“Surrender your throne, you silly fool of a girl. Surrender it before I tear that crown free of your skull!”

  Irene’s polished smile faded to a cold sneer. Her lips curled with a serpentine contempt that all the high end fashion and fifth avenue jewelry couldn’t hope to ameliorate.

  She was ultimately a predator, so very eager to savor fresh prey and claim the grandest hoard any Wyrm could hope for. Dark truths reflecting off her gaze as much as the warm lights and gilded glory of a grand Sylvan hall, filled with festive music, cheers, and merriment. It was a look that promised overwhelming violence, should her prey not surrender in the time it took her snarl to transform to a full fledged dragon roar as the ribaldry of the grand hall became gasps and murmurs and a susurration of sound and excitement that pulled a scowling Irene away from the silly elven princess who had yet to even bare her throat.

  “What distracts you little fools now?” She hissed, spinning around to glare at the cluster of sneering emissaries led by a smirking older gentleman dressed in tuxedo and top hat, polished wingbacks clacking upon the marble tiles, as did the silver cane tip he held in one hand, a golden case containing vellum so tainted that Irene’s nostrils immediately flared in the other.

  “This is MY claim, Smith. You and your cronies will leave, immediately.”

  The dapper looking gentleman with the carefully groomed goatee flashed a cold smile. “I’m afraid the Northeast Counsel doesn’t see it that way, serpent. New York is a CSA colony and will be remanded to its rightful place as a tributary state of the Carolinas before this night is over. Mark my words.”

  Elonia’s heart fluttered in her chest as the tension heightened to an impossible degree as her court embraced their roles.

  No matter the sheer wondrous euphoria of an elite mid-tier Bronze’s physique that was now her own, a physique she would honor with daily martial exercise, assuming she even survived the next few days, the sheer killing aura of the elegantly dressed woman who was clearly so much more than that was that of a predator at the cusp of Silver.

  And if a chance-made comment of her brother’s had a germ of truth, should she truly have a full set of 18 meridians that her base tier Bronze class, whatever it was, would be multiplied by, that would mean that even as the lowest rank Silver she would still have a shocking degree of power.

  18 nodes. one and a half times that of her and her brother. Two and a half times that of even the most gifted Terran born human, and most other adventurers in the galaxy as well.

  And to add insult to injury, not only was she heir to such a potent gift, it seemed that fate itself honored her in it’s own way. The Serpent’s Tale revered even in Arcadia, it seemed, for Irene had been granted free passage along her brothers golden railway… with no force blocking her at all.

  “Levalier! We’re running out of time!”

  “I’ll be in position shortly, Your Grace. Where are your paladins?”

  Elonia silently shook her head, not bothering to answer, her eyes once more on the predators of two competing factions that had dared to march right up to her dais, ignoring the rows upon rows of Sylvan courtiers, advisors, bards, musicians, and tale tellers, as if they were both completely unaware of the story unfolding before them at that very moment… or their place within it.

  A story that could take such a bitter turn for Elonia, at least, should she fumble her grasp of fate’s pen for even a heartbeat. And how awful an irony it was that unlike her mother, she held no cards of fate to shape her destiny. Merely the love of her people and the hopes that she could—

  “I grow weary, child,” Irene hissed, forked tongue flickering free in her discontent as her curling lips revealed teeth hideous and strange.

  And for one delicious moment, she looked nonplussed when Elonia dared to grin right back.

  Irene’s irises flared. “What trickery is this? No wyrm-blood flows in your veins, child.”

  “And when have I ever claimed such?” Elonia’s half smile was now just as human as Irene’s once more. A momentary pause and retreat as Irene carefully eyed Elonia over once more, as if looking for any other signs that she had underestimated her foe, was the pause that one Merk Smith needed to exert his own authority.

  “Elonia Silver of Clan Silver!” He roared, not even bothering with niceties as he snapped open the gold and leather vellum case his suited underling handed him, unfurling a document that twisted and writhed and seemed to bleed in the air with the weight of a thousand screaming souls in eternal torment.

