text: tual, one that could give you the edge. Your blood, prince, the power within is not fully realized. I can unlock that power for you. Your father, the false king refused it. You are far more understanding than him."
  
  "And the cost?" Prince Ragar asks.
  
  Lorthander motions to the prisoners in the cages. "All of them."
  
  Prince Ragar ponders a moment. "There's no telling how many more my father would continue to kill with an extended lifetime. It could be infinite. Their one-time sacrifice will not be in vain. I will be a better king than my father. Do it."
  
  "As you wish...my king."
  
  > Back
  "You, Lorthander, created the Unbroken?" you ask as you come back to reality.
  
  Ragar was the first, but he is not the last. I know you hear the voice. I can sense the power within you.
  
  "What do you know of the voice?"
  
  It's a side effect of the ritual. The blood of the hellspawn wants to control the host. It wants to feed, and left unchecked, it will consume the host in a neverending blood rage. Some urges are stronger than others. I'm sure by your age you know that by now.
  
  "If you created it, perhaps you can cure it," you say.
  
  There is no cure. It's in your very blood. The blood of the hellspawn mixed with Osborne's 'divine' lineage, always at odds within, coaxing the host to draw on its power.
  
  The dark figure, the shaman, Lorthander, releases you from suspension in the air. Your feet hit the ground with relief.
  
  "I'm not some young prince to be misguided. It's clear you want something from me, otherwise you would have attacked me same as the others," you say.
  
  Another false king sits on the throne. The Emperor has spread rumors that he is Unbroken. He's not, I can assure you of that, even if he desperately wants to be. I am bound to the throne. I am bound to you, the true ruler.
  
  "I am not royalty, and I have no desire to rule. I'm afraid your loyalty is to the wrong man."
  
  The best leaders are those who do not strive for power. They have nothing to prove. They only do as they must.
  
  "I know what you're asking, Lorthander. I've been fighting the Empire my entire life. If I could simply stride into the Emperor's throne room and slay him, I would."
  
  You can now, with my aid. Together, we will overthrow the Emperor. I will teach you to control the power, to control the voice. If left unchecked, it will consume you.
  
  > allow Lorthander to teach you
  "Alright. I will do whatever it takes to bring the Empire to its knees...but our partnership ends with the Emperor's life. Don't think for a second that I trust you, Lorthander," you say.
  
  A slow chuckle emanates from underneath the hood. As you wish.
  
  The threat neutralized, if you could call it that, you immediately check on Seth. His fall wasn't as graceful as yours. Both of his legs appear broken, judging by the size of the boulder on them. Seth's eyes are closed, but at least his chest rises and falls with breath. He's alive, though in bad shape. Your hands grip underneath the boulder and using the strength of your legs, you manage to roll it from Seth's legs.
  
  "Sorry, kid. (cough) I lost myself for a second there," he weakly whispers.
  
  "Why is it that I always find you injured?" you say trying to lighten the mood. "You're getting slow in your old age."
  
  "You know me. I like my rest," Seth answers. "What of the shaman? Is he dead?"
  
  "Not exactly..."
  
  The dark shape of Lorthander towers behind your kneeling body. The gnarled staff hits the ground near where Seth lays. Seth immediately throws one of his swords at the shaman, which harmlessly flies through Lorthander and bounces off the wall behind him.
  
  It's unwise to attack your healer.
  
  "Keep your sorcery away. I can manage on my own," Seth says.
  
  We don't have the luxury of time. Our leader needs you, all of you.
  
  You look up to see members of the company staring down through hole in the floor where Seth and you fell. The spell that affected their mind is gone, and they watch you with interest. Lorthander brings his staff to Seth's legs. Green wisps swirl around the gnarled staff, lingering for a moment, and then they project into Seth's legs, repairing and strengthening bone and muscle. Seth bends his knees, testing the strength and then rises, still kicking his feet.
  
  "What have you gotten ourselves into, kid?" Seth asks. "This is the same being that allied himself with the Empire and helped slaughter our friends."
  
  "Only what is necessary. While I mourn for our friends, everything has led up to this moment. I will use all available tools to defeat the Empire, even one made from its own hand."
  
  You regroup with the rest of the company. Lorthander heals each man who sustained injury in the mental attack. They have the same mindset as you; the Empire must be stopped by any means necessary. For the first time in the war, the tide is turning in your favor. With the power of the Unbroken, you will topple an empire.
  
