Right dipped under a roaring-right-hook from one of the Endless at the same time Bash dashed between its legs. Not even bothering to deal with the twenty-foot-construct—Right would leave that to the horde of Blightfire Spites hot on his heels—he and the Troblin sped toward the Raze they’d been harassing since Hiral took care of the Avatar of Time.

  After the Heart of the City had been destroyed, the raid party had held a distinct strength-advantage over the Raze and Endless. That was entirely gone now. Evaporated like dew in a desert. And it didn’t even have anything to do with the unholy amount of flame Seena was currently hurling from the sky above. She was practically an army of artillery all by herself, with power on a level Right had never seen from her.

  And that worried the hell out of him. She was only getting stronger with every passing second, and there was no way that didn’t come with a cost. The only question was, how bad was it? Hiral would not be happy if something happened to her. Frankly, neither would Right. He didn’t have the same feelings for her—bad enough he had some of the… memories—but she was just a good woman. And perfect for Hiral.

  Mainly because she put up with his shit.

  As much as he wanted to get up there and see what was going on—and probably stop it, because nobody other than him and Left seemed to have any bloody common sense—he had a role he needed to play. Something needed punching, or smashing, depending on who asked, and that meant two people needed to be center stage.

  Bolts from shoulder-mounted cannons streaked in his direction, and he ducked the first, sidestepped the second, one-handed cartwheel between three and four—just because he could—then punched the fifth out of his way. Energy splashed harmlessly against the solid-solar-energy Auroran Conqueror, and Right leapt into a wicked spinning kick aimed straight between the legs of the Endless in front of him.

  Sure, it didn’t have quite the same effect as it would against a twenty-foot-tall man, but Right wasn’t just good at punching. He only preferred punching, and his twisting-jump-kick was no less perfect. Or effective. Cracks spread through the crystal from the point of impact, before the whole giant got hurled back like it’d been launched from a ballista.

  On Right’s side, Bash brought his hammer down on the toe of the Endless trying to get in his way. While it looked a bit ridiculous—really, what would be a toe smash accomplish?—Bash didn’t hit anything he didn’t intend to smash. As soon as the hammer struck, with all the force a buffed-up-Troblin Rager could muster, the foot basically turned to dust. Along with the lower leg, up to the thing’s thigh, despite logic clearly stating that wasn’t how it worked.

  The Endless toppled behind Bash at the same time the one Right had punted smashed into the knee of the Raze he was charging. The difference in quality between the two combatants was clear as day with the collision shattering the Endless, but not even leaving a scratch on the Raze. That was fine, it’d fulfilled its role, namely getting the Raze’s attention, eyes snapping down on Right.

  Far faster than something of its size should be, the towering, crystal titan bent and threw a pair of punches in Right and Bash’s direction. Like having a taxi-tram barreling down on him, the huge fists practically blotted out the sun as they came. This one, though, Right wasn’t going to dodge.

  His feet skidded on the ground for barely a second before he felt something pulse from Bash, bringing them both to a perfect stop, and Right braced himself. Left foot forward, right planted slightly behind and at a ninety-degree angle, he cocked his fist back, Infernal and Entropic energies twisting down his arm to find a home in the palm of his hand.

  Almost like it happened in slow motion, the two energies merged, feeding off each other at the same time they amplified their own powers. As he closed his fingers around the fiery sun being born in his hand, rays of bright purple and red energy twisted and escaped. Where they met the ground, they scoured the crystal away—and the earth beneath—and the buildings didn’t fare any better.

  Across his body, his full suite of Meridian Lines flared with power on his white-energy pseudo-aspect, and small pieces of crystal and rock began to float into the air around him.

  Not far away, Bash’s body bulged with whatever Troblin Wrath ability he had, green bands appearing and then sinking into his skin. More energy surged up from the earth and into his feet, then spreading through his body.

  Then—the little bastard—looked over at Right and winked, like he was about to prove how much of a better smasher he was.

  Too bad for him, Right had one more trick up his sleeve he and Left hadn’t shared when they’d gotten to S-Rank. Something they’d wanted to keep for a special occasion or a dire situation. Showing up the cocky Troblin and reminding him who was the premier smasher in the group sounded like it fit the bill.

  So, Right did something for the first time. He activated Eloquently Enraged+.

  Just like that, Right had over fifteen-thousand Str, the crystal and earth cratering beneath his feet from the sheer weight of his power.

  Bash’s little eyes widened in horror and understanding of what he’d just provoked. The Raze seemed to have a similar reaction, but it couldn’t change the course of the fist racing in Right’s direction. All it could do was brace for impact.

  “Come and get…” Right started.