  Elonia’s eyes widened with horror.

  The supposed envoy grinned. All the opening he needed. “I hereby remand you into Confederate States custody for the crimes of theft, extortion, murder, terrorism, and claim jumping! Your false crown is as forfeit as your title! You shall surrender both to your rightful masters and you will do so now!”

  He wasted no more time on legal pretext or any attempt to build his case, waving his hideous Writ of Summons like the vile tool of torment that it was… or a feint, a matador’s red cape, before flinging forth his silver tipped cane that became a hissing serpent in mid air wreaking of foul magics and bindings, cutting through the half dozen Silver-tier Wards Elonia had surrounding both her dais and throne.

  For if there was one weakenss to her defenses it was that they could all be subverted by a moving enough tale.

  And here she had to face two.

  At once.

  By all rights, she should be bound to the most perilous and perhaps final chapter of her life’s story at that very moment as the tainted serpent became a mithril of collar snapping about the neck of—no one at all.

  For Elonia had already leaped free of her chair with a sense of Battletime hundreds of points beyond what most Mid-Tier Bronzes should be capable of, let alone an extremely fragile and overly specialized Elementalist all but forced to embrace the most perilous of roles.

  Merk’s eyes flashed with furious heat. “No. Impossible! All wards of deception have been shattered by the rightness of my cause. You should be on your knees, begging for clemency before I brand your soul and bring this farce to an end!”

  ***

  Irene flashed a cold smile for the frustrated looking Administrator who had failed to bind his target. “Yet my prey is not so weak as that. Good!” She tilted back her head, filling the chamber with laughter. “My prey wishes to embrace the age old hunt of Wyrm and Faerie Lord. So be it!” She happily cried. “It will make it so much more satisfying when I claim her head.”

  Those words froze the court to horrified silence. Countless eyes gazing at a sneering Irene with heartfelt disappointment.

  An elder sighed into the sudden silence, all sounds of laughter, belches, songs, and general merriment freezing with those words. “Are you sure you won’t choose another path?” he said, gazing at her with what a dumbstruck Irene realized was pity. Pity!

  And that insufferable boy Richard with the scowling mate of his and the eyes of a dreamer who seemed utterly inured to the sheer gravity of his situation nodded his head in odd encouragement, his spirit alone seeming inured to the strands of fate she wove to her will. The strands Irene had weaved to keep so many of Elonia Silver’s pawns at bay, trapped by the very distortions of space that had been her bane for so very long. Too long. Long enough for her to learn so many delicious, dark secrets. Needing only a single prize to set her free.

  “You really should choose another path, Lady Irene,” the foolish idealist of a boy urged. “There’s a whole country filled with ripe territories we could overthrow together! Earning sweet titles and boons and all the wondrous bounties of Autumn’s harvest!”

  Merk Smith’s eyes flashed with heat. “What madness are you talking about, boy?”

  Yuki laughed with cold contempt. “The offer doesn’t extend to you, slaver-loving fuckhead. You won’t be surviving the change of seasons, no matter what you do.”

  The man’s eyes glittered with furious heat. He raised his hand and the mithril collar twirling upon Elonia’s sacred throne instantly flew back into his hand. “Mocking or insulting a lawfully elected envoy is a capital offense, girl! Are you that eagerly for the slaver’s lash?”

  Yuki chuckled coldly, suppressing a shiver as her naginata began to glow with moonlight’s kiss.

  “Good. I think it’s time.”

  Richard nodded. “Yup. It’s most definitely time.”

  “Are you sure you won’t have a seat and join us?” The elder elf asked the glaring Irene with a gentle, fatherly voice. “It’s still not too late…”

  “Enough!” Irene roared, eyes flashing with eldritch heat in the panicked silence. “This farce ends now!”

  “We quite agree!” quipped a cheerful, high pitched voice that clearly no one had been expecting.

  All eyes turned to the double doors leading into the grand hall, opened by a golden-haired boy now casually striding the ballroom with an aloof disregard to the deadly currents that even the most inebriated elf could now sense so clearly.

