Votin territory was darker than the ridge was. Black, rolling clouds filled the sky, casting the whole area into a constant night. Millik wouldn’t want to swap his Pokian robes, so he, being bright blue, stood out among the black-robed people and their skeleton workers. He’s used to people staring at him, though, so the thought never even crossed his mind.

  Though magically shrouded in night, the Votin city was still kept clean and cared for. Millik saw multiple revived skeletons repainting an older building, as well as another set of skeletons sweeping the dirt out of the stalls of a few merchants. Vot’s people were one of the most unique groups on Bitrect, for most of their population was undead, and those who came back had followed any of the Gods in their lifetime. Now, they served Vot in appreciation for giving them life once more. Because of this, Votin culture was a mixture of all the others, drawn from those still clinging to their old lives. Pokian-style market stalls sat next to small Lonist gardens in front of a Bower guildhall, all with hints of Sor-specific architecture.

  Unlike all the other temples, Vot’s was built down into the ground, sunken into the stone. At the top of the stairs, a cold wind was shallowly blowing past Millik, swaying his braid slightly. There were too many stairs to count, but it was far less than Pok’s seven hundred; Millik could tell from just a glance. From above, he could see the entire temple: the central shrine and sanctum was constructed equally to Pok’s, and to the other three Gods’ as well. The inner sanctum, where Vot resided on her throne, had a large hole in its roof, which was visible from the top of the stairs. The temple around it was also the same as Pok’s, and Millik could see a few dark-robed keepers, given away by the golden linings of their robes, wandering the grounds, as well as a few notable gatherings joyfully discussing whatever their topics were. Closer to him, Millik stared down the stairs. A few people were coming and going, but nobody he knew to be important. The stairs themselves were massive, similarly to Pok’s, but there were definitely fewer of them. Around the edge of the temple’s pit, Millik admired a large, uncolorful, unfinished relief mural carved into the stone. The mural depicted all of Vot’s history, which was most of Bitrect’s history, and it left room for whatever was next to come, having an empty portion of the wall cleared and primed to sculpt the next major, world-changing event. The last of these events to be recorded was the battle with Danger, a monster named after its unknown origin and very real threat to all of Bitrect. Millik grimaced as he examined the relief. The monster, with its large, cloud-spanning wings, alongside its blazingly wrathful fire, filled most of the space. Bow was also a large section of the relief, his spectral sword piercing one of the monster’s heads. At the God of the Sun and Valor’s side, of course, was his reaper, Fahva, depicted here rather accurately, with her flowing golden hair as important a part of her image as her elegant robes, although now the same muted grey color of the stone all around her. And, of course, in the corner of the mural, Millik had to be present somewhere. Unflatteringly, it showed him fleeing the battle, teleporting away when Danger came close. Millik’s mind flashed to that moment, seeing the monster’s twin heads bearing all four rows of sharp, dagger-like teeth directly in front of him. In that moment, he betrayed his God and his people with the way he used his magic.

  Now, he would do the same. Millik looked down at the Votin temple, eyeing the inner sanctum’s skylight. He closed his eyes, and, with another popping sound, he was falling in front of the God of Death. He landed hard on the stone floor, but stopped himself from wincing in the presence of a God he wished a favor from. He, rather unelegantly, twisted into a respectful kneeling position, one hand on his knee and his head bowed. It would be wrong for him to take the first word.

  “Ex-Reaper,” Vot said quietly. Her lack of outburst proves she was expecting him. “Lift your head.”

  He did as he was told. Unlike Pok’s throne room, the skylight in Vot’s didn’t bring any light into the room, as there was no light outside to breach the threshold anyways. Thus, Vot’s form was not hidden in shadow whatsoever, and Millik’s eyes adjusted to the natural darkness to see her properly. Just like Pok, her black robes were draped over her throne, but, unlike Pok, she sat attentive. She looked down at him with something other than apathy in her eyes.

  “I talked to your friend,” Vot said, “he said you might be joining us.”

  “Olgernoth is here?” Millik asked, uncaring how disrespectful it was to question a God.

  “Yes,” Vot said, her voice calm and invested, “I revived him just now, so he may not be pleasant to look at yet. Outsiders always shy away from the sight of the dead.”

  “I want to see him,” Millik said. He added, remembering his role, “If you would allow it.”

