Mimicking Argexes’s movements, Kieran looked to the sky, precisely the figure descending meteorically towards the ground.

The air rippled and gave way to the earthward individual. Delayed sonic booms erupted well after the figure caused a commotion in the atmosphere.

Then, like an unstoppable force of nature, the individual slammed into the ground, dispersing the miasma in a moderate expanse and creating a visible path leading into the sky from whence they came.

Kieran had no idea of this person’s identity, but what he did sense was… War. The ancestral tenets spilled off this individual’s body like torrents of raging water.

Curious, Kieran paid closer attention, attempting to scope out the individual’s identity, which was definitely a man upon closer inspection. His trimmed beard, which did nothing to hide the primal antipathy in his gaze and bearing, revealed as much.

The unknown man looked Argexes up and down. His scrutinizing expression and intrigued behavior betrayed his curiosity.

“What are you?”

Kieran didn’t know what to expect from hearing the man’s voice, but what he felt started him. Still a spirit, or perhaps an uninvolved spectator, he couldn’t help the tremor he felt despite the man’s calm question.

As he spoke, an expected change occurred.

Adeia, Draegerys, and Rhaenys ceased their fighting, turning their attention to the man, who spared them all a passing glance. Though he spoke no words, Kieran felt it from that man’s gaze… disappointment.

Deep, unacceptable disappointment.

Draegerys, in particular, lowered his gaze and head, not daring to meet the man’s burnished orange-gold eyes. Looking into them was like staring into a roaring flame.

Argexes took note of everything before looking back at the man.

“Part of your brood, are they?”

The man shrugged, his eyes sharper and expression darker than before as his lips contorted into a frown.

“You didn’t answer my question, beast. What are you?”

Argexes chuckled. Lighthearted and partially disinterested. Then, faster than Kieran could track… he just appeared before the man, towering above with a diabolical force pressing down on everything.

“I go by many names now. Monarch of Ruin, Tyrant of the Maddened, Son of the Fallen. But you may call me Argexes. And who might you be… human?”

“Grismund. Chosen of War, Traveler of the Absolute Warpath.”

Argexes’ typically hollow expression came to life as he heard the man’s introduction before him… Grismund.

“A Chosen, you say?”

Grismund reacted quickly, bringing his arms together in a cross guard as he slid across the air as if solid like the ground. His expression was grim as he lowered his arms and looked at his opponent, who disinterestedly shook his hand.

“You’re pretty sturdy… Grismund, you said your name was? What are you? An Exemplar? No… they wouldn’t be strong enough to take my punch, right Father?”

Argexes tilted his head back at an odd, inhuman angle, viewing the Flame from an almost upside-down position.

“Your grasp of the Steps is… concerning. I foresee some studying in your future. At the very least, the ripples of his presence speak to one who has Exemplified, but I suspect a nascent Paragon. I didn’t expect to see many of those alive.”

Feeling somewhat underestimated, Grismund spread his arms with splayed hands. .

A pair of axes with pristine, serrated silver-white edges and baroque inscriptions ignited with a bloodthirsty, draconian aura. Though identical, the power that flowed through the twin axes differed immensely, which was likely the aspects of Grismund’s abilities.

The weapons were simply his medium of choice.

The air exploded as Grismund suddenly appeared before Argexes, his right axe descending with the fatal momentum of a guillotine. Midair, the axes inflated, gaining an outer shell forged from Mana and…

Kieran’s eyebrows shot up.

‘More Will. Can everyone employ Will in this manner?’

Excited to learn how these events unfold, Kieran didn’t avert his gaze as Grismund’s strike gored Argexes’ midsection, continuing until it hewed a large hole in the ground.

Then, the second axe came in a cross, forming a perpendicular wound on Argexes’ chest.

Contrary to what was expected, Grismund didn’t press the assault, choosing to create space. It wasn’t that his strikes failed to hit. He sensed something eerie and terribly wrong with his opponent.

