Date: April 12, 542
The impact was so powerful that space itself seemed to bend for an instant before hurling Prince Kazai's body away. The crash of his collision with a fragment of an ancient obsidian stele drowned out even the whistle of wind in the crowns of dead trees. Kazai flew a good ten fathoms before his back met the hard stone. A dry, sickening crunch followed — whether from the stele or his ribs was unclear.
The world before the prince's eyes exploded into crimson sparks. He collapsed into the viscous, cold mud, and for a moment, the silence of the swamps seemed absolute. But it was only an illusion. The air trembled with the power of the being that had just sent him flying.
Kazai slowly, struggling to suppress a gag reflex, rose on his elbows. Each breath echoed with a prickly heat in his chest. A thick clot of dark blood poured from his mouth onto the gray soil, staining the mire the color of overripe cherries. The prince looked at himself: his immaculate black coat, sewn from the finest silk, had become a sorry rag. The fabric hung in shreds, revealing pale, bruised skin, and the gold embroidery on his cuffs was smeared with swamp sludge.
He stood. Slowly. Unwaveringly. His legs shook, but his will seemed only hardened by the humiliation suffered. With the back of his hand, Kazai wiped the bloody foam from his lips, smearing it across his cheek. There was no fear in his gaze — only icy, concentrated emptiness.
Nearby, a few steps away, a gray haze wavered. The Spirit of Pride, usually majestic and dense, now looked battered. The Spirit's bottomless black cloak had become translucent, its edges fraying like smoke in a strong wind. The phantom blades in its bony hands flickered dimly, barely holding their form. The master's defeat had struck the Spirit no less than the physical blow had struck Kazai himself.
"My Prince!" The air suddenly thickened.
A figure wreathed in a heavy crimson radiance emerged from the shadows. It was Master Khlis, an Adept of the Cursed Tribe, whose presence usually made Pillars fall to their knees. Behind him stood two Harbingers, their hands already glowing with power ready to be unleashed.
"Allow us to finish this," Khlis's voice vibrated with restrained power. "This creature... the Orled... it is beyond your current rank. One gesture from me, and only a handful of feathers and bones will remain of it."
Kazai slowly turned his head. His eyes, usually cold, now burned with such furious, otherworldly light that even the Adept involuntarily froze. The density of the prince's inner essence, despite his wounds, suddenly increased, striking the nerves of those around him.
"Back," Kazai said quietly. In that whisper was more threat than in the cries of a thousand throats. "I said: back."
"But, my lord..." one of the Harbingers began.
Kazai abruptly raised his hand, and the Spirit of Pride behind him emitted a soundless but physically tangible screech.
"Listen carefully," Kazai swept his gaze over his subordinates, a look that chilled the blood in their veins. "Today, on this glade, it's not just the fate of a monster that is being decided. Here, my right to lead the Tribe is being decided. Either I achieve victory myself, or my Vessel will rupture here and now. Every one... I repeat, every one who dares to direct their essence towards this fight will die by my hand before the Orled draws its next breath. This is not an order. This is the truth."
Khlis slowly lowered his hands. He saw that the prince was not bluffing. Kazai's pride was his greatest weapon and his most terrible curse. The Adept nodded and stepped back into the shadows, signaling the others to follow his example.
The Orled let out a piercing shriek, a mix of a bear's roar and a mountain eagle's cry. The creature was enormous — its bear-like body, covered in rigid, steel-plate-like feathers, towered over Kazai like a living cliff. Massive eagle claws dug into the ground, tearing out chunks of turf. This was a Harbinger of the wild, a being whose existence dictated the laws of this forest.
The Orled tilted its head, studying the small human who had once again risen in its path. In the monster's eyes, like two enormous ambers, something more than animal instinct glowed.
"You are stubborn, human hatchling," the creature's voice sounded directly in Kazai's mind, like the grinding of breaking bones. "You bear the rank of Pillar, yet challenge one who stands a step above. You cannot defeat me. Your density is too low, your form — imperfect. You only delay the moment when I crush your Vessel."
The Orled shifted its weight from one paw to the other, and the earth beneath it groaned pitifully. Its eyes darted momentarily towards the forest where Kazai's followers lurked.
"I sense them," the monster continued. "There, in the shadows, lurk spiders whose power makes my feathers stand on end. That old man... he smells of the abyss. I know I will not escape them alive if they decide to attack. They are death. But you... you are merely ambition. Why do you drive them away? Your death will bring you no honor; it will bring you only oblivion."
Kazai straightened. His torn clothes flapped in the wind, revealing a pale chest down which a trickle of blood slowly flowed.
"You are right, Orled," the prince replied calmly. "From the logic of your claws, I am already dead. But the Cursed Tribe has lived by the logic of survival for too long. We hid, we adapted, we sought powerful patrons." Kazai took a step forward, and Pride behind him, despite its ephemerality, mirrored the movement with absolute precision. "But I have come to remind them what true Pride is. Power is not the rank recorded in scrolls. Power is what you are willing to stake everything on for your greatness. You are my threshold, Orled. And I will step over you, even if my bones turn to dust."
The Orled crouched, its wings, like shards of obsidian, beginning to slowly unfurl. The air around the monster trembled with the density of its presence.
"Then attack, little Pride," the monster rumbled. "Let us see how your fate unravels."
At that moment, time in the clearing seemed to slow. Kazai felt each beat of his heart, each pulse of black energy in his channels. He knew the next exchange of blows could be his last. But on his face, for the first time in the entire battle, the shadow of a smile appeared. It was the smile of a predator who had seen a chink in the armor of fate itself.
The battle that should have ended in the Pillar's death was entering its most impossible phase.