Aforce I cannot see slams into me. It knocks my probing animus back with the ease of the wind carrying a dandelion seed. I am knocked back a dozen paces with casual power.

“Gah,” I moan as my back slams against the hard stones. The fear is so overwhelming that I do not feel any pain. I scramble to my feet to face this thing while my mind races. How can it be here?

Terror radiates from him in an aura, like heat from a fire. My hands shake even as I reset my grip on my blades. His power is even stronger than I remember in my nightmares. Now I have a Cor to tell me how truly outclassed I am.

Over his shoulder, as the gates finish opening, enough light seeps into the room beyond to highlight the carnage that bathes it. The walls are red, painted with blood. Bodies lie everywhere, torn to more shreds than even poor Bruttia.

No. I realize, looking at the horrific scene before me, this is not a machination of Briannus and the Games. This is something far worse.

“ATTEND TO ME, MORTALS,” he commands, throwing his arms wide as he looks up at the crowd. My ears pop as the barrier that has contained the arena shatters at a hint of pressure from his will. Screams of terror crash down on me as the people react to his power.

“YOU HAVE GATHERED HERE TO WORSHIP WAR. WHAT A BLESSING FOR YOU THAT WAR HAS CHOSEN TO ATTEND HIS OWN CELEBRATION.” The blood drains out of my face as I stare at the abominatio. Surely, he does not mean that he is Mars in the flesh…

“I AM PRAECO, HIS HERALD, AND I COME TO YOU IN THE NAME OF ONE WHO HAS LONG SLUMBERED. WAR WAKES! HE IS PLEASED THAT HIS CHILDREN STILL REMEMBER HIM AND BLEED HIS NAME.” The figure is silent for a moment as he sweeps his menacing gaze around the entire arena, as if measuring each and every individual with only a look.

“BUT SOME OF YOU HAVE FORGOTTEN YOUR OATHS. A GREAT CRIME HAS BEEN COMMITTED. A FAITH HAS BEEN BROKEN!” A bolt of fear spikes through me at the thing’s words. Can it be?

“WHERE IS SHE?” Praeco thunders. “WHERE IS THE ONE WHO WAS BOUND BUT HAS BEEN FREED? YOU HAVE BETRAYED THE OATHS OF YOUR FOREFATHERS. DELIVER HER TO ME, AND I SHALL SPARE YOU FROM MARS’S JUDGMENT.”

Nemesis told me that she had been imprisoned by both god and man. Somehow the thing claiming to be a Herald of Mars knows that she is free.

“WILL NONE OF YOU SPEAK AND TAKE RESPONSIBILITY FOR YOUR BETRAYAL?” His voice echoes off the walls of the arena, but he is only met by a silence. He waits for a count of ten, then nods once, his liquid gold helm moving sharply.

“SO BE IT. IF YOU WILL NOT CONFESS AND DELIVER THE PARIAH TO ME, THEN MY MASTER HAS SENT ME TO ENACT A SACRIFICE.” His voice grows sultry as if he has professed his desire to a loved one. “FORTUNATELY, I AM ALSO A PRIEST TO COLLECT THE BLOOD HE REQUIRES.” The wolf head turns down from the crowd to stare at me with a burning intensity. I am driven to my knees by the sheer force of his attention.

“Have no fear, Ironbound,” the abominatio says more quietly, now just to me. The power of his voice rattles my bones inside of my flesh. “He has not forgotten you.”

Something thuds into the ground next to me, followed by a dozen more impacts as warriors land in the ring around this monster. The pressure on me abates as Praeco turns to regard this new threat with mild surprise, and I leap to my feet to discover that I am surrounded by Censors.

Despite my hatred of them, I am relieved at their intervention. Who better to stand against a monster like this than the executors of the Empress’s will? Perhaps an entire Iron Legion, but even they might pale before the power of thirteen Censors in their unbreakable armor.

The white-clad warriors spread out like lupii themselves, circling the gold-armored giant. Their tellus dueling blades glint in the bright sun, sharper than a thought. I am surprised to see old Tartus and Falia among their ranks. I twist, scanning their faces, looking for the one I hate most. Even now I would strike him down if I got the chance. But there is no sign of haughty Atticus’s sharp features among the rest. The Censors ignore me, sprinting past me as they hunt their prey.