  Yet still, even more remarkable than the glaring youth’s fearless contempt for the dragon matriarch now flaring her killing aura was the ivory white bunny perched upon his head, crossing her tiny arms.

  “Ooh, I think you done fucked up big time, Irene!” Bunbun tutted.

  Irene’s Ire turned to a look of momentary confusion. “Who the hell are—” Her eyes widened as her nostrils flared, a cruel smile coming to her lips. “Ah… so this is who you really are, Ernest Edgelord Slaughter.” She smirked at the mithril blade at his hip. “You may have disguised your appearance and the taste of your skin… but the scent of your blood… so deliciously ripe! Too ripe with eldritch magics to disguise. And you’re wearing his blade.” She gave the faintest dip of her head. “Fitting. Now that the storm has passed, it is time that we see for ourselves who truly is the strongest Contender in—”

  Her words cut off when a snarling Eric was suddenly inches from her face.

  She blanched and stepped back, her sneering features twisted momentarily by fear’s caress. “How did you—”

  “You owe me, bitch. And you know it.”

  The dragon matriarchess sniffed in contempt. “I owe you nothing! You were given every opportunity to assist, and you FAILED! The terms of our accord SHATTERED by your—”

  Her words cut off with surprise when Eric’s hands wrapped around her throat.

  “Now I know NEVER to trust a dragon who will TWIST oaths of bread and salt as easily as a goblin does contracts. So FUCK your conniving bullshit, Irene!” Eric snarled, his growl so guttural that the entire chamber vibrated under everyone’s feet.

  Irene’s eyes flashed with deadly heat. “How dare you put your hands upon me!” Her eyes bulged. “No. Impossible! My strength is over two thousand! And you’re a mortal—”

  She gurgled for breath when Eric slammed his forehead into her own, the crack in the air being her nose shattering before an object harder than any prow of any dreadnought anywhere in the galaxy.

  “YOU. OWE. ME!” Eric snarled, every word wreaking of menace and peril as he began to squeeze his prey.

  “He’s right!” Bunbun quipped. “That Silver Tier hunter you were quaking in your fancy Fifth Avenue boots over was totally getting ready to hunt you down with that sigil binding you to him. Fortunately for you, his apprentice was determined to take out Fearless Leader here, without having fully suppressed him, and he failed. Miserably! Even with three shots to Eric’s heart. That’s right. THREE! Eric was WAY out of his league. Just like he’s way out of yours! As you can no doubt tell by the way you’re kicking and screaming and trying to claw my master’s flesh with… ooh… are those dragon claws?”

  This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  Bunbun gave a sad shake of his head. As Irene gurgled and fought just to breathe.

  “Nope. No Vorpal essence, or aura of Phasing. No essence of Sharpness or Endless Shadow or anything else especially cutty. And with Strength as low as your own… I think you’re pretty much fucked!”

  Bunbun tutted at Irene’s startled face turned purple, eyes bulging as fury turned to panic as her sclera flecked with ugly blood spots, mouth opened desperately wide as her neck bulged… but no flame could get past Eric’s furious grip as he opened his own mouth wide, revealing endless rows of serrated teeth in an exquisitely proportioned mouth that fit his face so perfectly… even if it looked like he could swallow the world.

  “Um, Fearless Leader, before you do that...” Bunbun scowled, turning to lock gazes with an eager looking Merc Smith, even now seizing the moment, throwing his cursed serpent and scroll right for Eric’s back.

  “And I will seize the deadliest prize of all! The Carolinas will rise above all common—”

  “Repudio.”

  A single word. Said so casually. Yet still more than enough to rock the entire grand hall…

  And cause both winding serpent and flapping scroll to burst into green eldritch flame and countless shrieks and wails of souls fleeing the horrors of their entrapment, before fading to nothing at all.

