Brennus wastes no time. He stalks toward me, and I surge forward to meet him, eating up the distance between us in a handful of heartbeats. He brings his gladius overhead in a heavy slash that I counter with my left blade. I feel his will hammer against mine as we try to twist each other’s weapons.

Relent, it whispers.

Shatter, I command.

I am a little surprised at the strength of his determination. It is too easy to think of him as a fop, who only gained his Cor through the power of his name. But as my intent rebounds off the walls of his mind, I am begrudgingly impressed.

Not enough that I don’t try to skewer him with my right-hand blade, but I think a little more of his work ethic than I did before. His own Silver Iron senses warn him of the attack, and he twists away, disengaging neatly from me.

My animus can sense his will surging along the edge of his sword, repairing any damage that my own inflicted on it. I tilt my head in surprise, unused to the sensation. I have not faced an electus using my own Symbol since I Ascended. How strange to be able to feel his Cor at work but be able to do nothing to counter it.

He angles his blade toward me and advances, confident in his superiority. As a palatine, he’s been trained in dueling since he was a boy. I am a newcomer to the art, but I have learned quickly. Already I can feel Rin’s teachings settling into my steps. I flow easily through the forms I have been taught, no longer hesitating. I will bake Rin a hundred loaves of bread for her lessons.

I fall into The Way of Fire, an aggressive stance that lets me use my swords to their full potential. Brennus disengages smoothly, giving ground. Our swords sing as they slice through the air rarely connecting with each other. It would be foolish for him to give me the chance to lock his single gladius up and his senses warn him of my plans as fast as I make them.

My frustration grows as the combat progresses. His Cor tells him the same secrets that mine does. Yet as much as I have learned, I am no match for Brennus. His form is better, decisions sharper.

A smile begins to grow on his face as we exchange blows. His fear is eroding, replaced by the palatine arrogance that is bred into his bones. I grit my teeth and dig deeper, calling upon my layers of Silver to add more speed and strength to my blows. But it does not matter how quickly I move; I am not faster than a thought, and his Symbol keeps him even with me.

Then it happens.

At first, I think he made a mistake. I feint a strike with my left hand, forcing him to the right. Instead, I step across, closing with his swordless side, trying to use his own body against him. His empty left hand blurs, and a line of fire traces across me, numbed by my Iron Symbol.

I stagger back, my hand brushing toward my side and coming away wet. I stare numbly at the red that drenches my fist, eyes tracking to Brennus, who leers at me, blue eyes sparkling with malice. In his left hand, he holds a familiar white tellus knife in a reverse grip. I have fallen for his trick.

How did he get that back? I wonder distantly as shock begins to settle in.

“Do you see now, Abominatio?” he sneers, circling me like a predator watching a wounded deer on its last legs. “You were never going to be enough to beat me.”

I bury myself deeper into Iron, letting it numb the pain and clear my mind. Using the Winter essence in my gladii, I lean on Ancient Frost, using it to push Unrelenting Fire further away. With a grunt, I stand tall and stare at the man who killed my friend. My rage has abated, sent away with the flame.

The only thing left is the cold desire to kill.

I advance slowly this time, not afraid, but giving my opponent the respect he deserves. In some ways, Brennus is the most dangerous man I have ever faced. Even Praeco was not equipped to truly stand before me. Only this man has access to the same power that makes me truly deadly.

A corner of his smile dips at the expression on my face, as if he recognizes the change that has swept over me. He settles into a fighter’s stance, still holding his tellus knife in his offhand. I watch it warily as we begin to exchange blows. I cannot sense it with any of my Symbols, so I assume that he will rely on it for a killing blow. The unnaturally sharp and strong weapon eats at my swords, forcing me to spend more essence to keep them strong. Each strike from the ceramic is like touching the void that seeks to devour my weapons and me.

Part of me considers dropping one of my iron gladii and summoning the Glacialis Falx to challenge him in the same way. When I used my icy blades against him in the tunnel under Antioch, he was caught unawares. But something stops me, an instinct telling me to stay the course.

