Vakhsh, perched precariously on a splintered roof beam, stifled a shriek. Not of fear, of course. Never fear. It was a shriek of pure, unadulterated *outrage*. The sheer audacity of the universe to allow Talasi to conjure *that*. Ziryan, the boy who’d looked like a particularly damp rag doll mere moments ago, now shimmered with an aura that threatened to crack the very timbers of the woodshed. His vermilion eyes, fixed on Talasi with a terrifying, unblinking intensity, promised a level of devotion that went far beyond mere gratitude. This wasn't ‘saved from certain doom.’ This was ‘I will found a new galactic empire in your name and sacrifice my firstborn to a sentient sock puppet if you so much as glance at it.’ “For you, Goddess,” Ziryan repeated, his voice now a low thrum that vibrated through the floorboards, through Vakhsh’s very bones. It wasn't the voice of a boy. It was the voice of a nascent titan. The three siphoning acolytes, a trio of self-important ghouls from the fortress's Upper Echelon, stared. Their siphoning spells, previously glowing ropes of azure light, fizzled out like damp firecrackers. Sallow skin blanched beneath their embroidered cowls. Ziryan smiled. And Vakhsh thought, *Oh, dear. That’s a Problem Smile.* It wasn't the pained, hopeful smile of a boy desperate for freedom. It was the predatory, joyous smile of a freshly uncaged apex predator who had just been granted a hunting license for the whole ecosystem. “The floating monastery refines its power by draining the weak,” Ziryan stated, his voice now crisp, clear, and utterly devoid of its former frailty. He took a single, deliberate step towards the nearest disciple, a sneering brute named Jiran who had been particularly enthusiastic about his soul-sucking endeavors. “They told me I was useless. A vessel, nothing more. A source of raw essence for their ‘noble’ scions.” His hand, no longer trembling, extended. The air around it visibly warped, darkening, condensing. Ruby strands, finer than spider silk but humming with devastating power, began to unfurl from his fingertips. Vakhsh gripped the rafter as his pulse leaped. *Oh, this is going to be good. Or spectacularly messy.* With Talasi, it was always both. “Observe, Goddess,” Ziryan purred, his gaze still locked on Talasi, ignoring the sputtering terror of Jiran entirely. “Observe how a discarded vessel, when truly valued, can become a crucible.” The ruby strands lashed out. They didn't just strike Jiran; they *infused* him. Vakhsh watched, mesmerized and horrified, as Jiran’s body convulsed. His skin flushed purple, then gray, then seemed to *shrivel*. The threads, now glowing with an infernal light, pulsed, retracting, pulling something *out* of Jiran. A shimmering, golden mist, like the essence of a thousand sunsets, streamed from Jiran’s mouth, eyes, and pores, funneling directly into Ziryan’s outstretched hand. Jiran collapsed, a husk. Not even a satisfying splat. Just a dry, papery crumple. [Appropriate Use of Extreme Violence: +500 points to Talasi. Bonus for Efficiency: +100 points.] Vakhsh practically vibrated with indignation. “Five hundred points for *that*? I once saved an entire sentient asteroid field from a rogue black hole by charming it with interpretive dance! I got *three hundred*! The bias is sickening!” Talasi, bless her perpetually unruffled soul, didn’t even glance at him. She merely tilted her head, observing Ziryan with the clinical interest of a particularly discerning botanist studying a rare, carnivorous plant. Ziryan, meanwhile, absorbed the golden mist. A faint, knowing smirk touched his lips. His scarlet irises glowed brighter. He turned to the two remaining acolytes, who were now stumbling backward, trying to scramble for the door. They were halfway out before Ziryan spoke, his voice a silken whisper. “Leaving so soon? But the lesson isn’t over.” Before Vakhsh could even properly lament his point deficit, Ziryan moved. He didn’t run. He *flowed*. One moment he was by Talasi, the next, he was a crimson blur. The other pair didn’t even have time to scream. Tendrils of scarlet power erupted from the floor, from the walls, from the very air around them, wrapping them like cocoons. They thrashed, their shouts muffled by the sickening thrum of stolen energy. Ziryan simply stood there, hands clasped behind his back, watching dispassionately as their life force, their stolen qi, was siphoned into him, feeding the inferno within. [Appropriate Use of Extreme Violence: +750 points to Talasi. Bonus for Area of Effect: +250 points.] “Twelve hundred points!” Vakhsh shrieked, finally losing his composure. He launched himself from the beam, landing with a practiced flourish that was entirely wasted on his audience. “Talasi, you fiend! You just *looked* at him and he became a blood-sucking demigod! This is why I can’t stand you! Your ‘practical’ gifts are terrifying! You’re going to wreck our tallies!” Ziryan turned, his newly acquired power thrumming around him like a delighted pet. He held a hand out, and a