  The Carolina envoy and his cronies stumbled back, eyes wide with dismay. “No. Impossible. You’re not… Those were Bronze-tier treasures given to me personally by—”

  Bunbun tutted. “Sorry! Greed is now entirely out of play. Fresh start, isekaid life, happy ending maybe? Who the fuck knows. But sibling rivalry is no longer a factor and your trump cards just got trashed. So, what will you now? My money’s on dying horribly! Anyone willing to take my bet? No? So we all see it, right?”

  The man drew himself up to his impressive six foot two height. “I come on behalf of the Northeast Counsel! If you dare harm a single harm on my person, you will be at war with entire—”

  “Acceptable,” Eric calmly said, before tearing lunging forward with a spearhand strike, Smith’s eyes bulging in horrified confusion, opening his mouth, yet unable to do anything save give one final gurgling wheeze as Eric tore free the man’s heart.

  Wide, horrified eyes blinked at the sight of his frantically beating organ as Smith splashed the hall with his crimson lifeblood before he collapsed in a lifeless heap as his assistants screamed in animal panic, all of them scurrying back before slipping on the crimson froth of their fallen leader.

  Eric’s only response to their desperate pleas, howls and frantic attempts to oathbind the wild Faerie prince was to reach down and casually claim his prizes, one beating heart at a time.

  Irene’s eyes widened, a panicked sob escaping her own lips as the room filled with the coppery tang of blood and fear and the excited cheers of countless laughing fae as Eric effortlessly tore open one chest after another in sprays of crimson. Ribs effortlessly snapped like twigs, no matter how his foes screamed and shrieked, their final dying moments being forced to witness their hearts burst into flame that became a spray of golden leaves flying across the entire throne room as the entire royal hall gazed upon Eric with expressions of revelry and mirth.

  “Behold the Autumn Prince! Arcadia is grateful for your harvest!” Cheered the entire court, eyes alight with a fierce fire and vitality even greater than what had infused them before.

  And suddenly it was clear. Horrifically clear to a now panicked and trembling Irene what had happened.

  Eric hadn’t simply killed his foes.

  He had sacrificed them to New Arcadia in the most primal of rituals, reminding a horrified Irene of the other way certain stories could end.

  For as often as the wyrm hunted wisely and well, the blood of countless Faerie helping the most daring hunters to ascend, there were still times when the foolish wyrm overextended. And then it was their beating heart that fed the forests and fields of countless Faerie kingdoms as the two races embraced a dance as old as time.

  Irene trembled, only now realizing just how arrogant and foolish a wyrm she had truly been.

  She hadn’t forced New Arcadia to bend to her will…

  It had invited her in.

  Her entire tribe in.

  A honey trap eager to accept fresh prey.

  Irene, fool that she was, had thought she would have an entire kingdom’s wealth to feast upon.

  How ironic it was that she now recalled what it truly meant to be welcomed into the heart of Faerie as anything but a supplicant willing to add to its tale.

  No. She was the farthest thing from a desperate human rich with mortality’s blessings, wanting only a life sweet with love and family before willingly surrendering to the seasons. A trade as old as humanity itself.

  Irene hadn’t been here to submit to Faerie’s gentler blessings.

  No. She had been here for conquest.

  For dominion.

  So now Faerie would do the same.

  She flinched as her executioner grabbed the remains of the enemies he had sacrificed to the kingdom he had forged, and devoured them whole. Like the wild faerie prince he truly was. Swallowing the remains so like a dragon would, mouth stretching impossibly wide as he glared at a trembling Irene the entire time.

  An eyeblink later, and the corpses were gone.

  And there was only Eric, flashing a now horrified-looking Irene his most savage smile.

  “Now… what were we discussing?”

  Irene’s heart pounded with the terror of imminent death. Yet this Winter Fae clearly had a spark of Summer in him, still.

  Enough for the most desperate of souls to find hope, and redemption in the most unlikely of places.

  Or a desperately hurried handful of words that would save both her and her clan, all of them now hopelessly in Faerie’s heart… and this time, she didn’t think there would be any escape for them at all.