Perhaps it is simply pride. Killing Macer’s murderer with a trick feels dishonorable—craven, even. To properly honor my fallen brother, I should finish Brennus as a member of the legion, not the abomination I have become. This is something I need to do as an Ironbound.

No, a foreign presence whispers to me, Nemesis peering over my shoulder. There is another way.

I struggle against the next series of blows as Brennus steps in to gut me. He moves fast, his cuts quick and precise. I have not trained against a man with a sword and knife, and my instincts are off-balance.

But there is something there, in the corner of my mind, that pulls at me. A hint, a feeling. I have been here before. Not like this, but close enough. I already know what to do, I just need to release myself to do it. I have already surrendered to one of my Symbols here. Why not another?

I withdraw a pace from Brennus, turning my attention to my own gladii for a moment. I have never really practiced shaping them. In the compound, I am only allowed to be Winterbound, so I have spent my time training with my frozen swords.

But why should Iron ones be any different from Ice?

Something fuses in me as the knowledge my mind has gained from training my Ancient Frost Cor is applied to my Iron one. A laugh escapes my throat as I realize that all these Symbols are within me. What I learn with one can be used by another.

Understanding clicks inside of me, like a joint that is being reset into its socket. I am right; I am whole. The world seems to grow brighter, as if I am suddenly able to see it in its true color. My animus extends, swirling with my Silver Symbols.

Brennus studies my amusement with hooded eyes. I shake my head; he doesn’t know what I am about to become. No one has been able to do this for four hundred years. Percy told me that the inhibitus around a Fidelis’s throat will not let them advance beyond the base level of Silver. I have made quite a bit of progress beyond that. The Praetorian may be better with a blade, but he is not my equal with Cor. We may both be Silver, but he is still chained—I am free to become a monster.

I raise my left blade in a mocking salute to Macer’s killer, then the fight begins in earnest. I steal steps from the different forms but turn them into something of my own. Here I use three moves from The Fire That Devours, then I shift into The Way of Water and the attack becomes part of The Rapids. I do not know if Rin would be proud or disgusted. Our blades flash as we crash together. My aggression is so raw that it is his turn to fall back, resetting our engagement. He tries to pull out of my range, but I do not let him go.

I slash my right-hand blade forward, sending my animus into it, reshaping it with my will as it goes. Ancient Frost and Iron work together, commanding the mysterious element created by an Iron Lord to obey my command.

I am not able to manifest new Iron to add to the mass of my gladius. But reluctantly, the Frost Iron twists, obeying my command. The sword stretches, growing thinner as it reaches out like a razorvine, becoming almost liquid as it moves.

Brennus brings up his tellus knife to block, but his weapon is too small. My swordwhip reaches over his weapon and cuts across his brow. The palatine recoils as I release my hold on the gladius, and it snaps back into the shape it was forged into. The Frost Iron resents being pulled from its purpose and is eager to return to it.

I stagger from the cost of using both essences. I will not be able to do that many more times. Regular ice is much more malleable than Frost Iron, and I have trained my Ancient Frost Cor to become much more efficient at this task. If only I had worn my lorica tonight!

But then I remember where I am.

I reach out with my animus, pulling from the raw iron ore that surrounds us, waiting to be processed. Each piece is not a particularly strong source, but we are dueling in the middle of an ocean of the stuff. I hunch my shoulders as I draw it in, willing my reserves to refill quickly while I pull Winter from my weapons.

It is Brennus’s turn to reach with a shaking hand to check his wound. Blood flows down his forehead and over his nose. It will not kill him, but it teaches him to fear. I read it on his face, and my animus shows me how deep it runs.

Sharpensharpensharpensharpensharpensharpensharpensharpensharpensharpensharpensharpensharpen, a frantic mind seems to whisper. I can feel as his gladius’s edge grows thin and keen, reinforced by his eye. I hear him speaking to his blade even though I am not touching it.