  “YULLY!” Devison shouted into the raid chat, something about his voice breaking at the same time a distant explosion of some kind sent a blast-wave of debris and dust crashing between buildings. In the Raid Interface, two names went completely grey.

  Yully and Dole.

  Right could barely process what that meant before the Raze’s speeding fist filled his vision.

  On instinct—almost too late—the double lashed out, his tiny fist meeting the house-sized punch looking to turn him into paste. Just like one of the other Raze had done to two of his raid members. Two of his… friends.

  Since he’d been born—if it could even be called that—he’d lost people. Lonil, Vix, Nivian and Wule for a while, and then Yanily in the Rise of Fallen Reach dungeon. Each time he’d felt so powerless. When they’d all gotten to S-Rank, he’d mistakenly believed he couldn’t feel that way ever again. And yet, here it was.

  Worse, he’d been playing with Bash. Making a fun competition of it. While his friends were out there counting on him, and fighting for their lives.

  He wasn’t a tank. It wasn’t his job to protect others. But he’d still let them down. He’d failed. Because, even after all the points he’d put into the attribute, he simply wasn’t strong enough.

  He hated that feeling.

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  Hated. Hated. Hated.

  And that fist meeting his was the object of his hatred. The thing he could smash and do his part. All thoughts but that goal fled his mind, and Eloquently Enraged became just ENRAGED. Really, really enraged.

  Red energy poured out of his eyes in place of the tears he held back at the loss of Yully and Dole, and his whole body exploded with even more energy. Fifteen-thousand Str turned into thirty-thousand Str. The fist that met his punch got blasted back with such force it twisted the whole Raze off-balance, forcing its other punch to whiff on Bash and miss him entirely.

  Throwing his head back and roaring, Right’s body tensed in a flex that cracked the air and reality around him. A storm of energy swirled, hurricane-force winds building, while purple flames grew straight up from his head like long, long hair, stretching for the sky high above.

  Leaning forward again, his eyes—filled with Entropic energy—settled on the Raze, while the white-energy of the Seeker’s Coat burned off at a faster rate than ever. Those small embers of white energy caught in the purple and red flames across his Meridian Lines, until each of those lines burned like rivers of fire across his body.

  At his feet, the crystal and stone had eroded, nothing but dust rising to swirl in the air around him, and then—just like that—he was gone. The crack of his launch came a second after the power of his legs sent him rocketing at the target of his hatred. A second, louder crack followed a heartbeat later, Right’s fist slamming into the center of the Raze with a force the world was never meant to see. And one it certainly wasn’t capable of standing up to.

  Behind the Raze, reality simply shattered, pieces of it falling like broken glass, while the Raze and Right toppled into the void between worlds.

  ***

  Bash looked at the shattered air where Right and the Raze had fallen into.

  Purple, glowy-man smash gud.

  His eyes then went to the hammer in his right hand, and a swarm of unwelcome thoughts rushed through is head like annoying bees. The faces of Yully and Dole. The crystal giants that wouldn’t stay down. The weird emotions that made his chest feel tight. It was too much for the Troblin, and Nivian wasn’t there to think for him.

  Bash wasn’t smart. He knew that. So, he let Wule and Nivian do the difficult thinking part for him. They told him what was right and what was wrong. And they scratched him behind his ears where he liked. Especially when he did a good job.

  But they weren’t there right now. They were busy with other stuff.

  What was he supposed to do?

  Bash’s eyes went from the hammer, to the tear in reality, then back to the hammer.

  “Oh,” the Troblin said. The answer was pretty easy. “Smash.”

  A huge smile spread across his face as he leapt into the unknown behind the purple, glowy-man. They’d smash together!

  ***

  Like Right, Left felt a terrible grief well up inside him at Devison’s heartbreaking cry. Even more so at the two names going gray in the Raid Interface. For the two doubles, life meant something different than the rest of the group. They couldn’t really die, not as long as Hiral remained. Because of that, they sometimes… forgot… what it all meant.

  The two of them often talked with each other—reminded each other—about it, so they didn’t become complacent. But, with each of them growing from just part of Hiral’s base personality, there were still gaps. Still places they weren’t complete, even though their own souls had begun developing.

  Left recognized this, logically, but it still slipped past his defenses.

  Until something reminded him. Something like the deaths of his friends.

  And it hurt.

  He had Hiral’s lifetime’s worth of experiences dealing with hardship, bullying, and ridicule. But he had never really experienced loss, beyond the absence of his mother’s love. Even then, she’d always still been around, if as nothing more than an object of resentment. To truly lose people, it was still new to Left.