  “My clan surrenders all claims to the duchy of New York for all time,” she said breathlessly, falling to her knees and kowtowing her utter submission before this avatar of Arcadia’s Wrath. “My oath upon it!”

  ***

  Yuki shook her head gazing at Eric and the crumpling dragon with a look of exasperated disbelief. “Just how fucking fast are you now, Eric? I wanted to jump in, but… fuck. It was over before I could even…” Her words died off when Richard gently squeezed her hand.

  “It’s okay. This is Eric and Elonia’s story. We shouldn’t interfere.”

  Yuki frowned in consternation. “But where did Elonia go?”

  The boy who had stolen her heart winked. “It’s not time yet. You just need to trust the process.” His eyes brightened with surprise. “Oh hey, guess what? You’ll get to meet my family soon! Isn’t that awesome? Do you think she’ll approve of us? I hope she’ll approve.”

  Yuki gave him a strange look. “What the fuck are you talking about, Rich?”

  ***

  Eric tuned out his friends, gazing at the dragon for long moments, his monstrous grin proving to be nothing more than a trick of the light… fading from memory nearly as fast as the missing Administrator, and there was only the very normal looking Eric who had been struck by a momentary bit of dramatic whimsy that had felt so RIGHT! But was now in the past, firmly in the past, where it belonged. There was only an unaccounted for pool of blood. And with an effortless surge of his Blood Mastery… it too knew its place and his sister’s beautiful hall was back to its pristine shiny glory once more.

  “Good. Then we’re done here.” Eric’s eyes abruptly widened, a relieved smile coming over his features as he seemed to glow, even as Irene seemed to shrivel upon herself, holding her own shoulders tightly as she bowed her head.

  “You have defeated me. Utterly,” she whispered as Eric gave a triumphant howl.

  “Yes! Fuck yes! I fucking needed that!”

  He was suddenly right before Irene, giving her an oddly cheerful smile. “You tried to take me down as best you could, and I trounced you. Even as you embraced your own story…”

  She flashed a bitter smile. “I’m not a complete fool to fate’s flow. My momentum’s stopped, and now it’s become your own.”

  Eric smiled gamely. “Yup! One full cultivation level!” He gazed at his tutting bunny. “I mean… evolution level? Yeah. I guess we’re calling it that, now.”

  He gave a stunned Irene an oddly indulgent smile. “You know what? I think we’re good now, Irene. All sorts of Orange and Red territory out west could use a good cleansing. Who knows? You might actually earn my sister’s forgiveness, and then you’ll get to see just how damned sweet it is, playing for the right team.”

  Irene, for her part, curtsied surprisingly low. “Yes, Autumn’s Prince. It will be as you say.”

  Bunbun tapped Eric’s temple. “What's you’re Spiritual Energy at now, fearless leader?”

  Eric positively beamed. “Fifteen point seven. Practically sixteen! My human baseline. Fuck, does that feel so much better!”

  He clapped an oddly diminutive Irene on her shoulder. She visibly winced.

  “Stay for dinner! I’m sure sis won’t mind, now that we’ve taken care of that bit of misunderstanding.”

  She blinked. “You were getting ready to kill me,” she whispered.

  Eric shrugged. “Maybe. Maybe for a second, I really did hate you. But not nearly as much as I did that asshole and his cronies who we should all be forgetting, right about…”

  “There he is! The one who attacked and butchered a Terran Counsel member under diplomatic immunity! A killing offense!” Roared one of a handful of powerfully built men glaring at Eric with Deep Bronze killing intent. All of them were kitted in Inquisitorial field armor, with force blades and power shields at their hips, and vibro daggers and blasters in thigh holsters.

  Eric’s eyes blazed with eagerness. “Good. Caliban was right.”

  Yet Eric’s expression transformed to one of awe and reverence when he understood who he would truly be facing. For behind the cluster of six was an aloof looking officer who looked strangely familiar… and a face he, for the life of him, had never expected to see in the flesh again.

  “Surrender at once!” Demanded the officer with a pin that Eric’s interface interpreted as Major Hroka Levalier.

