Not to belabor a point that has already had too much made of it, but a King would falter here. The tendency of a crown is to gather power to itself, and the temptation when offered an infinite well is to try and drink it all anyway. It would be pointless. The vessel can only bring so much power to bear at once, and recharge is already effectively infinite. Taking the rest of it inside a single unit would be as pointless as spraying someone with a hose plugged into a waterfall. 

Besides, there are proscribed ways to hunt a fox. It is not accomplished with a giant spear and a single strong arm. A fox is caught with sound, with company, with swiftness and unity of purpose. With [i]fear[/i]. 

Avenger slides off her partner's back and lands waist deep in the center of the river. Thunder peals above her and drowns out the sound of her deep, misty breath as the first splatters of rain burst against her mask. The water is tainted and unsafe, but that is why she covets it. It hardly even requires patience until the first of the demons come rushing out of the currents to seize her.

They are scrawny creatures; small, distended, and long in strange ways that bodies shouldn't be, though each twisted into unique shapes. None of them are powerful except in their numbers, mere imps to terrorize simple farm girls walking home on some fine evening. They leap and pounce and shriek at this new intruder, who stands stoically in place and allows their teeth and claws to penetrate her armor. Their cries turn from war shouts to panic as one by one they fail to pull away. The claws and hands in her cloak grab at each imp and pull it screaming into the darkness. Each time it takes a new victim it grows my hands, more teeth, bursts at its tattered edges with more dangerous and solid seeming creatures before they melt back into mere shadow. Avenger gathers this army by the hundreds, until the moaning of her cloak signals the shifting of the waves.

These drones are more proper soldiers, armed with spears and the curved folded-steel swords of Lancer's wet dreams and even longbows which fill her back like a pincushion. If these manifestations have names they are utterly beneath her notice, but the skill and ferocity of the assault is enough to obligate her to at least swing her sword. The blurring light turns columns of river water into clouds of steam in an instant, and everywhere she passes more demons tumble screaming into her infinitely hungry cape. Now it sprouts wings on occasion, or tails both draconic and sharklike. The more it fills, the less still it is, until the constant tearing of shadow creatures has it billowing against the direction of the winds.

Her final meal is a tower made of masks in the seeming of human faces in all manner of expressions of emotion. An odd creature to make her jewel, but more than fitting for the job. 

"That," she un-whispers in the downpour, "Will do for hounds."

Avenger lifts her sword toward the sky, already humming with power. Lightning crashes down in response, and for one terrible moment she outshines the sun itself. The river weeps. The river roars. And in the heat, the river rises to feed the storm clouds. Darker they grow, and thicker, flashing and rumbling with constant and unceasing sparks and bolts. Filled with so much tainted water, the nature of the clouds starts to change. Now the rain burns like fire. Now the thunder sounds like cannons and screams. Now the lightning surges in red and purple.

Now the clouds turn blinding white. 

Underneath the diamond lattice of her armor, Avenger's tattoos disappear in a sea of red. But the glow does not fade. Not blood, then. Her runes have merely changed their nature: Command Seals. She cracks her neck, and with an answering rumble, her fortress rises in answer. 

It would be tempting to say it sinks, but that's just the perspective of mortals too used to living on the ground. No, the forces rises out of the bottom of the clouds, the inverted castle of electro-spikes and gleaming white towers representative of her legend and pressed to the point of snapping. So long as her soul resides there, it can never know defeat. Docks and landing platforms extend from the tops of the towers, ready and waiting to receive her, or to launch an army. 

"And this will do for a hunting party."

She places a hand on Jezara's neck, and strokes it softly. She pauses one more time to lift Angelesia over her shoulder again, and together the three of them take flight toward the shining fortress that would be the final form of revenge. In and through the twisting, gleaming corridors, to the central hub where seven gates feed from seven walkways toward a single massive throne. Avenger strides toward it, and sets Angelesia's sleeping frame in the spot of the queen. She turns and plants her sword in a mount just behind it. Lights trickle like tiny rivers toward the gates, and one by one they whir to life.

A single sunshard was powerful, but the limitations of the ritual it was involved in meant that it lacked the ability to summon more than a single proper servant. But empty class containers? The simple idea of Sabers, Lancers, Archers, Riders, Assassins, Casters, and Berserkers? These could be created [i]endlessly[/i]. The merest shadows of the heroes they were meant to be filled by, but these empty suits of armor were a perfect compliment for a fox hunt. Avenger's voice(s) echo and warp across the empty space of the Grand Chamber. 

It is the duty of a Valkyrie to gather warriors for the final conflict.

"We exist for one purpose. We exist for two promises. Our corpses will build the bridge the new Queen will walk to take her throne. Our will shall erase the pain for which these skies weep. My Master suffered incalculably at the hands of our enemy. We need not hold back. By blade, by fist, by scream, it matters not. She will know the Blood Eagle. We will kill Actia, and all that align themselves with her evil."

The clouds stir. The fortress moves across the sky. With the wind or against it, what does it matter? There is only one place it can go. There is only one place this storm needs to reach.