Jackal Among Snakes

Griffin stared at Argrave, who stood defiantly in his tattered black coat deep within the valley leading to Blackgard. In truth, Griffin himself had done appreciably little to come this far. Most everything had been the work of Argrave alone—wresting Sophia from Sandelabara, depriving the Heralds of their voice in this world, putting an end to the ambitions of the Hopeful… all his own feats, even if he had some help along the way.

Of the foes Griffin had fought during his previous descents, there was no one he thought could take his place. None could endure what he had without surrendering to the will of the Heralds. Lorena had her chance, but in the end, they’d broken her. Raven had nearly risen so high as to contest the Herald’s power, but he succumbed to insanity and lost to a coalition of gods. Lorena had saved him without his knowledge and salvaged his mind, but he’d never again seek that power—instead, it’d paralyzed him with fear. There was only one person Griffin thought capable of taking his place. It was an egoistic answer, but that didn’t change the fact it was true.

Only Argrave could endure what Griffin had and come out the other side opposing the Heralds.

Griffin respected Argrave more than anyone. He came from a soft, prosperous place where the largest danger to people was themselves alone. Despite that, the moment he’d awoken as Argrave he came alive. He acted with cunning, expending boundless energy toward a single end. When he discovered other ends were possible, he pursued them with a moment’s doubt. He didn’t hesitate to steer the path of the world, with or without its consent.

It was alarming to watch Griffin’s plans unravel one by one. Argrave’s influence spread like a plague across Berendar, and then eventually the world. He destroyed, he rebuilt, he established, and overtook all the existing power structures, making them his own. The sum total of that effort stood before him, poised to clash with all its being. Nothing could please Griffin more, facing a foe that he respected.

But respect would not faze him.

Griffin spurred the automaton he’d crafted into motion. This Zanti had been inspired by a myth from Argrave’s home realm—it was the tenth, final incarnation of a god prophesied to bring about a new era of virtue and truth before its ultimate dissolution. In design, it was a collection of all the knowledge Griffin had learned watching the denizens of this realm craft automatons. It used his own being as its fuel—and with that peerless fuel, it bridged the distance between him and Argrave incredibly quickly despite the suppression of the arrays in the mountain.

Argrave shifted on his feet, but Griffin didn’t waver in the slightest. The Hopeful, one of the most powerful beings in the world, had been forced to hobble uselessly in this valley. His Zanti already proved itself far stronger than that. He only needed to break past Argrave and follow the route to Blackgard. Had Anneliese been standing in his way, this would’ve been a problem, but she was behind. Argrave could certainly hit hard, but his defense wasn’t as absolute as hers.

Griffin came to Argrave, his upper right arm holding the white saber high. The moment it began to slice down, Argrave vanished, employing his [Echo Step]. Griffin found his location in a millisecond, then threw the saber in the next. It spun through the air like a sawblade, moving so quickly it appeared like nothing more than a white blur. Argrave couldn’t have reacted… but he predicted, teleporting again moments after.

Griffin felt a burst of blood magic behind him, and whipped around to see Argrave had used his new favorite spell, [Godkiller]. With a burst of cleansing white fire and a swipe of his hand, the magic shattered. Even still, it cracked the Zanti’s hand, revealing more of Griffin’s formless being. His saber danced through the air, returning to his hand, and Griffin clenched it tightly.

“I fought your father, Norman. He was faster,” Argrave goaded, regrowing his arm. “Maybe I shouldn’t be surprised. A lot of sons are just pale imitations of their father. You’re his spitting image.”

Griffin took the taunt with amusement alone, enjoying a secret joke. Instead of continuing to clash, he stuck to his goal. The Zanti sped deeper into the valley. All up ahead, he saw the results of Argrave’s preparation—blood echoes spread everywhere, like bloody ghosts haunting this ruined path. Rather than blindly waltz into an ambush, he held his three arms out, burning away some of his essence to bring forth that cleansing white fire. Opposite him, Argrave appeared with [Echo Step], preparing three spells—one from Garm’s eyes, and the other two from his hands.

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Argrave’s black-blooded magic and the Zanti’s purifying flames rose up in devastating contest, shattering the earth and rocking the mountains. Argrave’s magic was strong enough to resist, but not enough to truly oppose. Griffin won more and more ground by the second… but every second he spent was another that those behind advanced. If Anneliese and her Spark of Eternity arrived, it could well be over.

