Leonidas stepped out of the shower and back into the Duskguard’s locker room—as he’d rationalized calling it—with a sigh of relief, and reached up to towel his black hair. He’d been given a fifteen minute break between rounds, apparently as per normal, while the Arena Master prepared his next match. He’d immediately taken the opportunity to access the newly discovered shower, built into an obfuscated side chamber, at the leftmost far end of the rectangular locker room’s length.

He’d acquired 2 more Attribute Points and 1 more Skill Purchase point with his Level Up, and had immediately invested both the Attribute Points into Strength. Psi was powerful, and he fully intended on using it as his primary form of enhancement and offensive spellcasting; but if his physical ability to resist or output damage was weak, Psi wouldn’t be able to save him.

His low Agility was a concern as well, though a less pressing one.

[Chivalric Charge] allowed him to close distances rapidly when he had to.

Leonidas also had the feeling that, with sufficient practice, he could probably trigger the ability to take him to a specific location within its range, rather than the maximum possible distance at the maximum possible velocity. There was definitely nuance to the Skill, and he’d be a fool not to try to exploit it.

That, though, was a less urgent issue—and one that he was using to idly distract his mind from the real, and more pressing thought: what had happened to him in the Arena.

His Scouring and Battle Meditation had worked wonders, and he’d received an interesting achievement—and perk to go with it—for using both methods during the fight, but those were not his immediate concern, still.

He grimaced while he dried his hair on the white towel, and stepped forward to look at himself in a nearby mirror with narrowed eyes.

What concerned him was why he had become so suddenly and abruptly vicious.

In the heat of battle it had made perfect sense: goblins had killed humans, and so Leonidas brutalized the goblins. Easy, simple, and perfectly rational.

Except that it wasn’t rational by any stretch of the imagination.

Something had overtaken his composure, self-control, and normally pragmatic approach to combat. It had demanded a more violent, and overtly sadistic approach to the fight—which was distinctly rare for him, and had been so even during some of the worst points of the war against Azrageth. Something had influenced his mind, subtly at first, and then with escalating levels of control; until he’d become as aggressive and violent as a consuming wildfire.

His eyes lowered along his naked chest, and settled on the muscled expanse of his solar plexus…

…precisely where his [Cataclysm Core] was located.

It hadn’t taken a genius-level intellect to deduce that a foreign element had perforated his normally procedural and battle-sharpened self-control, and Leonidas was thankfully a nominally intelligent enough man that he could do basic addition. His Core’s energy had proliferated across his System, and his sense of reason had steadily been supplanted, first slowly and then more rapidly, by an uninhibited call to violence that was completely out of character.

“Well, not completely.” he admitted to himself out loud, and looked up to meet his own deep blue eyes in the mirror. “We both know that isn’t true.”

The night Miranda had died, Leonidas had wept like a child. That was true.

It was also the night, however, that he’d demonstrated exactly what a Hero without disciplined foundations, or restraint, could unleash. His fury, unchecked and unrestrained, had torn through the forces of both Azrageth’s demons, and the Dark Lord’s Tainted mortal soldiers, like a force of nature. It was neither self-fellating nor exaggerated to admit, truthfully, that he had taught even the staunchest heart the meaning of fear that night.

He still remembered, in vivid detail, the way he had obliterated Mount Ulan.

Mir’vas had risen in his hand, the blade’s length shining with lightning and radiant mana both, and he had taken it in a two-handed grip above his head. His eyes, stained red by the tears he had shed for the woman that had mentored him, were locked on the fleeing contingent of Tainted retreating with haste toward the distant peak of Mount Ulan.

Leonidas felt his Radiance Core ‘revving’ in his chest like a celestial engine, and had almost been able to picture, with perfect clarity, the golden lines of power raging through his reinforced mana channels in response to his need for power. Mir’vas had trembled in his grip, as if sensing what was about to occur, and yet had been powerless to halt it.

“Seventh Sword Art,” he had proclaimed in a voice hoarse from grief, and raw with hatred. “Sunder the Heavens.”

The activation phrase had stimulated the building torrent, an ocean of divine power, into action. The dark of night had turned to day, and a beam of radiant white-gold energy—blistering with roaring tides of lightning—had manifested from the tip of his blade and pierced the clouds above in a column of holy judgment.

Leonidas had slashed Mir’vas with the fury of a mourning Hero, aggrieved by the death of a woman he’d loved as dearly as his own sister.

The world had turned monochrome white for a second that stretched to eternity.

When it was done, Mount Ulan had been split in twain, and the earth had been sundered as if the palm of a god had chopped down from the heavens above. Aberrant weather and atmospheric disturbance had proliferated the air above, and aetheric storms had savaged the already-murdered thousands that had once been Azrageth’s vanguard.

