Stroke and Godwin continued their battle above the clouds. The continuous strikes from their God Arms kept them airborne, but the king was eager to return to the ground—he allowed his brother to get close, enduring the force of a strike to his chest, then took Stroke by the leather straps crossing his torso.

  “Enough!” Godwin yelled. “We are not birds! We shall fight on the ground as men!”

  The arm holding Stroke glowed with the golden runes. He scouted the skies, following the trails of owls, and locked his target onto one of the many dark-purple scaled dragons flying. He threw Prince Stroke at the beast, knocking it out of the sky as the young Van’s body crushed the dragon’s ribcage. Godwin joined the beast’s descent, using a quick kick from the God Arm’s power to propel himself closer. He grabbed the limp wing, following it down as Vatanil came back into view.

  “Disgusting!” Prince Stroke dragged himself out of the dragon’s gushing wound he’d opened with his own body. “Fight like men? That was fighting like a coward!” He saw Godwin above him. “You will never be a good king, ever!”

  Godwin frowned. “Neither will you.”

  The Sentinels shot beams from their vortexes, cutting the dragon into segments—tail, head, wings, limbs, torso—it sucked the flesh of the dragon in, even swallowing both Godwin and Stroke, before spitting out the two Vans in the same direction.

  “You took her from me!” Stroke grabbed the colr of Godwin’s shirt and removed the God Arm from his fist’s strikes. He wrestled him in the air, punching him in the jaw, each blow raw with anger. “How could you take her from me!?”

  Godwin caught his brother’s fist, tightening his grip on it, returning Stroke’s anger with a blow to the nose. He sent Stroke to the city’s floor by force, leaving a path of destroyed houses from the raw power of the God Arm’s blow. Stroke shook off the rubble, looking at his arms, covered in fresh blood that wasn’t his—he stared down the trail he’d made. Children rushed to their freshly dead parents. Mother rushed to their squished children, all caused by Godwin being so careless with his punches. Stroke ughed, swinging a fist at the path, obliterating what remained with the force of a targetless strike. The commonfolk evaporated to a red smoke, joining the bloody haze that already lingered from the mass death already caused previously.

  Stroke then searched for Godwin, twirling around with angry growls, unable to find his brother through the eyes of the Sentinels. He turned them green, echoing his voice through the Sentinels. His words came heavy and slow, raw with bitter hatred from the depths of his soul.

  “Bring yourself to me!” the prince yelled. “YOU. TOOK. HER. FROM. ME.”

  He’s far more formidable than Harren, Stroke thought. Has he been training in secret? I would’ve seen if he did. He fights with the Van instinct… but so do I. I could kill Godwin even without the God Arm. I want to savour this battle, make him suffer like Runaya did before I crush his head in the same way.

  King Godwin emerged from the dust of the recent wreckage. He had a certain sadness in his eyes, not even the gods knew why.

  “Must the city suffer from a feud between brothers?” Godwin asked him. He turned the nearby Sentinel blue. “You can’t use the Sentinels against me. We can settle this outside the walls, far away from the commonfolk.”

  “And let your death be unseen? Do you think I’m stupid”

  Godwin moved the power of the God Arm to the middle of his chest. “Then let us fight without magic. These people don’t need to suffer for the quarrels of family matters.”

  “Family matters?!” Stroke said ragefully. “Is your head filled with cow shit? Runaya was not a family matter, you pig! She was everything to me, and these people did nothing.” He used the God Arm to sm his foot into the fw, giving the city the tremors of a light earthquake. He cherished their combined screams across the city. “Hear them? Rats, infesting our city. Rats that didn’t once come to defend my sweet Runaya against vile accusations. I hear it in their wails, their begs, they are just as guilty as you are. I carry the blood of the King of Gold just as you do! I am a god! I sentence these people to death, just like I do for you!”

  Godwin didn’t want to fight Stroke, not truly. He wanted to find a way to calm his brother, to comfort his torment, but how could he do such a thing? He didn’t know. The owls circled them above, and the king felt conflicted after seeing how each had bck eyes. He didn’t follow the Voiceless One, but he was no fool, he knew the tale well. The gods wanted him to fight Stroke with lethal intent. He brought the God Arm back to his dominant arm, giving one final plea to his little brother.

  “Peasants, Stroke,” he said gently. “The commonfolk voices would’ve done nothing for her. My voice would’ve.”

  “One? No… but the full million? Half? A tenth of that? That would’ve silenced the rumours from Harren’s dirty whore.”

  “Runaya was—”

  “Don’t you dare say her name!” he interrupted. “You don’t have the right to say her name!”

  Stroke closed the gap, spearing Godwin’s chest and striking him in the temple—he took his sickle and brought it down into Godwin’s lung, the tip piercing out the back of his shoulder. Stroke sunk his teeth into his brother’s jugur, biting deep into the flesh, tearing it out like a rabid dog, a spray of red heat shot into Stroke’s eyes. He broke Godwin’s leg with a kick, pushing him down, shattering all of his ribs with a punch from his other hand.

