Elliott trudged over the slick grass that separated the two armies, a small flame at his shoulder reflecting in the streaks of blood that stained the ground. Taalan and King Cedric – along with several of his officers – had agreed to come with him, riding behind him on their horses. He’d put protective barriers over them, of course. Couldn’t have them dying on him – he needed them for the show. It would help them later to make the decision he would need them to make.

  He created a large white flag, easily visible by those standing a hundred metres ahead of them. A row of fifty warriors in gleaming mail, an array of swords at their waists from wide broadswords to thin curved blades. Behind them was a row of fifty mages in cotton and silk robes that stretched to their ankles. He could feel the mana writhing around them, waiting to be harnessed, like electricity crackling between metal spheres. Behind those rows were the infantry, with mounted cavalry waiting patiently to either side. As he’d flown over them earlier, he’d roughly calculated around three thousand in their camp in total, including the healers and the injured.

  Leading with their strongest forces gave away their intent. They weren’t here to negotiate. They were here to crush Cedric’s army.

  They were in for a rude awakening.

  It wasn’t that Elliott really had any hostility towards the Bizaynians. It’s just that Isabel wanted him to help the Rhianians, and Taalan and his gods might have the answers he sought. He saw an opportunity here. Now that he’d finally made it off Earth, he could go about the business of finding out those answers he’d been seeking, but he needed a base to work from. Tarnov and the temple offered that. Korin could manage the town and bring in the necessary finances they would need. The temple – after the dungeon was cleared – would be where he built his home and where Isabel could train a new set of Servants.

  Then his real work could begin. Finding out who wanted him dead. And where he could find them.

  But first, he needed to get rid of this infestation.

  A group of mounted officers near the infantry started making their way to the front row, as Elliott approached.

  [Shroud of the Eternal King]

  [Celestial Prism of Thaumaturgical Containment]

  [Supernal Barricade]

  He settled the barricade over their entire encampment so no-one could run, and the prism meant the mages couldn’t create portals out of the area. There would be no escape for them. The shroud was perhaps a little much. His raw stats meant it would take a lot to wear him down, but being almost invincible didn’t mean he was, and the easiest way to be defeated by opponents was being too arrogant. Although, looking at those ahead of him, perhaps he was being too cautious. Still, it was always better to avoid damage entirely than miscalculate and have to regenerate an arm or something.

  He stopped fifty metres shy of the front rank.

  “Parley. Parley. I seek a parley.”

  Taalan glanced at him sideways.

  Taalan kept a watch on Elliott from the corner of his eye as the Bizaynian officers rode out to meet them. He knew Elliott was dangerous and powerful. Goddess Clea had warned him of it. That Elliott wasn’t a man to be trifled with and not one to cross. He grimaced recalling the answer the goddess had given him when he asked why she would summon someone so dangerous.

  “The only other options are worse,” she’d said. “At least with Elliott, he’s still human.”

  He still didn’t know why she’d needed Elliott at all. Why the Twins had wanted to summon him in the first place, but it wasn’t his place to question the gods. His task was to ensure their memory wasn’t lost. That he rebuilt their religion so they could continue to live in the mortal realm, as they called it. Why they were living there in the first place was something else he’d never been told.

  A few metres ahead of them, ten mounted officers – all men in their forties – reined in their horses, eyes sweeping over Elliott, then Taalan, Cedric, and the other four high nobles in Cedric’s court. It had taken some convincing to get them here, but seeing him and Elliott materialise in the middle of their camp earlier had gone a fair way towards making them understand they were dealing with something beyond the ordinary. And looking at the state of their camp, they needed something beyond the ordinary.

  In the centre of the Bizaynian ranks sat a broad-shouldered man with a thick black beard and dull plate armour beneath a blue cloak that draped over the back of his horse. To his side, his bannerman flew the blue flag of the Bizayn Empire, with its red cross and the gold five-pointed stars in each corner.

  “I’m Lord Captain Graven,” the man said.

  “I’m Elliott. I’m here on behalf of King Cedric of Aldren,” Elliott said, pointing at Taalan’s uncle, sitting on his horse to Taalan’s left. The horse was panting slightly. It was only a half-mile walk, but his uncle had gotten a lot bigger since the last time he’d seen him. “And also, on behalf of King Aldric of Rhian.”