Leonidas had turned away once it was done, gnawed at by a chasm of grief unsatisfied by his vengeance, and had left without a second glance.

Behind him, only destruction had remained where greenery had once flourished.

It had been a fitting metaphor for the landscape of his wounded heart.

By the time he’d returned for Miranda’s funeral pyre, there had been nothing left of the forward army that Azrageth had deployed to test the Alliance’s strength. Leonidas had walked back into his own army’s camp drenched in blood, and with Mir’vas held loosely in his right hand. Only Lyara and his companions had been able to muster the nerve to approach him, and they had guided him away to clean up before Miranda’s funeral.

It was not the first time his army had been silent since the war’s outset.

But it was the first time it had been due to fear, not of demons, but of him.

Which brought Leonidas back to the consideration of his new [Cataclysm Core]. If his grief over Miranda had been enough to awaken that level of hate and destructive instinct within him, even with the calming and comparatively docile tempering of a Radiance Core, then what would it mean if he lost someone of equivalent value—like Kairi, or a future companion—while under the influence of his new Core?

The thought chilled him in a way he couldn’t express in words, and he knew he’d need to find a way to both rein in, and more carefully manage, his use of what he was tentatively dubbing ‘Cataclysm Mana’.

At least until he developed a method with which to properly filter the violent urge to destroy, burn, crush, and shatter which seemed like a natural companion to the scarlet essence raging within his still-forming Core.

Cultivating his [Cataclysm Core], he realized grimly, would be a challenge like none he’d ever faced—especially if he wished to do it without losing parts of his more rational self.

A ping on his [Psion’s Focus] interrupted his thoughts, and alerted him to an approaching presence. Leonidas looked past his body in the mirror, and stared beyond it at the door reflected at the opposite end of the room.

Tarnys opened it and stepped inside a moment later, though this time he wasn’t alone.

The Dusk-Lord had come with him.

Leonidas turned to face them both when they entered, and—despite knowing he was essentially naked beneath the thankfully thick towel—walked with a soldier’s practiced indifference toward the benches in the middle of the room, where a new set of clean clothes awaited him. “Tarnys,” he greeted the elf with a nod, and then turned to the Dusk-Lord. “Duchess Latherian.”

“Ceruviel will suffice in private, ‘Ace’.” the Dusk-Lord said before Tarnys could speak, and stepped forward with a clink of her silver armor. “Your performance in the Arena was not what I expected.”

“I lost control,” Leonidas admitted honestly. “It was an oversight, one I won’t—”

“No.” the Dusk-Lord interjected briskly. “It was exactly what you needed to do. Do not mistake my outward disinterest during the match, which I know you saw, for disapproval. I had hoped you would make a spectacle, Leonidas Achilles, and you did precisely that—and more besides.”

She stepped forward and eyed him over like one might examine a newly-bought stallion, then stepped around him slowly while she continued. “Your next matches will not be against fodder like goblins, but the remembered brutality of your first bout will mean that even if you are more controlled; it will not count against you.”If you come across this story on Amazon, it's taken without permission from the author. Report it.

“You told the Arena Master to elaborate on their crimes,” Leonidas realized.

“I did.” she confirmed shamelessly while examining him with a keen eye. “I wanted to see what manner of person you were, ‘Ace’. I wanted to know whether you were as calm and measured as you demonstrated, or if you had the fire, the fury, to survive in a world that is no longer your own.” The Dusk-Lord’s voice was cold while she spoke, and Leonidas got the impression she didn’t care about race nearly as much as a person’s character. “I wanted to know if you truly cared for innocent people, or if you were just another selfish, and self-serving piece of detritus to be thrown away.”

Ceruviel extended her right hand while she spoke and firmly gripped his left bicep in examination. Her strength, when she did, was demonstrable enough that Leonidas was suddenly certain Ceruviel could have crushed his limb on a whim if she’d wished to.

“Your relative ignorance of the System, despite the years since Incursion, kindled doubt in my mind—but your performance in the arena dulled those embers considerably. I am now more certain you may be a prize, rather than a burden, though I will require a little more evidence before I can safely settle on that opinion.”

“And I take it I won’t like the result of failing to provide that evidence?” Leonidas asked more calmly than his nerves should have allowed. There was a predatory intensity to the Dusk-Lord that was both exciting and terrifying, and the only way he could describe the sensation was as instinctive attraction to something unattainable.

He wasn’t sure if he’d want to bed her, fight her, or run for his life.

“You are astute in that assessment, Terran.” Ceruviel confirmed with no indication she picked up on his conflicted thoughts. “Your next match will be against an opponent of my direct choosing, and one that will test your mettle and your talents. I am aware you aren’t even at First Tier, and so I have not been overly vicious in the choice—but make no mistake, this will require all of your wits, and all of your ferocity. If you cannot emulate what you did in the first round, while simultaneously retaining your focus and composure; you will very likely die.”

