Maximillian was on his knees. Like a peasant before his betters, he, rightful heir of the Abyssal kingdom of Austria, loyal vassal of the Sons of Rome, knelt before the Ironborn. His head was lowered submissively. Spilled blood covered the tiles, and some of it seeped into his heavily enchanted suit.

‘I am Maximillian Franz the Fourth von Habsburg, gravity king, Elector of Austria, arch-duke of Vienna, prince-regent of Greater Hungary, duke of Ulm, former Candidatum Primus of Rex Germaniae, servant of Emperor of Kings,’ he thought to himself. He clenched his fist and his jaw. The intensity cut his palm. The taste of iron filled his mouth. He forced his gaze to rise.

It met that of Reetha lo Rust. The admittedly attractive, elven woman of metal and arrogance, stared at him dismissively. Past the rushing of blood in his ears, he heard the hiss of the gas being pushed past her shut teeth. Doubt chilled his thoughts, as if his entire head was submerged in cold water.

‘I cast off all these titles,’ the thought surfaced. Spurred on by the instilled negativity, it was nevertheless his own. ‘Why did I do that? Because I couldn’t bear the burden of leadership after he betrayed me…’

Maximillian still remembered it. He doubted he would ever forget it. Ever go a year without the sensation occurring in a dream. It was worse than the apparently unfixable issue with his leg, worse even than the moment that had caused the injury. The goddess of genocide in its primal, first form, she – it – had been terrifying. Still, it was the knife that slid into his back that he remembered. A wound that had been easily fixed. It had left no scar. Not on his skin, anyway.

Alexej, a friend he had his entire life. A friend he thought he had his entire life. A line of servants in service of the Habsburgs, all of them turned traitors when the Blood of the Proletariat attacked. They had been through life together, had fought together for the crown. Alexej had been there when his father died. Had the consolation just been a ploy to retain his standing?

Never would Maximillian know. The truths died with him. Any chance to hate him or to reconcile were gone. Left was only the confusion. Who should he remember, the friend that had teased him over his refusal to obey the foremost tradition of his country, to fuse with an elemental, or the glee with which that same friend pushed the dagger through skin and muscle?

Unable to find the answer, he had run from so many things. He had run from his responsibility. Fled into alcohol and cheap women, whose company he couldn’t stand for more than a month at a time. They were attracted by his charm, his titles and his money. Even they couldn’t prevent him from waking up in a cold sweat sometimes.

The doubts kept worming through his mind, summoned more and more memories of his inadequacies.

‘Why did I give up my titles?’ he asked himself again and arrived at a much simpler answer. ‘Because I’m inferior. I’m not Lydia, I can’t carry the betrayal of someone close to me. I’m not John, I can’t keep going… I just want to rest… I just want to… let someone else take care of me… someone that is… superior...’ He kept his head down, staring at the blood stains. ‘Yeah, I should just give i-‘

‘No.’

The single word boomed in his mind. It was entirely bass, almost unrecognizable as a voice, that of Hawpler. It spread out and was swallowed, like sound by insulated walls. It only served to interrupt his surrendering thoughts. It left him empty.

Complete apathy settled in. Silence in his mind. Distant sounds of combat. Docile allies and Ironborn awaiting their complete submission. Blood on the floor. The taste of blood in his mouth. Drops of blood flowing from his palms to his nails.

‘I’m inferior,’ he thought again.

It was at that moment that something inside him revolted. A spark of annoyance with himself. The kind of spark that he had felt again and again over the past year. He had learned to grasp it long ago. It was the same spark that had let him reign in his overreliance on alcohol to sleep. That which had made him stop sleeping around mindlessly. This sensation, this knowledge that he was not the best he could be, that was what had made him keep investing in the one relationship that he had finally thought worthy to be called a romance.

Teeth and fists clenched again. The doubt, the despair, the terrible inferiority he felt, he took them all at full value. Yes, he had fled from his responsibilities, but he was not a useless nobody. He had made the effort, he had made the sacrifices, he had been there for others like he wished them to be there for him.

‘Yes.’ The drumming sound of Hawpler’s voice reached him a second time. A simple encouragement, that was all he needed from the gravity elemental.

Tears started rolling Maximillian’s face, the depth of his tragedy realized. The least among prodigies, betrayed by his childhood friend, unable to face the responsibility he was born, bred and trained for. Was that what he was willing to be remembered for? “Of course not,” Maximillian growled. More of his blood was squeezed from his palm, joining his tears in falling to the ground.

“Oh?” Reetha raised one of her finely swung eyebrows. One, and only one, of her targets rose from his knees. The others raised their eyes at Maximillian, standing despite the burden of betrayal on his mind. “We can’t have that. Go back to kneeling. Mortals don’t stand before the Ironborn.”

