The new girl jerked her chin at the princess. “You holding the reins here?”
R’leya had a speech memorized for summoned heroes, and she’d even had more practice delivering it than she ever expected to. This was not at all the circumstance under which she’d imagined delivering it, but habit took over.
She pressed hands to her middle and bowed. “Greetings, brave heroes…uh, heroine…from worlds beyond. I am Princess R’leya of the Fractured Realms, and for years now our world has been beset by the monstrous forces of the Dark Lord Zyrellon, Lord of the Broken.”
The new girl was clearly not paying attention. She was shifting her weight, rolling her neck from side to side, and looking out the windows.
“What may I call you, brave heroine?” R’leya prodded.
“Found him,” the summoned girl said abruptly. She conjured a sword made from her magic, a mass of silver-and-red power given physical form. Upon the mere appearance of the blade, all the spells of the wizards fractured, crushed by superior power.
With that weapon of supernatural energy, the heroine slashed the air open.
Into the throne room of the Dark Lord Zyrellon.
R’leya had never seen that place before, but she knew it could be no other. Everything within was a twisted monstrosity. The lights were shining grubs, the walls were bones crawling with spiders, and nameless warped creations pulsed awkwardly through the air. Even the throne itself was a shelled, heaving creature, like a beetle grown into the shape of a chair.
The summoned girl made as though to walk through the portal, but hesitated when she saw the sight on the other side. “Blech. Take two glances of that and tell me this guy isn’t evil.”
Powerful as this heroine obviously was, she was clearly taking Zyrellon too lightly. Mustering all her courage, R’leya rushed forward. “Close this gateway! He is evil, and more powerful and ruthless than you realize. By stepping through, you put yourself in his power.”
“Yeah, it’s not like I’m tripping all over myself to rush in there, but I’ve got to measure before I cut. Just because you called my name doesn’t make you a saint from the heavens. Maybe I ought to be saving him from you.”
Before R’leya could come up with a response to that, the newcomer held her breath and strode through the portal.
Insects scurrying at her feet were shredded by invisible blades before they got close.
“Fortification spells!” the elder wizard shouted. “Prevent anything from passing through! The very wind could carry plague. Gornus, cleansing spells!”
R’leya almost stopped him. If the heroine needed to retreat, they didn’t want to block her way with spells. But then again, she could probably just stride straight through.
While the wizards were casting, their chants filled the chamber. Above them, R’leya heard a roaring voice echo through the halls of the Dark Lord’s fortress.
She couldn’t make out Zyrellon’s words, but she clearly heard the summoned heroine’s dry reply. “Put those fangs away and talk. Came straight from the heavens to cut the head off the guy ending the world. You know him?”
The fortification spells locked the portal down, hanging in a translucent cage around the cut in the world. Now that the wizards had finished their incantations, Zyrellon’s voice was clear. And terrifying. She’d never heard him speak before, but it was as demonic as she’d imagined.
“I AM THE END OF THIS WORLD!” he bellowed. “I AM THE DARKNESS UNENDING! I AM—”
For a flash, the world beyond the portal turned black-and-white. It cut off the Dark Lord’s rant.
A moment later, the heroine returned, running a hand through the red streak in her hair. “He’s dead. Guess you’ll want proof, huh? You can go get his head…er, wait, it’s missing. I’d contend you could find an ear.”
As expected, she did indeed stride through the spells surrounding the portal as though they weren’t there. They shattered to nothing before even touching her black armor.
Some of the wizards cast quick scout-spells, which fluttered through the portal like messenger pigeons. They returned almost immediately, and the wizards gave shaking nods.
The Dark Lord was dead. Just like that.
The heroine’s sword had disappeared again, and she clapped her armored hands together as though brushing them clean. “Cheers and celebration for us, then. That was an easy one. Can’t imagine they’re all clear as good glass.”
Princess R’leya returned to herself. She felt as if she had been lost in some insane daydream.
“Heroine, we…we never imagined your power would be so…overwhelming. Let us prepare you a room, and we will feast you for as long as you wish to stay. The gratitude of the Fractured Realms is endless.”
The girl waved her hand lazily. “Can’t. You’re not the only world I have to save today.”
R’leya’s spine stiffened. She wasn’t prepared to send the heroes back.
It was theoretically possible, but they had never had the opportunity to cast that spell before. And it would be at least as costly as calling heroes here, which took years to arrange.
How would this invincible heroine respond to learning that she was trapped here for two or more years? If she lost her temper, she might be an even greater threat than the Dark Lord Zyrellon.
“My apologies, my lady, but we cannot send you back yet. As I said, we didn’t expect you to succeed so—”
“No harm to me. Got my own way back.”
A bladed arm of what seemed to be scarlet chrome extended from the heroine’s armored back. It slashed the air once, cutting open another portal. Only this one extended, not to a real place, but into a dimension of endless, complex blue that twisted the princess’ eye.
She felt so nauseous looking at it that she had to glance away.
“Call me back if you need me,” the heroine said, and she stepped into the blue.
Before she vanished, Princess R’leya called after her. “Wait! What’s your name?”
The girl called something that was partially swallowed up by the rush of the portal closing behind her.
“Spread the word to all the Fractured Realms,” the princess announced. “We have been saved by a mysterious heroine from worlds beyond: the mighty warrior Heron.”
In a vault beyond space, the Remnant sat and sorted its fractured memories.
It remembered being a lion, but now it looked like a man. Its power was great, but not enough to break open this space from the inside. The vault had been made to contain the most powerful Remnants, and now it held two of them.
For a long time, the lion had fought the man of lightning, but neither had put their all into it. They were stuck here together, and the longer they sat in silence, the more the lion’s Remnant believed this was its true punishment.
There was only one set of memories that had survived the transition clearly: the skills of an ancient Soulsmith. An enemy.
Ozmanthus Arelius’ Soulsmith inheritance remained, taunting the Remnant. It wasn’t like hearing a voice in its head, which may have been a comfort. Instead, it was like knowing exactly what Ozmanthus would say at any given time.
That was much worse.
Ozmanthus would mock the Remnant for this. He would say that floating forever in a dissolving spatial vault was a better fate than the spirit deserved. That all of its planning, riches, and power had come to nothing, and all because of its own treachery.
Trapped in a prison of guilt and recrimination, the Remnant lived in painful silence. Until, one day, a light shone at the front of the vault. Blue light.
Something was tearing its way in.
The Remnant staggered to its feet, bracing itself against the wall with its goblet-shaped hand. Its companion, the lightning Remnant, stared with undisguised hope.