  “Of course.” Vot waved her large hand before holding out her palm. In it was Olgernoth, standing as tall as the old man could, watching Millik’s every move like he always had, even with the clouds in his eyes. As Vot lowered her hand and Olgernoth stepped off, a small organ fell out of his chest, plopping on the ground in a splatter of blood. More blood trickled out of his stomach, slowly seeping into and staining his robes and down his limbs. Olgernoth’s body still had a hole in it. Millik never saw what Tyril did to him, but now that he knew, Millik was confident he would have quite the mouthy conversation with his replacement.

  Vot laughed haughtily. “This state is always intriguing. It is not alive, so the flesh will decompose soon, but until then, you are left as a rotting corpse, an animated undead.”

  “Olgernoth,” Millik said the dead man’s name wistfully.

  “Please,” Vot said, “have your conversation elsewhere. And Millik, use the door when you return him.”

  “Return?”

  “Of course,” Vot said, “he agreed to be mine if I allowed him to share his thoughts with you, so he will need to return here. When you are done, I have my own words to have with you as well. Mora will let you in.” She gestured behind Millik, where the inner sanctum’s door had opened without him recognizing, and one of the inner shrinekeepers was standing there, the welcoming smile on her face warmly unifying with her golden lacery. Mora nodded at him, then made way for him and the corpse to leave.

  “Whoever trapped the meeting,” Sor said to her reaper, “I want you to find them.”

  “But–” Ameri didn’t feel like she could object. She was never invested in the peace meeting, and she already mostly recovered from her injuries– in a few more days, she’d be perfectly fine. Finding the culprit could be Fahva’s job for all she cared. They were the ones who always talked about justice and making people answer for their crimes, not Ameri. That was never something she cared about. More than that, though, she didn’t want to track the arsonist because it would be so, so utterly boring. She was never interested in mysteries. All the blood was already spilled, and once the culprit was caught, it wouldn’t be Ameri’s job to kill them. Investigations took so long, and she’d never even get the thrill of a battle. She couldn’t swing her axe, loving the colors that sprayed from her enemy’s wounds. There wouldn’t be any fresh, pooling blood to reflect beautifully in the sun. All she would do in an investigation was ask boring questions to boring people. But if Sor wanted it, Ameri would comply.

  “We cannot falter here,” Sor said. “For peace to come, someone has to take action to better such a situation. Who better than the paragon of the God of Leadership?”

  “I see your point,” Ameri shrugged, still begrudgingly complacent, “But you’re also the God of War. Peace may be our specialty, but we’re not very good at it. You want to start a war with Vot, remember?”

  “Of course,” Sor said, “but you recognize that Vot wasn’t present at the peace meeting, correct? Thus, we can have both. Peace between Bow, Lon, Pok, and myself, and war with Vot. An elegant solution, wouldn’t you agree?”

  “I suppose,” Ameri said, something not sitting right with her still: “But is a war with Vot even possible? All her soldiers will just come back from death anyways. It might be impossible to get through her army.”

  “We don’t have to get through an army,” Sor said, “but that is not the issue at this moment. I will tell you about my intentions with the war soon, but first you need to solve this case about the exploding peace meeting.”

  Ameri sighed and accepted her fate. “How should I start?”

  Sor’s exasperation slid through her words ever so slightly. “Talk to Golny and Fahva. Talk to Millik and Tyril. Talk to the estate’s owner and his servant. Examine the scene of the explosion to find whatever remnants you can. Anything may be useful to determine what caused it, or, if we’re lucky, where it came from.”

  …

  Lonist territory was almost too pretty. Ameri could admire the bright red of blood any day, but this much green plant life was too much for her eyes, especially when it assaulted her eyes with random purple, pink, and yellow flowers. She didn’t like that she had to come back here, but she walked with her head held high regardless. She looked down at all those around her, even the rhoxes who were multiple heads taller than her. Those gardeners practicing their magical growth spells to make large, vibrant flowers didn’t deserve her attention. The elven shopkeeper selling a wafty, gorgeous-smelling perfume who called out to her earned a scowl she had practiced hundreds of times. The set of children running around her, playing, who met her eyes with wonder, were rejected and dismissed with a simple flick of her hair.

  Finally, after what felt like ages wandering through the streets making herself feel better than the Lonists, she came to the same mansion as before, now with a tarp covering the hole blown into its roof. The servant welcomed her in without question, and she walked herself up to the one room without a well-decorated door, where the house’s owner as well as the rhox reaper she met at the meeting, whose names she had both forgotten, were sitting in the room discussing the explosion before they noticed her.

