Date: April 12, 542
The silence that fell upon the clearing after the Orled's words was almost tangible. It pressed on eardrums more heavily than the gravitational weight of the Dead Mire. Prince Kazai stood, swaying slightly, his fingers convulsively clenching and unclenching, digging into his palms. The blood dripping down his chin fell onto the gray moss, and each sound — a heavy, wet slap — seemed the beat of a metronome counting down the final seconds of his life.
And suddenly, he laughed.
It was not a joyful laugh nor the hysterical cackle of a madman. It was a dry, cawing sound born deep in his wounded lungs. The laugh of a man who had seen something so absurd in his own impending doom that he could not contain himself. Kazai threw his head back, and this sound, full of icy arrogance and strange, frightening triumph, made even Khlis, frozen in the shadow of the trees, flinch.
"You speak of fate, Orled?" Kazai exhaled, straightening. His spine cracked, reforming under the force of stubborn will. "You say my Pillar rank is a sentence? How... limited you are in your greatness."
The Orled tilted its massive head; something like puzzlement flickered in its golden eyes. Before it stood a battered, exhausted youth whose Vessel should have been empty five minutes ago. But instead of fading, it felt the prince's inner essence begin to change its rhythm. It no longer flowed evenly; it was beginning to boil, transforming into something dark and caustic.
"Fate is merely an excuse for those who lack the strength to rewrite the script," Kazai stepped forward. His movements became frighteningly precise, free of the previous heaviness of his wounds. "Today, you saw my Pride. You saw my will clothed in shadow. But Pride is only what keeps me from falling. To defeat a Harbinger... I need something that will make you scream."
The prince paused. His eyes, previously cold and empty, suddenly lit up with a flash of such piercing crimson brilliance that the darkness of the swamps momentarily retreated. The density of his presence in reality increased tenfold. The air around him began to vibrate, emitting a low, humming sound that made the teeth of all present ache.
"Spirit of Sin..." Kazai's voice gained an otherworldly resonance, "Wrath!"
Space behind his left shoulder tore apart. This was not a smooth weaving from shadow, as with Pride. This was an explosion. Black and blood-red haze erupted from the prince's Vessel, taking a form that reeked of primal chaos.
The second summoning of his spirit was unlike the silent, majestic Pride. Wrath manifested as an athletic warrior, his armor seeming forged from solidified lava and shards of black iron. Tongues of crimson flame leaped from the slits of his helmet, and in his hands he gripped a massive, jagged broadsword, down whose blade sparks continuously flowed. If Pride was Kazai's "mind" and "shield," then Wrath was his "body" and "sword." From this figure radiated a heat that dried the swamp moisture within a radius of five paces.
Kazai stood between two titans. To his right — the ephemeral, flickering but still terrifying Pride. To his left — the roaring, blazing Wrath. This was the limit of his current capabilities. Every second of holding two Spirits simultaneously cost him liters of sweat and nerve endings burning alive. His channels hummed with strain, his Vessel groaned under the pressure of two conflicting forces, but the prince only clenched his fists tighter.
The Orled involuntarily stepped back. Its feathers, hard as steel, stood on end. It, a creature that had achieved everything by itself, having traveled the path from a simple chick to a Harbinger of the forests, for the first time felt something akin to alarm. Before it was not just a Pillar. Before it was a being that had rejected the laws of natural development for instantaneous, destructive power.
"You have summoned a second," the Orled rumbled, its voice full of stern recognition. "You are burning your life for this moment. A beautiful gesture. Your Tribe can be proud of you, human. But I am a Harbinger. My weight is the weight of this forest. My essence is the truth of flesh."
"Then let us test your truth," Kazai raised his hand, pointing at the monster.
The battle resumed with a fury that eclipsed everything that had come before. Kazai no longer waited. He lunged forward first, and his Spirits followed as one.
It was a dance on the edge of annihilation. Pride glided in the shadows, intercepting the Orled's claw strikes with its phantom blades. Its movements were cold and precise; it did not attempt to wound, only sought breaches in the Harbinger's defense, disorienting it with its presence.
Wrath was the embodiment of rage. It crashed into the Orled head-on, its broadsword crashing down upon the monster's feather armor, striking sparks and tearing out tufts of the rigid covering. Wrath cared nothing for its own safety — it took blows from the powerful paws upon itself, its lava armor cracking, but it kept striking, forcing the Harbinger into close combat.
Kazai himself moved in the center of this hurricane. His hands, reinforced with black radiance, struck in unison with his Spirits. He felt every movement of his shadows as if they were his own limbs. The inner fire in his chest had become a roaring forge.
The Orled defended itself with the dignity of a great master. Its bear-like strength allowed it to throw Wrath back, and its eagle-like sharpness to anticipate Pride's thrusts. But even for a Harbinger, such a triple attack was a trial. It saw Wrath's crimson flame beginning to singe its feathers, and Pride's cold cuts leaving deep, unhealing wounds on its hide.
The clearing had become a zone of absolute destruction. Dead trees burst from the heat and pressure; the soil underfoot had turned into a baked crust. Khlis, watching from cover, gripped his sword hilt so hard the wood groaned. He saw his lord was at his limit — Kazai's Vessel was vibrating so intensely it seemed about to explode. But at the same time, he witnessed a miracle: a Pillar was pushing back a Harbinger.
"Fate..." Kazai dodged the monster's beak, slipping under its powerful wing. His eyes met the Orled's golden ones. "Fate has gone blind today!"
Wrath brought its broadsword down on the creature's right wing, causing it to convulse. In the same instant, Pride plunged its blade into a tendon on the hind leg. The Orled roared, and in that roar there was no longer superiority — it held the rage of a warrior who realized he had underestimated his prey.
The battle continued, and each of Kazai's breaths was saturated with the smell of ozone, blood, and burnt feathers. He knew his time was running out, that his Energy would burn out in a few minutes. But these minutes were his. And in these minutes, he stood above gods and fates.