crowned, so Ashier would simply assure Soraso had no head to fit one.