  > Chapter 4: The Power Made Manifest
  My strength grows. Not only the power within, the one Lorthander created, but our military might grows as well. I've never witnessed anything like it, the closest would be the holy sigils inscribed on some of the monks' weapons. It's like the feeling of running and never getting tired. There's a point when you sprint towards a target when you reach your quickest speed. It does not last long as exhaustion takes over. The energy pool I rely on is inexhaustible. The monks taught me to move with frightening speed, to have instinct and reaction times far greater than the average man. Now when I think on their abilities, they were truly the average ones.
  
  I do not allow it to consume me, though. I'm well aware of the shadow nature within. If left alone, it will be like a spreading wildfire, burning everything in its path. No, I temper it will discipline. My power may be growing, but I control it. It does not control me. It iss the same thing every man experiences, the battle within between good and evil. It's just amplified within me...and the consequences are much greater.
  
  I have asked myself if I'm trading one evil for another, if I am becoming the embodiment of everything I oppose. Such thoughts are detrimental. I cannot burden myself with questioning each action. I can only act in accordance with what I believe to be the right action. Still, I keep a healthy level of introspection, but similarly to the power, I do not let it consume me. Each attribute is but a tool at my disposal. I use it when it is necessary, but never allow the tool to become me. I am the master of my fate.
  
  > Knocking on the Empire's door
  The pitiful defense of the Imperial soldier is no match for you. Your sword tears through the white and gold armor, dying it in a burst of red. You become a blur, moving through the battlefield as a typhoon, wreaking havoc in your wake. The Empire commander orders his men towards you, normally a sound tactic to surround the enemy's leader, but all he does is bring more men for you to slaughter. Those that try to run from your sword receive a shadowy blast through their chestplate.
  
  From behind your ranks, Lorthander weaves his psionic magic, causing turmoil and fear within the Empire soldiers. You signal your officers to charge forward, each one a member of the company. It's taken years, but more have rallied to your side. The members of the company each lead a battalion, all under your ultimate command. Your military force grows along with support from the people. A child of tragedy growing up to oppose the same Empire that massacred his peaceful adoptive family? The people ate it up. It's the type story that would be etched into history, especially if victory was achieved.
  
  It wasn't easy, but after Narrow's Edge fell, a direct route into the Empire was created, allowing you to travel in and out of the territory quickly. You are still vastly outnumbered, but the quality of your soldiers are equally overshadowing of the Empire's. You recruit and train real warriors, rather than conscripting farmers and laborers. A smaller force requires you to prioritize mobility and to strike hard, fast, never fighting the beast head on.
  
  The capital city lies in the distance. Today, you will burn it to the ground.
  
  > The plan
  "Are you sure dividing our force is the best option?" you ask, feeling your chin in thought.
  
  "Our growth in the past few years allows us to," Seth answers, both hands placed firmly on the table in front of him. He adds on, pointing to the map. "I'll lead the prime army into Urchin's Hook, posing as a direct attack on the capital. The Empire will have to send a sizable number to meet us or they will risk surrendering the capital, a defeat even the Empire cannot recover from."
  
  "That's a lot of men in the open," you comment.
  
  "Exactly! When they march on our position, we'll retreat into Yen's Passage. The narrow road through the hills will force the Empire to lose their numbers advantage. In the meantime, you will take a battalion and lead a firestrike on the capital. They'll be caught defenseless...well, as defenseless as possible."
  
  "It could work," you say. "What do you think, Lorthander?"
  
  It's a sound plan. I will aid the attack on the capital.
  
  "I would also like to be in the firestrike," Horne says, the cloak covering his lower face muffles his voice.
  
  You look around the room at your advisors and trusted commanders. They've stood by you faithfully, helping you win countless battles against the Empire. After more than thirty years, you will finally have justice for the monastery massacre. You weigh the risk in your head, taking account for every outcome as well as judging the Empire's strength against your own.
  
  "Very well," you say. "In five day's time, we bring the Empire to its knees. Seth, don't take unnecessary risk. Fall back and preserve the prime army if things turn south. They'll likely have wyverns, but their aerial assault counts for nothing in the tight passageway."
  
  "I thought of that too," Seth answers.
  
  Your eyes draw back to the map and the wooden figurines representing both your army and the Empire's. You symbolically knock the Empire's to the ground.
  
  > continue on
  You cut your way through to the Imperial commander. Off in the distance, you see Horne masterfully backstabbing fleeing Empire troops. His talent for blending in extends to the battlefield, using the chaotic setting to catch his enemy unaware. The commander stands between two fully-plated knights with kiteshields. The commander's thick mustache covers his top lip, but even then, you can see the tremble underneath.
  
  "Stop!" he shouts. "Lay down your arms and you will be given a merciful death."
  
