Tresk picked the worst possible people to commentate. Xol’sa and Zarali were timid most of the time, and neither had a lot of experience in combat. But there wasn’t much of a choice. Everyone else was too busy, so it had to do for now. The makers of the arena games were informed about the truncated timetables, and scrambled to rearrange everything to fit the schedule. Theo doubted they could get to everything they wanted to do in time, but the fate of the sector was just a tad more important.

The bright side was they now had a nice battery of draconic energy to draw on. Theo had quite a few ideas on how to use it to empower the Tara’hek, but that would only come to light through experimentation. His goals for the next few sprints through the time-dilated paper world were simple. Fenian had to infuse himself with celestial energy, and the Tara’hek needed a combination of draconic and celestial energy. Once they did those two things and the shards were in place, the stage was fully set for a transition.

Theo sat on a paper log with Pogo, watching as Fenian struggled to draw in any energy, let alone enough to make a difference. The dragon had become a great source of information, and he picked her brain about everything system-related while he could. The downside to everything was the time they spent in the paper world. It sucked, and even the dragon had trouble adjusting with a brain shield like the rest of them.

“He really isn’t good at this, is he?” Pogo asked.

“No, but he’s got what counts. Determination,” Theo said.

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” Fenian said, releasing a massive breath. Sweat was dripping from his forehead as he strained to remove the influence of the system. “I just can’t get it!”

Theo rubbed his chin, an errant though flashing through his mind. But his concentration was broken when Pogo spoke.

“Now, start slow. I want to see how you weave my energy with the celestial energy,” Pogo said. “No, not the lizard. Keep working with the idiot elf.”

“Hey,” Fenian groaned.

Theo nodded. He didn’t know how to weave the energy himself, but he didn’t need to know how. Alex had already done it, and while her technique was crude when compared to what he had expected, he could work with it. He took the principle of what she had done and changed it slightly, pulling lighter threads from both energy sources and weaving them into a rope. It was all a matter of visualization, but eventually he had a perfectly balanced blend that he brought into his chest.

The effects were immediate and brutal. Pain raced through his body, stinging every nerve as the energy passed through his soul. Once he had it through the first processing phase, the pain lessened but didn’t vanish. Just like the Celestial Cultivation technique, it was now a matter of breaking pieces of that rope off and distributing it through his system in an even fashion. He needed equal parts of the blend to go to his bones, tissue, muscle, organs, and soul. They had found that an imbalance set everything off.

“Interesting,” Pogo said with an approving nod. “I expected you to die when it passed through your soul. But since you already infused it with some celestial energy, the draconic energy came through with minimal effort.”

“Good to know you’re looking out for me,” Theo said sarcastically.

Pogo offered him a warm smile, with none of the normal dragon-related toothy grins. “Loosen the binding. If you pull it that tightly, your body will have trouble accepting the power. If you leave it loose, it’ll soak deeper.”

Theo did as he was told, pulling a few more ropes from the air and processing him. It took about a day, but time had a strange way of moving in the paper dimension. It felt like a few hours, but the alchemist knew better. Thoughts of Fenian’s problem, and his own desire to infuse this new form of energy into a potion flitted through his head. But he stayed focused on the task, never wavering when time was so limited.

“I think that’s time for a break,” Pogo said. “Am I to understand that Tresk can just steal the knowledge from you and do this herself?”

“That’s right,” Theo said. “No need to teach us twice.”

Theo spotted Tresk yelling at Fenian in the distance and cocked his head to the side. The elf wasn’t exactly stupid. He had mastered a lot of intricate techniques in his time, including coming arguable the best swordsmen on the planet. Stripping away abilities and attributes, he was the best. So why was he having such a hard time getting the technique down? Standing, the alchemist crossed the distance between them, narrowing his eyes to look down at the mewling elf.

“I’m trying my hardest, master!” Fenian shouted. “Don’t use the whip again. I beg you!”

“Fenian. I think you might be a moron,” Theo said.

“I give up,” Fenian said, shooting to his feet. “That’s one insult too many, my not-so-dear alchemist.”

“You wound me,” Theo said with a smile. “That’s not what I’m talking about. You are a genius in many areas. Trade, guile, and swordsmanship to name a few. You’re a very adaptable person who I’ve seen wear many masks in your time. You have to ask yourself why you can’t disable your own system, and I think you know the obvious answer.”

Theo had figured it out only just then. When he considered the things that could’ve possibly blocked the man from moving forward, the alchemist decided it was nothing within his control. And if it was something that rested outside of his control, that could only mean one thing.

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“By the gods,” Fenian said, letting out a shuddering breath. “I think I might be the dumbest person in the universe.”

Theo shook his head. “Don’t blame yourself. How long have you been seeing that message?”

“Since I arrived,” Fenian said with a laugh. “Hold on, this might be painful.”

Fenian had left the system message he received when arriving in this world in the corner of his vision all these years. It was his trump card. If his back was against the wall, he could call on a sudden boost in attributes to see him through a fight. With the end of the world around the corner, there was almost no reason for him to hold onto it. That was the blocker that kept him from moving forward, and true to the elf’s word, he doubled over in pain a moment later.

“Owie,” Fenian said.

“There, there, little guy,” Tresk said, patting his back. “Just get it all out.”

