The Immortal (Rise of the Warlords 2)

Together, they fought to ascend. A moment an immortal reached a new level of power, gaining abilities and strengths.

If the Deathless managed to ascend before them...

I will lose more brothers.

Halo rubbed the spot above his heart. Every five hundred years, the Astra participated in a series of “blessing tasks.” Individual challenges with army-wide consequences. If one failed, all failed. This time, the ultimate winner would ascend. Erebus or the Astra.

Only days ago, Commander Roc had successfully completed the initial task. Now the second task loomed, set to begin any moment.

Halo was ready to do his part, whatever it was.

He flashed to the Tree of Skulls, an important landmark in the realm of Harpina. The land of the harpies, and his current home. The colossal tree marked the epicenter of the town square, where shops abounded. Thick branches stretched in every direction, blooming with red, skull-shaped flowers that perfumed the air with a sweet scent he didn’t dislike.

On the lookout for Erebus and his mindless puppets, the phantoms, Halo stalked the cobblestone streets.

The stores had yet to open, few harpies in the area. He wasn’t disappointed by this. Harpies liked to prattle about everything and fight about nothing. If they weren’t snickering at you, they were leering at you—on both occasions, they were plotting your murder. They liked to say and buy the most ridiculous things, exhibiting pure emotion and little control.

He passed eight door-to-door karaoke bars, six happy-ending massage parlors, a lone “hard-wear house,” whatever that was, and a neon sign that displayed the words ANYTHING GOES! Odd creatures, harpies.

Soldiers on patrol sprang out of his way, because they knew two things. Never approach an Astra without permission unless absolutely necessary—and it wasn’t ever necessary.

No sign of the enemy. How disappointing. It was only a matter of time, however. When the second blessing task kicked off, the god would wreak havoc hourly.

Halo prowled the streets for hours, scouring every inch of everything. He stopped only when his internal clock buzzed: 11:58. Upcoming meeting with the Commander.

He sheathed his weapons and flashed to the palace. Specifically, a conference room Roc reserved for such briefings. A spacious area with a long desk and ten chairs. One for each Astra, one for Taliyah. Notes littered a wall. Some featured a harpy’s phone number, others crude suggestions. A handful offered a lewd sketch.

Roc already occupied his seat at the head. The seven-foot-tall Commander with cropped black hair and a beard in need of a trim reclined, deep in thought, stroking his chin.

Halo had overheard many harpies refer to him as “serial killer dreamy.”

The familiar sight loosened some of his gears. This was a new day to serve his brothers to the best of his abilities. And so he would.

“My apologies if I kept you waiting, Commander.”

Without missing a beat, Roc motioned for him to sit. “The lost weapon is in play.”

He eased into the chair at his leader’s right-hand side, asking, “Do you know what it is?” Roc’s blessing task had come with three parts. A thirty-day marriage. The sacrifice of his bride’s life. And the maintaining of her virginity.

The two had “fallen in love” and copulated often. But, despite the nonexistence of the General’s hymen, Roc had been crowned the ultimate winner of his task, putting the entire Astraian army one step closer to group ascension. However, deviation from the mission had cost them all dearly. A mysterious weapon was given to Erebus, putting the god one step closer to ascension.

“I know its name now,” Roc said, “but little else. The Bloodmor.”

The Bloodmor. Halo searched his mental files but found no information. No matter. “Someone somewhere knows something. Soon, we’ll know it too.”

“Agreed.” Roc drummed his fingers against the tabletop. “Chaos offered a warning. He says the Bloodmor will do more damage to us in one day than the Blade of Destiny has done in centuries. To you in particular.”

The Blade of Destiny. A weapon somehow able to peer into the many paths the future might take, allowing Erebus to plan someone’s downfall accordingly. Another weapon given to Erebus in times past. That infernal blade had caused the Astra countless devastations for centuries, and this Bloodmor was worse?

Halo gripped the arms of his chair. Voice tight, he asked, “Do you doubt my ability to succeed, Commander?”

“Not at all.” Roc pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’m stewing in my own guilt. The second blessing task begins today. A to-the-death battle of wits and weapons. Erebus was given his choice of opponents this time. He selected you.”

Face the Deathless on a battlefield? Halo seethed with eagerness. “I have killed him on twenty-three separate occasions.” The god had always come back to life, but a kill was a kill. “I will deliver the twenty-fourth without fail.” Nothing would stop him. He—

Halo leaped to his feet, every muscle in his body suddenly alive and humming with challenge. What was that scent?