No time to think. The next one is already on me.
I weave between two guards, my magic crackling to life in my palms like bottled lightning. The familiar surge of power floods through my veins, electric and intoxicating. Lightning arcs from my fingertips in jagged white branches, and the guard on my left convulses, his scream cutting off as his body locks rigid. He drops, the smell of burnt flesh and ozone acrid in my nose, making my eyes water.
I spin, barely deflecting a sword strike aimed at my ribs. The impact sends shock waves up my arm, my bones rattling, my teeth clicking together hard enough to make my jaw ache. But I use the momentum, letting it carry me into a roll and I come up striking.
My magic surges again—wind this time, raw and violent. I shape it with a thought, a concentrated blast that catches three guards mid-charge. They stumble backward, arms windmilling. One crashes into a burning timber. The wet crack of his skull makes my stomach lurch, but he doesn't get up.
Around me, the battle is a symphony of steel and screams. Kaan is magnificent and terrifying in equal measure, his shadows given terrible purpose. They whip and coil like serpents made of midnight, each tendril razor-sharp. A guard charges him and is suddenly impaled on a spike of pure darkness that erupts from the ground. Another is lifted bodily into the air by shadowy hands and slammed into a stone wall with bone-crushing force.
Emir fights with the steady, brutality of a man who's seen a hundred battlefields. His sword moves in economical arcs—no wasted movement, no flourish. Just death, delivered with workmanlike care. Parry, riposte, kill. Parry, riposte, kill. A guard lunges at his back, and Emir pivots, his blade opening the man's throat before he can even complete his swing.
Emir is blinked out of my vision as I’m charged again. A sword breaks through the soldier's mouth, stopping him midstride before the silver object is retracted and he falls to the ground. Zoran smiles at me before charging another soldier.
To my right, Elçin is a whirlwind of controlled fury. Her storm-grey eyes blaze with battle-light as she dances through the chaos. Her sword is an extension of her arm, singing through the air in silver arcs. She ducks beneath a strike, comes up inside her opponent's guard, and opens him from hip to shoulder. The move doesn't even slow her down; she's already moving to the next target.
I see it happen as if in slow motion - two of Taren's guards breaking through our line, their blades driving Elçin back against a crumbling wall. She's fighting valiantly, but she's outnumbered and outmatched, her sword arm faltering under the relentless onslaught.
I'm too far away to reach her in time, my own opponents pressing in from all sides. But before I can even cry out a warning, Yasar is there.
He moves with the grace of a panther, all coiled power and deadly intent. His magic rips through the soldiers like paper, sending them flying back in a spray of blood and shattered armor. In the space between one breath and the next, he's at Elçin's side, pulling her to her feet with a cocky grin.
"You're welcome," he says, his voice dripping with self-satisfaction.
Elçin snorts, wrenching her arm from his grasp. "I'd rather die than thank you," she spits, turning to rejoin the fray without a backwards glance.
But I force myself to ignore it. Focus on the fight. On survival.
A guard rushes me from the left, and I meet him head-on. Our blades clash once, twice, three times—the ringing of steel on steel adding to the deafening cacophony. He's strong, but I'mfaster. I feint high, then sweep low, my dagger opening a red line across his thigh. He staggers, and I press the advantage, lightning crackling from my free hand to catch him in the chest. He goes down hard.
My magic flows freely now, the rhythm of battle singing in my blood. Each spell comes easier than the last, the power responding to my will like an eager hound. I feel invincible, unstoppable. The exhaustion that should be creeping in at the edges of my consciousness is held at bay by the pure adrenaline flooding my system.
I glance toward sudden screams to see a guard charge Yasar, and Yasar gestures almost lazily. The man simply... comes apart, his armor and flesh tearing like wet paper, his scream swallowed by the sound of his own destruction. The binding between us thrums with each use of his power, a sensation like fingernails on the inside of my skull that makes me want to tear my own skin off.
"Left flank!" Emir's voice cuts through the chaos, sharp and urgent. I see what he means—a gap in their line, a weakness we can exploit. Three guards have clustered too close together, their formation broken.
Kaan sees it too. His shadows pour through the opening like water through a crack in a dam, a torrent of darkness that engulfs them. Two guards go down screaming, their cries cutting off abruptly as the shadows crush the breath from their lungs. A third tries to run and makes it three steps before shadowy tendrils wrap around his ankles and drag him back into the darkness.
"Push forward!" Kaan roars, and we surge ahead as one.
The enemy line buckles. Breaks. Guards stumble back, their formation dissolving into chaos. One turns to run, and Elçin's blade finds his spine. Another raises his hands in surrender, andEmir cuts him down without hesitation—mercy is a luxury none of us can afford right now.
We'rewinning.
For the first time since this nightmare began, I can taste victory—sweet and fierce on my tongue, cutting through the copper and ash. We're going to end this. We're going to save what's left of this village, drive my father’s butchers back, and?—
Beside me, Elçin throws her head back andlaughs—a wild, exultant sound that speaks of battle-joy and bloodlust. Even Yasar is grinning, his magic ripping through their ranks with bodies falling before him like wheat before a scythe.
My heart soars. We're doing it. Against all odds, we're actually?—
The horn blast shatters everything.
It comes from the east—a deep, resonant call that seems to echo off the very stones. Before the sound can fade, another answers it. From the north this time.
Then a third, from the west.
"No," I breathe, but I can already see them.
Reinforcements pour from the ruined buildings like ants from a disturbed nest, like a tide of silver death flooding the streets. Not ten guards. Not twenty.
