"If after you thwart one's adversary, they begin to talk to themselves while clearly increasing their power — especially if they are saying things like 'this was going to be perfect' or 'you have ruined it' — that is the time to kill them. Otherwise, you'll end up having to fight some nonsensical twisted dark angel or an inchoate blob covered in eyes or some other thing of that manner. I frankly have never had time for such silliness and neither should you as my daughters."

— Karina de la Valliere


Upon the Isle of Wights; bloody, messy, bad war.

In the barracks, minions barricaded the doors where a good number of the Albionese soldiers had fortified themselves. The fortification turned into their resting place, as reds were brought up to burn them out. Gibbering with excitement, they set fire to hacked apart wooden doors and piled up carpets, filling the air with smoke. When the choking defenders tried to break out, they were met with handfuls of tossed fire. Men screamed and died. And then the young necromancer Alice was there, to bring the burned corpses back to life and send them shambling to slaughter former friends they'd laughed and played dice with last night.

In the dining hall, almost-human-looking golems faced waves of minions and no matter how many they slaughtered, there were always more. The floor was painted with minionly blood, but the blue minions were always there to pull the dead back and send them off to die again. One of King Joseph's golems might kill ten, twenty, thirty minions - but the thirty-first minion might manage to cave in the golem's leg with a club or pry off the plating to expose the inner earthstone. There were only so many of the elite golems, but there were always more of the fodder. When the last golem fell, every minion was back on their feet after a brief and somewhat fratricidal brawl over who got to plunder the parts.

Ahead of the main body of the minions, many of Tifa's small children were making their own fun. The underlayers of the island linked up to the castle-fortifications that guarded the coasts, and these redoubts were still not-quite-aware of what was going on, too concerned with trying to find windstones to refuel their ships so that they could send for reinforcements or understand what terrible force had broken the chains holding them to the mainland. The second greatest of the fortresses, at Eremue, had all eyes turned to the sky, looking for dragoons or hostile ships. They did not expect Magda who, laughing, threw open the doors to the Abyss. No more messages came from Eremue, but screaming faces crawled over the walls and the light of hellfire streamed from the melting windows.

Laughing, King Joseph watched smoke rise from the depths before it was whipped in the elvish wind that still carried the island away from the mainland. There, fires spread as forests burned from the roots; there, defenders were slaughtered by pre-pubescent killers; there, minions burned the fields. Matchlocks belched sooty smoke with each shot, and the gibbering green minions only took advantage of the sulphurous smoke to get in close and engage in their bloody deeds.

"Do you think this is how the Lord must feel when He looks down upon the world and sets brother against brother and father against son?" he asked gleefully, blotting at his dry eyes with his lacy handkerchief. "All this death, all this destruction, the forces of man against the forces of evil - it was me! All me! None of this would have happened if I had not chosen this island to be my board for my little game. None of this would have happened if I had not backed the foolish supporters of Albigone. Can you imagine the guilt, the horrors, the terrors that lie upon me?"

The ancient stone walls rose up around him in harsh lines, embedded with blood-red crystals that crackled with dark energies. And yet it was an empty mockery of what it should have been; no slavish crowds of obedient minions, no banners, no lavish rugs. Only a few of the lights had been brought back into operation, and those were clustered around the grand dais where the dark lord would once have overseen the operations of this element of his sky fleet. But that was long ago, before men had forgotten the perfidy of the land which had become Albion when it was torn from the sky, and it was before the Albionese monarchs had - drawn by a faint feeling of the dark energies that lurked here - turned this place into the Isle of Wights, their burial ground.

"I…have no idea what you are talking about," Tiffania said, from her position in one of the two cages which flanked the throne he sat in. He had not needed to add these decorations. They had been part of the original construction.

Henrietta made some muffled noises, for she was still gagged to stop her spitting at King Joseph.

With a weary sigh, Joseph flapped his hands at his prisoners. "This isn't as much fun as it should be," he said snippily. "I am trying to gloat here, and the least you two could do is appreciate my genius. But you, Tiffania — you don't even understand what is going on here. And Henrietta keeps on trying to spit at me."

Further muffled noises emanated from Henrietta.

"Yes, yes, you do go on. You want to tear my throat out with your teeth, I know. How droll. And anodyne."