  “Miss Ameri!” the man said with the same joy he had just days ago, undeterred by the fact that his home had lost an entire room. “What a pleasant surprise! I hope you aren’t straining yourself too much, as you were rather injured the other day?”

  “I’m fine,” Ameri said simply, “I’m here to lead the investigation.”

  “How wonderful!” he said, turning back to the rhox reaper. “Why don’t you tell her what we’ve found so far? I’ll go make us some tea.” He giddily weaved past Ameri and down the hall, followed by his servant.

  “I never saw you as much of a leader,” the rhox said. “Besides, we’ve actually figured out most of who our arsonist could be.” His voice was calm and careful, as were most Lonists.

  Awesome. That means less time doing boring things.

  As he explained the situation, Ameri’s mind couldn’t help but drift. She didn’t listen as he explained their analysis of the gunpowder, and she was completely zoned out until the man came back with the tea he made. It was a pale green color, and it smelled lovely, and it was also her next excuse to be distracted. She drank it slowly, as to keep her attention drawn longer, but also to give the man the impression that she was enjoying it, keeping his worries quelled. The rhox finished his explanation slowly, making sure to go over every detail, and it was super boring, but she nodded along. As her mind drifted, Ameri thought about the fact she had never hacked open a rhox before. How hard could their skin be? How thick did their blood flow? She eagerly wished she could have an excuse to kill one soon, but knew that it probably wouldn’t happen. Their affinity for nature drew most– if not all– of them to Lon, meaning that they were out of Sor’s jurisdiction, and Ameri would almost never get the chance to kill one. What were they talking about again? It seems the rhox was almost closing on his analysis.

  “...so, our best suspicions point to the culprit being one of Vot’s. Whether or not they were instructed by Vot herself is speculative, however. They would have needed access to …”

  He just kept going. Ameri thought it was almost over, but he wasn’t even close. She didn’t want to pay attention, but that small point she did hear seemed to be pretty important, and she thought about it a little. The culprit being Votin would make sense, as they probably felt a bit of resentment for their people being excluded from the peace talks. But how did they get into the room to plant the bomb without this fat man seeing? Not that they’d need much; he seemed pretty dull. And how did they know to time the bomb right as the ex-reaper and the new Pokian reaper (she didn’t care to remember their names either) left? Could they have been watching the meeting, waiting for their time to strike, only for those two to leave early, at which point they panicked and pulled the trigger anyways? The better question was whether the rhox had already explained all of this. Ameri watched the large horn on his head as it swayed when he talked, looking back and forth between Ameri and the mansion’s owner.

  “Miss Ameri?” the mansion’s owner suddenly asked, “are you listening?”

  Uh oh.

  “Of course,” Ameri said. It wasn’t hard for her to lie, but she didn’t need to do it often. Normally, it never really mattered if she told the truth or not, because she usually only talked to people she was going to kill eventually. What she said to people typically had little consequence, but today was the exception; if she admitted to not paying attention, he would just start over again.

  “Good,” the rhox said, suddenly behind her, standing at the open doorway, “Miss Leader, are you coming?”

  Tyril didn’t like having to kill that old merfolk. He had killed before, and he had killed people who were more defenseless too, but something still felt off this time. Pok made that order just so his reaper would leave him and Millik alone, didn’t he? Pok had always favored Millik, but it seems like that’s not the real reason he hasn’t killed Millik for his blasphemy yet. Not that Tyril wanted that. He had always admired the former reaper, enough to want to be chosen to be one himself. He didn’t think one mistake, no matter how fatal, could determine a person’s character. Of course it didn’t. But, in that moment, Tyril had to choose between his friend or his God. It had to be correct to choose Pok, right?

  You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

  “Did you call me your friend?” Millik asked as soon as they were out on the temple grounds. “Vot said we were friends, so where did she get that idea?”

  “Indeed,” Olgernoth said. “In death, I recognized that, although you have not been a good person, you treated me well.”

  Millik nodded his approval.

  The Votin monastery was clean and well-kept. They passed a few other black-robed keepers, each of which nodded politely to Millik and Olgernoth as they went by. Corpses were not rare here, but Millik never saw any others with flesh on their bones like Olgernoth still had.