Quick as a thought, I throw myself at him. I strike high with my left, and he blocks it with his tellus knife. I wince as its edge drags across my consciousness, but my will remains strong, stopping it from cutting through my sword.

I twist my sword free, feinting another ironwhip attack. He winces in anticipation, making me laugh cruelly. In his fear, he has forgotten to listen to his senses. That was not the moment, not yet. I’m saving my essence for a final burst of power. His hesitation buys me time to get in close.

My sword slices along the edge of his right leg before he manages to get his gladius between me and his flesh, forcing me away. I dance back, dodging his furious counterattack with the white knife. It whistles as it cuts the air between us.

Now, my fighter’s instinct whispers to me as the space opens between us.

My left sword whips forward, and my will twists the Frost Iron without adding ice this time, thinning and stretching it into a wickedly sharp wire. Brennus is ready for it, slashing with his knife, trying to cut my weapon in half while it is in its weaker state.

I activate Aquilo’s gift and channel the Glacialis Falx along the blade. A protective coating of ice erupts down the length of the weapon. The tellus blade bites deeply into the frost before getting stuck. Brennus’s eyes go wide as the frozen swordwhip wraps around his knife. He twists, pulling the tension back toward himself, trying to cut his way free, but he is resisted by my will through two different elements.

Something deep inside of my chest rumbles—a surging power. Ancient Frost and Iron pull at me like hounds on the leash, begging to be released. Not yet! I command, struggling to hold them in place. I have only just managed to get all three of my Corda in harmony; I dare not let two of them Ascend and ruin all of my progress.

Brennus tries to force his weapon through the ice to get at the metal below. Which means he is distracted when I flick my right gladius at him, shifting it into a second swordwhip. His senses warn him, and he twists, dropping his tellus knife to try to escape. But he is too slow. The razor edge of my new weapon slices through his leather and into his chest with ease. Blood begins to leak through, dark on the leather.

We stare at each other in silence, panting with exertion. If I had not Ascended, I know that my body would have been too weak to do what I have put it through. But I am in balance. I am healed.

Despite my increased strength, I still have limits. I can feel my grip on Iron shaking as I struggle to maintain the whips in their malleable state. If I release them, I do not think I will have enough essence to summon them again. It is easier to hold this working than to create it. Some distant part of my mind panics, worried this state will drive me over the edge of Ascension, but I ignore it, too lost in the cold.

I should only need a few more moments to finish him.

I explode forward, driving him with my ironwhips. He retreats under my assault, using his single gladius defensively. But no matter how good his senses are, he cannot keep up with my speed as I flail at him.

I cut him to shreds.

Are you watching, Nemesis?

My weapons slice at his legs, his arms, his face. Red blood stains the ground as he retreats madly. One of his companions tries to ambush me, coming to the aid of his master. I kill him with a flick of the whip; the tip goes right through his eye. Whatever his Symbol is, he is not Ironbound. He drops to the ground with a dull thump as we continue our duel as if nothing happened.

My vision flickers as my reserves begin to run dry. I cannot keep up with the essence requirements for this. The raw ore around me feeds me as I guzzle from everything I can, desperate to be able to hold the dregs at bay. Despite my advantage, the Praetorian is still trained and dangerous. He baits me, trying to get close so he can go to work with his blade. I keep him at a distance, content to wear him down.

This is for Macer.

In the distance, I think I hear the low tolling of the bells that accompanies Nemesis, as she answers my question. I feel her presence hovering around me like a cloak, sucking in my revenge like it is a locus of essence. Her delight is like a starving woman sitting at a feast. With every slice, I feed her.

“Castor, I need help!” a woman’s voice screams, shattering my focus. I glance over my shoulder, shocked at the interruption. In the depths of Iron, I have forgotten my own companions. Alessandra flees from the second swordsman, racing along the upper level of the catwalk. She places her hand on the rail, and the man behind her screams in agony, and the air sizzles as she channels lightning into the metal structure. Then she turns and sprints away while he staggers back to his feet.