“And prove your doubts correct in the process.”

“And prove my doubts correct in the process,” Ceruviel agreed.

Leonidas looked at Tarnys, and the elf just sort of shrugged at him.

Well, so much for that source of morale support, Leonidas thought dryly.

“Did you gain anything from the last round?” the Dusk-Lord asked him while coming to a halt in front of him.

“Level four, and an increase in Strength. I also gained something called ‘Synergy’ with my bound psiblade and warplate, though I don’t know what—”

“Synergy affects their growth and evolution alongside you,” Ceruviel cut in imperiously. “It is a metric the System can track for you, if you allow it. The easiest way to explain it would be that your bonded weapons, which Tarnys was unreasonably brilliant for encouraging you to purchase, will help your growth as much as you help their growth through your own actions and experiences. It is a feedback loop.”

“Of literal Experience?” Leonidas asked with interest.

“No, of determination for the future. The greater your Synergy, the more definitive your weapon and warplate will be in their evolutions when you reach each Tier of power, and progress your Core.” Ceruviel reached out and pressed her armored right forefinger against his solar plexus. “It all comes from here,” she said with a small amount of physical pressure. “A low synergy, due to cowardice or a weak Willpower, will result in a lackluster evolution. A high synergy due to courage and strength of Will, conversely, will result in an extremely potent evolution—or at least, an extremely complimentary and necessary one.”

“My Core and my mental state, then, affect my Synergy?”

“As does your use of Psi, yes. Archon equipment adapts to its master, Leonidas Achilles. If you prove to be a worthy one, then your strength will be considerable.” the Dusk-Lord’s eyes were fixed on his with discerning intensity, and an amused glint registered in their purple depths. “I assume you lied to Tarnys about your Ambition?”

Leonidas’ gaze flicked to the elf behind Ceruviel, and he grimaced at Tarnys’ intentionally blank stare.

“No,” Leonidas said carefully, “but I wasn’t wholly honest with him either.”

“Because your Ambition would scare him.”

“Because my Ambition would be a threat,” Leonidas clarified. “And because I don’t want to be killed for having it.”

“Tell me.” Ceruviel commanded in a tone that brooked no refusal.

Leonidas’ jaw locked at her words, and he felt a wave of nervous energy fill him. The Dusk-Lord had him dead to rights, truthfully, and if her Affinity was Psi then it was only reasonable to assume that she had some knowledge of what he was thinking. It would be criminally idiotic to assume that Ceruviel had no ability to discern the thoughts of others.

He could try lying to her, but he had a feeling that doing so was more likely to lead to his death than just admitting to his true Ambition, and while it felt like he was being robbed of a potential dramatic reveal at a later date, and one that served him better; he had no choice. Comprising Tarnys’ tenuous friendship had never been his goal, but concern—and, yes, fear—had led him to where he was at that moment.

There was no point adding to it, even if he could deceive the Duchess.

“Sovereign,” Leonidas said finally, and saw Tarnys’ impassive facade break when he did. Shock, anger, disbelief, and even awe were writ large in the dark-haired elf’s gaze, and Tarnys seemed to sag a little after Leonidas spoke.

“Well now,” Ceruviel said with a palpable approval that surprised him, and was reflected in her eyes, “that is different. Sovereign, is it? What an intriguing turn of events. It now makes far more sense why you weren’t a blubbering mess in my office, or when guided here by Tarnys. What are your Ambition Skills?”

Leonidas blinked at her lack of negative reaction, or rather, at what seemed to be approval, and then answered her in a mix of surprise and mild confusion.

“Noble’s Resolve and Oath of Fealty.”

“Yes, that makes far more sense.” Ceruviel said with a tone that almost sounded vindicated. “My Ambition is High Noble, Leonidas Achilles, and is far more advanced in its attainment than your own. It affords me skills that both inspire my allies and terrify my enemies, or those that I wish to terrify. It also grants me considerable bonuses to Charisma.”

Ceruviel chuckled and stepped away from him with her hands on her wide hips. “The fact you were not a stammering, and shivering mess of fear when we first met aroused my interest—and now that I know you are a nascent Sovereign, that interest has grown into outright intent. Were you not so much younger than me, and such an ideal target as a student, I’d make you fuck me right here just for the chance you might give me an heir with the same Ambition as your own.”

Leonidas’ eyes widened at her bluntness, and he felt heat suffuse his cheeks. It was one thing to think about sleeping with her, because well, who wouldn’t? But it was distinctly shocking for her to speak about it so boldly. He wasn’t even remotely used to that sort of behavior, especially when compared to the conservative nature of women in Elatra.

