“Gene, General, duck!” he shouted, voice breaking as he sent another blast of Fire Magic over my head.
I hit the ground just in time, blood and muck covering my face and hands, but Gene wasn’t so lucky.
I lifted my head to see a volley of fire returned at Art and Gene, Gene stepping in front of his friend at the last second and taking the strike in the face. Art’s expression sagged as he watched his friend’s head incinerate.
Gene’s body fell to the ground, splattering me further, as Art’s broken cry echoed through the battlefield.
“Gene! Gene, NO!NO,” Art lamented, his arms dropping and palms opening as he fell to his knees. Charisethunkedinto the soft mud as Art moaned and cried over the loss of his friend.
A deep, throaty, mirthless laugh rose above Art’s soft cries and whines, freezing him in place. I watched as Art’s hands clenched against Gene’s body, his red, tear-streaked face pulled into a murderous snarl.
Chills ran down my arms as Art pushed shakily to his feet before reaching down to where Charise was stuck in the ground.
The sounds of battle raged around us, but I could do nothing more than watch the eccentric Mage. His rage was enticing, enrapturing.
“You,” Art hissed, raising Charise with surprisingly calm hands in the direction of the Mage who killed Gene.
With a battle cry fit for the warriors of old, Art chargedforward, Charise brandished in his hands, as he let loose short blasts of Fire Magic, incinerating everything in his path.
My gut clenched as he disappeared from sight, the sounds of death and battle overwhelming once more.
I pushed to my knees and patted Gene’s chest once, silently thanking him for saving my life.
How many more will it take before this is over? How many more needless deaths?
My muscles groaned and arms shook as I clutched my sword in my bloodied and sweaty palm once more.
We needed to end this—and soon.
Chapter One Hundred Eight
Lex
“Ilyas!” I cried, voice cracking with fear and pain as I watched my Bonded take yet another shallow stab. He grunted, eyes flaring wide with pain, as the sword pushed in deeper.
Ilyas gasped as his attacker pulled their weapon free, and I leapt in front of him, using whatever energy I had left to sluggishly parry the strike that would have killed my Bonded.
Pain sliced through my arm, sharp and hot, as the assailant landed a strike on me as well.
With a cry, I feinted to the right before lunging to the left. By some miracle, the soldier bought my first move, leaving his right flank completely open. Without thought or compunction, I rammed my sword as hard and deep as I could into his side, puncturing his lung and killing him instantly once my weapon pierced through his sternum and into his heart on the opposite side.
He fell off my sword with a wetthud, nearly taking me down with him.
I left my sword in his body as I walked back to Ilyas, hunched over with hands on my knees, trying to catch my breath.
“We can’t do this for much longer,” Ilyas said, voice strained with pain. I said nothing, just numbly lifted his sopping shirt to inspect the newest wound. His torso was littered with them, and at this point, his tunic was doing nothing but getting in his way. I pulled it off his head before I balled it up and pressed against the gaping slash.
Ilyas nodded his thanks, color slowly draining from his cheeks.
“What are we going to do, Lex?” he whispered, sitting heavily on the wetground. I collapsed next to him, breathing hard and pushing my sweat and blood-soaked hair off my forehead. All around us, the battle raged—the scents of ash and fire, death and blood so heavy in the air I doubted I’d ever forget them.
It was clear we were losing. All of our soldiers, even the ones we brought fresh from Vespera, were tired and wounded. Our strikes were slower, our magical attacks less frequent, as Mages bled Vessels dry or used their crystals completely.
It became increasingly clear that this was no longer a battlefield—it was a graveyard.
Our tomb.
“We fight until we can’t any longer. Until Fate pulls us into the ether,” I said, even though I didn’t quite believe my words. Ilyas nodded mutely, a soul-deep sadness cresting his face.
