Colin saw it just as much as he felt it. The brilliant burning copper came in like a tide within the Cavern and weighed down on them all. Magic. He was still weighing whether that was the right term if it could be called magic. It had the weight of magic and a color in the air, but it wasn't a type of magic he was familiar with. And it came in like a man with a hammer smashing everything in sight; a presence so grand and powerful that whatever was directing it brought a physical weight into the world. His chest felt like it had pounds of rocks on it.

The air shifted above him, and he saw how the magic had changed before. The magic condensed, swirling into and causing a horizon of power. Then it tore. The copper morphed, flooding inward as a Rift appeared in the middle of the air.

A Rift?

No, it didn’t feel right. The magic stretched out, as if it tunneled under the ground. At the same time, a typical Rift vanished away into another place. This one was connecting somewhere else here. And by the weight of the magic going back and forth, not far away.

"Shit, get your weapons ready!" Boldwick yelled. And Colin was already ahead of him. His magic came together, forming two glyphs in front of him, two different weapons. He did not need his sword anymore, having opted to switch to his spells. They were more efficient and faster than a blade had ever been.

Then he stopped.

Whatever spawned this rift was a Might unlike any he’d faced before. That meant it was bound to be a hell of a threat, and his reliance on simple glyphs would not be enough.

Colin dismissed them and then began his most complicated. The very same spell he’d shown off weeks before at the contest of magic—one that took quite a lot of mana and preparation to summon. Only now, it was far better. Thanks to some personal tips from an Arch-Magi. This version was far superior and truly fitting for a noble like him.

Complicated layer upon layer of electricity and glyphs formed. The lines were abrupt and refined. Sir Able looked over, splitting his focus as Colin saw him take in his work.

Yes, see what your magic, combined with my own insights, has brought.

Pride brimmed in Colin as the seconds passed. One. Two.

The magic condensed down, the shapes and instructions an extension of his will; channeling glyphs into the spell itself, allowing it to conduct his magic through it and bypass the need to conjure additional glyphs to begin with. Three seconds, four. This was the most sophisticated weapon Colin could manage, a much more effective tool to face whatever they were after. And now, given the time to prepare himself, he was fine to conjure it.

Five seconds.

A sword of lightning burst into his hand, erupting with a violent thundering sound like a clap. The spell’s casting time had been reduced by half, and it was improved various ways; lightning surged through his hand, holding a solid shape as the first of their enemies began to appear.

Chained men dropped from above, their fanciful reds and long metal strands followed them as they fell, moving as if in slow motion as the holy light of a prayer decreased their fall.

Dramatic. But they make good targets.

Colin raised his sword and pointed it at one, then activated the glyph work in the blade. A lightning bolt snapped out of it, searing into the man as he fell. His body jerked as he was torn from the slow fall and slammed into a building and then through it. Colin felt the drain on his mana—about a tenth of his overall reserves, gone in a second, not counting that which had been expended to use the weapon in the first place.

It was not a cheap spell. But… There was another trick to it.

The swirling mana in the room from that outside force was the perfect storm to steal from—Colin activated another series of glyphs, and that raw ambient mana began to leech into him, funneling into his blade and charging it. Readying themselves to supplement another bolt.

He’d stolen the idea from the storm giant, how the magic had flowed, how such energy and a giant weather structure were drawn in, and then condensed in a certain lightning bolt. At the time, he’d been obsessed with one idea: why couldn't he do the same? So he did. Another shot of lightning went out, ripping through another chained man, this one having much less of a drain on himself. Colin grinned.

Perfect.

…Then there was a disruption to the weird copper colored mana. He looked to the source. Erec.

He had almost a cloak of silver flames coating him, and it expanded even further in his magical sight. Contesting and fighting against the copper-colored mana in the air.

What is that power? Colin thought. Where does it come from?

It felt like the Rift above, but far more pure. A power from beyond this world that had found a hole to seep through. But it came willingly, straight from his friend’s core and supporting him, a natural sort of strength that had a pureness to it that resonated deep within him.

His sword cracked in his hand, and Colin shook his head. He saw a glimpse of something for a second, and it made no sense. A round table, perhaps. He saw it through his magic vision as he looked at Erec, its surface pristine. Around it were many chairs, one inviting him to sit in it. But he didn’t understand, and it certainly wasn’t a time to hallucinate about fancy tables and chairs.

"There's no time for this," Colin muttered, shaking his head and forcing his gaze away from Erec, shooting down another chain man as they descended. Sir Able was at work next to him, flinging spells and reducing the number of people dropping in. Even with the two of them at it, they weren’t enough. Dame Morgana had begun to flood the battlefield with her mist, since some were already landing and moving to their position. There were simply too many. A veritable army.

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Our biggest battle yet today, Colin thought and felt secure with the Master Knights and others around him. They were powerful. The best allies he might ask for.

“I will not be outshone,” Colin said; his eyes blazing gold as he held the crackling sword. Not with false confidence. No, this was a mighty spell. One that both he and many others had contributed to. One that he, as its sole wielder—since he was the only one able to push lightning magic quickly enough—could make function. And he would use that advantage to take down these enemies. “It is no longer just you, Erec. Witness my glory, brother,” he said.

Not sure where the words came from, but he gave himself to it. Better to adapt to the situation and focus on the mighty balance of magic flying around. Focus was paramount, along with diligence and discipline. Colin blasted another, not even aware of the fact that his golden eyes had begun to spark with electricity and leak outward.

— - ☢ - — - ☼ - — - ☢ - —

Erec felt it. He felt that challenge and hate, and let his own loose in response. With his mantle fully upon him, he launched forward with a jet of fire, catching one of the chained in the middle of the sky and searing him in half with a single cleave. He came out the other side with two more chained men targeting him in the middle of the air from the mist down below.