  This all happened in roughly three seconds. The king pressed his palm to his brother’s chest, pushing him away with a magical blow that gave a fsh of gold. Stroke disappeared from view, nowhere to be seen—Godwin gripped the wound on his neck, quickly healing the whole of his body, twisting his body and searching all directions for a sneaky attack from behind.

  He’s faster than I thought he was, Godwin thought. I barely have time to react to his strikes, and he did that without magic. He’s pying with me, biding time for something. Gods… the pain… without this rain soothing me I would be screaming in agony.

  His jugur healed first, then his leg, then ribs. He healed his lung st, taking a clean breath and coughing the blood caught inside them.

  If he’d swung that sickle into my head, this fight would be over and done with… I see why my father wanted to skip Harren and I over the succession of the God Arms. My little brother truly is the most gifted out of all of us. I am the king. I can be a good king. I can defeat him if I fight with Bianca and find a weakness. I need to focus and fight at the same time; I can’t take the eyes of the Sentinels off him or I’ll never find an opening.

  A Sentinel’s vortex turned green and gained Godwin’s attention. At the very top of the tower, Prince Stroke stood, arms open, smiling at the city. The heat of the fmes soothed his mind, rexed his muscles, and reminded him of one fact: everyone in Vatanil was beneath him, both literal and metaphorical.

  “I hear the symphonies of the angels,” he sang. “Da-da-da, da-da-da, de-dee-da… hum-dee-da, hum-da-dee, a dum-dee-da, a -dee-do.”

  What in the name of the gods is he doing? Godwin thought. He considered destroying the Sentinel that his brother stood atop of, a desperate attempt to maybe end things fast. I can’t damage one of the Sentinels… they can’t be rebuilt. Damn it.

  “I hear the voices between the notes,” Stroke continued. “The whispers of the gods. I have heard them since I was born, and they are the ones who granted me their power. I am stronger. I am faster. I am better. I am a god. Sh… shhhh… don’t you hear it too? Each note like the strum of a harp, the great symphony of the Void, they call from a world beyond our own. They want me. They call me to battle. Me, and only me.”

  Stroke’s eyes rolled into the back of his head. He shook, falling from the tower and crashing into a rooftop. Godwin felt a brotherly urge kick in—he ran to the home he saw Stroke colpse to, kicked down the door, and found the young prince convulsing, foaming at the mouth, blood leaking from both nostrils.

  Godwin took heavy breaths. This was his chance, possibly his only chance. He brought the God Arm to his fist, slowly coming to stand above his younger brother. One hard strike would do, one to his brain, or one to his heart, and the job would be done.

  The king could not bring himself to do it. Even though he’d sent Stroke to die in Naveen, even though he’d pushed him away and prayed to the gods for his death, Godwin had a change of heart.

  “A good king loves his brother,” he whispered. He knelt, putting a hand at the back of Stroke’s head. “Whatever ails you, fight it. I love you, brother, I do.”

  Stroke’s eyes snapped onto Godwin. He scowled, turning his body and riding into his chest. They wrestled without the power of the God Arm, only because Stroke, in his rage, had forgot he could use it. “How many times can you rip my love apart and stick it back together?” He got Godwin in a tight headlock, suffocating him. “You killed what gave me patience.” The young prince began to cry lightly. “You took what gave me hope.” He steadied his breathing and gripped Godwin’s golden locks, intending to snap his neck. “There is nothing you can say to right these wrongs.”

  He snapped Godwin’s neck, paralysing him. His golden eyes followed Stroke as he paced the home, ripping down the paintings of the happy family that lived in that home, now a pile of charred meat in the other room.

  “Heal yourself!” Stroke demanded. “You die too easy! I want to kill you over and over again! I want you to suffer!” He pulled the tear of the angel from his pocket, taunting his brother with it. “And then this is the fate that waits for you.”

  The prince’s eyes snapped to the doorway with a smirk. He left his brother to regenerate, sauntering out to meet Bianca. “You look prettier on the Sentinels,” he said. “Death didn’t heal your broken wrist? Isn’t that a shame.”

  She summoned Dragonhammer, leaning on it. She had hatred for him in her eyes, no love any longer. Commonfolk peeked out the windows, watching, and some were forced into the streets from the infernal fmes.

  Prince Stroke circled her, shaking his head, pointing his sickle of godsteel at her as he did so. “You look tired,” he said. “So very tired, Bianca. We haven’t even restarted our fight and you’re spent.”

  She said nothing for a while. “Why are you truly doing this?” she finally asked. “This isn’t what Runaya would want.”