Another wave of the thought-clouding fog enveloped the crowd. It could do nothing more to Maximillian than it had already. “I’m… a king… I kneel only… to whom I… swear fealty!” he pressed out, between tearful shudders.

“You? A king?” Reetha chuckled. “You think yourself my equal? You’re just another servant of the Gamer. Don’t worry, soon you will be a slave to the Emperor. That will be a more honourable station, invader.”

“I…” Maximillian stared at his feet. His knees were weak, his head heavy. The blood spills on the ground, he could feel them. He reached out. Forced his magic, difficult as it was, into the liquid. Terrible as his water magic still was, he barely managed to control the crimson fluid. It formed a circle around him, barely more than a metre across. Lines and runes were carefully drawn within. Each of them was etched deep into his mind. Every noble of Rex Germaniae knew them by heart. “I still… I STILL HAVE MY OWN PRIDE, DAMN YOU!”

Willpower surging, Maximillian reached out for Hawpler. The sapient, pitch-black hole swallowed his hand. Underneath him, the magical circle drawn, in part, with his own blood and tears began to glow. The corona of deep purple around the elemental continued to waver, while the drifting mist and sounds of combat all around them slowed. All time seemed to come to a standstill. The apathetic gazes of his subdued allies, the emotionless wall of Ironborn, and the loathsome smile of Reetha all froze.

Then Hawpler expanded. The black hole grew, swallowed Maximillian’s senses, until the ground under his feet disappeared and he fell into a deep, endless darkness. “Is this how we meet our individual end, Max?” the voice of the elemental boomed from all around. Memories from their time together drifted all around.

The day they had met, when he had picked the stoic, featureless black hole from among all the elementals vying for a prodigy like him. Days upon days spent together, few words exchanged, ever comfortable in each other’s presence. Figuring out how to play to each other’s strengths during combat. Passing time by throwing golf balls at the black hole and watching them being crushed out of existence. Maximillian falling out of his bed when Hawpler took his revenge for the untasty treats. The hilarity of watching the living gravity well being drunk for the first time. The scolding they had received the next day. Years upon years, where he had only manifested when they were alone. One of them unwilling to fuse, the other happier for his decision.

“Do we become one now, after all?”

“I decree that we shall remain us and still fuse,” Maximillian declared with all of the confidence of his boisterous speeches. “I will not be outdone by a woman incapable of brushing her hair!”

“Unreasonable,” the sapient black hole pointed out. “It is entirely unknown what allowed the quarter fusion to happen.”

“It does not matter how unreasonable it is. We, you and I, we have bent the rules of tradition, of expectation, let us bend the rules of reality as well. We will not fuse here, I will form a contract with Laralia. I cannot have that become an impossibility through becoming a half elemental.” In a softer tone, he added, “I will not be without you, my quiet friend. We will get out of here as two and then… we have a wedding to plan.”

“I obey your decree, my king,” Hawpler declared with all the conviction one could have for the insanity they committed themself to.

Maximillian’s fall ended in the darkness. A piece of that darkness fell into itself with him.

Instantly, his vision returned to the real world. His fist now grasped at nothing. Pieces of Hawpler drifted over his skin, fusing into it. A couple metres ahead, Reetha laughed madly. “Oh, that is rich,” she shouted mockingly. “Scream and crush your own ally. Hilarious! Perhaps I will keep you to myself for a while.”

“You’re not my type,” he responded with a cocky smile. All he felt now, through the various effects the mist tried to force on his mind, was jubilation. He was still only himself. Turning his fist around, he opened it to reveal a mended palm. With the ease of a thought, he spawned a small black hole in his hand.

At the command of his will, the sphere of raw gravity exerted his influence on Reetha’s magic. The manifested doubt began to swirl in a vortex, and was pulled into a single point and kept there. Maximillian wiggled with one eyebrow, while Reetha’s face turned from amusement to raw rage. She attempted to overpower his magic with her own.

“Rise up, friends and allies!” Maximillian shouted, dramatically extending one arm to the side. “We have come here to do the unlikely and I just did the impossible! The second quarter elemental of reality! Who could hurt us with me on your side!”

“Stop the arrogant boasting, youngling,” William Brighton growled, as he, first among the crowd, rose to his feet. All around, the people shook off the effects of the gas, inspired, challenged, or simply freed by the gravity king.

Reetha locked eyes on the black sphere. Swiftly, her gaze darted back to Maximillian. He could see the realization on her face. His magic did not neutralize hers, it only concentrated it in a singular spot. If he was removed, all of it would be released and she could re-establish her control. “Change in plans, kill that one!” the Queen of the West commanded.