There is no sign of Anas.

What am I doing? Disgust roils through me as my emotions begin to process again, no longer held at bay by the cold logic of Iron and Ice. This is not what Macer would want. Vengeance should be about justice, not cruelty. I take this risk for nothing other than my own sick delight. I am both a monster and a fool.

It is time to end this.

I step forward, casting my right whip at him. He blocks it with his sword, and I let my weapon coil around his blade. He looks up at me with wide eyes, then drops his sword, turning to flee. He knows what is coming.

My left ironwhip curls around his ankle, yanking him off his feet before he can escape. He falls flat on his stomach and is slow to rise. My foot is on his back before he is even on his knees. I release the working on my weapons, letting them morph back into their original shapes. My simmering anger is the only reason I do not sag in relief as the strain of using my nearly empty Cor fades.

“Please!” the Praetorian sobs under my foot. “Just let me go. I’ll go back to duty, and you’ll never see me again.”

“Why did you come here tonight, Brennus?” My voice is cold and hard.

“I… What?”

“You followed us to the Foundry. Why?”

“We were just going to scare⁠—”

“Don’t lie to me!” Unrelenting Fire begins to warm up as my coldness fades, filling me with its rage. “You came here to murder the heir of Domus Pelias in revenge for your uncle. Just like you murdered my friend in the desert.”

His silence is loud.

“Castor!”

My head twists, and I curse, realizing I have let myself be distracted again. Alessandra is on the fourth story of the far catwalk but is running out of levels. The man still follows her doggedly, his hair sticking in every direction. I am out of time.

“Just let me go, and I—urgh!” His voice gurgles as my blade stabs into the back of his neck, severing his spine. Despite my urgency, I lean down as I pull my blade free, whispering so he can hear with his last moments.

“Redemptio in bello.” I say the Twelfth’s motto. I don’t know if I believe those words. I do not feel redeemed—just empty. The world is a little more blind than it was a few moments ago. Nemesis’s presence fades, like a reluctant dinner guest finally going home at the end of the night.

I have no more time for Brennus Valerus. I leave him in the dust, just as he once left my friend. The gods are dead. I do not know what waits for him on the other side of the Veil. If the ghost of Pluto waits for him anywhere, I can only hope that he is judged as harshly as he deserves.

I am alive, and there are still things for the living to do.

“Castor!” Alessandra shrieks a third time, summoning me to her aid.

“Coming!” I shout, turning to pound up the nearest stairway two at a time. The catwalk rumbles under my feet as I race across it, searching for the path to the next level. A bridge connects my side to theirs on the third level.

I cannot let anything happen to her! That thought is my own, but it is reinforced by the oath etched in my bones by Varus’s relic. My body tingles in anticipation and dread. I do not know what it will do to me if I fail to save her.

No! No! No!

There is another sizzling sound, and the man screams again. I race up another flight, leaping over the guardrail to race toward the bridge that connects our two towers. This high up, the floorboards shake under my weight as I sprint recklessly, trying to catch them before it is too late.

I reach out and grab a pole as I race past, using it to aid my turn without slowing down. I am so close. I leap up the fourth staircase two steps at a time, long legs eating up the distance.

“Alessandra, where are you?” I bark as I burst onto the top level, casting about wildly for them. My animus sweeps wildly, searching for the attacker’s sword among the sea of iron ore and bars.

There! His sword shines like a beacon to my mind, and I race toward the front, praying to any dead god who might listen that I am not too late. As I run, I check my Iron Cor’s essence reserves, hoping to be able to lasso him with my sword before he even gets close to her.

I round the corner and slide to a stop in horror at the scene before me. Alessandra stands at the end of the walkway, pressed up against the railing. Her hands are raised, warning off the man who has her cornered.

He turns at my approach; his face is pale and strained, hair spiked in a thousand directions. Silver veins streak his arms. I’ve never seen him before, but it is clear he knows who I am.