  Aldric. He’d been living as Taalan for so long now that his real name sounded unfamiliar to his ears. Elliott pointed at him, the Bizaynian officers eyes following his finger.

  “I am here to make you an offer. Both Aldric and Cedric are willing to be generous and allow five of your number to carry terms to your Emperor for a truce.”

  Everyone looked at him, Cedric and his nobles with raised eyebrows. The Bizaynians with a mixture of contempt and amusement on their faces. Taalan tried to keep his features neutral, though he had seen Elliott already destroy multiple Starforged threats. Well, it might not have been Elliott, but his team had. And none of the soldiers here were of that level. There were an awful lot of them though, but he’d seen enough of Elliott to know this was no false bravado.

  “This is very generous indeed,” said one of the mounted men to the other side of the bannerman. He looked even older than the rest, white hair sparsely decorating his head and green eyes narrowed at Elliott. He chuckled, and the rest of the men laughed with him, except for Graven. “Pray tell, wh–”

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  A slight breeze washed over them.

  All eyes turned to the man as his voice cut off, though Taalan couldn’t see why. The man sat as he had been, one hand on the front of his saddle, the other resting over it as his eyes remained on Elliott, his mouth slightly open.

  Thin streaks of red liquid appeared across the man’s face, his armour, his gauntleted hands. Straight lines of blood in diagonals that criss-crossed each other, dividing his head and body into a grid of inch-long squares. A moment later, those squares gently peeled apart or slid against each other, revealing rectangular cubes of human meat and bones that collapsed in upon itself. What had a second ago been a human being, tumbled to the saddle as the rectangles lost their structure and bounced to the ground below in a shower of flesh and blood.

  The horses reared up, snorting and whinnying as their riders struggled to calm them down. The horse the man had been sat on bolted off into the dark fields. One of the nobles with Cedric had been thrown off his horse and was on his hands and knees, retching on the floor. Taalan held onto the reins of his own horse, gently patting its neck as he squeezed his legs and applied gentle pressure to try to correct its movement.

  Elliott stood in the middle of it all, completely unfazed and unmoving. Taalan didn’t even see a flicker of it. Not before he sliced the man. Not after. The only other person there who seemed unmoved by the events was Lord Captain Graven, whose warhorse stood still as Graven kept his eyes on Elliott.

  “As I said, a generous offer,” Elliott smiled at the Lord Captain.

  “An impressive trick,” Graven replied. “You believe you can take my entire army?”

  Elliott peered beyond the Lord Captain, using a finger as if counting the enemies there. He looked back at Graven.

  “Give me a minute.”

  In a whoosh of air, Elliott leapt forward, drawing two of the many blades he kept on his back. Taalan had trouble keeping track of him. One moment, he was a metre ahead of him, the next he was among the warriors and the mages fifty metres away. Taalan couldn’t see it, just the sheer panic within the ranks of those warriors and mages.

  Warriors were tossed into the air, arms severed at the shoulders in a spray of blood as they tried to grab their swords. Heads tumbled to the ground, mouths still open, eyes wide with terror as Elliott passed from one side to the other. Taalan couldn’t see him, only catching glimpses of his blades, moving too fast to follow, leaving flashes of silver light in their wake. Wherever those flashes passed, a wave of bodies toppled to the floor.

  The mages were doing their best to stop him, hands weaving intricate patterns as they channelled their spells. Fireballs erupted among the front lines, earth exploding where Elliott had been a heartbeat before, or where they expected him to be a heartbeat later, but he was too quick. The only things the fireballs hit were corpses, leaving behind smouldering and scorched remains.

  A mage pushed his hands forwards, thick vines thrusting through the earth but vines and mage alike toppled to the floor a moment later, severed into neat sections like the mounted officer before.

  The spells came faster, more desperate. Lightning crackled through the air. Ice spears shattered against the ground. Earth walls erupted from the soil beneath, only to explode in a shower of rocks and dirt as the mage behind it crumpled to the ground.

  As Taalan watched the ghost of Elliott move through the ranks of warriors and mages, flashes of silver light the only evidence of his existence, one thought passed through his mind.