That earned another, angrier splattering of noise.

King Joseph laughed shrilly. "Manners, your highness, manners. How uncouth of you! But then again, it was most uncouth for your overlady to steal the secrets of the void which belonged to you, young elf. This messy little war of mine wouldn't have been anywhere near as much fun if she hadn't used dark magic to smuggle her army onto this island. It was your spell, the spell that let you open a gate outside reality, to the primordial Void! You've only been gone a week and she's already stolen it from you."

"I'm… I'm sure she had good intentions."

"I am not," King Joseph said. "But it does not matter. Either I will kill you to take your power, or she will. Pray to whatever heathen gods you believe in—"

"I am a faithful daughter of Brimir!" Tifania said, decidedly annoyed.

"You are? How boring! Elves have much more fun gods." Joseph adjusted his cravat, and chuckled wearily. "I suppose it is time to put an end to this charade," he said to himself. He clapped his hands. "Golems! Fall back! Leave the Albionese fools to die!"


The air screamed across the wind-tossed surface of the island. The famous mists had been torn away by the elvish gale that bore it away from Albion proper, and even the gnarled yews and hollies had been twisted and torn. The graves, though, still stood with unnatural strength. Rank upon rank of serried stone stood testament to the storied scions of centuries of princes.

The overlady brushed her hand against the nearest tombstone, metal scraping against stone. "There will be plenty more graves before this day is done," she said to herself.

Standing back behind her, her dishonour guard of minions were contributing to this touching moment in their customary manner.

"Huh?" Fettid said, blinking heavily as she blew her nose on the torn shirt of one of the Albionese soldiers. "What she talking about? Has that small necromancer woken up the boney-boy in that place? Are that who she are talking to?"

"I no see a boney boy," Char said, lighting his foul-smelling roll-up as he took a smoking break from serving as the infernal combustion engine of one of the suits of golem armour.

"It no are a problem," Maxy explained. "She just are being poetic. Standing in a place like this and saying something what are portentous and dramatic are just a thing what an overlord does. It goes down well in the stories. It are showing that the overlady are conflicted, and that means that people what are good look at her and go 'oh she are morally conflicted, but she also are pretty, that means that she no are that bad'."

"And then what?" Fettid asked.

"Well obviously the overlady then use her magic to make them her slaves or then she go laugh in a well evil way and set them on fire. 'Cause the only reason why you gotta get people to think that you no are evil is so you can betray them."

"She do like setting people on fire."

"Yep. When you think about it, her hair are pink and pink are just another form of red."

The minions around nodded in complete understanding. Maxy's logic was unquestionably correct.

"Nah, she are just being the melon drama," Char said darkly. "It are a priv-ledge of the boor-shwah-zee when they is crushing the working classes below their feet."

"Nah, we is the ones crushing people," Maxy pointed out. "I are really liking the armour she got for us. We have stompy feet and smashy clubs. Is you still sour 'cause you no are getting to drive the stompy armour but only can fuel it with your fire?"

"Yes! It are oppressing us reds to only use us as a fire source. We should be getting to walk around in the stompy armour!"

With a whoompth, Louise conjured a ball of flame in her hand. It was not her customary pink fire. It was instead an oily, shiny black, rimmed with white around the edges.

"Oooh! Look at that, Char," Maxy said, grinning widely. "She makes the black fire what are even more evil than the fire what you make."

"So?"

"It are a wicked sign! And look at it! It's being all wavy and pointy! What is you looking for, overlady?"

Louise glanced in his direction. "You've seen it before? Fire like this?"

"Oh yeah, not many overladies can make it. It means you is really lovin' fire a lot."

That drew a brief laugh from her. "I suppose so. I've read about it before, but I couldn't use it. Not until I was here, where there is so much ambient Evil for me to draw on. And you're right. I am looking for something. And look at it. One part of the flame points towards me. And the other... points over there." She gestured towards the centre of the island. "That's where he is. Maggat!"

The clanking suit of armour piloted by Maggat lumbered back towards her. "Yes, overlady?"

"My suspicions were true. I know where he is now."

The minions whooped, and surged off in the directions she pointed. Louise followed behind, at a safe enough distance that they set off any traps or ambushes. Now that she was getting closer, she did not need the black flame that burned evil anymore. She could feel the presence of King Joseph here in this place of ancient, evil magic in the same way as she might feel the direction of the sun by the warmth it gave off.