“WHAT IS THIS?” Praeco booms in outrage as he spies the White Hand of the Empress. “WHAT BLASPHEMY HAVE YOU CHILDREN WROUGHT WHILE YOUR MASTERS WERE AWAY? WHERE HAVE YOU LEARNED TO MAKE THINGS OF NOTHING?”

“You are an abominatio and a false prophet,” the lead Censor says, a Golden electus who looks to be in her early forties. The bulk of the other Censors align center around her, making her the point of their spear. “In the name of Empress Diana Agrippa, I place you under arrest.”

“Diana Agrippa.” He repeats her name to himself as if remembering something before hefting his mighty maul casually, as if it weighs no more than a thought. “I am a herald of reckoning, little one. You cannot stand before me; you are an ignorant child. Are you so eager to die? Have you truly forgotten your gods?”

“You are nothing more than a pretender to a power long dead,” she replies boldly, taking a menacing step forward. “We will bury your bones with the rest of the gods.”

The wolf head helm tilts to the side, as if surprised for the first time. I cannot see the eyes of the massive man who wears the armor, but I feel his gaze as he sweeps it over us, studying us, looking for something. Whatever it is, he seems to find it, snorting once more before stepping forward to face the Censor.

“It seems that much has been forgotten,” he tells us confidently. “I shall demonstrate my authority on your corpses.” The Gold Censor needs no more encouragement. She blurs forward, moving at an insane speed that my eyes cannot even track. She carries no Iron or Ice, so there is nothing for my Symbols to sense.

In a blink, she is on top of him, her tellus blade flashing. The liquid armor that encases Praeco parts easily under her weapon’s sharp edge like water against a knife. But it flows back the moment the sword passes through, refilling the damage in a heartbeat.

The creature looks down at her in wry amusement, the black lines that run through his armor pulsing as he weathers her blows without flinching. After a dozen strikes, the Censor pulls back, staring at him in slack-jawed surprise.

“I warned you,” he chides reproachfully.

Then he moves.

One moment, he is still, then he is in the center of the Censors, holding the woman by her head, casually palming her skull with his massive hand. I saw nothing, but I am certain he did not actually travel. He is what Impostor pretended to be.

“LET THIS BE A REMINDER TO YOU ALL,” he thunders to the entire arena once more. “AFTER I HAVE KILLED THESE APOSTATES, YOU WILL DELIVER TO ME THE ONE YOU SHELTER.” Then his hand contracts, and the woman’s head explodes. I turn away, unable to stomach the sight. Above us, the crowd is out of control. At first, they thought this was merely part of the theater, but now they see the danger that has come. I watch as a stampede forms as the people race to flee from the horror that has appeared.

To their credit, the rest of the Censors do not hesitate to surge into action. Most of them are Gold electi, and all of them carry the most dangerous weapons that have been forged in the Iron Empire. But Praeco wades among them like a farmer harvesting wheat.

His massive maul swings and connects with a figure in tellus armor. The Censor is sent flying, slamming into the arena’s walls. I stare in horror at the red stain he leaves behind as he slides to the ground. His white armor is intact, but that is the only thing that is not shattered by the force that hit him.

Praeco dances, never ceasing his momentum. I have never fought with a weapon like his, but it is clear that he is not only inhumanly strong, but a master of it. He twirls, bringing the weapon down in an overhead smash on top of another Censor, shattering him like a piece of pottery.

A brave young woman leaps up behind the monstrosity, swinging her blade in a horizontal arc, trying to slice Praeco’s head from his shoulders in one fell blow. The golden armor swirls, disturbed by the weapon’s passage, and a few droplets fly from it like a spray of blood. I watch as they fall to the ground. The grass around those golden globs bursts into fire. But despite her attack, the abominatio’s skull remains connected to his neck.

The Herald’s left elbow snaps backward, catching the woman in her stomach as she slams into his back, unable to arrest her momentum. With a violent wrench, he knocks her to the ground, spinning to bring his giant boot down on her in a terrifying stomp. Bones crunch, and the woman lets out a scream of anguish as he vents his rage on her. Not satisfied with one such blow, he raises his foot again before deliberately bringing it down on her head, crushing it easily.

