Galvon stepped forward. He’d been part of the Kraken squad that Octavia had sent alongside the Shadow Petal to hunt Scorio back in Bastion. A surreal sensation washed over Scorio as he gazed at the man. A peer. A fellow Dread Blaze. They’d be fighting shoulder to shoulder now.
“The name’s Galvon. House Kraken, Class of 866.” His voice was low, hard, and fit his vulpine features. He was handsome in the manner of a half-starved wolf, all predator, thick, close-cropped beard growing up his cheeks and framing his striking features. Heavy brows shadowed his eyes, and he seemed to stare with disapproval at all he looked upon. “I can produce an invisible wall of force that slams through foes and spares friends. It knocks them back and leaves them confused. I can expand the wall to cover a large area, perhaps fifty yards in width, but the bigger the wall, the less impact it has. I can also divine something of the intentions of those affected. Again, the more I hit, the more diffused that information becomes.”
“Excellent for battle control,” said Taron. “Ursan?”
The Dread Blazes turned to regard the big man at the back. Square-faced, bemused, with that dimple in the center of his broad chin, he rolled his shoulders as if about to step into a fight then raised a palm in greeting. “Ursan, Class of 869. I turn into a large ogre-like creature.” His voice was a soft rumble, almost hard to hear. “I can scare foes away with my roar, and when I punch the ground, people tend to fall over. I can punch the ground hard enough to cause a localized earthquake, but if I do so softly, I can sense everything within range. People moving, building layouts, stuff like that.”
“Battle control, front-line fighter,” said Taron. “Shadow Petal?”
The slight woman had been so still, her form so unobtrusive, that it took a moment for their group to orient on her. She drew a long strand of ebon hair behind one ear and then linked her hands behind her back. “Greetings. I am known as the Shadow Petal, but my name is Himiko. I am from the Class of 870.”
She was only three years older than him? Scorio wanted to laugh; why had he thought of her as a permanent part of Bastion, a dark demon who had always served House Kraken?
“My suite of powers combine to make me an effective killer,” she continued in a strangely polite and quiet tone. “If you are not thinking of me I am invisible. I can step through space as if through a hidden door, appearing anywhere within thirteen yards that I can see. I can transform into the Shadow Petal, as I call her, and in that form am very hard to damage, and possess great speed and strength. Finally, I can summon two blades. The first, Kindness, can cut through flesh with ease. The second, Mercy, can cut through mana.”
Then she bowed her head, indicating that she was done.
Nobody spoke.
Taron finally cleared his throat. “It’s good to have you here, Himiko. You’re probably going to do your own thing, but I’d place you on the front line. Right. Scorio?”
The other nine Dread Blazes considered him. It was strange; the Manticore leaders had all been Dread Blazes, but he’d never considered himself their equal. He’d been content to set them on pedestals right till he resolved to cut their throats. He’d been around Charnel Dukes and Blood Barons, had even conversed with an Imperator.
But for the first time, he felt himself a peer in a lethal company. Each and every single member of this elite group had reached Dread Blaze through a combination of brutal resolve and unbreakable ambition. They’d risen to the pinnacle of what almost every other Great Soul dared dream of, and undoubtedly there were some here who would press on, becoming Pyre Lords or greater.
And now they studied him with respect. With curiosity. But none scoffed at his being there. None dismissed him.
If anything, they gazed at him with wariness. All had heard of him and his exploits. He was the youngest member of their company, and had done nothing but battle for his survival against greater foes since emerging from the Gauntlet. He wasn’t simply their peer; he was a legend in the making.
As such, they listened intently, as if he deserved to stand in their company, as if he were truly one of them.
An elite Great Soul.
Which, Scorio realized with belated amusement, he’d actually become.
“The name’s Scorio, Class of 873. Like Ursan and the Shadow Petal—sorry, Himiko—I can turn into a different being. Large, fast, heavily armored. With wings. I, ah, can also generate a command aura that allows me to influence people around me. Thus far it’s been mostly one-word commands. ‘Stop’, usually, so that they freeze up and I can tear off their heads.”
Scorio grinned, but nobody else found it funny.
“Right. Also, I just developed my Dread Blaze power. I can change into a flame form and then inhale that fire so that I can breathe it out onto people. I’ve not much experience with it yet, but… I think it will hurt.”
Scorio forced a smile, wishing he could just say that over again, but Taron had moved on.
“Can you command multiple people at once?”
“I…” Scorio hesitated. “I don’t know. I’ve actually never tried.”
“We’ll find out. Flight, combat, very limited battle control. Well, we’ll make the rest of this quick and then try a drill. My name is Taron. I can cause mirror-images to appear before my foes, and give them independent thought so that they can battle freely. I can cause these images to release a blast of searing light, and make the ground beneath our enemies as frictionless as a polished ice. Whereas my sister here can just shoot black beams of burning light from her eyes.”
Fyrona glowered. “’Just’, dear brother?”
“No, really, it’s quite impressive. What she doesn’t kill becomes blinded, and she can see through walls. Before making holes in them. Also, her body is as hard as diamond, so if you ever spar with her, don’t hold back.”
Fyrona crossed her arms and stared daggers at her brother.
“Rharvyn there is our long-range assault.” Taron nodded to an older man, his skin so dark it had blue tints, his head shaved bald, his angular features schooled into a look of casual disinterest. “Fortunately for us he can intuit where on the battlefield his attacks will have the greatest effect, and thus tends to avoid blasting the rest of us to pieces.”
“Hi there,” said Rharvyn, raising a hand. “I only work at long range. Anything within fifty yards is safe from me, unless I aim straight up and am willing to destroy myself. I can hide amongst dozens of copies of myself, though. So, you know.” He shrugged.
Taron resumed. “Penaela there is delightful. She creates a tiny black sun that warps the flesh of everything it shines on, and makes everyone affected think she’s dead no matter what she does. Very strange, absolutely charming.”
Penaela stared blankly at Scorio. Her skin was pale and waxen like that of a corpse, her lips bluish, her irises so washed out that they appeared pale gray, their sclera, pink. She wore a simply shift of white, and appeared a corpse standing.
“Hello,” said Scorio, discomfited enough to greet her first.
“Nyrix there is our transportation expert,” said Taron. “He can loose quarrels of white light at our foes, which is good, but better yet he can open connected portals between any two points he shoots at. This allows us to position ourselves swiftly to our advantage, and gives us excellent mobility.”
Nyrix gave an upnod, clearly chuffed at the praise. “It helps that I’m immune to long-ranged attacks. They just pass through me.”
“That just leaves Wesanin and Merideva,” finished Taron. “Wesanin can transform himself into a living vortex of whatever substance is in abundance around him, and just tear through the ranks of our enemies like wildfire. In that form he’s hard to harm, but equally hard to communicate with.”
Like the other Dread Blazes, Wesanin was a man of great presence and striking appearance. His gold earrings contrasted with his rich, russet brown skin, and his hair was shaved around the sides, and twisted into orange ropes up top. His goatee was golden orange, and his irises were also gold, giving him an otherworldly stare. “The more powerful I make myself, the more I lose the ability to think,” he said, voice soft, mellow. “It’s a fine balance.”