The Albionese had tried to hide what this place was. They had built their own castle around the old structure, putting up a facade that this place was just another citadel. But it was much like lip-paint on a hog; unable to hide the tusks. And more than that, the facade was falling away to reveal what lay underneath. Fresh black stone bulged out of the ground, pulling itself out of the ground and splitting the citadel that had wrapped around it.

"It is rebuilding itself," Louise said to herself. And she knew that style of colossal architecture. It was the same style as her tower. The island had been brought back to life and something about that made it bring its old nature to the fore.

"What now?" Maggat asked.

Raising her gauntleted left hand into the air, a great clarion call sounded out, something that tugged on the grubby little souls of the minions. They knew their overlady needed them. Like water flowing downhill, all across the island they came running to Louise. "We march on that tower!" she said. "And we prepare to finish this."

"Right-o, overlady," Maggat said, his yellow teeth showing bared by his malicious grin. "I'll get the lads into shape an' then we'll do the marchy thing you wanted us to do."

For perhaps the first time, Louise felt like the kind of evil lady of darkness she had read about in books. Which was, she hastened to mentally add, the kind which had armies that shook the ground and laid waste to all that opposed them, not the kind that married into the job.

"Ov. Er. La. Dy," chanted her minions, with each syllable beating their weapons into their shields or slamming the armoured hands of their golems into the chests. The noise was terrible, even deafening. They ran into, or rather more strictly over, a small group of shaken Albionese soldiers and it barely slowed them down.

Before the gates of the citadel, Louise brought her staff down, a fireball rising up into the air above her. The minions fell silently, almost mostly in unison with only a few overly enthusiastic cheerers having to be clubbed down by their fellows. She couldn't help but smile to herself. It had taken some practice to get them to understand the idea, but the minions had taken to the idea of making lots of noise with glee. And that fireball was in itself a signal.

"Come face me, coward!" she called out. "I have slaughtered your Albionese puppets! I have smashed your golem-dolls! Come, now! Face me in person! Or concede that you are no true overlord!" She paused, for just a breath. "Concede that you are no true heir to Brimir who will never hold any more fragments of the Void!"

From what she had put together, he would have to respond. Someone who had put so much effort into trying to lure her out wouldn't be willing to do anything that might risk him losing his prize.

"Ah ha," King Joseph's voice emanated from the tower. "You are finally here. I grew so weary waiting for you. Well, come then, overlady! Come face me! And let the fate of the world hang in the balance of our clash!" He tittered. "Oh, I can hardly wait! I have put years into this! And now it is time! Time!"

The gates rumbled open.

"Come face me. Alone. Because we don't need lesser beings to get in the way! I want to murder you and you want to murder me! We're a happy murdering family!"

Maggat looked at the door. "This," he said, "is a trap."

"Yes," Louise said softly. "I know."

"You ain't goin' in there to get killed!"

"No, I am not. But I am going in there." Louise clenched her left hand, hearing the metal click.

"But he's gonna betray you. It's obvious-like. I think you no go in, an' maybe me an' the lads and ladies go in and smash him up."

"No." Louise inhaled, feeling her stomach churn. "I am only taking one of you for this, and that is Fettid."

"Yep. It were all part of the plan," Fettid said soundly. "The special part what are all green and sneaky."

"But we could keep you all safe, overlady," Maggat protested.

"I wish it wasn't so. I hadn't planned this," Lord, she hadn't, she really hadn't, "but if I don't, he'll kill Henrietta. Well, he'll kill Tifa first, but I don't care about her so much. But then he'll kill Henrietta. I can't let that happen. I—" love her "—need her safe. For my plans."

"But-"

"No buts! I'll have Fettid there, and also Jessica is helping out."

"The forge mistress? She ain't here."

"I know!" Louise's voice twanged from stress. She wanted to be sick. She wanted to curl up around her staff and clutch it until she stopped shaking. But iron-hard pride would have to serve in place of comfort. "But she's still being useful."

"Overlady? Rip his guts out through his mouth."

Louise smiled queasily. "Thank you, Maggat. I... I appreciate it."