  “It’s an interesting thing,” Olgernoth started, “Being dead. My body is gone, but my soul lingers. That’s the power of a God. And it seems to be commonplace here. Surely I’ll accept it in time.”

  Still among the Temple, they came to a small clearing where a group of armor-clad skeletons were training. A commander, a light-skinned– almost skeletal-looking– man, issued their sparring regiment. Some bore swords of various sizes, some wielded long-range spears. Their formation was far from perfect, but Vot prided herself on willpower, not ability. They didn’t need to be strong so long as they had the will to fight.

  “Have you never been here before?” Millik asked, not that he had spent too much time here himself.

  “No,” Olgernoth said, “I may have been a valuable asset, but Pok hardly used me in my prime. My value wilted quickly.”

  One of the skeletal soldiers’ duels erupted in a cascade of bones as their partner swung their spear through their entire body. The disassembled warrior collected their bones and reformed themselves in a matter of seconds, readying their position once more.

  “It’s a luxury to have a diligent army,” Millik agreed, “Unfortunately, Pok never had one, so I filled that role instead.”

  “Let’s hold on to that, Millik,” Olgernoth said earnestly, “Come, let us enjoy this last moment Vot has given us together.”

  …

  Climbing these stairs didn’t feel like a test.

  As they talked, Millik could see the color drain from Olgernoth’s skin. His eyes, clouded in cataracts, were bloodshot, and a few teeth had already fallen out, mixing with a few of the bones that were already scattered around the Votin streets. They passed a lot of citizens going about their daily business, each of whom seemed to pay more attention to the Pokian in their midst rather than the living corpse. Olgernoth was able to walk around, so they did. And they talked. They talked about a lot of things. They talked about what it was like on the ridge, and the causes that brought them both there. They talked about Olgernoth’s life: his time as a warrior-telepath when he was young, his injuries, and what age had taken from him more than any battle had. They talked about Millik’s life, too: how he became a reaper, and the kinds of battles he fought with that power, and, for the first time, Millik talked with his friend about his mistake. He almost cried, back looking out at that horrid mural.

  “Pok liked me,” Millik said, “he had for years. Decades, even. I was loyal long before I was a reaper, and when I finally became one, I was overjoyed. I could finally do something to prove my love for Pok. Then it all came crashing down because I messed up. I didn’t want to run, but that… thing, it was horrifying. It destroyed so much, and it felt like I would be next to lose. I had never lost before. Losing would have been disgraceful, but I still found a way to do something even more shameful. I’m sorry. I knew I was as soon as it happened, and I’ve been trying to apologize in any way possible. But Pok knew I could never recover, so he was just humiliating me the entire time. Did he enjoy seeing me suffer like that? His greatest warrior, fallen from grace, and he finds it entertaining?”

  “I don’t think it’s possible to understand the Gods,” Olgernoth reasoned, “From my eyes, they only seem to want to expand their influence. But no matter what, what Pok did to you was wrong. Either he should have killed you, or let you live. I don’t mind dying, but it shouldn’t have been at your expense.”

  “Thanks,” Millik said.

  “Now,” Olgernoth started, “Remember there was something I needed to tell you? The reason I had to come back? Here it is: Sor’s reaper was thinking about a future war. The reason that that Sor was found dead in that alley, he was going to leak some secrets to their enemy.”

  “Who were they going to fight?” Millik asked. What was Ameri hiding? Had she been thinking about this war during the peace meeting? Is that why she discussed it all the way she did?

  Olgernoth hesitated for a moment, his thoughts a silent hum in the back of Millik’s mind. “I don’t think you need to know.”

  “What?”

  “It’s not Pok,” Olgernoth said. “You’re not a reaper anymore. You have no stake in this war, so you don’t need to worry about it, either.”

  “Then why tell me about it at all?” Millik asked, annoyed.

  “I had wanted to,” Olgernoth said, “But it seems there’s been a new conflict of interest. It’s best you don't know about it. Although, there is another reason I brought it up.”

  “Which is?”

  “That reaper– Ameri– she didn’t know much about the war, either. She knew that it was happening, and she knew who they were fighting, but she didn’t know why. That woman’s brain works in an odd way, so I’m glad I didn’t have to spend too much time inside it.”

  “What does that mean for me?” Millik stopped and faced Olgernoth. He had only gotten worse during their conversations. It seemed the revival process also sped up the time it takes for the meat to rot. His robes were practically falling off him, and his skin was tautly wrapped around his bones, and it was scarily dry. His eyes popped out of his face.