Fenian was shuddering, but didn’t let that get in the way of making a good quip. “It had just been in my sight for so long,” he said, groaning on the ground. “Truly an idiotic move.”

“Maybe not,” Pogo said. “If he was battling against the system holding him back, there’s no telling how quickly he’ll move forward. This is a good thing.”

“If you say so,” Theo said with a shrug. “Let’s get back to it.”

Pogo had a lot of guidance on cultivating the draconic power. After a while, Theo’s body didn’t reject the energy at all. If anything, it hungered for it. Once that technique was refined, Tresk and Alex joined in. Tresk, Alex, Theo, and Fenian were all sitting in the paper dimension, infusing themselves with foreign energies. There was absolutely no change for the elf, but the others noticed subtle changes.

Alex got bigger the more draconic energy she accepted. The power she now held was easy to read, coming off of her in waves. The changes for Tresk and Theo were minimal, though. On the surface of their skin, a more prominent scale pattern appeared, and Theo’s horns grew a bit longer than normal. Tresk got some nubs atop her head, but they didn’t sprout into full-fledged dragon horns quite yet. Pogo had an explanation, of course.

“Since you wove the draconic energy with celestial energy, the changes aren’t visible on the outside.” Pogo drew herself up, thrusting her chest out with her hands on her hips. “But I can feel it inside you. You’re developing the heart of a dragon.”

“That’s a good thing, right?” Theo asked, exhausted from the many months of power infusion.

“It is an excellent thing,” Pogo said. “This should only take a few years.”

Tresk groaned, falling onto her back. “How long is a week?”

“Seven days,” Theo said.

She counted on her fingers. “We only got about 7 to 10 more years of this? Easy.”

“Speak for yourself,” Fenian said, who looked absolutely drained. “I think I’m going to die.”

***

Armel Batteux had died in the war. He didn’t mind it. In fact, he was proud to have given his life for the cause. He had defended his homeland and moved on to die on a street in Vesta. The last thing he had expected was to awaken in such a dark place. It wasn’t the lady’s light he had expected, and it certainly wasn’t comforting.

Groaning to his feet, Armel rubbed his head. He found his long, golden hair still intact, along with all his appendages, fingers, toes, sight, smell, and so on. “Hello?”

His voice rang hollow through the darkness, but there was a light. Without an idea of anything else to do, he walked toward it. A moment, or perhaps hours, later he moved through something that felt like thick sludge. Naked, both of his clothes and his weapons, he stepped onto an unfamiliar road. An archway hummed behind him, droning with the sounds of magic and something grim. Behind a pale, shimmering barrier he saw people. The souls of the damned.

“Give me a sword, father,” Armel said, rolling his shoulders. “I’ll see your fetid realm done in a few strokes.”

“That won’t be necessary.” A familiar voice rang over the road, like a broken church bell being rung in his mind.

“The shade?” Armel asked, crouching into a combat stance.

“Jesus Christ, put something on,” another familiar voice called.

A lump of clothes fell at his feet, and Armel looked up to see one of the warriors. “Meya? What in the name of the light are you doing here? The shade didn’t capture you, did it?”

The woman crossed through the darkness, appearing in her telltale leathers. She had her hair shorter than last time, meaning at least some time had passed.

“Seriously. I don’t wanna see your bits, put that one,” Meya said, kicking the clothes.

Armel tentatively dressed, keeping an eye on the dark shape in the distance. He’d recognize that voice anywhere, but had sense enough to know something more was going on here. Once he was fully dressed, the woman withdrew a familiar sword from nowhere, holding it out for reverence for him to take.

“They were talking about you for quite some time,” Meya said, a broad smile on her face. “I’ve got your armor, too. Polished it up and everything.”

“I’m afraid I have a serious lack of information here,” Armel said. “This is Death’s domain, is it not? Where is my father?”

“Yes, you have a lot to catch up on,” Kuzan said, still lurking in the shadows. “For the sake of your realm, and the legacy of your people, you’ll need to adapt.”

“This was part of my plan,” Meya said, coming closer to Armel and placing a hand on his shoulder. “You’ll need to drop your old grudges for now. We’ve got another war to fight.”

Armel’s laugh was boisterous. He unsheathed his sword, holding it out to check the condition of the blade. It was pristine. “I can feel the Lady’s light in my chest. Point me in the appropriate direction, and I’ll slay your enemies.”

Meya shook her head. “First thing we gotta do is some family therapy.” She jerked her head toward the archway. “We’re bringing Silvain back next. You two need to help your father.”

Armel’s face contorted into an expression of rage. He pushed the feeling down for a moment, gaining control of his impulses. “Your plans always worked. So, I’ll trust you this one time.”

The process of watching his uncle get resurrected was strange. Armel observed a gaunt man with dark, long hair stepping through the gate. The once-prince’s hand was locked onto the handle of his sword, knuckles white and arms trembling. The instant Meya handed over the slender sword the height of a man, Armel sprinted forward.

“Answer for your sins, bastard!” Armel shouted, sparks illuminating the darkness as their blades collided.

Meya slapped herself in the face. “I should’ve seen this coming.”

“Let them get it out of their system,” Kuzan said. “It’s good for them.”