He spun around with another pulse of his silver flames; he shot towards the ground and another one of them, his axe meeting their chains and slashing through them, cleaving into the body beneath.

They were strong, to a normal person; even the way those chains resisted his fire was impressive.

But with the state he was in, as he fell further into that silvery inferno, letting it burn him whole and take him over… It wasn’t enough. He was a different person than he had been.

Multiple people; two Knights, both different and the same, and varying rapidly approaching the point where his mantle settled permanently in his soul. They would be one, his past life subsumed by his current; he would be him, but with a knowledge of a long past. All it took was for his soul and body to finish their adaptation, then he’d grow only further.

Right now, as the fire twisted around him, his blade cleaving through chained man after chained man in the mists, he felt as if he’d breached the barrier.

A part of him was elsewhere at that table. Grasping his other self by the gauntlet and yanking him into the world, the silver flames came in an endless flow, as Erec slew monsters.

He realized it as he moved. This was different from before—these were corrupted beings. No longer human. Twisted by that false goddess who had tainted their world with copper fire and took from them their precious humanity. So this was no longer even slaying his fellow man. No. It was monsters one and all, not dissimilar to taking out other monsters spewing through a Rift. Content originally comes from novelꜰire.net

That wasn't to say he was the only one on a spree. As he drifted through the mist, he found Sir Matt by his side several times. His blade was working, tearing through the enemies. Every so often, through the mist, he got a glimpse of Dame Morgana and her wolves harassing the opponents, weakening them and making an opening for Sir Boldwick or Dame Juliana to finish off whoever she was fighting.

More kept spilling out. An army unleashed from the Rift. All intent to bury him just as much as the overwhelming hate that dominated the air. The scorned false goddess that had spawned this rift and brought all these people down upon their heads was his responsibility. Whoever this woman was. This false goddess. She hated him. And he hated her right back. He let his presence flood throughout the Cavern in response as he fought back. A beacon. His silver might flame up against her coppery hate. Challenging it. Daring her to come forward and show herself.

To his surprise, it was then that he felt another mantle here—an earthly might that strode onto the battlefield. His eyes turned to see a towering giant as Bedwyr entered the scene. Clad once more in rock layers, he had a muddy-colored glyph in one hand and a spear in the other.

In seconds, pillars of stone began to erupt over the battlefield, tearing through the army as the Cavern itself fought back.

Erec rocketed to his brother's side. Feeling both of their mantles react with one another. Pressing against this weird, obscure hate. They wanted to drown them out with one another. Their mantles only flared brighter. Condensing. Drawing out their strength. He felt that Bedwyr's grasp of it was less firm. But his own silver fire brought a helpful hand to that. Reassuring his brother that things were okay. To let things go. Where there was a difference in strength, so Erec was there to make up for it. And certainly his axe was quick to prove that.

Bedwyr proved a base of operations, drawing the chained men to their position as he tore through the cavern with his magic. Erec tackled any that got too close, shearing them apart with his axe.

In a total of ten minutes, they’d killed a countless number of these chained men. For every three that spilled out, Erec killed one. Goddess knew how many there were. But with every kill, and every second he and Bedwyr worked with one another, he felt the silver inferno blaze brighter than ever and put it to good use. Slamming people around, weaving his way through the battlefield as a silver executioner. Buildings were ruined, but these people had already done the destruction. The cost had already been paid.

He fought with impunity, punishing those who dared to do this to him. It wasn’t a painless affair. His Armor was broken through by those chains; his blood spilled as it tore into him, and they put up their fight.

But where it broke him and spilled his blood, his silver fire purified it once more and healed the wounds.

At the end of those ten minutes, the atmosphere inside shifted. The hatred grew, screaming in Erec’s mind. Angry at the incompetence of its people, furious at their inability to complete what needed to be done. Then it shifted. The searing eyes turned toward him again. There was an acknowledgement of his might. But also a proclamation. He felt it rip through his mind. Burning words accompanied by the copper fire that began to burn brighter from the edge of the rift.

"You are not her," it screamed. "And I will kill her after I kill you. Pathetic. You will be a test."

With that, the cavern began to shake again. The battlefield around him had long since faded into the background of his vision as he focused on slaying the next enemy in front of him. He rejoiced in the feeling of fighting a worthy foe with Bedwyr once more.

He felt it. A settlement of power. A flare of more copper fire. As a being stepped through far above. They stood in the open air. Their entire form was burning and aflame. They held no weapons. Just their hands. The copper fire ran down from each digit, extending like long claws on each of the five fingers. Its garish cast of light was an insult to the beauty of the cavern that had been here before it wrecked it.

He felt it then. And her connection to this world was through this corporeal being. And he realized as he stared at his silver fire, his axe gleaming, that if he shut this down, he could damage her soul. She had invested too much of herself in this. She had brought out too much of her power that had been hidden away dormant before now in whatever world or place she’d tucked herself away. She could be wounded. It was as if someone had stuck a hand out, waiting for it to be chopped off by a guillotine. And Erec's axe would be the guillotine that did just that.

A bright grin came across his face, his mantle flaring outward as he looked at his brother next to him. "Shalt we teach this one a lesson?" he asked, his voice hard, burning with the silver fire around him.

"Aye," Bedwyr agreed, his spear twirling as the two of them turned their eyes towards the enemy above. All of the chained men down here on the battlefield could be cared for by their allies. They had picked their target—the one to focus the purity of their attention on, someone worthy of fighting and punishing for all of this. With a shared look and understanding of their duties, the two of them burst forward to deal with the false goddess.