text: As power wrapped around me like a quilted cloak, King Forgryn swore and leaped away.
  
  I leaped right with him.
  
  My bright, short blade scoured across his own bicep, and the wound sizzled with heat.
  
  "Impossible!" he shouted. "You were beaten! You were on death's door!"
  
  It was my turn to scoff, as I parried his next attack and riposted, slicing into his leg.
  
  Because there actually was something I had spent a fair bit of my life practicing. In fact, for at least two years of my life I had been practicing this discipline every day. By some counts, I had spent a hundred lives refining this key skill of mine.
  
  That skill, that discipline, was a two-fold technique.
  
  The first fold was to handle extreme levels of pain.
  
  The second fold was to do the first thing, but to do it far better than anyone ever expected me to.
  
  I had not been nearly as wounded as he thought I was.
  
  "Lillothi!" Forgryn called out as I slashed another wound across his torso. "I need help!"
  
  "Too late," I answered, as Teeth roared forward and activated our Dragonform on top of our Battleform.
  
  <Don't expect much,> he sent me. <We overdid it back with Cavus. I can give you less than thirty seconds.>
  
  <That's too many.> I grinned as gold and red scales covered my limbs and armor. A golden talon grew around Claimh Solais, lengthening and augmenting the weapon, while more scales grew over my head to form a dragon-shaped helm and extra jaw. As the winter king leaped away I barreled back into him, impaling him a few inches lower than the spot he impaled me at. As he coughed white blood and tried to swing his weapon at me, I channeled my stored fireball through the weapon and blew him clean off my sword.
  
  He went spiraling and smoking through the air but still managed to land on one knee, his chest a pierced, scorched, and blackened mess. But he was still not nearly as wounded as he should have been, and from what I could tell he possessed a trinket or spell that protected him against fire, and fire specifically or the other Ideals working my blast would not have been able to harm him. The Hoarfolk king snarled in rage and charged me, shooting a barrage of icicles out of his sword at me.
  
  I calmly stepped several feet closer to the nearest wall. I swung Claimh Solais again, able to discharge a blast of my own this time, and the wave of light disintegrated the icy attack before blasting harmlessly into the air. Then I reached out toward the wall and ripped Toirneach free, glad that I had kept track of where the weapon had been the entire fight. I closed the distance again with a dragon-empowered leap, stabbing out with my sword to catch my opponent's own weapon, and then before he could react, I slammed my giant tomahawk into his primary shoulder. The weapon crunched through my enemy's clothes and bone. The very next second I triggered my Outer Current spell, discharging the power of all six of my Ideals through my axe and into the wound. The shoulder popped and cracked until the arm attached to it dropped its weapon and hung loosely down Forgryn's side. The winter fey sank to his knees, clearly not used to this level of pain.
  
  "How…" he began to ask, but then his eyes went wide. "Bond… dragon… traitor-pri—"
  
  "Nope," I answered. As he sank downward I had already let go of Toirneach to begin scribing words in front of his chest. <Widen. Pierce. Empower>. I kept it simple and used English this time for the script spells. "No last words for you," I finished speaking, piercing him with my glowing blade and discharging my stored lightning bolt.
  
  The Hoarfolk were weak against heat. Even a non-gamer would draw that conclusion. And naturally the Hoarfolk had come up with ways to protect themselves against fire magic. But they didn't bother with lightning magic for two reasons. The first being the fact that the Ideal of Lightning is actually a very rarely comprehended Ideal. It takes much more energy and resources to proof oneself against it, and Lightning mages are almost non-existent. I haven't met a single one outside my own team.
  
  The second reason is that almost no one realizes just how much hotter lightning is than fire.
  
  The king of the Winter Court had time to let out one final scream before his body blew completely apart. My spell had been enhanced by my Battleform, my Dragonform, and Claimh Solais. Apparently the sword worked much like a fairy wand. Which was another reason to use it more often in the future. Meanwhile, I would use the hole my super-enhanced lightning bolt had blown in the wall to exit the impromptu dueling ground, stopping briefly to pick up the dead king's long blade.
  
  When I stepped through the crystal wall, I found that the battle had all but ended. The Testifiers and Val had made short work of the court's remaining honor guard, while my warriors below had completely routed the Hoarfolk knights, especially since our portal had remained open and the rest of my original Gaelguard had been able to filter in. A final glance showed Merada and Breena standing over Queen Lillothi. Breena was in her glowing, full-sized Dawn Fairy form, holding a smoking wand still pointed at the Hoarfolk queen, as the Woad Princess drove her spear into the ice fey's chest.
  
  "I owe ye this a hundred times over," the huntress spat as she twisted the glowing weapon through Lillothi's torso. "But I'll settle for killing ye, and making sure ye never hurt one of me people ever again." She twisted one more time, and the Hoarfolk queen went limp. Her crystal jewelry crumbled, and her burning eyes extinguished into empty pits.
  
  A giant crack suddenly rumbled along the entire palace, stretching along walls, curling through the ceiling, running back down the ground. I heard Caill Fuar shriek in rage and anguish over the destruction of her capitol. She was the last combatant standing, her white robe smoking as she continued to duel Guineve in magical combat.
  
  "My Tumult!" she shrieked. "My kingdom! My people!"
  
  "I would have let you keep the last two," I answered, walking toward her as scales began to fall from my body.
  
  <Ten seconds left,> Teeth cautioned.
  
  "But then you went after my own people. My own treasure. My own hoard."
  
  "No!" she howled, ice whipping through the room. "I do not accept this! I do not deserve this!"
  
  White flames blasted out from Guineve, and this time the Dark Icon caught fire. She ignored it, turning toward me and rushing over. As Guineve continued burning her the White Witch turned her body into a misty vapor, aiming to rush past me while swiping one long nailed hand at my face.
  
  <Five seconds,> Teeth advised.
  
  I sidestepped and swung the sword of light through Fuar's offending hand, severing the smoky appendage. I caught it in my other claw and stuffed the mist into my mouth, fulfilling another promise I had made earlier to the Dark Icon.
  
  Once again, it tasted like kale, only kale with freezer burn. Fuar shrieked again and turned toward me, but Guineve let out a blast of misty fire this time, driving the broken remains of the Dark Icon out and into the winter sky, leaving the once-powerful being as nothing but a broken vestige.
  
  And just like that, the final threat of the Woadlands was over.