The space between the opened doors was dark and looming. And as soon as she was through, they slammed home like an executioner's sword.

Already, wisps of shadow and pink light were gathering around her fingers.


Her feet clicked on the stone. So much like her tower. So much, and so little. She had made her fortification into a place where people lived. But this place was stark and barren and empty.

The doors opened before her, door after door after door, and ground shut when she was passed. And this was bad. Very bad. Her plan needed the open air. Did he know about it? Or was he just doing his own thing?

And then the final door. There was a statue-lined red carpet leading up to the throne where her hated enemy sat, but Louise had more eyes for Henrietta. Henrietta, gagged, bound and caged, but alive. And looking absolutely furious. She forced herself to look away from her friend. Tiffania was also alive, suspended in a similar cage to Henrietta though oddly she was not also gagged.

And then there was King Joseph, and he was dressed for the occasion. He was less armoured than her, but his three-quarters plate was of highest quality, decorated with delicate filigree inlays of gold, and glittered with embedded icy blue gemstones. Where he lacked steel, he wore elegant dark-stained leather. But this kingly outfit was second to his crowned helm, because Louise knew it. She knew it intimately. Her gauntlet pulsed in recognition.

Hello, old friend.

We'll be reunited soon.

Indeed.

And she could tell that King Joseph had felt the same communication between the relics of the First Overlord that they bore.

"Welcome. Welcome, indeed." The king gave her a mocking bow from up on his dais. "I understand you have travelled far, but I do not believe you will be staying all that long."

Louise said nothing in response, concentrating instead on the magic in her cupped left hand.

"Golems, bring her to me!"

As one, every single armoured statue ground into motion.

Louise spoke a single word in the dark tongue. Darkness washed over the armoured figures that surrounded her. Every golem slumped down like a puppet with its strings cut. The purple brands which burned on their brows had been quenched, and even the sparkle of firestones in their weapons had been gone.

She let out a long, slow breath. "King Joseph. Is this any way to treat your guests?" She snapped her fingers, calling up a little puff of pink flame. "What a cowardly, base, treacherous thing to do."

From what she could see of his face, he was pouting. "Well, that was not supposed to happen," he said, sulkily.

"Yes! You underestimate my pow-"

"No, foolish girl. Of course it was expected that you destroy the motive magic of the golems," King Joseph said with a snitty sigh. "But you should be more tired from that. I tricked you into waking the fortress again with your dispellation of the chains, and you have fought your way to me! Your failure to exhaust yourself is exceptionally thoughtless. I'm very disappointed in you. There are certain rules that magic works by, you should know! Will fuels the mage's spells! Yet you keep on pulling out these grotesquely overpowered acts." He stomped his foot. "You're cheating!"

Louise could taste the dark magic in the air. Was that the very reason she wasn't tiring? It was her magic that had brought the systems of the war-island back to life, and it was therefore making its power available to her. "Who would not cheat for the stakes in our game?" she said instead.

"Touché!" The sulk was gone entirely, as if blown away in a sudden gale, and King Joseph was suddenly eager in a way he had not been before. "Might I offer you a refreshment before we try to murder each other? No? Well, it's true, if you accepted a drink from me I would have poisoned it. It is in our nature after all."

"You like to talk," she said coldly.

"Of course I do! You are the only one who understands me! The only one like me, who lives with the same curse. We bear the blood of Brimir, we wield his power — and the power of his great foe who the Founder slew and took for his own! We both know what it feels to be locked away by our families, treated as a shameful secret — and to take power for ourselves, my mademoiselle de la Vallière."

Her blood ran cold, and it felt like there was something inside her chest, clutching at her heart. She didn't reply; couldn't.

"Oh, come now. No retort, no denial, none of that braggadocio?" The king smiled a devil's smile, leaning forwards. "Perhaps you thought you could surprise me? Perhaps you were not aware that I knew every move you could take. Oh, do not take me wrong. You were a far more worthy opponent than the miserable rulers of this pathetic little island. But know this; I have foreseen everything and every move you could take. You have been a fine dancing partner, but the clock of your life is striking midnight and tonight the dance ends.

He paused, deliberately.

"My dear Cattleya."

Louise considered this, and considered it some more. Eventually she came up with the well-considered response, "I'm sorry, but I beg your pardon?"