Reaching the deep road took fifteen minutes. It was a smooth, direct ride through an oddly angled chute. To either side of the sled's channel were staircases.

On the left was a regularly spaced and incredibly long flight of ordinary stone stairs, every mile or so yielding to a flat rest area. Merchants with baskets, sacks, and packs of goods trailed up and down, sticking tight to walled sides.

A solid carved mosaic covered the right-hand wall, depicting a gigantic staircase and obstacle course—four thousand individual steps, divided into four flights by three obstacles. The first was a climbing wall, with men and women clawing and kicking each other off. Next came a vast pool with men levering great stones to cross. The last was a hall of knives, all inside falling to flying blades.

Finally, at the bottom, they all dismounted. A handler gave a signal, and a hundred enslaved people pushed a crank wheel larger than a house, pulling a spectacularly long chain of shiny black metal tight. A hidden pulley screamed as they dragged the sled back upwards.

On the right was a doorway. Above it was a bust of the Grey Emperor's face at an accurate scale. Carved between bust and doorframe were the words "Ascend, my children, and awaken your Iron Hearts."

Without instruction, everyone gathered around the massive entryway. Suddenly The herald appeared and began rambling. But, by the sounds of the crowd, nobody listened.

As was the plan, Velwrith summoned several motes of light to himself, binding them into a tight ball, silently avoiding attention while The Herald spoke.

He babbled for five more minutes about playing fair and sportsmanship but ended by saying that continuing was agreeing to risk your life.

The instant the official had finished speaking, two dozen backs turned, waiting for the signal to charge. 

Velwrith waited with a smirk on his lips and a myre on his fingertip.

A trumpet blared, Velwrith stepped forward and threw out his hand; a blast of bright white light washed over the line of people. The shock sent some tumbling backward,  others dashed forwards blindly, and an unlucky few went straight into the walls.

 Velwrith, Sheila, and Chalco pushed through.

 The prince pulled the rope off his pack and handed it to Chalco without prompting. Then, as they ran, they tied themselves together at the waist. 

Crossing the threshold between the last step of the first flight and the first flat area brought a fifty-foot wall of grated steel into view. Sheila grabbed a handful of shadow motes and began weaving them into a circle without hesitation. Meanwhile, Chalco fired his steel hand into the roof and hosted them upwards.

Chalco himself was at the top when Sheila finished her spellwork, a flat black circle in the air, then stepped into it, appearing to step out from a deep shadow beside her brother. Both immediately started hoisting Velwrith up by the rope.

As they labored, the black-clad stranger from earlier came into view, reaching the top of the stairs at a casual stride, his every step clacking loudly.

Darkstar was wearing steel-soled red leather boots, smokey black banded mail under a black leather duster, and thick black leather gloves. Three black adamantine bands bound his long peppery hair into a whip-thin ponytail. Large red gemstones set into his hairbands, cuffs, hems, and collar glittered in the dim light as he moved. He had a curved black short sword in either hand, and both were bloody, his gore-strewn face set in a perpetual grin. 

Lightning-fast Sheila tossed a flurry of spellwork. She extinguished torches in the room with one pulse and shoved shadowy motes from the upper half of the chamber into the lower with another. Supernatural darkness filled the lower half of the room like algae in a pond, eating all the light and choking everything within its mass.

The rouge's usually steady breathing was loudly interrupted by a painful gasp. Her pale skin seemed mildly pinker to Velwrith. Her very being somehow diminished.

"Be careful; mana burn here will be the end of you," Velwith shouted as he climbed.

As his fingertips barely touched the edge, he realized the clacking had transformed to dull thuds and swooshes. The change meant nothing specifically, but Velwrith began gathering motes of light around his stick anyway, splitting between the task and climbing.

"What in all the hells? Boys, hurry up. He can fly!"

The call was too late; the black stranger lunged from magnetized boot soles cutting the rope and kicking Velwrith in the face as he passed.

The prince lost the grip on his outstretched arm and nearly lost his other hand as well but managed to cling to the grates through sheer willpower alone.

As if the laws of gravity were just a suggestion, Darkstar bound off the Lightbringer's head, launched upwards with a flip off the wall, and a rebound on nothing. His impossible path ended with his standing between Chalco and Sheila.

As he landed, he threw his left sword down at Velwrth, bringing his right up to threaten Chalco and Sheila.

Velwrith swung his stick defensively, sending the blade away.

He started to line the edge with razor light,  wrapping the gathered motes roughly around his ironwood rod, but the chance never came to work them properly. Instead, the spinning black blade flew back at him, struck, deflected, swooped around, and stuck again without returning to its master. 

