Daimona carried Will through the trees, running as fast as she could manage with his weight dragging them down. She glanced up at the floating towers. The crumbled island holding theirs showed no sign of life, nor did the middle island. Bash wouldn’t be stupid enough to hide there-- no, Daimona thought quickly, she’d send some of her creatures out to keep the place clear of Squad 46 interference. More likely, all of her monsters were hiding between the middle tower and the first floor of the rival team’s base tower, an ingenious precautionary measure. Who else to be closest to the flag but the strongest member available to Squad 57?

  “But how do we get up there?” Daimona murmured. Will groaned from behind, squirming in Daimona’s grasp. She came to a halt, looking up towards the rival tower before dropping Will with a resolute thud behind her.

  “Ow…” he protested, but Daimona ignored him.

  “We need to get back up there,” she said pointedly. “We could walk right in, knock out Bash-- it’d be easy.”

  “And face a legion of Lotsvatinus’s summons just us two?” Will scoffed. “That’s a terrible idea.”

  “We can handle a couple of meatballs on our own!”

  “Meatballs and Leifson?” Will questioned gravely. “He’s the only one we haven’t seen down here. He must be up there protecting the flag too.”

  “Not necessarily,” a smug, airy voice said from behind. Daimona and Will whirled around immediately, only to be confronted with the empty space behind. Daimona turned back. But her stomach suddenly felt a wave of nausea, and looking back, she realized she had been moved several feet away from Will. In her place was now Frode, standing casually as though he had been there all along. Will’s eyes widened with shock, mouth dropping open to react, but Frode quickly chopped him in the throat with a firm hand. Will choked, staggering backwards. Daimona ran forward, but in the blink of an eye found herself displaced again, this time landing on her rear in Will’s place. Frode stared down at her with a cold, indifferent expression.

  “No hard feelings, pretty lady,” he said with a sigh. “The boss says I gotta put my duties first.”

  Daimona tried to speak, but Frode snapped his eyes to the skyline. She followed his stare, and caught the shape of something red falling through the air. One of Bash’s monsters? She didn’t have time to discern the thing-- in an instant, she was the one plummeting, hitting the ground several feet away with a painful crack. Will scuttled onto his feet next to her, a portal forming at his side. Just as he pulled the hilt of the silver-winged pistol out, an orange painted rock fell into his palm instead. He held it in amazement. Frode wiggled the pistol in his hand, placing his other hand on his hip as he watched them with a dark amusement.

  “I’ve always wanted to hold a Saint crafted weapon,” Frode said, balancing it in his hands and weighing it with glee. “Your family’s supposed to be the best at what they do.”

  Daimona expected to sit up and see Will red-faced and bitter, but found her captain remarkably calm. His light eyebrows were furrowed, but not with frustration. Instead, Will seemed uncharacteristically confident for the predicament they were in.

  “You’ve really never held one before?” Will asked, his lips curling at the corners lightly. “What, they don’t have a smith from whatever miserable dump popped you out?”

  The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  Frode rolled his eyes. “Right, the antagonizing schtick won’t work with me. You’re not the first to look down on me for being ‘poor’. And you’re certainly not the brightest who’s tried it either.”

  “I’m not looking down on you cause you’re poor, Leifson,” Will replied, giving Frode a mocking grin. “You could have all the money in the world, and I’d still think you’re just another worthless, waste of space recruit sucking up the success of his precious captain.”

  “My precious captain,” Frode snarled, “would disagree with you.”

  “Really?” Will hissed. Then, he leaned forward, standing at his full height to look down across to Frode. “Then why’s she always sending you to the back?”

  “That’s--”

  “Face it,” Will cut him off, stepping forward with his arms crossed. He shook his head, sucking in a breath through his teeth “You’re not a backline fighter. You took Daimona down without even blinking. You could probably even take Avsten down all by yourself.”

  Frode shrugged, but Daimona could see the soft blush of pride blooming across his face. “We’ve sparred evenly, sure. What’s your point?”

  “I mean, I just have to wonder…” Will trailed off, gesturing vaguely with his hands. “If the problem clearly isn’t your abilities, then it must be personal. Don’t you think, Daimona?”

  Daimona offered an unsure, “Um, yeah. I guess.”

  “And looking at you, Leifson, I see nothing but personal problems,” Will hissed. He stood less than a few feet away from Frode now. Daimona slowly tried to raise to her feet, ready to strike Frode while Will kept him distracted, but Will slowly lowered his hand at his side and motioned for her to stay put. She couldn’t figure out what game he was running here, but whatever it was, it seemed to have Frode on edge.

  Frode let out a bitter chuckle, before taking a swift step back and aiming the pistol directly at Will’s forehead. “Alright, I get it. You’ve said your piece. Now let’s see that big mouth of yours fit one of your own bullets, huh, Saint?”

  His pale finger slipped around the trigger with ease, and pulled it. Daimona shielded her face from the sudden burst of blinding light, blinking the world back into view a moment later. When her vision returned, she could see Will still standing, with no signs of distress or pain. But Frode on the other hand mirrored Will with a look of pure and utter surprise. In his hand where Will’s pistol once sat was now an amorphous metal mass, jutting out in sharp silver spikes that impaled and contorted his hand. His palm was almost twisted entirely off, dangling from the end of his wrist with shards of bone sticking through the skin. The spikes of metal crept towards his arm, twisting the skin with rapid precision. Frode tried to pry it off with his open hand, but his other set of fingers melded into the metallic mess, and soon both of his arms were under the same encroaching threat.

  A portal appeared at Will’s side. Casually, he dipped his arm in, and Daimona watched with astonishment as a hand of silver sparks formed in front of Frode. Gently, it reached around one of the spikes, and pulled. Frode let out a blood-curdling scream as the mass of metal moved, pulling tendons and nerves with it as it disappeared. He lay on the ground in a twitching pile of shredded flesh. With his fully intact pistol, Will shot him mercilessly between the eyes and put an end to his movements completely.

  “Is he--” Daimona asked, slowly creeping up behind Will. “Is he alive?”

  Will shrugged, tossing his gun to the side and watching it vanish safely back into his portal. “Someone can fix him. Probably Zia,” Will said simply. “Though, truthfully, I’m not sure.”

  “You’ve never done that before?”

  “Technically, I didn’t do anything,” Will replied with a snarky smirk. “The Saint brand is ‘Loyalty in Silver.’ And what kind of loyal weapon could be used against me so easily?”

  Daimona glanced back at the heap Frode had been reduced to, frowning. “I mean. I guess.”

  “Come on,” Will replied, the pride in his eyes not wavering for a single second as he strode forward. “Lotsvatinus has to have a way up and down from the tower around here somewhere. Let’s take a look.”

  Daimona followed after with a sigh. “One victory and now he’s king of the world again…”

  MY LONG LIVED BUSINESS ASSOCIATE’S NOTE:

  Long Lived Business Associate & Writer here!

  Apologies for the late chapter-- we’ve had some delays over here in the word factory, from moving homes to preparing for vacations. Not to fret though, my dear loyal readers. My creative director (@tekan) has informed me that if I don’t meet my next chapter deadline, he will kill off my favorite character and make me personally write their grisly death scene. Seeing as that is deeply traumatic and you all would surely riot at the loss of one of our dearest, darling main characters, World Domination Society will be posting on schedule for the foreseeable future.

  I hope.

  Sincerely,

  Long Lived Business Associate & Writer Ironina

  P.S.-- Read our sister novel, World Domination Society: Blight-- it’s pretty cool.