  The two knights beside him point their spears in your direction for emphasis. You eye them for a moment, then wave your hand. Dark missiles fire from your open palm, bursting through the heavily plated knights. They crumple to the ground with a clash of metal brought on by their armor. Their spears roll harmlessly on the ground away from their limp hands.
  
  "The Emperor will deal with you. It's my honor to die in his service," the Commander says, charging forward.
  
  You wait until he's almost upon you. The commander's sword is arced back, ready to strike the killing blow for his leader. You stand, unmoving, at the threat in front of you, so long that the commander actually believes his blade will strike true. At the last moment, you spin to your right and swipe your sword out in the his path. His charge takes him full force into your sword, separating his upper half from lower.
  
  "Your taste for the theatrical is most amusing," the muffled voice of Horne speaks.
  
  "An enemy with nothing to lose is more dangerous than an overconfident one," you say wiping the blood from your sword.
  
  "I have a hard time believe either pose a danger to you," he answers.
  
  "I have a realistic understanding of my abilities," you answer. "Though I'm not prideful or short-sighted enough to believe I cannot be beaten. No man is untouchable, not me, not the Emperor."
  
  "Speaking of which," Horne says. "The capital is ours for the taking."
  
  "Rally the men. We march forward."
  
  The capital is built in a circular manner. The main keep lies in the center, surrounded by varying sections of the city. Besides the city walls, the residential and merchant portions of the city aren't defendable. The keep is where the true defense lies. Tightly packed buildings, built more vertical than horizontal, fill the city. As the city grew, it looks like the only option was to build up rather than out. There's only so much space within the city walls, even for a city as massive as the capital.
  
  As you enter the city walls, alarm bells ring throughout the city. You don't see many civilians; the shut doors and closed shutters alert you to their location. It seems the news of your arrival traveled quicker than expected, although it's likely the people boarded up as the Empire's main force went to meet Seth.
  
  Several groups of the city's watch attempt to stop you, but they give less of a fight than the Imperial soldiers. There is little resistance up until the keep. The main gate into the fortress is shut, and you can see lines of soldiers standing at the ready within the courtyard. Archers stand overlooking the fortress' walls, firing down on your force as you draw close. You order your men to scatter into nearby streets to avoid being freely fired upon.
  
  Leave them to me.
  
  Lorthander raises his staff into the air and shouts incoherent words. Magic pulses into the air in a ripple, as if a stone dropped into a body of water. The ripples extend from the staff and pulse through the archers. The heavy rain of arrows stop for a moment, and then you hear cries from the keep walls. You see some of the archers lifelessly fall from the top, leaving behind red stains and protruding bone on the ground below. The top of the keep becomes a chaotic mess of infighting. Imperial soldiers fire on their own and take up arms against one another, similarly to your first steps inside the crumbling ruins Lorthander resided in.
  
  No longer exposed to arrow fire, you charge the front gate. Simultaneously, you and Lorthander blast the gate with magic. The mix of shadow bolt and psionic wave shatter the metallic gate. With a screech of metal, the gate implodes, unable to bear its weight in the weakened condition. White and gold armored soldiers stand at the ready, but don't meet your attack. They assume a defensive position, waiting for you to enter.
  
  "Ki--" you begin to command before resisting the voice. You feel it build within you. It wants to be released. It coaxes, wanting to let you rest and take control for awhile. And why shouldn't you? You've fought hard enough up until this point. Why not allow it to finish things?
  
  > give in to the voice
  It comes again, harder this time. You lower the mental defenses that you've spent a lifetime building up.
  
  "Kill them all!" you shout. The men cheer at your command and rush through the gates. Their charge meets waiting white and gold, crashing into their defensive posture and ripping through their ranks. Through the mix of steel and bone, you remain focused on the inner gate to the keep. The soldiers are but a nuisance in your way.
  
  Your mouth opens, and a piercing scream emits. The world before you turns a dark, primal color as you take the role of hunter. Strength pours into your limbs unlike anything you've felt before. Not even the training "unlocking" the Unbroken feels like this. It's exhilarating, like pure nirvana. With your heightened senses, you view the battlefield before you with clarity. It's as if you know the exact outcome of each action before it happens. You start to shout commands to your men and then...
  
  Silence.
  
  The words don't appear. A sickening feeling appears through the rush of power. You feel it deep within your consciousness, yours, not the Unbroken controlling your body. You've simply become the vessel in which the dark power lives, a puppet to the Unbroken.
  
