Clang!

The sound of hammer on metal rang like thunder throughout the entire wing of the House of Cards, vanishing just as quickly as it had erupted to life.

Clang!

Another decisive strike filled the air, as if some sort of canon had just sounded. Vincent Cain paused for a moment as he hovered in front of a massive titanium portal. The door, artfully crafted by one resident Titan, depicted a roaring lion being tamed by a beautiful queen. Beneath the scene, the roman numeral VIII was carved and inlaid with silver alongside a message.

“Power from within” Vince found himself muttering. He chewed his lower lip and sighed. Flashes of his own blood spilled over dry desert sand filled his vision as he recalled his most recent death. He’d been caught off guard and disarmed by the bandits he’d been hunting. Such a careless mistake could have been disastrous had it not been for his latent ability to regenerate from the pure magical energy that seemed to now be his body. Although the wounds had healed, and his blood was now all back where it needed to be, the shame remained. He, Vincent Cain, Lord Emperor of the Tarot Hierarchy, Podeslayer, leader of the Raiaeran Reclamation, Licensed Badass, had been killed by bandits.

Fucking bandits.

Had he been mortal, this would have fucked up months if not years of careful planning and preparation. It would have resulted in the most devastating collapse within the Tarot Hierarchy, the fallout leaving the world open for catastrophic consequences. It would have hamstrung the efforts of the people of Raiaera in their efforts to reclaim their home, if not ruining their chances altogether.

All because Vince had let himself be disarmed.

That was going to end, right here and right now. The scholar took a deep breath and reached for the door, only to have the massive portal be jerked open in front of him. Standing in the massive opening was John Cromwell, the scourge of House Brand, the titanium titan of the Tarot Hierarchy, and the Stregnth Arcana. The grizzled man took one look over Vince’s form and smirked for a moment.

“Need somethin?” The giant grunted raising an eyebrow. He towered head and shoulders over Vince, and wore naught but a pair of patched leather trousers. His abs were covered in a thick layer of graying fur, slick with sweat as he had just apparently finished whatever he had been working on. Vince looked up at the giant man for a moment and gave him a half smile.

“Got a moment?” he asked. The giant mulled the thought over for a moment and took a step back, gesturing to a barrel as he crossed the massive room.

“Grab a seat.” He grunted as he plopped down on an unused anvil. “Didja break your sword or somethin?”

Vince wrapped his arms around the barrel and hefted it up, staggering across the forge as he plopped it down and took a seat, wiping some soot from his plain white cotton shirt. He paused for a moment and glanced around the room. When he’d first found this room it was a ramshackle cave filled with rust and dust. Now, the giant had managed to bring the whole thing back to its former glory. The forge was now heated by a reopened vent of lava, complexly designed to safely tap into the natural heat of the world. Several completed suits of armor stood on racks, awaiting the day they would one day be needed.

“Are you gonna answer me or stare at the room?” John growled.

“Sorry,” Vince replied snapping his attention back to the man in front of him. “I’m a little distracted. I was wondering if you had an abundance of free time on your hands in the near future.” The giant raised an eyebrow and reached into his trouser pocket, pulling a cigar from his literal infinite source of them and lighting it on a nearby torch.

“Perhaps,” the giant muttered between puffs. “Is it a mission?”

“No,” the scholar muttered shaking his head. “I need you to teach me how to fistfight.”