  But Eric was already kowtowing low.

  As were a trembling Yuki and an oddly excited-looking Richard.

  The one with the name tag of Sint snorted. “All fucking cowards in the end. So many fools, so easily bested.” His fellows chuckled coldly. He then turned to sneer at Eric’s humbled form. “You’re in a lot of trouble, uppity scum.”

  Hroka cleared his throat as his second smoothly stepped back. “Eric Silver of Clan Silver. You and your sister are both wanted for theft, larceny, assault, murder, extortion, murder and terrorism, and most especially for the deaths of millions of innocent lives and the death of the righteous and honorable Lord Aurelius Imperious Augustus. I shouldn’t even have to ask you this, but for the sake of justice and history, I shall give you the opportunity to concede to your guilt or dare to defy our edict. Concession will permit you a quiet death. Defiance will invite endless torment in a pain vat when you’re found guilty. Now, how do you plead?”

  The entire court grew utterly still, the audience gazing at the band of inquisitors like they were a grand spectacle of entertainment, or a horrific nightmare come to life.

  Eric took a shuddering breath, heart pounding. “May this one seek legal counsel or plead his defense before a neutral party?”

  “No.” Declared none other than Agent Evelyn, her hauntingly beautiful eyes, eyes wreaking of furious slaughter, locking with his own. “You will either concede to the will of your enemies and accept a quiet death. Or…” Her rosebud lips widened in a playful smile. “You will demand Trial by Combat and fight for your right to survive along the Path of Peril. For victory in battle forgives all transgressions!”

  Hroka blinked in consternation at his assistance declaration. “Lady Evelyn, such is reserved for—”

  His words cut off when she raised her clenched fist.

  Sint sneered. “You’re taking orders from your assistant now, Hroka? She isn’t even a proper agent! Death by pain vat it is, then. Ha!”

  Agent Evelyn slowly turned her gaze to meet Sint’s glaring countenance. “Cowardice. Is that it, Sint? Afraid to take on this boy?”

  His eyes widened with outrage. “I fear no one!”

  Evelyn mocked him with her smirk. “No wonder you claw so desperately for Silver and fail even a half-step ascension. You’re happy enough stealing exotic tinctures from desperate alchemists, but you fear truly pushing yourself in the only way that truly matters for anyone eager to ascend.”

  Sint’s eyes flashed. “Watch your tongue, woman.” He then turned to Eric, eyes flashing with furious heat.

  “You .wish trial by combat? Fine, you little shit! I’ll happily cut you down to size!”

  A heartbeat later, the chambers pulsed with the surge of Arcane energies as a blade of deadly black flame and a shimmering force field shimmered to life.

  Eric dipped his head, before gazing hungrily at the other hard-eyed Deep Bronze agents, who looked almost envious of Sint.

  Eric’s mouth widened in a savage grin. “We should make this fight… worthy, I think.” He licked his lips, a ravenous look coming over him. “How about all six of you. At once?”

  The half dozen men traded looks before bursting out in laughter. “Is he serious?”

  “Acceptable!” Agent Evelyn declared.

  Hroka furrowed his brow, but was savvy enough to nod and not go against powerful undercurrents even he could sense.

  “Indeed it is.” He then glared up at the throne where a cool-eyed queen was once more seated. “So long as it’s understood that he fights for his sister’s honor as well. Should he fall…”

  “Should he fall, I will take care of her,” Lady Evelyn said in a voice that brooked no argument.

  Hroka furrowed his brow in consternation before shrugging. “Highly unusual but not entirely without precedent with orphaned female nobles…” He dipped his head. “Acceptable.”

  He then cleared his throat. “Perhaps we should take this out—” A golden field crackled around Eric and the sneering half dozen Inquisitors that filled the center of the hall.

  “No need,” Evelyn Death calmly said, before flashing Eric a teasing smile.

  “Are you ready, Disciple?”

  Eric bowed. “By your word, SiFu.”

  “ASCEND!”