The wall of Ironborn began their charge. With renewed elan and their will more awake than ever, after being nearly subdued, the forces of the coalition met them in kind. Reetha herself charged directly at Maximillian.

Keeping his relaxed, self-assured demeanour, Maximillian lifted his good foot. The other one carried the weight with no issue. Even with the attached exoskeleton, his full weight had caused the old injury to ache. Now it made no difference whatsoever. Especially not when his sole separated from the ground.

Hovering effortlessly, Maximillian waited for Reetha to get close, before shooting straight upwards. Manipulating the strength of direction of the world’s pull on his physical form, he flew like a directed meteor. Effects that he had previously needed to enact on something he stood on, he now applied to himself with absolute ease.

Maximillian flew backwards, towards the massive pit. There was no action there whatsoever, a safe place to discard the gathered influence of Reetha. The Queen chased after him, pure hatred in her eyes. Her feet drummed on the bridge.

“I already told you: you aren’t my type,” Maximillian said with a theatrical sigh. “Interesting as I find it sometimes, I do not have a particular interest in crazy. May I recommend you bother John instead? He has a weakness for the unstable.” A red mist was pushed out from Reetha’s clenched, metallic teeth. The black-haired elf leapt with increased power and nearly caught the gravity mage. “Alright, alright, I will play with you! Just let me discard this.”

Maximillian tossed the concentrated gravity behind himself. After only a few metres, he could feel his control over it start to diminish. It released exponentially, until the green mist exploded out behind him. He kept his focus on Reetha.

The Queen jumped again. She paid the leap enough mind that she did not get above the chasm. All Maximillian had to do to dodge her permanently was to position himself above it. That would have been no fun, however, so he stooped down under her. She landed on the bridge, as did he.

With nothing else to utilize as a weapon, Maximillian tore off his jacket and shirt. Mid-air, the two articles of clothing collapsed into a singular point. They could hardly still be described as fabric at the end of it.

Swinging his finger like a conductor would when guiding his orchestra, Maximillian sent the sphere slamming into Reetha. Although it connected, it did very little to even obstruct the raging Ironborn in her charge. ‘I suppose offense was never mine nor Hawpler’s specialty.’ Maximillian resigned himself to the futile loss of his shirt and instead went for the reliable strategy.

Reetha’s right foot slammed into the ground so hard, she stumbled and nearly fell. Although she caught herself, the next step she took was slow, barely qualified as running. Changing from red back to green, she exhaled, attempting to reach Maximillian with the influence of her magic. He conjured a new black hole and siphoned the mist into it like before.

Still, she advanced, step for step. Too slow that he couldn’t keep out of her range. Not that he dared to. His ability had always allowed him to beat physical fighters above his level because of how effective he was at incapacitating them. “Do you really want us to waste our time here?” Reetha growled. Both of them knew what was happening here. She lacked the power to reach him and he the power to hurt her in a meaningful way. They were at an impasse.

“To be fair, you get a much nicer view.” Maximillian gestured at his exposed, well-trained form. Then, he heard a distant roar from down below. Leaning over, he saw something fiery rapidly ascend. “Well, I can’t say it’s been nice, but thank you for the breakthrough in my therapy.” He bowed in front of Reetha. “I earnestly hope you only die on impact.”

“What are you talking about?” the Queen asked.

Maximillian hovered back towards the battlefield. “You’ll see in a second,” he promised her. For as long as he could, he kept his slowing influence on her. Then, he flew as fast as possible. It was to his great delight that he did not have to look where he was going to accelerate.

The thunderous cracking of stone announced the arrival of the dragon moments before the fire did. Erupting as an obsidian form engulfed by her own flames, Nathalia destroyed the bridges at the centre of the massive chamber. Reetha was thrown into the air, then grasped by the ascending claw of the goddess of volcanoes.

Growling, the immense creature reared her head over the battlefield. The fighting did not stop. The Ironborn were intimidated by the unknown powers of pariahs, but a larger than life figure, that they were oddly enough used to. Flickers of fire played around the jagged teeth of the obsidian dragon. “Keep going!” Maximillian shouted at her. One of the orange glowing eyes turned in his direction. “I got this.”

Without words, Nathalia turned her head towards the ceiling. The claw that had grasped Reetha opened again. An object of iridescent metal fell down the shaft, a unified clump. Maximillian waved after it, quite certain there was no one there left to notice it. The dragoness gripped onto two of the six arching spires that connected to the massive one that went up through the tower. To see something so massive squeeze her way through something was a sight that confused any sense of relative size. The dragon passed, climbing up through the tower large enough to encompass her, yet too narrow to allow her to fly.

‘I got this,’ Maximillian assured himself and returned to the battlefield.