“Stay back!” he warns, raising his dueling blade threateningly toward Alessandra, who has nowhere left to run. “I’ll kill her. I’ll gut her like a pig!” He shakes like a leaf. Fear governs him—he is little more than a cornered rat.

“Your master is dead,” I tell him coldly. I am Iron again. My eyes flicker from him to the space between us, evaluating the distance. Even if I have enough Ancient Frost and Iron essence for my new trick, he is too far for me to reach with a swordwhip. If I am going to strike him down, I’ll need to get closer.

“I killed him,” I explain, moving a little closer. He shivers, looking wildly at Alessandra before waving his sword threateningly in her direction. “I killed your other companion too. What was his name?”

“Portus.” He seems surprised he answered the question.

“Portus,” I repeat, as if committing the name to memory. I won’t remember him long. He will be washed under the oceans of blood to come. I take another step. Only a few more, and he will be in range. I keep a cool smile on my face, but inwardly I am coiled tightly, a cobra ready to strike.

“Stay back!” He inches a little closer to Alessandra, who looks at me with wild eyes.

“What is your plan?” I tilt my head at him, studying him like a cat. “You must know if you kill her, I will kill you. Well, actually, I will cripple you. Then I will take you to her father.”

He lets out another whimper. “But she’ll be dead! Blood for blood!”

“Are you a Valerus, then?” I scoff. “Is your blood worth shedding for this palatine feud? Or are you like me, one of their weapons, kept sharp until it is time to be thrown away?” I take another step, but he doesn’t notice. My words haunt him, as they haunt me.

“I am not a tool.”

I laugh, throwing my head back to mock him loudly. “Risus’s Rotting Eyes, that was a good one. Tell me another joke. We are all tools of the masters we serve.”

“I am not a tool.” He grows angry now, turning to face me directly, Alessandra already forgotten.

“Then prove it,” I say, stepping forward once more. My right wrist rotates in a small circle as I nudge the Frost Iron in my blade, testing if I can manipulate the sword into becoming a whip once more. I feel it shift slightly, then reject my will as my reserves falter. I need more time.

“Step aside and live. I have no quarrel with you. Live to die another day.”

For a moment, I think my words have done enough. His eyes soften and his shoulders hunch as he considers abandoning whatever task he has been given. He sees, I think, what I have been trying to tell him. That to the family serves, he is a game piece and not a man.

I feel his decision before he even realizes he’s made it. His dueling blade stops shaking. In one fluid motion, he spins, blade pulling back for one final stab.

I have little Iron or Ancient Frost left to me. In my panic, I release both of those Symbols, reaching for the one I know the least. Unrelenting Fire leaps to my call, hungry to be used. It feels almost jealous that it has not had its turn yet.

My Frost Iron blade clatters to the ground as I extend my right hand, summoning the flame that burns within me. I pour essence into it, condensing it into something real, before I unleash it at Portus’s back. A beam of fire leaps from me. It flares bright against the dark upper reaches of the Foundry’s bowels.

The man screams even as he drives the point of his dueling blade through Alessandra’s tunic and into her torso. I feel him now, connected as we are by the fire. I invade him with my will, commanding my Symbol to burn him.

Alessandra cries in pain but does not lose her footing, taking advantage of her assailant’s fatal mistake. He touched her with metal.

Lightning arcs through the sword that connects them, carving a blinding bar on my vision. My mind flickers back to the training arena, where I have seen Alessandra sit in the middle of a storming locus, absorbing lightning without a thought.

Now that energy bends to her will as she sends it pouring into the Valerus assassin. The air stinks of burning meat, and he twitches uncontrollably, his body unable to process the power that surges through him. Together we burn him until he can take no more. He collapses to the ground, his body ruined and smoking. Alessandra fixes me with a grim stare as her own knees buckle from the wound she has suffered.

“It’s your turn to help me with walking,” she mutters before she collapses.