small, delicate filament of carmine light, almost invisible, hovered above his palm. It pulsed faintly, a living thing. “My Goddess gifted me this. The Sanguine-Weft. It is… everything.” His gaze, still burning, flickered to Vakhsh, then narrowed. “You. What are you doing here?” The question wasn't hostile, but it carried an edge, a silent warning. Vakhsh, ever the showman, pulled out a vial of shimmering azure liquid, a minor treasure among these ascetic realms. “My dear boy! A pleasure to make your acquaintance! I am Vakhsh, and I was merely… checking in on Talasi. I couldn’t help but notice your rather… *vigorous* technique. Might I offer you a little pick-me-up? A potent Elixir of Verdant Bloom, guaranteed to stabilize your core and elevate your spiritual root! Worth at least a thousand coppers in the bustling markets of Qarn!” He extended the vial, a dazzling smile plastered on his face. Ziryan didn’t even spare the vial a glance. His focus remained on the glowing thread. “This is all I need. My Lady has given me an ideal weapon.” He gently, almost reverently, allowed the thread to recede, disappearing into his skin. He then faced Talasi, bowing deeply, a stark contrast to his earlier ferocity. “Your servant, Ziryan, lives to serve.” [Vakhsh, point deduction for Ineffectual Bribery: -50 points. Further deduction for Pointless Grandstanding: -25 points.] Vakhsh gaped. “Ineffectual Bribery? Pointless Grandstanding? This is an impeccable offer! That elixir could save lives! And it’s *pretty*!” He whirled on Talasi, who was now meticulously cleaning a fleck of something that might have been Jiran off her sleeve. “Talasi, do something! Your minion just insulted my pristine elixir! And he’s making me look bad!” Before Talasi could respond, a piercing, metallic shriek tore through the air. The fortress alarms. A deep, resonant clangor, followed by a chorus of panicked shouts. The woodshed, previously a quiet haven for murder, was now shaking. “Oh, marvelous,” Vakhsh muttered. “The main event. Come on, Talasi! We need to make an entrance, not be caught in a smoldering shed!” He grabbed her arm, his grip surprisingly strong, and pulled her towards the rapidly disintegrating wall. “Ziryan, my dear boy, try not to incinerate the masonry before we can assess the *real* damage. We need *some* structural integrity for strategic retreat!” Ziryan merely nodded, his eyes still on Talasi. “As my Goddess commands.” Vakhsh dragged Talasi through the gaping hole where the wall used to be, out into the rapidly darkening courtyard. The air was thick with smoke, punctuated by the frantic cries of disciples and the distant roar of a cultivation flare. They skidded to a halt in the center of the courtyard, just as two figures emerged from the main archway of the central spire. Rukhi and Teymur. The aggressively oblivious protagonists. They strolled forward hand-in-hand, bathed in an unnaturally pristine glow that seemed to push back the smoke and chaos around them. Rukhi, her hair a cascade of impossibly shiny black, held a small, brilliantly plumed bird in a delicate cage. Teymur, with his chiseled jaw and a gaze that always seemed to be searching for a dramatic sunset, was strumming a lute of polished sunstone. And they were singing. A duet, in polished, saccharine harmony. “*Our little Pipit, so frail and so weak, with a song that could barely speak!*” Rukhi crooned, pressing her cheek against the cage. “*But our love, so true, a powerful tide, brought health to your feathers, deep down inside!*” Teymur joined in, his voice soaring over the cacophony of burning timber and distant screams. Vakhsh stood there, agape. Around them, the charred remains of initiates caught in Ziryan’s initial outburst were scattered like discarded rags. The air reeked of ozone and cooked flesh. And these two idiots were serenading a bird. “Are you *kidding* me?” Vakhsh managed, his voice a strangled gasp of pure incredulity. “They’re singing about a *bird*? There are literal corpses on the ground!” Teymur stopped singing, his brow furrowing in a minor irritation that was disproportionate to the actual scene. His gaze, previously dreamy, sharpened, landing on Vakhsh and then, with a dismissive flick, on Talasi. “Such discordant noise. It quite ruins the mood of our glorious triumph over Pipit’s illness.” He waved a hand, a casual gesture, as if swatting a fly. “You two are quite distracting. Kneel.” A crushing anvil dropped out of empty space. The very air solidified around Vakhsh, then Talasi. Their bodies stiffened, frozen in place. The ground below them seemed to tilt, to buckle, to pull. Vakhsh’s knees, against his will, began to bend. He fought it, gritting his teeth, but an invisible force, heavy as a mountain, pressed down on him, twisting reality to make him submit. This was no martial art. This was the raw, unadulterated power of a ‘Protagonist Halo,’ twisting the very fabric of physics to enforce a minor inconvenience. And it was going to make him kneel.

Songs of Arson and Friendship