  “It means that the Gods are always planning something without a care for their reapers,” Olgernoth said. “We always thought that trust between a reaper and their God worked in both directions, but in reality, the reaper is just a puppet.”

  “That’s just how Ameri works,” Millik protested, “not me. Not Tyril.”

  “Maybe,” Olgernoth said, “but maybe not. You don’t know what Pok never told you. You probably never will.”

  “That’s what it means to trust them,” Millik said, “We don’t deserve the Gods, but we know that they have our best interest at heart.”

  “Look at me,” Olgernoth said. “Does this look best?”

  Millik couldn’t find any words.

  “I think there were better ways this could have ended for me. It’s only the Gods’ choice for what happens to anyone. But I think– I think Vot might have something in store for you, specifically.”

  “Like what?”

  Olgernoth made a satisfied noise, and a waft of warm air filled Millik’s head. “I think I’ve said everything I needed to tell you. It’s time for me to return.”

  …

  Just as promised, Mora let them back into Vot’s chamber with no problems. The door closed behind them, grinding shut slowly.

  “I take it you were successful?” Vot said to Olgernoth, who was bowing alongside Millik.

  “Yes,” Olgernoth said, “I cannot thank you enough for allowing me one final moment.”

  “Of course,” Vot said with a small smile, “As the God of Willpower, I must oblige when someone makes the effort to ask something of me. Come.” She held out her hand to Olgernoth. When he approached, she grabbed him in one elegant motion and waved her hand. In just an instant, Olgernoth was gone once more.

  “How may I be of service?” Millik asked, recalling her previous words to him.

  Her smile grew haughty as she leaned in to face him.

  Golny (Yes, Ameri did bother learning his name, finally) led her through the night-dark Votin streets. They came to an, aside from the skeleton workers, not-unpleasant looking inn. Ameri had no interest in skeletons. Of course she didn’t; they couldn’t bleed. If she was strong enough, it might be fun to crush the bones, but her entire set was designed to instead kill people in the most beautiful ways possible. Inside the inn was just more skeletons. Some were cleaning, some were cooking or preparing drinks, and there was one behind the counter, taking new customers. What her and Golny were doing here, Ameri wasn’t really sure. She really did try to listen, but he talks so slowly, and she’s tuned out by the time he gets to the point.

  “Hello,” Golny said to the skeleton. It looked at him with hollow eyes, of course, but there did seem to be at least some sense of recognition within it. Maybe they could feel the power coming from the two reapers’ buttons. “We’re looking for someone, could you help us with that?”

  “Of course,” the skeleton said cheerfully. This undead more than exceeded the enthusiasm Golny had for anything. “I would have every right to die again if I turned down two whole reapers at the same time, wouldn't I? So, who do you want? A lot of people come through here, but I can search the logbook for whoever you need. All I need’s a name.” They sat patiently, trilling their bone fingers on the desk. There was a number carved into their forearm’s bone: 10897. That was how skeletons identified each other; Ameri did know that.

  “We don’t have a name,” Golny said, “rather a description.”

  “Oh,” 10897 said, “My memory’s not the finest for that kind of thing, but I can try, so shoot.”

  The rhox pulled out a small bag from his pocket. He had shown Ameri that same bag, but she wasn’t listening when he described what was in it.

  “This gunpowder is made from a stone that can only be found here,” he said, “in the quarry, specifically. Do you know anybody here who knows how to make this?” He handed them the bag, and the skeleton looked inside.

  “Oh!” 10897 seemed to be onto something, “That was probably Dynamite Rock.”

  “Is that another name for the gunpowder?” Ameri asked.

  “No, no,” 10897 ushered, “that’s the name of the person. He’s rather infamous around here. Everybody calls him Dynamite Rock.” 10897 put on as good of an impression as a skeleton can, speaking in a funky voice unlike anything Ameri had heard before, “‘Name’s Rock, and I blow shtuff up. It’s fun messin’ wit’ the Digh-Na-Might.” The laughed, rattling.

  “Where can we find him?” Golny asked.

  “Well,” 10897 said, “He’s technically Pokian, but he lives here in town to work with whatever he needs from here. I can take you to him.” 10897 leaped over the desk in a scrambling pile of bones before reassembling themself and walking them out of the inn.