There are only seven Censors left, and Praeco is not even wounded. I glance over my shoulder, eyeing the exit that the wolf mythi fled through. I would be wise to follow their lead.

Better late than never.

My feet are full of lead, unable to lift from the ground to flee. That prickling sensation that comes when my votum demands I take a specific path flares like a thousand fishhooks, burning from my scalp to my toes. I twitch as they tug me in the direction of the mad Herald.

My mind flashes back to the training armory that I stood in with ten other boys from Segesta under Luna’s full light. The Golden Wolf. I named him as I cut my own hand to bleed upon the rock. I never believed that I would see him again, yet I swore to my brothers and to Nemesis that I would kill him.

But my oath to Varus would prefer that I flee, I point out to whatever cosmic arbiter weighs the promises that I am bound to. This is an unnecessary risk. Getting myself killed now will only contribute to the fall of Domus Pelias.

My skin tightens as the binding that sits in my bones from Varus’s relic ignites, agreeing with me. For a moment, the two oaths war, trapping me in place. They speak no words, but it feels as if two elemental forces hammer at each other with their wills. I grit my teeth as the pain overloads Ancient Frost and Iron’s ability to numb it.

Eventually—and perhaps unsurprisingly—the god wins. The binding in my bones fades, leaving only the tug that demands that I turn and face this thing that is beyond me.

I obey Nemesis’s wishes and turn back to face Praeco as he finishes smashing another Golden Censor. What hope do I have to stand against him? I am slower and weaker than almost everyone else on the battlefield. My animus cannot sense the armor that he wears.

I do not remember drawing my gladii, but they are in my hands. The Iron Frost in the blades blazes with cold, and I drink deeply, refilling both my reserves. There is a strange quivering from my Cor that contains my Winter Symbol. It seems to hum, as if exposed to something it has not felt in ages. Unrelenting Fire is strangely silent, perhaps sated by being used in my last fight.

“Abominatio!” I step past a panting Lania, who is staring at the crushed corpses of her comrades with wide eyes. I spot a blood splatter that might have been Tartus and almost feel bad for him. The Herald turns from the Censors he is idly pulling apart to stare at me with his wolf mask.

“I owe you,” I bark, spitting on the ground to show my disgust. My mouth is dry, but I manage to scrounge up a little moisture to mock this thing. “You killed my family.”

“Are you sure about that?” he asks, taking a step toward me. His heavy aura hammers at me once more, trying to make me kneel, but this time, I am prepared and resist his authority. If I was not in the firm embrace of Ancient Frost, I am certain my knees would have buckled in fear.

“A little boy makes an oath with the gods and complains when they keep their end of the bargain?” His voice is mocking. “It was you who killed them. You invited the wild creatures into your home. What use is it to be angry at them for not being tame?” I flinch at his words, burned by the shame that I have thought a thousand times before.

It was our actions that brought them to meddle. I knew when Valentina proposed the oath that it was foolish, but I was too smitten to deny her. Our teachers told us the gods were dead, but my mother always said that wasn’t enough. If only I had listened.

“This boy has grown up,” I tell him, forcing myself to take a step forward, brushing against his aura like a bull against a fence. “And he has made a new votum.”

There is a moment of stunned silence before the Herald throws back his head and laughs, an eerie sound that bleeds into a howl the longer it goes. When he is done, he lowers his gaze and stares at me as if he can see the oath written on my flesh.

There is a flicker of movement over his shoulder, and I lift my eyes to see a figure appear in the darkness of the slaughterhouse. Nemesis stands behind him. She is still emaciated and rotten, but more whole than she was before. Her blindfolded gaze bores into me, and I gasp as I feel her animus brush over me, injecting me with a trickle of her knowledge.

“So it was you who freed the mad one.” Praeco shakes his head slowly as if disappointed. He does not seem to realize that his target lurks behind him. “You have not learned your lesson.” That is the only warning he gives me before he lunges forward, not using his full speed, but still faster than anything I can ever match.

Fortunately, my hands are guided by a god who has been dreaming of this day for centuries.