“Calm down, ‘Ace’.” Ceruviel said with a quiet chuckle. “As I said, you are both too young, despite your designation as a man in his prime by Terran standards, and too complicated. I do not bed my students, no matter their pedigree. The Prince thought that he could circumvent that rule by right of blood, and he learned his lesson with a bruised backside and even more bruised ego. You, however, are not so foolish—and you share my Affinity.”

Ceruviel moved forward and lifted his chin to stare into his eyes, purple to blue, intently. “More than that, you are the first person I have met in over a century that has the potential to become a true Archon.”

She released him after that and stepped around him again, while still examining him like he were cattle at an auction.

Leonidas, meanwhile, was still trying to get over her blatant statement about sleeping with him, and the uncomfortably appealing fantasies which the words aroused in his mind. He had been transmigrated to Elatra before he’d managed to pass that particular rite of passage in College, and while there he’d had neither the time nor luxury to pursue a sexual relationship—not with the risk of an assassin from any number of factions attempting to get close to him through such means.

The first person he’d really considered pursuing something with was Lyara, and while he believed he’d have had a real shot with her, that ship had very much sailed when he’d been transported to Earth again.

More importantly than his hormonal woes, however, was that he was also trying to rationalize the fact that Ceruviel had all but admitted to being an Archon—and, by extension, part of an Order which the System had declared to be dead.

While he was still trying to find a calm center, the Dusk-Lord spoke again.

“What is your Code? I assume that battle gave you the first part of it. You won’t actualize it, nor your Duelist Aspect fully, until First Tier—but you usually receive elements of your Code in drips prior to that first Tempering.”

Leonidas had, in fact, received the first element of his code.

“Uh. It’s brief,” he said with a genuine wariness. He did not like the idea of angering the woman, now more than ever. Not out of some simplistic desire to keep her happy, or naive belief in wanting to seduce her at a later date; he simply found her incredibly unpredictable. She was like a prowling panther, and he was a naked villager.

The Duchess, however, simply stared at him with a frown of impatience.

“‘I will destroy those who seek to harm my own.’” Leonidas quoted after he caught her stare. “That’s it. It’s pretty direct, honestly. I expected something more grand or, I dunno, chivalric.”

“Knightly Codes are as much about your personality and motivation as they are about the honor of the Archetype. More than that, yours is quite impressively vague. ‘My own’ does not necessarily mean Terrans, but anyone you see as part of your circle or under your care, if my guess is correct. That also tells me you truly aren’t as bigoted as your grandfather, though I had already guessed that.”

The Dusk-Lord regarded him with the same cold assessment.

“You grow more and more fascinating, Leonidas Achilles. We will have to see whether or not that fascination lasts beyond your bouts in the pre-show games. I believe your next match, in fact, starts in less than five minutes. I advise you to see to your preparations, and we shall meet you at the gate.”

Ceruviel turned and made her way to the door with a martial stride that did little to hide the curves that, for all her muscle, were still distractingly evident.

“Take a good look,” she said over her shoulder, and with a tone that made Leonidas realize with sudden mortification that he had been staring at her. “If I take you as my student, I will tolerate no such distractions. If that means beating your fantasies out of you along with your consciousness, then I shall. Admire, Leonidas Achilles, but not be enslaved by your desires. Your path cannot afford the weakness of other, inferior men.”

The Duchess nodded to Tarnys and, without another word, exited the locker room.

“...I don’t know what to think about you, Leonidas.” Tarnys said, and drew Leonidas’ gaze. “But I know this: the Dusk-Lord has not taken a direct disciple in my living memory, and I am about to cross my first century of life. If she truly thinks you can be her first… well, I advise you not to squander that chance.”

The elf hesitated, and then offered him a slight smile.

“Besides, even if you lied to me, seeing the Dusk-Lord make you blush like a boy with his hand in the mana cookie jar was worth it.”

Leonidas snorted, and felt some of his nervousness ease at Tarnys’ words.

“We’ll see you at the portcullis,” the elf continued in a more normal voice. “Good luck, Leonidas.”

Tarnys stepped through the door after that, and was gone.

Once both had left, Leonidas sighed and pressed the heels of his palms to his eyes. He was embarrassed, yes, but more than that he was worried. The Duchess had clearly decided to mark him as a potential student, and while he could recognize immediately that it was a chance he would be a fool to pass up, she also reminded him—in ways he found uncomfortable, given his confusing attraction to the woman—of Miranda.

And if Leonidas were truly honest with himself, he didn’t know if he could handle the emotional baggage that comparison represented.

“Fuck it,” he muttered under his breath. “I’ll deal with it after my match.”

After all, if there was one thing that was universally good for stress, it was an outlet.

And if he understood Ceruviel even slightly, she planned to give him exactly that.