  …

  Dynamite Rock’s shack was actually far from the outskirts of the Votin capital. Since he doesn’t follow Vot, it makes sense he’s not allowed to actually live among them. 10897 headed back to the city once the shack was in the distance.

  Golny knocked on the door strongly, but calm. He was going to wait for a reply, but the knocking disturbed whatever was inside, and an explosion blew up indoors, sending plumes of black smoke out of each window. The door flung open as a hacky cough rang in the air. A dark-skinned merfolk covered in ash and black powder, making his skin look even more like a naturally inky pond, black as night, wearing a similarly soot-covered robe which might have been blue at some point, emerged from the smoke. Underneath the soot, Ameri might have thought him to be considerably handsome if he wasn’t Pokian.

  “Greetings,” Dynamite Rock said, “What might you want?” 10897’s impression was unsurprisingly very inaccurate. His real voice was rather smooth. “Oh, pardon me. You’re Reapers.” He gave a friendly laugh, “You made me drop my test. That took me three months to get to this point, but wouldn’t you two say it worked perfectly?” He looked back into the smoke with an expression that reminded Ameri of how she felt about spilling blood.

  “You make explosives, right?” Golny asked.

  “Indeed,” Rock said, “Pok lets me have so much inspiration, so I spend it out here crafting all types of bombs.” He paused his daydreaming explanation. “To what do I owe the pleasure? It’s not too often I get visitors, especially not Reapers.”

  “Do you sell the bombs you make?”

  “Why, yes I do. Does a Reaper such as you want some?”

  “No.” Golny pulled out the same bag of powder. “Who did you sell this to?”

  “Oh, I don’t sell that kind.” Rock examined it for not even a second. Either he was good at his job, or he didn’t actually look at it. “That’s good quality, so it’s mine to play with.”

  “Does anyone else know how to make it?” Golny was very calm for having just heard practically a confession. Ameri was almost bursting with her desire to finally cut someone up.

  “Nah, It’s my recipe. It’s fun to blow stuff up with it. I find it most enjoyable to use on those Lonists. Their plants catch fire so easily– makes the explosion so much bigger.”

  Golny really did fit Lon’s tenets perfectly. Ameri could never deliver such patience.

  “Did you use it just four days ago? On the Lavarus mansion beside the temple?”

  “Yes, that was an easy job.”

  “Who set you up for it?”

  “Ummm… I don’t know.” Dynamite Rock actually stopped to think, even though he hadn’t connected that he was standing in front of the victims of that very explosion. He must be either really honest or really idiotic. “I can’t say I had a reason, but I don’t think anybody wanted me to do it. I don’t really remember. Looking back on it, that whole day is muddled in my memory.”

  “What does that mean?” Ameri couldn’t hold in her lust for blood any longer. This man had practically admitted to his crime, so why wasn’t Golny attacking yet?

  He turned back to her and leaned into her ear and whispered. “Mind control. It has to be. Or some other kind of unconscious influence. This hermit has no motive. It’s the only explanation.”

  “I see.”

  Golny turned back to Dynamite Rock and bowed, “Thank you for your time. We’ll be going now.”

  The rhox started walking back to civilization, but Ameri didn’t follow. He didn’t look back for her, since they weren’t technically attached in this investigation, so she was free to ask one more question.

  “Why do you make explosives? Does someone order them?”

  “No, I make them for my own enjoyment. It's fun. And it’s what I’m good at, so I sell what I make, as I usually have anything anybody could ask for.”

  “Would you care to help Sor in an endeavor in the near future?”

  “No. Pok is all that deserves my devotion.”

  Ameri closed her eyes and took a deep breath. The smell of black powder filled her lungs, and her decision was made: as Sor’s Reaper, she would kill this man. She didn’t need to talk herself into it; she had been wanting any excuse to kill someone. But, to explain it to Sor: this man had already proven to be a dangerous loose end. And he was of no help to their investigation any more. He had been mind controlled. His perspective was useless past that. And now that they knew, she could eliminate the aforementioned potential threat.

  Her eyes still closed, she let her magic flow throughout the surrounding area. A side effect of her own ability gave her a perfect supersense, meaning, as long as she was using her magic, she could tell the perfect shape of her surroundings from a bird’s eye view. She drew her axe from its sheath, and two more magic-constructed copies floated in the air on either side of it. As she swung all three axes down on the hermit, she opened her eyes to the glory that was the bright red staining of the dark and otherwise uncolorful soot-covered area.

  To Be Continued…