The wounds on Argexes’ chest bled while he stood upright, touching them with almost childish attraction. After a moment of fiddling with the blood, Argexes tapped his chest again, and the wound that failed to effect a change in mental state… vanished.

“You should be careful. To inflict injury upon me is to welcome Madness. Chosen of War, is Madness something you can handle? Do you think your mental resilience is up to par? Let’s test that out.”

A song of imminent danger played in Grismund’s mind, prompting him to slash the air before him. A stark contrast of silver-white and blackened-red ripped through the air as Argexes’s armored claws met its match.

A whirlwind of energies ravaged the lands further as Argexes’ expression grew more demented with each collision. The sonorous cacophony of their nonsensically fast exchanges floored Kieran and made him cover his ears at some point.

There was nothing remarkable about how either Grismund or Argexes battled. It was savage, primal, and simplistic. Yet Kieran was riveted by it. Perhaps the absurd pace or the cognizance that both parties of this fight wielded strength far above his station.

At some point, however, Argexes’ claws became wreathed in ruinous flames, melting reality as they passed. Surprisingly, Grismund withstood those attacks by manifesting an energy that felt like nothing as much as the grace of absolution.

Why would someone who was chosen by War, which Kieran assumed referred to the Endless of War, manifest power anchored in absolution?

After considering Grismund’s proclaimed Path — Traveler of the Absolute Warpath — Kieran belatedly realized he must have taken countless lives to constitute that Path. And what was felt after you amassed too much blood on your hands… guilt.

Tons of guilt and blame.

That Path, acquiring power through the reaving of lives on a battlefield, was likely how Grismund absolved himself of guilt. In its own right, it was an ingenious mechanism of laundering accumulated encumbrance.

‘Have to give it to you, Grismund… a solid scheme you’ve got going. Crafty exemption, nice.’

The power of absolution invigorated Grismund, allowing him to partially undo the damage to reality Argexes was causing, but Kieran could see the outcome clearly.

Grismund was at a clear disadvantage in terms of power. His weapons were being damaged with each exchange, and his energy was being ruined and defiled by the blood Argexes allowed himself to spill.

Everything about his existence was a weapon, a tool of destruction.

The disparity between the two warring entities only increased after some odd minutes, and the outcome Kieran foresaw was quickly upon them.

Argexes’ clawed hands tore a nasty wound through Grismund’s chest, purposely missing his heart with a wicked grin. The grin of a predator that found amusement in its prey’s death throes.

It was that same twisted delight the Flame shared.

‘Like Father… like Son.

“Flounder, despair… pointlessly beg for mercy. You fought well, but you’re not enough. You don’t make the cut. But I guess I can humor myself by terrorizing you.”

Draegerys’ eyes widened, reaching out while howling.

“Father!”

Argexes glanced in Draegerys’ direction, and his expression only grew more malevolent. A wicked idea came together in his mind.

“Kill.”

The order didn’t seem to be to anyone in particular. However, Adeia moved, enthralled by the Tyrant of the Maddened’s words. Deidamia streaked toward Draegerys’ heart, but in the final moments, Rhaenys stepped in front, her blade failing to deflect the tyrannical might of the empowered Adeia.

In a twist of fate, the Maven of the Red Death succumbed to Adeia, whom the Flame renamed Death.

Kieran felt the irony in that but didn’t speak on it.

Instead, he focused on absorbing the sword forms he witnessed Adeia use.

Meanwhile, Grismund, the one actually impaled by Argexes’ giant claw, didn’t seem nearly as desperate as his son. Of course, Kieran could understand the fear of a child.

The lack of struggle from Grismund doused Argexes’ delight, turning it into vile repugnance.

“Since you’ve chosen not to satisfy my whims, you can just go on and die then.”

As ruinous power poised to spread and destroy Grismund, a surly baritone voice entered Argexes’ ear, followed by a presence incomprehensibly appearing beside him.

“You kill him, I kill you. Do with that what you will.”