With a final flourish when Argrave had been completely overpowered, Griffin ceased his contest of power and barreled forth with blade raised high. He brought the saber down to cleave, but Argrave conjured the staff Artur imbedded into his being. Griffin’s saber met the staff, breaking it out of Argrave’s hand and continuing on to cut off his right arm and right leg. Argrave, though, didn’t flee. Instead, with a spark of insanity in those gray eyes of his, he reconjured the staff into his left arm, and swung it into the Zanti’s face.

The latent ability of the Resonant Pillar activated, delivering a blow of the same strength Griffin had just delivered right into the metal body of the Zanti. The automaton was sent tumbling backward in a heap, and a fragment of the metal mask broke away. Some of his essence leaked out, but he restrained the rest inside and regained his balance.

“Much uglier… without the mask,” Argrave sputtered, coughing blood as he leaned against his staff, unable to balance with only one leg. White fire persisted on the cut, impeding Argrave’s regenerative ability. Griffin saw opportunity.

Should’ve struck my legs, Griffin thought of that taunt to reply, but without a mouth to say it, had to leave it unsaid.

He ran into that minefield of blood echoes spread throughout the valley. Never before had Griffin seen Argrave employ so many of these specters at once. They were more than showpieces, too—Argrave continuously appeared before the Zanti, magic at the ready. His injury, still burning with white fire, proved to worsen his ability to effectively use spells like [Godkiller]. For a long while, Griffin made nothing but progress, passing by broken checkpoint after broken checkpoint.

Eventually the Zanti’s flame died, however. By the time Griffin reached the area where the Hopeful had perished, Argrave returned in force. His strategy improved by leaps and bounds—the blood echoes he didn’t end up using expended themselves, becoming blood-infused [Electric Eels]. Soon enough, between great schools of eels soaring through the sky and Argrave’s own assaults with [Godkiller], Griffin found himself slowing, stagnating.

Rather than allow Anneliese and the others time to catch up, Griffin decided to utilize his now-substantial lead to do what would ultimately be best— killing Argrave’s body outright. The suppression of Blackgard’s arrays was a truly formidable advantage for Argrave, but Griffin was confident he could win. Without Argrave’s body present, he might win it all.

Griffin kept careful track of all the blood echoes near, doing what his father never had—learning Argrave’s tendencies when he teleported. His opponent’s intention was to stall for Anneliese’s arrival, and Griffin took ample advantage of that fact to gather information. Slowly, he pieced together subtle habits, tells, and recalled all the other fights that Argrave had engaged in.

Then… all at once, Griffin felt as though he’d entered Argrave’s mind.

Griffin charged, swinging his saber predictably to bait the Resonant Pillar. He feinted, making Argrave teleport away in panic. He attacked with a burst of white fire where he knew Argrave would next be. The blinding fire subtly concealed Griffin’s true attack. He threw his saber where he was certain Argrave would appear after dodging his flames. He felt a burst of triumph as his blade sliced straight through Argrave’s waist mere moments after he teleported, sending his upper half spinning through the air.

Griffin leapt, conjuring a blast of fire to burn Argrave away. Before he could, however… Argrave’s body vanished, whisked away by a blood echo. Griffin scanned the surroundings, but saw no sign of him. He might’ve scanned more with his omniscience, but that would take some time—time he lacked.

With no more opposition, Griffin tore through the valley with reckless abandon. The array in the mountains oppressed him harder than ever, yet he felt utterly unburdened as he came upon the checkpoint at which the Hopeful had failed to pass. With a single swipe of his saber, its metal gate shattered. His effort redoubled toward the next, and he utterly ignored its garrison as he similarly crashed through its gates.

Barrier after barrier, obstacle after obstacle… Griffin broke through them all, until he finally saw the last gate. He feared an attack from anywhere, everywhere, all at once. But in the end, he reached its gate the same as all the last, and with a tremendous burst of white fire, burnt it all away in blinding, purifying life.

Griffin walked forth into Blackgard, taking in the city from a new view. Its orderly, peaceful streets, its immaculately maintained fields, its estates and farmhouses, its amenities and utilities, its parliamentary hall… it was utterly serene. The only thing disturbing Griffin’s view was Argrave. The king of this city stood, whole and healthy. He’d changed into new armor, and appeared fully rejuvenated.

And in his arms rested Sophia, Griffin’s sister. The reason he’d come here at all.

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