The earth trembles beneath my feet. Arrows and spells fly through the skies. Elves ride and bears and tigers, protected by plates of hardened fruits and vegetables, categorized by the symbols of their families and the colors of their functions.

  Generals go from the barracks inside the city to the outer camp behind the walls and organize the soldiers. In turn, the latter escort me, others control the desperation of the population and collect citizens in their homes.

  My steps draw attention. Some beings, with cat eyes and pointed ears, stare at me. Others turn their faces or laugh nervously. I notice that their ease in perceiving the evil one is more acute than that of humans; a reminder of the evil I have caused still lingers in the back of their minds.

  Tents are torn down, songs about festivities are closed, but even in the face of fear and war, the heart that sustains itself through beauty cannot be silent. In the warmth of their homes or even among the troubadours of the army, elves transmute their art and sing hymns of glory and honor; they proclaim poems that remind warriors of why they fight.

  Without further ado, the White gates of Vanusia open and the soldiers release My Passage. Beyond the magical barriers that protect the city, empty eyes stare at me.

  Vanusia's Ent stretches hundreds of feet above the ground, a verdant heart pulses in the chest and distributes sap through vines; dense layers of wood protect plant muscles. Though his mind has already been eroded by Hilda's magic, his oath to exterminate evil still moves him; his amber blade points to what's left of the Demon King and ribbons the walls of the city he once protected.

  Likewise, the camp that served only for the observation of external threats now reorganizes to withstand Hilda's invasion—but everyone knows that this will not happen naturally. A direct attack is the worst strategy against soldiers who can repel your forces. Worse than that, a parasitic siege would drive its prey into the earth and rot it with its disease.

  White haze contrasts with yellow toxin. Beastmen prepare their weapons, trolls set up their rustic tents of cloth and wood, witches sing about calamity and cast spells that envelop the army.

  The ground rises, uneven terrain—high, low and with large walls—spreads to the city barrier and prevents orderly army formations. For their part, the elves find themselves unable to purify the water at the same rate that it is contaminated, so they erect earthen barriers and cut off the rivers that feed the city.

  Warriors cannot break into the perimeter of monsters, archers cannot penetrate their defenses; even beasts are useless in the face of walking vegetation. Even if Vanusia has a chance to attack the monsters before their camps are raised, they will do nothing relevant in such a short time.

  I cannot use my power within the city without civilian casualties, nor let them surround us and kill us slowly. Vanusia would be in a bad position if this were a normal situation. Hoffstein would call this situation “destiny”, because our presence is precisely the breaking of the necessary normality. The siege has begun, and I am the weapon that will end it.

  Walking next to the fairy, I leave the soldiers behind, so-

  Something pulls my cloak.

  I turn back. Nia takes a deep breath, teeth chattering as she stares at me in the company of the fairy.

  “… Be careful.” She says.

  “…?”

  I move my eyes around the field and for a second, thinking it's some kind of bad prank. It is not. Soldiers watch me, incredulous.

  “… Yes. Thanks.”

  The girl rushes to her post. Silence takes the air for a few seconds. Morgana tapes me and raises an eyebrow.

  “… What's the matter?” I say.

  “Nothing, nothing.”

  A quick smile forms on my face. I scratch my hair and spit out a laugh. It brings back good memories.

  I intensify my body so that the toxin does not kill me, break through the Vanusia barrier and face the army alone.

  Blue mist envelops my body. Morgana's icy, soft touch runs up my spine like a chill and fixes my posture. One step to the right, another to the left. The fairy dances beside me with ethereal beauty and guides my movements to accompany her.

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  “Astrix, Mirdon, Seraph,”

  Iniquity roars in my chest with footsteps that reach across the earth and find the heart. The citrus magic rises up to my stomach and paints my heart with darkness; then it forms in reality into the blood-red that reflects my soul. Golden and serene light falls on my face, the solar star shows me visions of glory and victory and then pulls me away from its radiance.

  The winter fairy protects me while the ritual increases my emission, intercepting the iridescent projectiles with the funeral blue of the ice. The creatures roar in hatred and rancor, but getting out of their barriers would mean giving the Elves an opening.

  “Flame, Ignis, Bolt,”

  Over time, I learned to control the side effects of chaos and guide its destruction to affect only what I wanted. As demonstrated on several occasions, it's not often that I can coordinate everything I do—just adapt and take advantage of the confusion.

  Recently, I reached 40% emission—50% when maximizing—but the higher it gets, the more I focus on using the power rather than mastering it. To go beyond that is to ask for the remaining 50% to leak into the environment and distort it; something I consciously fought not to do when battling alongside Wander and Nia.