  What kind of monster had the Twins brought to their world?

  But then another thought struck him.

  What kind of monster could they be facing if the Twins thought this man was the solution.

  Once the warriors and mages were down, Elliott stood in the middle of their lines, his swords back in their sheaths.

  Taalan could almost feel energy around the man, standing alone in front of an army. Then suddenly, large columns of pure white light vented from the ground like geysers, stretching all the way to the skies above. First over the cavalry units to the sides, then the infantry ahead of Elliott, then the healers and the injured behind. Taalan turned his head, covering his eyes with his hands, but even then the light bled through the thin skin of his eyelids, turning them into sheer red screens.

  For a moment, he wondered if he would be blinded, but then the red screens faded to black. He tentatively opened his eyelids to a dark night, Elliott’s flame still lighting the area around him.

  Fifty metres ahead, Elliott walked over to a single mage, with muddied cotton clothes, his whole body trembling. Elliott grabbed the mage and leapt back to where he had stood before.

  “How’d I do?” Elliott asked Lord Captain Graven. “How long did that take?” Elliott shoved the mage towards the Lord Captain.

  There was a tightness to the Lord Captain’s jaw and apprehension in his dark brown eyes. The bannerman to his left had let go of the banner that lay unfurled on the floor at his horse’s feet. The other seven mounted officers remained quiet, hands firmly gripping the reins of their horses.

  “Now, where we were,” Elliott said. “Ah, yes. Select five…” He peered beyond the Lord Captain at the area where the army had been a moment before. All that remained were the bodies of the warriors and the mages. The existence of everything else had disappeared entirely, disintegrated in their entirety in those columns of powerful white light.

  “Oh. I tell you what. I’ll let the ten of you live. How’s that?”

  Graven’s lips were pressed tightly together. “What is it that you want?”

  “Oh, come now. I’m sure you’ve done worse than this?” Elliott asked, his tone entirely too cheerful for his actions. “What’s the matter? It’s wrong when it happens to you?”

  Graven was quiet a moment. “There is no right or wrong,” he said finally.

  Elliott smiled. “Kindred spirits, I see. Then we understand each other.”

  “What is it you want?”

  “Not what I want. What the Kings of Rhian and Aldren want.” Elliott turned to Taalan, who eyed him warily. He wondered what he had in mind. He had told Elliott he wouldn’t be a pawn in his games. Now, he didn’t know if he had a choice.

  Graven looked at him and Cedric. “And what is it that they want?”

  Cedric, like Taalan was looking at Elliott. Neither of them had a clue what they were meant to say because Elliott had not thought to discuss it with them. Now the man was giving them raised eyebrows and nods urging them on. As the silence stretched out, Elliott dropped his head and walked over to Taalan and Cedric.

  “Give us a moment,” he said to Graven.

  Elliott stopped beside their horses. Cedric leant over to him. “What are we asking for?” There was a slight tremble to Cedric’s voice. Like Taalan, he must be wondering what exactly he had signed up for.

  “A truce,” Elliott told him. “How far is your border here with Rhian?”

  “About a hundred miles.”

  “Good. I want you to ask them for a full withdrawal of their troops and people from here to the Forest of Shadows, for the hundred mile length of the border.”

  “We cannot hold such a vast area of land,” Cedric objected.

  “You only need to for a temporary amount of time.” Elliott seemed to think about something, then added, “For a year.”

  Cedric passed a look to Taalan. He would have a year to rebuild his nation. Maybe he’d have to make some concessions to Cedric, needing his army to support his own. He glanced at Elliott. He was sure he would need to make concessions to him. But it would be a year of respite from a decade-long war. Taalan nodded his approval to the idea.

  Cedric stepped forward on his horse and made his claims to Graven. The Bizayn Lord Captain considered the proposal before he spoke.

  “I cannot guarantee my Emperor will agree to such a thing, but I will send him the message.”

  Elliott smiled at Graven, who turned his horse and strode away from them, the rest of his officers falling in line. The mage, having gathered himself, created a portal that shimmered into the image of cobblestoned yard in the shadow of a castle.

  As the Bizaynians left, Elliott turned to Cedric.

  “Now, shall we see about getting Taalan’s people to safety?”