"Threk!" I scream, scrambling backward on my hands and knees, my mind a blank, white sheet of terror, trying to get away from the murals, from the elves, from everything.
But Threk is no longer a confused, wounded creature, and he is no longer in agony. The panic I saw in his eyes just moments ago is gone, burned away and replaced by a pure, focused inferno of protective rage. He roars, a sound of guttural, possessive fury that shakes the glowing moss from the ceiling, and he charges.
He is not just a beast; he is a force of nature, a blur of gray-green muscle and black blood exploding toward the line of soldiers.
The elven soldiers meet his charge. Their movements are a fluid, elegant, and graceful dance of death, their curved black blades singing in the humming air. They are impossibly fast.
Threk is faster.
He is a vicious, raw, and bloody ballet. He snatches the first elf by the head, his massive, clawed hand crushing the elegant, black-steel helmet like an eggshell. With a roar, he slams the broken body into the second elf, sending them both crashing into the cavern wall with a sickening, final crunch of armor and bone.
I am a spectator in a war of titans, a small, useless thing cowering in the moss. Threk is a whirlwind of death, and his entire focus, his entire world, is me.
His red eyes never leave my form. He tears a human soldier's arm from its socket, his gaze on me. He breaks an elf's spine over his knee, his head turned toward me. He is fighting them, but he is guarding me.
Larda snarls, a sound of pure disgust at the mess. "He is ruined. Such inelegant rage. Such a flaw." He doesn't even look at Threk. He looks at me.
A new, close shadow falls over me.
"Betty, stop!"
I look up, my heart seizing. It's Joric. He grabs my arm, his fingers bruising, his face a pale, sick mask of terror and a twisted, desperate pride. "Come with me! He'll kill us all! I... I did this for us! So we can be safe!"
"Safe?" I scream, my terror finally exploding into fury. I claw at his hand, raking my nails down his face. "You sold us! You sold me! Look at them, Joric!"
I shove him, my strength born of desperation. "You're not their ally! You're a pet, just like he has called Threk!"
My words hit him. I see the pain and regret in his eyes. He knows I am right. But he is desperate, committed to his lie. He pulls me hard, dragging me out of my corner, toward Larda. "It doesn't matter! Just come!"
He drags me right into Larda's path.
The sorcerer, his face all cold impatience as he prepares a dark, swirling spell for Threk, snarls at our interruption.
"Get the specimen, you useless lesser being," Larda hisses, his voice slicing through the cavern. He backhands Joric across the face.
It is not a spell. It is not magic. It is a simple, brutal, contemptuous slap that sends Joric sprawling into the muddy moss at Larda's feet.
Joric looks up, blood streaming from his nose, his face registering broken, hollow agony. He sees Larda's face, the pure, unadulterated disgust aimed at him. He sees me, his prize, his excuse, cowering.
In that instant, all the jealousy, all the pride that drove him here, shatters. It all evaporates, leaving only the sick, cold, undeniable reality of his betrayal.
He sees Larda turn away from him, dismissing him as vermin. He sees the powerful dark elf raise a hand to cast a new, dark spell at Threk.
"Run, Betty!" Joric screams, his voice choked with blood and a final, suicidal regret.
He lunges.
He doesn't attack me. He lunges low, tackling Larda around the legs with all his strength.
Larda screams in fury. Not from pain, but from the insult. From being touched by filth.
"Filth!" he shrieks. He doesn't even look down. He blasts Joric off him with a wave of black energy. Joric's body hits the cavern wall with a wet, final thud and slides down, still and broken.
He is dead.
And the magic...
Larda's dark, foul blast of chaotic energy misses Joric's body and slams into the edge of the Wildspont's energy field.
