The ruins of the Bone Spire were unrecognizable. The rubble had been cleared to form a massive, flat arena. Tens of thousands of elite Sunforged Guards formed a complete perimeter. At the center, an artificial altar of black iron had been erected.

Valdric sat upon a makeshift iron throne. He looked grotesque. The two shards had mutated him, swelling his physical frame with grotesque muscles and covering his skin in a glowing, golden lattice of energy.

He was preaching to the silent army, his voice magically amplified.

"The old era is dead! The weak kings who caged the true power of the cosmos are ash. I am the apex. When the executioner is found, his shards will join mine, and I will be—"

"You will be nothing but meat for the axe."

The voice didn't boom. It resonated. It bypassed the ears and vibrated directly in the skulls of every man and woman in the plaza.

The sea of Sunforged Guards parted, not by command, but by involuntary, primal terror.

Kael walked through them.

He wore no armor. Just his simple, dark clothes. But he didn't need armor. A maelstrom of black water, hardened shadows, and violently crackling golden lightning swirled around him in an orbital shield. The ground cracked and hissed wherever he stepped.

Five shards of the Ashenmoor Throne pulsed in his chest.

Valdric stood up, his eyes widening. "Kill him!" he shrieked, pointing a massive, glowing finger at Kael. "KILL THE TRAITOR!"

The Sunforged Guards hesitated. Then, discipline overriding fear, thousands of them lowered their spears and charged.

Kael didn't break stride. He raised one hand.

"Kneel."

It wasn't a suggestion. It was a physical weight.

Gravity multiplied by ten within a hundred-yard radius. The charging soldiers slammed face-first into the stone plaza, armor buckling, bones groaning under the impossible pressure. Thousands of men pinned to the earth in a single word.

Kael walked past the immobilized army, ascending the steps to the iron altar.

Valdric roared, drawing a massive greatsword that crackled with his own stolen throne-magic. He leaped from the altar, bringing the blade down with enough force to cleave a mountain.

Kael didn't dodge. He caught the blade barehanded.

The kinetic impact shattered the plaza beneath them, cratering the stone. But Kael's arm—reinforced by the power of five God-Kings—didn't so much as bend.

"You are a pretender, Valdric," Kael said, looking up at the mutated giant. "The throne rejected you. That's why it burns you instead of obeying you."

Valdric snarled, attempting to pull the sword back. It wouldn't budge.

Kael's other hand shot out, moving faster than the eye could follow. He plunged his hand directly into Valdric's chest, right through the iron armor and the glowing skin, taking hold of the two shards burning near the man's heart.

"You want the power?" Kael whispered. "Feel it."

He channeled the combined fury, the memories, the millennia of crushing divine pressure from his five shards entirely into Valdric's body.

Valdric's golden eyes went white. His mouth opened in a silent, agonizing scream as his nervous system overloaded. The mortal vessel couldn't contain the feedback loop.

Kael ripped his hand back, tearing the two shards free.

Valdric's body turned to ash before it even hit the ground.

Kael stood alone on the altar. In his hand, the final two shards snapped together. He pressed them against his chest.

The seventh piece slid into place.

The Ashenmoor Throne was whole inside him.