  Dark energy materializes at your hands as the Unbroken tosses your sword aside, letting it clang harmlessly on the courtyard floor. Dark purple flames extend from your palms, solidifying, becoming translucent weapons, an axe in one hand and a sword in the other. With a supernatural leap, the Unbroken is whirlwind of shadowy sword and axe. The otherworldly weapons tear into Imperial soldiers' armor with ease. Each kill entices the Unbroken to greater heights of zeal, cutting down the Empire with vigor and thirst.
  
  You see your men hesitate to draw near as they can clearly tell you're acting differently. The dark form of Lorthander watches with interest. Then you see him. The Emperor. He sits atop his wyvern, peering over the war-torn capital city from the next fortress tier. His pauldrons curve up in a crescent moon shape, flickering sunlight, matching the gold mask covering his face. You will your body to move, but it doesn't. The Unbroken is in command.
  
  Through the eyes of the Unbroken, through your physical eyes, the world turns red, focused on a single target, the Emperor. The summoned weapons at your hands disappear as your body comes into a full sprint. Another supernatural leap takes you to the fortress' walls. Like a four-legged beast, you climb on all fours, traversing the vertical wall. The Unbroken climbs with frightening speed, unnaturally, like a lion closing in on his prey. Another leap takes you atop the Emperor's wyvern. Immediately, the Emperor summons a sword, similarly to the way the Unbroken did.
  
  "False king," your mouth lifelessly speaks. "Your simple parlor tricks may fool the common soldier, but they don't fool me."
  
  "Such power lies within your blood," the voice behind the golden mask speaks. "You are not a worthy vessel. I am the true Unbroken!"
  
  The Emperor grabs for the amulet at his neck, and even though its been decades, you recognize it. The Grandmaster's amulet. At the same time, the Emperor's wyvern jumps into the air, flapping its leathery wings. You're taken higher in the air. Wind rushes into your face, stinging your eyes, drying them with the sudden burst. Down below, the clashing armies are but insects, two waves of color molding into one. The Unbroken raises a palm and clamps your fist shut.
  
  The air around the Emperor's hand fills with a dark purple cloud. Sizzling, like meat on a stovetop, starting around his hand. The flesh around the Emperor's hand rapidly decays, deteriorating, swept away like soft bark in a hurricane. He screams and loses hold of the amulet, letting it fall from his grasp down to the ground below. The Emperor regathers himself, and lets loose a shadow bolt towards you.
  
  The bolt squarely hits your chest. Every instinct in your body screams for movement, to dodge, to evade the magic, but you're no longer in control. Instead of tearing a hole through your chest, the shadow bolt hits your chest and fades like a drying puddle.
  
  "Did you really think your imitations would stand up against the real thing?" the Unbroken speaks.
  
  "You will not take everything I've built! I created the Empire and it's only through me the free lands have been conquered," the voice behind the mask shouts.
  
  You realize the scenery below is different. Instead of the battlefield below, the wyvern's flight has taken you far from the capital city and towards the Moon Bluffs. Blue water stretches as far as you can see. Green-tipped cliffs overshadow the liquid body like a tall tree on a sunny day. Waves crash against the rocky slope in small explosions of white foam.
  
  "History will not forget you, the fool who believed himself capable of possessing my power," the Unbroken speaks. "I will make them remember as a cautionary tale. You may have convinced the people, but once they see me, and the true power I hold, they will discard you. You will become nothing. All this you built? It's fucking mine."
  
  "There would be no return without me. You owe me everything! I'll have you slowly bled out, like a slaughtered animal, and take your power for myself," the Emperor shouts back.
  
  "Enough! I tire of this game," the Unbroken screams.
  
  The Unbroken summons a sword from your palm and drives it into the neck of the wyvern. In a distressed cry, the beast descends in a dive straight for the edge of the bluffs. Gathering speed, your eyes water at the rush of air. Your hand grabs one of the wyvern's horns in order to keep your body from flying from the wyvern's back. The ground is fast approaching. There's no way either you or the Emperor can survive the impact.
  
  In a crash of dust and rock, the wyvern hits the bluff, its momentum leaving behind a long line of crater as if a dry canal. Unable to stop or grab a foothold, the beast slips over the cliff and disappears to crashing waves below, the Emperor along with it. You watch the scene unfold, still in the air. Shadowy, dark purple wisps emanate from your shoulder blades in the loose form of wings. Unlike the wyvern, the wings don't flap, they merely float, swaying up and down, weightless, like a cloud.
  
  The Unbroken wills your flight path downward, and you feel your feet touch the ground.
  
  "Speak, vessel. You are not without value," it commands.
  
  The power enables you to speak, you, not the merely the voice within. "Here I thought to use your power for myself, a tool to be used and discarded. In reality, it was the other way around. Were you always destined to be reborn through me?"
  