  Yes, he and Right had been there when others had died, like Lonil and Vix, but they’d been so… young. Unformed. It was easier to stay objective, especially since they weren’t close friends. Losing Nivian and Wule had been tougher, then Yanily had been the worst.

  Those three had all come back, though.

  Now? Yully and Dole were both Left’s friends, not Hiral’s or Right’s. Left had spent more time with the healers and Shapers, learning from them to grow his own abilities. Getting closer to them over time. They were friends he’d made without Hiral’s help. They were his.

  And they were gone.

  The void opening up in Left’s chest at the realization of that stopped him in his tracks, hundreds of feet above where Right and the Raze vanished into the tear through reality. His hand went to his chest, fingers clenching at the Seeker’s Coat above his heart. Why didn’t he have a tattoo to remove this kind of pain?

  Waters of Frey would mend wounds, and the Herald of Peace would protect his body, but he didn’t have anything to spare him from this pain. He couldn’t even cancel his own summons to escape it, as that would seal Hiral’s solar energy, and the man was too busy doing something ridiculous. Again.

  Left looked to the distant storm still surrounding Visionary. Could he run from this pain? Could he escape it?

  He took a step… and immediately stopped. What… what was he doing? Running wouldn’t help anybody. The loss was already inside him, and distance wouldn’t change that. Worse, if he ran like a coward, all that would do was put more of his friends in danger.

  Was that it? At his core, was Left a coward? Looking to flee at the first time he faced a danger he couldn’t overcome through Foundational Split?

  Lifting the hand not clutched at his chest, he found it shaking. He was scared. And, for the first time in his life, it wasn’t scared for Hiral doing something stupid. Yes, there was always the worry about the man dying, and ending his and Right’s existence, but, somehow, that had never been the scary part.

  Hiral worried about the nothingness after death—the nightmares that came following the events on Fallen Reach had been terrifying—but it wasn’t the same for Left. He wasn’t worried about death or dying. It was just part of life. That he had thought and existence at all was a gift. Until recently, he was nothing more than a collection of solar energy with a burgeoning consciousness.

  No, his fear had been about losing Hiral. Because, despite the labels of doubles or being an ability, the man was like a brother to Left. The slightly less-annoying brother than Right. Usually. Left worried about what it would mean for Hiral to die. How it would affect Nat, Milly, and their father. Then, later, how it would hurt Seena and the rest of the party. Hiral was important to them.

  Left had never really understood what that meant. Not until he felt it himself, right now, with the loss of people important to him.

  He suddenly knew what Nat and Milly might feel like if Hiral were to die. While Yully and Dole weren’t quite as important to Left as Hiral was to his sisters, this was the first time Left had to deal with this kind of emotion. Really deal with it, on his own.

  Left wasn’t afraid of the fight below him. He wasn’t afraid of getting hurt—he’d been hurt plenty—he was afraid of saying goodbye to people.

  He didn’t want them to go. He wasn’t ready for them to leave.

  His shaking stilled as he slowly clenched the hand in front of him. From his chest, the hand that had gripped his Seeker’s Coat relaxed, then reached to his back. If he didn’t want his friends to go, he needed to make sure they stayed.

  Once again looking to the distant clouds, his eyes didn’t seek a path of escape this time. Left wasn’t a coward. No, this time, he called to the clouds, and extended his clenched fist in their direction. Though he wasn’t an emerging storm-god like a certain spearman, that didn’t mean he hadn’t learned a few tricks from the man. Or from the weapon forming in his hand.

  The Spear of Clouds; said to have separated sky from earth, and the item that protected Fallen Reach from the Enemy to this day. That wasn’t all there was to the weapon, or the story of what brought it to Genesis. Like other S-Rank items, it had a legacy.

  Left only possessed a facsimile of the weapon through his tattoo, but as he opened himself to the clouds in the distance, that was all he needed. Yanily commanded the storm. The wind and lightning.

  But, Left wasn’t wielding the Spear of Storms or the Spear of Lightning, he had the Spear of Clouds, and that was what he commanded. Left called on the clouds themselves, and as the spear fully formed in his hand, those clouds came from all directions.

  Crossing miles in seconds, the swirling mass of grey, black, and white didn’t bring the Enemy with it—the Spear of Clouds cleansed that particular taint with a flex of power—and converged on Left. Below him, Bash had—of course—dived into the tear in reality after Right. Laseen lingered on the edge, knowing that if she went in, only Wule would be left to tend to the raid party’s wounds.

  “I’ll get them,” Left said to the vampire through the party chat, and she looked up to find a two-hundred-foot-tall version of Left made entirely of storm clouds.

  One that charged into the open tear to make sure those two meatheads made it back in one piece.

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