Erik moves like quicksilver through the battlefield, his sword flashing in the firelight. Each swing sends fountains of blood arcing through the air, painting the ground crimson. Severed limbs and heads litter the battlefield, the air filled with the wet, meaty sounds of tearing flesh and snapping bone.
Lucian and Seraphina leap into action, a whirlwind of power and precision. Seraphina moves with ethereal poise, her wings both shield and blade as she dispatches vampires with bursts of divine radiance. Beside her, Lucian is a force of nature, his hands rending undead flesh and bone like wet clay. In one fluid motion, he plunges his fist into a vampire's chest, ripping out the beast's heart and reducing it to a gory pulp in his grasp.
Brandon, mid-transformation, launches at another werewolf. The two beasts collide in midair, a tangle of fur and fangs. Brandon's jaws close around his opponent's throat, ripping out the jugular in a spray of crimson.
My stomach churns at the brutality, bile rising in my throat. The air is thick with the metallic tang of blood and the stench of death. Screams of agony mingle with bestial howls and the thunderous clash of supernatural forces.
Something shifts within me as I watch the people I love risk everything. The fear and grief crystallize into cold, hard resolve.
This ends now.
I will see Azrael fall whatever it takes, whatever price I have to pay for Damon, my mother, my parents, Adrian, and every life this monster has destroyed in his quest for power.
I clench my fists, feeling celestial energy building beneath my skin. As I throw myself into the fray, I silently vow that our side will be left standing when the dust settles.
No matter the cost.
I reach into my pocket, my fingers closing around the syringe. My eyes lock onto Rhyland and Azrael, two titans locked in a deadly dance of shadow and lightning.
I run, my feet pounding against the ground. I need an opening, a moment when Azrael's form solidifies from the shifting shadows. More than that, I need to tap into the same power I wielded in Aquaria. I need to stop time itself.
As I sprint towards my target, the battlefield becomes a deadly obstacle course. Fire rains around me, the heat searing my skin as I weave and dodge. Vampires andwerewolves lunge at me from every side, their eyes glazed with bloodlust and feral rage.
A massive werewolf leaps into my path, its jaws snapping mere inches from my face. I drop into a slide, my momentum carrying me beneath the beast's underbelly.
I unleash a concentrated beam of holy light, the power surging through me like a river of molten gold. The effect is instantaneous and horrifying. The werewolf's underside splits open like overripe fruit, its innards spilling out in a steaming mass of gore. The stench of burning flesh and hair assaults my nostrils as the creature erupts into flames, its agonized whimpers lost in the din of battle.
I tuck and roll, springing back to my feet without missing a beat.
Two vampires materialize before me, their faces twisted into snarls of hunger and malice. I leap into the air, turning in a fluid arc as I call upon every ounce of my warrior training. I unleash twin beams of celestial light from my palms.
The vampires are engulfed in a blaze of pure, radiant energy. For a moment, they hang suspended, their bodies lit up like macabre lanterns. Then, with a sickening pop, they implode, their flesh and bone disintegrating into a fine mist of blood and ash.
I land in a crouch, the remains of my foes splattering against my skin in a warm, sticky spray. I swipe a hand across my face, smearing crimson streaks through the grime and sweat.
There's no time to be disgusted or process the horror of what I've just done. Rhyland and Azrael are still locked in their titanic struggle, the fate of everything hanging in the balance.
I push myself back to my feet and run, the syringe slick in my grip. As I draw closer, I can see the toll the battle takes on Rhyland and Azrael. Rhyland's shirt is in tatters, revealing angry red welts and deep gashes across his chest and arms. Azrael's once-immaculate suit is singed and torn, half his face a blistered, blackened mess.
I watch as Rhyland lands a devastating strike, his fist slamming into Azrael's jaw with a sickening crunch. The demon's head snaps back, black ichor spraying from his shattered teeth.
Rhyland can't use his telekinesis on this slippery fucker, as he keeps shifting through shadows. But Rhyland unleashes holy hell with lightning, landing a few brutal strikes. Azrael's face bears the scorched proof of Rhyland's power.
Azrael retaliates with a blast of pure, malevolent energy. The shadows coalesce into a writhing mass of tentacles and claws, lashing out at Rhyland.
I take a deep breath, reaching for that wellspring of power. The world around me slows, each moment stretching out into an eternity.
I push harder, pouring every ounce of my will into the effort. The energy builds until I feel like I might burst from its force.
And then, with a silent cry of triumph, I let it go.
The world stops. The battlefield, the forest, the very air itself—it all freezes in place, locked in a single, timeless moment. Rhyland and Azrael hover in mid-strike, their faces frozen in masks of rage and determination.
I move through the eerie stillness, my footsteps echoing in the unnatural silence. I approach Azrael from behind, my heart hammering against my ribs.
I raise the syringe, my hand trembling with fear and anticipation. I aim for the back of Azrael's neck, the needle poised over his pale, exposed flesh.
I steel myself, drawing in a deep, shuddering breath. And then, with a final, silent prayer, I plunge the needle deep into Azrael's flesh and push the plunger home.