  "My return was inevitable. It is a great honor to be the vessel in which my return manifests. In time you will learn the truth of that statement."
  
  > Epilogue: Vessel of the Empire
  The Unbroken returns you back to the capital city. You arrive to find your army is full control of the city. The keep, without leadership of the Emperor, fell to your invading force. Countless fires burn throughout the city as your men have taken the initiative to burn every Imperial banner and coat of arms in sight. The Unbroken walks through the courtyard of the keep, stepping over the bodies of fallen Imperial soldiers. Your men stop what they're doing, and salute you as you walk past. You find your commanders gathered underneath the high arches of the main hall.
  
  A man in an armored dark crimson robe turns his head, noticing you. "You're back. And the Emperor?" Seth asks.
  
  "Taken care of," the lifeless voice speaks.
  
  "That's my boy. We're in the process of abolishing the Empire, giving freedom back to each territory. With the Emperor's death, the remaining army should fall apart. We might have a few warlords, Imperial commanders trying to assume leadership, but they will be dealt with."
  
  "No," the Unbroken speaks.
  
  "What?" Seth asks.
  
  "No. The Empire is mine."
  
  Seth's eyes narrow, gauging yours. "So it's true then. You've returned. I wasn't sure I'd be able to do it, but seeing you now, I know I must...for the sake of the man I once knew."
  
  A flurry of crimson and blade flies through the air toward you. Translucent weapons appear in your hands, just in time, blocking the sudden assault. The other commanders in the great hall draw their swords, but don't attack yet, unsure which of their two leaders to aide.
  
  "I should have done this years ago. I've seen small appearances of you rearing your ugly head, but I always thought he was strong enough to resist. The fault lies with me for not ending his life, and the line of the Unbroken, sooner," Seth says in another assault.
  
  "Your treason will be dealt with. You'll be made an example of, and your death will dissuade any further enemies of the state," The Unbroken speaks, blocking Seth's attack with ease. "I will pull each nail from your body, then work my way up your limbs, peeling your skin from your bones and putting flame to the exposed flesh underneath. Your teeth will be pulled, one at a time, slowly, deliberately, each one placed in front of you like spoils of war. Next, your tongue will be severed and mouth sewn shut, so your false words don't spill into listening ears."
  
  The other commanders overhearing the words from your mouth visibly object. They know you and Seth well enough to know the actions and words from your mouth aren't your own. As one, weapons are pulled from their resting positions. Seth stands before you, the commanders of your army behind him. The man in the crimson robe, the man who you've followed your entire life, raises his sword to end your life.
  
  They slowly surround you, creating a deadly circle with you at the center. You see the faces of men you've fought beside, bled with, buried your comrades with. They don't recognize the man before them, the vessel filled and embodied by evil. Their leader is gone, and his replacement is the very darkness mothers scare their children with. You cannot scream, you cannot move, you cannot react. The Unbroken is in control. He strikes them down with pleasure at your lips. He doesn't finish them fast, each man is given several cuts before finishing the final blow.
  
  Slowly, one by one, each man drops, a victim to the dark power. All that remains is Seth, standing among the fallen bodies of his allies. His eyes briefly dart to their bodies, taking in their death as motivation to continue. Seth's twin blades arc low, then high in a sweeping motion, always working, intertwined, to find an opening in your defense. The Unbroken parries and deflects the blades away, even allowing one high strike to narrowly miss just above your head. You understand it's turned into a game, one that the Unbroken will finish as soon as he's done toying with your mentor. Seth lunges forward.
  
  The translucent weapons tear through the back of Seth's heels, sending him sprawling to the floor. Seth's pair of blades fly from grasp, sliding just out of reach from his outstretched hands. He turns to your approaching footsteps. He starts to say something, but slow piercing from the translucent sword point turns his words into a soft gurgle. Immediately, the Unbroken covers the wound with dark magic.
  
  "Don't think you're getting off that easy," the voice lifelessly speaks.
  
  They are waiting for you, my Emperor.
  
  Lorthander stands in the opening to the great hall, leaning against his gnarled staff. The Unbroken wills your body to meet him.
  
  Long have I awaited this day.
  
  In the keep's courtyard, rows of soldiers are lined up in perfect unison. At your presence, they drop to their knee as one. Dead men from the siege line the courtyard walls, creating a second inner wall built from mangled bodies and fallen soldiers. It's then that you notice the soldiers in line are both from your army and the defending Imperial force. A subtle, raven-colored mark appears above their eyebrow, the mark of the Unbroken.
  
  They are devoutly loyal. The mark compels them.
  
  "Rise," the Unbroken commands. "We have much work to do."