Praeco darts toward me, but my left hand is already stabbing forward as I set my feet on the ground like a spearman ready to catch a wild boar. I channel as much Iron and Ancient Frost essence into my blade as I can, reinforcing it as I command it to cut. The abominatio slams into me with enough force to drive me back a dozen steps. My boots tear up the grass in deep furrows as we slide.

My sword is buried in the massive man’s stomach when we come to a halt. This close, I still cannot sense him with my animus. It is as if he is made of the void. There is only a null where I search. The gold liquid of his armor boils around my blade, trying to refill the hole that I have made, but every time it sweeps in, it recoils as if terrified at what it finds waiting for it.

Nemesis’s animus guides me, like a pair of hands placed over my own. My instincts already know the path. I do not need to be able to sense him with my Corda to strike at him. I use my will to shove Ancient Frost essence down the length of my blade, using my ability to create ice inside of the Herald. My Heart’s resistance to manifesting ice as anything other than the Glacialis Falx is absent, cowed by the presence of the god who walks in my shadow.

My Symbol—an Elder Symbol of the god Aquilo—surges into him with immediate effect. The liquid armor around my blade stops, frozen solid. I welcome the cold of my Symbol, letting it consume me like Iron did on a training field, what feels like a lifetime ago. Castor is gone, there is no fear, no anger, only the ice remains.

“How…” Praeco asks in shock, tilting his head to look down at the length of my sword stuck in him. “How did you claim an Elder Symbol?” He seems frozen, too stunned to react. I ignore him, stabbing forward with my right gladius, adding it as a second conduit as I focus all my will on pumping Ancient Frost essence into him. More of his armor turns rigid, locking him in place.

Something is wrong with his insides. I can kind of sense him now, defined by my ice, as it spreads. Winter creeps across his bones like an inevitable ruin, painting them to my senses. I feel his spine wrapped in my will. I count his ribs with ease.

But there is nothing else. My ice encounters no warmth, squeezes between no organs. My eyes widen as I realize that is because there are none to be found. Underneath his strange armor, he is made only of bones. Nemesis’s animus burns with pride, like a cruel mother.

My gaze falls on one of the black streaks that run along his leg and up to his chest. I have seen markings like them before in the flesh of the woman Vixa. Praeco has no flesh, so the corrupted necromanta veins run through his living armor instead—made of Cor, not Iron.

“I know what you are,” I whisper. “Now you will die.”

“Again?” His laughter is mocking despite his inability to move. “You may be the Frigus Ventus, but you’re not as cold as the grave. You cannot send me there.”

“Let’s find out,” I retort, reaching out with my will to grasp the ice that I have wrapped around his bones. I cannot sense anything other than my ice; it feels like it is coiled around nothing, but it is good enough for what I plan to do.

“What do the dead need with spines?” There is a crack, and the Herald lets out a gurgle as I snap the base of his back with Ancient Frost. His legs give out, and I step back, unable to support the giant as the abominatio drops to his knees.

His head is level with mine now. I stare into those glowing wolf eyes as I slowly, painstakingly pull my right gladius out of where his guts should be and let the point dangle to the floor. I am not afraid of what I am about to do, even though it seems like madness. I am in the depths of Winter.

“You think you have won.” His voice is weaker now, fading.

“Not yet. I will not win until the rest of them join you.”

“Join me?”

“In the grave.”

“You will wait a long time, mortal, until that dream comes true.”

“We’ll see. In the meantime, I have a message for your master, from the god I worship.”

“And what is your message?” Despite his weakness, he manages to chuckle, amused by my temerity.

“She will see him blind.” With one vicious stroke, I cut his head from his shoulders. The Frost Iron peels the liquid back and Ancient Frost freezes it like a cold, cauterizing fire as my blade passes through.

The wolf’s head drops to the ground, and his body follows. I pull my second gladius free and step back, evaluating my handiwork. As I watch, the armor begins to dissolve at my feet. No longer frozen by my Symbol, the molten liquid runs off his fallen form like water. To my surprise, the garden drinks it up greedily. In a matter of heartbeats, there is none of it left.

Soon only a set of blackened and burned bones remains. But as I crouch to study them, they crumble into dust and are swept away by the wind.