  But if there is no way to break the siege, then I no longer need to hold back.

  Signs, incantations, and moves increase my output by 5% each. Morgana's spells no longer take effect, chaos rejects her in the same way that she forbids me to regenerate. The fairy flies back to the ramparts as the soil rots, grows, sprays around me.

  “Dragonbane, Vulcan, Eruption,”

  Sorcerers hide, soldiers raise their shields hundreds of meters. They tremble in fear and pray that the flame will not punish them for their transgression, silently curse me and hope that I will not hear them. But when the totality of the power of chaos consumes the earth, there is no evil in this world that escapes the crimson eyes.

  I launch myself with fire through the air, the darkness of the night dresses me like a cloak and the red of blood shines in my eyes. The Ent sacrifices his safety and advances out of his barrier, charging towards me with the Amber Blade.

  Fire focuses on my staff, a sphere that consumes the air glows orange. Power. More than I could use against Aldwyn—more than I could use my entire life; enough to destroy the entire Dufae with a single strike.

  The output reaches 70%.

  “Open.”

  Then surpasses it.

  “Firestorm.”

  I throw the fireball and it explodes with speed. The air contracts, roars and then expands, guiding and shaping the hurricane of fire that consumes the emerald green. Rays of light envelop the spectacle, but in the form of smoke, it is the darkness of the night that blinds them.

  The Green Knight raises earthen ramparts as large as the gates of Vanusia, but at high speed, the hurricane melts the rock and consumes them one by one. With each obstacle overcome, the spell loses its strength, but nothing prevents it from crossing the Ent and charring half of its body. As the titan falls to earth in a crash, flames crash into the magical barriers of the enemy army and bypass them like butter.

  Wood pulverizes, and scorched earth is flung through the air; buildings that once hid become incandescent pieces of destruction. If the fire doesn't kill them, the scorched toxin suffocates them.

  I breathe in. Toxins try to eat away at my body, but they are useless. The taste of blood spreads. Opening the gates increases the emission, but they cannot be used for a long time.

  I feel the burning of chaos coursing through my veins and hell dancing on the earth beneath me. Fairies and little spirits weep at the destruction of their home. Beastmen paralyze and convulse, some collapse, others, exposed to visions of terror, drive their weapons into themselves. Screaming. So many screams.

  I go down to the ground, carried by the wind, and the gates close again. The additional power of the rituals loses its effect after casting, and my state stabilizes. Cold. Morgana touches my arm and leads me back to the barrier, the elves move forward.

  The galloping of beasts and marching of soldiers echoes like thunder. Protectors conjure up barriers, defenders stand between wizards and monsters to block any onslaughts; sprinters cross the battlefield to storm the enemy camp, bombardiers shoot the rest of the structures. Divided through colors and symbols on their armor, the radiant glow of the army combats the darkness left by the Ashes.

  Songs.

  I did my part, I destroyed the siege before it even began; but the war was far from over.

  The fairy makes me close to Serdin. The general had taken charge of my guard with his men.

  Nia and Wander are protected, but…

  “Where is Cloud?”

  Serdin narrows his gaze. “I don't know.”

  Tsc. He ran.

  “But it doesn't matter, the plan has been fulfilled. Hilda's troops have been warned of her attack and are not going to stand by for a siege to die, they are investing in all other directions. Sieghart, how many such spells can you cast?”

  “One or two, but it won't be as effective. I'll have to cast it right on top of the monsters in the bottom lines so it doesn't hit ours.”

  “It's more than enough. Get ready to go east, then south and return through the west. These are only the first waves, but we can win handily if we continue at this pace.” He turns to Wander. “You will be protected by my men.”

  I nod. Morgana stares at the general and sharpens her gaze, but says nothing. She wraps her arms around me and carries me to save mana, we fly across the battlefield carefully so as not to be hit by some spell or a griffin.

  From the top of the wall, I can see Vanusia's Ent rising. His body rebuilds, not as a giant of hundreds of meters, but with half of its original size. He advances on the troops and conjures vines to stop the onslaught—too late for several teams. I assume he would continue fighting until the end of the invasion. Fortunately, after Hoffstein kills Grendel, we won't have any more obstacles, and we can go to Solace.

  “There's something wrong.” Morgana says.

  “… What?”

  “There's something wrong, Sieghart. Hilda may be insane, but there are competent monsters within her army. Make an invasion against Vanusia in this way… why aren't they backing down?”

  “Maybe they have enough numbers to try for a win?”

  “Maybe.” She says. “And how are you? It was a massive spell.”

  “Well enough.” We approach the western wall. “Let's go down.”