Clinging on the iron grating with one hand and his stick with the other, he fought against the flying sword until suddenly the thing vanished.

Without knowing where it had gone, or particularly caring to find out, Velwith shouted "Flash" and hurled his stick straight upwards, unworked motes and all.

Unmoderated entangled energy flickered and burst as it crashed against the ceiling, a much brighter flash than the trick from earlier.

A shriek filled the chamber as Darkstar was blinded.

Velwrith pulled himself the rest of the way up, silently as he could manage.

His comrades had seen the stick, guessed the intention, and covered their eyes. But, having been mid-spin, the stranger had not. So, without a word, they sprinted up the second thousand steps.

The stairs ended abruptly at the edge of a pool of inky black water. The chamber was dark, so the prince conjured a dim marble-sized star in his hand. The cool light of the orb didn't reach the far wall or permeate the black water; it only just touched the walls to his sides.

"Do we swim?" he asked.

Sheila glared at him. "That is one option, we have a few others, but we're going to move the submerged blocks around to make a path with you here. Chalco, you put them together. I'll take them apart."

The dhampir laughed. "Sounds like a plan if I ever heard one. But, Firefly, how long will that light last if you put it down?

"Something like an hour, I could reinforce it for longer or make it brighter too."

"No, no, an hour is plenty enough. So put it in a corner and watch for anyone comin. If we get surprised, we're fucked."

Velwrith did as told and bound the tiny orb of light to a corner of the ceiling; anyone walking through the doorway would cast a long flickering shadow onto the water. But, before he could finish, Chalco had already maneuvered five platforms into a path and begun wading forward. Velwrith followed suit, and Sheila took the rear, scattering the block with apparent effort.

The party was fifty feet away when the first enemy entered. The unidentified person immediately leaped onto a block and began forming their path. When they came close enough, they began a relentless barrage of daggers. Each attack swooped around again for a second try before returning to their master.

Sheila was the first to react, drawing her new mithril knife and leaping towards the assailant. Instantly he swiped at her, but the woman effortlessly stepped behind him. With two quick jabs and a hard kick, the enemy was bleeding in the water.

 However, the fighting was not over, two more rivals had entered, and a bitter chill accompanied by the sound of metal soles on stone began to emanate from the stairs.

"I'll cover your backs, just get up those stairs FAST." her thoughts echoing in Velwrih's mind. 

Velwrith didn't bother with his dagger, thrust into his belt with the hilt in his ribs. Instead, he shouted. "You're outnumbered; you'll get yourself killed."

"Aye, he's right. But, unfortunately, we still got a dozen oh them fuckers to contend with."

She gave them an amused grin. "I wasn't asking permission." vanishing entirely in a swirl of shadow.

Then the stranger entered, his swords glowing red and steaming, his coat singed, and he was no longer smiling.

With one motion of his arms, he hurled his blades into the other two visible enemies, both turned at the last minute, but only one was able to dodge. Irrespective of the results, both swords snapped back to their master the instant the strike was over.

Velwrith looked away, and towards the far side, Chalco had doubled his pace, and they could only just make out the doorway a hundred or so feet in front of them.

Without thinking, the clergyman began to summon another star. He'd managed to stun his Valdrath opponents with a bright flash twice; why not a third time. 

Waiting just a moment for his opponent to be facing him, he hurled the star in the general direction of the fighting. The little orb traveled sixty feet split into a myriad of tiny dots, then scattered before all exploding at once. The stranger fought on, laughing at the bright flash around him.

Sheila burst from thin air, swinging her knife. Darkstar dodged left, avoiding a second Sheila.

The stranger straightened and hurled the scalding blades. The swords spun harmlessly through the illusions but did not dispel them.

The third copy of Sheila shot from the shadows, a punching dagger in lashing hands. The stranger reacted with a  palm thrust, losing a wave of heat potent enough to make the third illusion flicker and reveal a disjoined floating dagger blade.

 Then the man grunted loudly, a red stain spreading down his left side and leg. He spun and smacked downward with a crack. Sheila, all illusion three pieces of her dagger, hit the shallow water. Her mithril blade stuck from the man's back. 

Chalco had nearly reached the door, but at the sound of the smack, he froze. He stood utterly still, his face downcast. When he spoke, it was in a voice hard as steel. "Firefly, you're gonna have to swim the rest."

Velwrith blinked off the shock. "I.. uhh... Alright then…" The other man's tone bore no argument. 

Chalco turned and fired his hand again, pulling himself away.

Velwrith looked forward, took a deep breath, and dove. His gambeson soaked up water, making the swim both slow and challenging, but he managed with only one person a few steps ahead of him.