  “Symmetry,” he answered. “Nature. It shows beauty through two ways: chaos, and symmetry. The wildness of a forest follows no ws, they grow where they wish, no pattern, no care. That is beauty. The ableness to run free and do what you want without care or needing permission. Symmetry. Moths. Butterflies. Identical on each side. Gems. Rocks. Some form in perfect shapes, no fws. Nature can make us perfect if she wishes, but it doesn’t. Some are made lesser. Defects. Marks. Deformities. Many will this makes you a monster, but even monsters can listen to their mothers. Chaos. Chaos is beautiful. Nature willed the God Arms to be symmetrical, perfect, banced, two to a man, not shared. My brothers took it upon themselves to break this, splitting it in two, and I, the third, made this sharing asymmetric. I am the beautiful chaos birthed into this world to make it beautiful.”

  “You’ve gone mad,” Bianca whispered. “Utterly insane.”

  “I have never seen clearer. Runaya was my symmetry. A whore, a harlot, a shameful tart that I’d never marry… Harren had many names for her. I will make the God Arm whole; I will find a way to bring her back.”

  “And we will help you.” Godwin wobbled through the doorway, half healed. “If there is way, we’ll find it. Give me your God Arm and put an end to this.”

  “No. I won’t.”

  Bianca had decided she’d had enough. She dashed for Stroke while his back was turned, aiming to bring the hammer down onto his head and crush his skull. He put a hand to the back of his head, golden runes glowing on his fingers, and the hammer connected with his knuckles, no harm done.

  Stroke turned quick, seized her hammer, and swung his sickle. Bianca staggered backwards, feeling lighter than usual—she looked to her shoulder, screaming. The prince had cut off her left arm. He had it in his hand, gripping the elbow, it glowed gold, then turned to a red mist.

  “No!” Godwin screamed. “What have you done!?” He tried to strike him in the head. “You bastard!”

  Stroke swung his sickle again. He did the same thing to his own brother, cutting his arm at the shoulder. “Heal it.” He rammed his heel into Godwin’s stomach, knocking him to the floor. “You will know the pain I felt.”

  He stepped on Bianca’s back as she crawled away. “I’m sorry, Stroke,” she said, crying. “I should’ve protected Runaya. I should have been her shield. I’m sorry.”

  The truth Stroke knew was that Bianca Lython was one of, if not the strongest in Vatanil. He knew if she applied herself, she could best Godwin, even with the God Arm. He knew that she had pulled back her blows the entire fight, never committing, but that wasn’t why she lost—the issue was not weakness, nor was it incapability, but rather than the prince was simply too powerful. He could win at any moment, kill them both, but was choosing not to.

  Or, he was choosing. He brought the sickle down between her shoulder bdes. Her body tensed, her head swinging back. He seized her single braid and stretched her neck, cutting her throat from ear to ear with godsteel dagger he’d stole from death.

  Stroke breaths quickened as he saw Godwin’s horrified gaze, and then the prince had a better idea. He took the sickle out, quickly flipped her onto her back and saddled her stomach. He raised the knife, stabbing Bianca over and over, knowing she was strong enough to resist death for longer than most. She tried to push him away with weak, slippery, bloody hands, her eyes unsure where to look. His final stab was to her heart, and Bianca began to die, but Prince Stroke reached into his pocket and shoved the tear of the angel deep inside her, then put the dagger back into his belt.

  He stood, backed away. “I didn’t do the pentacle,” he said in a whisper. “Will it work? Or did I… just… kill…”

  Bianca’s arm grew back fast, starting with the bone, muscle, then flesh. Her throat came st, and she screamed, her gifts fighting the tear of the angel sealed inside her healed heart wound.

  “Good,” Stroke whispered. “Resist more.” He gathered the blood Bianca had wiped on his face, restraining her regrown arm, writing ‘GODWIN VALAN’ in thick, red lettering on her forearm. “Make sure to watch her change.” He pointed at Godwin. “You’ll have to kill her before she kills you.”

  In Godwin’s face, he saw confusion. Stroke searched around him, seeing nothing, then tched onto the eyes of the Sentinels.

  Stroke saw it.

  His head snapped upward, seeing a portal of fmes open above.

  Through it, only Death fell, or so Stroke thought. On his back, a pink-skinned girl with the horns of a ram mounted his back, arms wrapped trustingly around his neck and legs around his waist. She wore hellish robes of deep red, swirls of gold on the cloth—the gauntlets and greaves of a Van guard kept her protected.

  That’s not the demon he was with before, Stroke thought. Who is that? It almost looks like Bianca… why are they so small?

  Bianca’s healed arm firmly gripped Stroke’s ankle, keeping him in pce with the st of her will before the ritual took over her.

  Stroke felt something touch his head, and then everything went blinding white. Vatanil was gone. Bianca was gone. His God Arm was gone. His sickle was gone, and he himself was in a robe of blue that matched the shade of his hair.

  “You’ve been naughty, Prince Stroke,” Aleirica’s voice echoed through the Void. “Let’s see what hides in your mind.”