Armed with bloodstone means one thing…
The creature was sent byVaelyn. Given a purpose he will complete, no matter the cost, in hopes of earning his heart.
But his failure to send one of our siblings sends a message louder than the wraiths’ screams. He expects to lose this fight.
With gritted teeth, I nudge at my innate and vines burst around him, weaving a domed prison. With another push, silver thorns shoot inward, skewering the Death Knight and holding him in place.
It will take bloodstone to end him.
And right now there are dozens of wraiths between us.
I swing around the altar to Cenviri as he continues to invoke the ritual. He lifts his eyes to mine for a moment and gives me a nod—it’s almost complete. I’m not familiar with the ritual required to return from veilwalking, but I imagine it’s complex and costly. Casting the ritual foreighteencomplicates things, and steepens the price.
A cost Cenviri will bear.
Ryc’s battle-heated shout draws my attention as he buries the end of his bloodstone dagger into the throat of a wraith. Yanking the blade, he moves to the next, Cyran fighting beside him. I can’t help but marvel at Ryc’s grace. Each movement swift, calculated,and carrying a confident conviction despite our desperate plight for survival.
Zirzol carves into his arm with heavily practiced speed, and the sharp wash of blood magic races over me. A red, braided tether lashes from his wrist and slings itself around the necks of half a dozen wraiths. With a downward tug, the tether tightens and their corporeal forms burst, becoming dark fog, leaving bound silver souls behind.
Still reeling from the shock of what I’ve done, where I am, and the chaos of my surroundings, I stare at the skirmish in silence. Streaks of lightning, flashes of hellfire, and gales of glistening ice illuminate the dark as they fight.
There’s an undeniable beauty here—one I’ve always been drawn to.
It’s familiar. Known.
And my demonic bloodsingswith the sight.
I shove the feeling aside.
I’m not here to hunt.
The soul I’ve come to collect now sits within my chest.
“Ves!” Eve’s shout pulls me away from the cusp of darkness.
She slams her dagger into a wraith’s chest before her ice blue eyes flick to mine.
“Glad to see you made it!”
Two wraiths rush her.
My hand flies and thorned vines streak through the air. Before she can turn to defend herself, they wrap around the wraiths’ throats. The thorns shoot through their flesh, nearly severing their heads. Eve, lacking the same level of concern, plunges her dagger into the chests of one then the other, and they burst into hellfire.
“Now is not the time!” I shout, hoping to be heard over the cacophony.
I will not let her recklessness under the guise of bravery damn her.
The vine prison containing the Death Knight bursts into dark blue fog, and despite missing an arm, and the broadened hole in his chest, the creature takes aim.
At Ryc.
And the Death Knight’s daggerflies.
Vines erupt in the blade’s path, and they’re reduced to fog as the blade grazes them. Eve’s braids swing before there’s a flash of hellfire, white light flares, and sight-stealing pain explodes in my chest. My horrified scream deafens me as I’m thrown backward.
My head meets the edge of the altar, silencing me and near shattering my teeth.
Stars rupture in my vision.
