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Richter headed for me now. His lava coated the ground around him, devouring my vines and trees. Cinders and ash floated upward in the sky, like anti-rain. Mighty oaks collapsed under the onslaught. I felt every searing wound, but it was nothing compared to my grief.

From here, I saw the Emperor’s fire red eyes and his naked body cloaked in hellfire. Several icons covered his meaty hands.

Aric’s icon. Because Aric was dead.

Dead.

At last, fury cleared the haze in my mind. Bile burned in my throat, and my claws dripped poison. Nothing mattered beyond taking that icon. My red hair grew long like a weeping willow, my rose crown twining atop my head. When the ground quaked from me—from my soldiers deep in the earth—I murmured, “From the grave, we rise for you.”

Trouble with the possibility of rubble? Yes.

Richter rode that undulating lava closer, sneering, “Tonight’s our night, Empress. Ever since I read about you, I knew you’d be mine.”

Circe yelled, “Lark, do something! Protect Evie.”

She and her wolves mustered in front of me. “Stay behind us, Eves.” Then, to Richter: “You want some of this, Zippo?”

But I shuffled her and her pack away with more vines. “I have it from here.” My grandmother had told me, Until you fully embrace your viciousness, you have no chance against the Emperor.

Time for an embrace.

Why not? Aric was dead. If Kentarch was as well, then how could I reach my son again? Was Tee lost to me?

I had always been heading toward this: cataclysm.

As my bottomless pit of rage spilled over, my glyphs lit the night more than the Emperor’s flames. His smoke was as thick as spores, but my plants sucked it from the air.

“One on one?” His face split into a macabre grin. “I like that. This is going to be fun. You don’t look like a crier. But you will be.”

His torture in a previous game still eluded my memory. As if I needed more rage. I hadn’t been able to fight back then—hadn’t yet realized what I was. “You hate me.” With sudden understanding, I said, “You hate women.”

He nodded. “I do. Every last one of you.” He licked his lips. “But it’s you I’ve wanted.”

Because you don’t know what I am. “And it’s me you deserve.” I beckoned him with my thorn-tipped fingers. “Come to me, Richter, touch.”

“I don’t expect you to surrender without a fight. Good thing you regenerate.” Like a shot, he launched a beam of fire at me.

I threw my hands up and created a wooden shield. It burned, then regenerated, sloughing ash under new green life as his beam continued without mercy.

Realization: He’s playing with me.

“Every Emperor is owed an Empress! I’ve come to collect mine!”

So much smoke and seething heat. So much rage to meet my own. The force of the beam sent me skidding backward, but I leaned into the shield.

Definitely playing with me. That was okay.

Because I was playing with him too.

My powers had unlocked as never before. My vines coursed out, seeking him. His lava torched them, so I sent another wave. And another.

His beam ended. I glanced from behind my shield to see his look of confusion. “You’re giving me fuel to burn, you stupid bitch!”

“You’ve given me rage to burn. And it’s never-ending!” How did one put out a fire using flammable wood?

By smothering it.

More of my vines slithered out like serpents. He scorched them all, but they kept coming. My soldiers beneath the earth quaked with readiness, growing beneath his lava. Soon larger trees erupted from the ground, stretching toward the sky, shaking off the flames in bursts of life-giving green. “We rise!”

I’d hoped one day to become a force of nature like my mother. Finally! I was abundance—could do this forever.

I was vine. I was the trees. I was the very earth. Motherfucking Earth. And she was about to wipe out Richter.

“You wanna play rough?” He aimed another beam at me. “That’s my favorite way to play!”

Flames roared against my shield. This time, I advanced against him. No more losing ground for me. He’d had control of the ground for far too long.

His second beam sputtered to nothing, and he yelled with outrage. All around us, green choked his fires.

I tossed away my shield. “First rule of Arcana, Richter? Conserve.” Well, for all the players but me.

I marched forward, striking out into the knee-deep lava, my legs regenerating faster than he incinerated me. I felt no pain—power! My clothes burned to ash, so I replaced them with vines. At last, I was who I was meant to be.

The red witch.

When he saw me striding through lava with a smile on my face, his gaze darted. For an escape? I considered letting him think he might get away, but I craved more icons. “I’ll slice you to ribbons and choke you in vine.” That breathy, evil voice.