Chapter Fifty-Two

The Cinder King jogged after the city a short distance, but even with his Investiture, he would never be able to catch up to it. Nor could he outrun the sun. Zellion knew. He had tried.

He grinned as the man turned back, wild-eyed, light from the horizon reflecting on his face.

"You," the Cinder King said, stalking to him, "will summon that armor again and give it to me."

"Can't," Zellion said, exhausted.

The Cinder King growled, prowling forward, seizing Zellion by the sides of his head. "Then I will kill you."

"You'll die in turn."

"No," the Cinder King said. "I read that book. I know about your tool, your weapon. The Shardblade? I know that if you die, it will be left at your side. To be claimed." He pointed. "You left a shield around those people. What happens when I kill you? It vanishes, doesn't it?"

Zellion gritted his teeth.

Yes. If he died, his weapon would appear by his side. Unbonded.

"I will take it and protect myself," the Cinder King said, draining Zellion's heat.

A deep coldness crept through Zellion, like frost growing on his bones. He gasped.

"And then," the Cinder King said, "when the city returns, they will see me for what I am. Immortal."

Such freezing cold, it made his heart shudder.

"I will flay those who betrayed me," the Cinder King whispered. "None will ever stand against me again. Not while I wield the beautiful sword of the offworlder. I will unify everyone. A single, glorious city, ruled by one man."

Zellion felt that chill growing, and everything becoming as frost. And yet…

He hadn't made an oath to protect those people.

But he'd promised Auxiliary. In the moment, that word was far, far stronger. Zellion dug deep inside and found a spark that—long ago—had driven him to take to the skies.

It wasn't redemption, but it might have been remembrance. Auxiliary had told him to go on. And storm it, he would.

He grabbed the Cinder King's wrists, whispering, "Bold one on the threshold of death, give me your heat, that it may bless those who still deserve it."

"A prayer to the dead?" the man said with a chuckle.

"No," Zellion said. "To the dying."

He met the man's eyes.

Then pulled the heat from him.

The Cinder King gasped, trying to yank free. Sunlight broke nearby, and Zellion could hear the coming flames. Plants writhed around them before starting to brown.

"Stop!" the Cinder King said.

Heat flooded Zellion as he, now a child of Canticle—but Tormented with the strange ability to feed on Investiture—claimed this man's power in a rush. The Cinder King had been gathering it for so long, taking the heat from others without fear of retribution, that it had built up inside of him. Making his eyes glow. Burdening his soul with the belief that because he could take whatever he wanted, he was great.

"STOP!" the man screamed, eyes wide.

"You know the problem," Zellion said, "with ruling by tyranny? There's always someone stronger."

The Cinder King struggled frantically, but the glow inside him went out. His eyes became normal, just a common dull hazel. The cinderheart at his chest dimmed, and Zellion found himself bursting with energy.

He missed deeply the opportunity to hear Auxiliary's voice telling him one final time his current Investiture threshold. But he didn't need it. One hundred percent Skip capacity achieved, and likely exceeded.

"Enjoy your first sunrise," Zellion whispered. "It will be the best one you see in your entire life."

Light and fire washed over them, and the Charred ex-king burst into flame, his skin shriveling and becoming ash, his very eyes hissing steam and bursting.

In that moment, Zellion activated his Torment, using the huge store of power the Cinder King had prepared for him. Skipping away from the planet, out into the cosmere.

Continuing his journey.