Adrenaline kept my body moving quickly through the crowded cobblestone streets, coming closer to Angentia Plaza. My weapons sang as they clashed with opponents’, each strike I landed adding to the two mounting pulses in my blood.
We wove between dueling warriors, the Mystiques recognizable in their finery.
On both sides, fighters fell. Scarlet painted the stones, glass shattering in windows and bodies crashing to the brick.
We’d been so focused on the troops they were moving, we’d left Damenal as our last resort. But as I watched a Mystique at least two centuries old take a knife through his chest, I wasn’t sure we’d made the right choice.
I should have foreseen this. Guilt weighed heavily on my shoulders as I swung my sword into the arm of an Engrossian.
His ax fell from his hand, and I swiped my blade across his throat, relishing the way his screams were silenced by my steel.
I didn’t stop to watch him die, instead slipping my spear between the metal plates of another’s armor and hearing him collapse beside his comrade as I moved on.
With each kill, the pressure in my chest tightened.
It was clear even from this one small spot of the battle that they outnumbered us. Each warrior Tol and I took out was quickly replaced by another, with soulless eyes and swirling armor.
Swinging beneath the outstretched blade of an Engrossian with a grunt, I grabbed her long braid and tugged her to the ground. My spear was in her throat before she could scream.
The blood that burst from her reminded me of Kakias’s red lips.I wished it was the queen squirming beneath my weapon, now. I imagined her face on the warrior.
“Very smooth, Alabath,” Tol called as I swung Angelborn onto my back.
Shaking the vision of the queen’s face from my mind, I whirled to see him ram his dagger into the thigh of an opponent, then sweep his sword upward to finish the job.
“Speak for yourself,” I panted.
He smiled at me, wide and brilliant beneath the blood and dirt. With his shirt torn, chest heaving from the thrill and panic of battle, a victorious grin split his lips?—
A second deafening rumble shook my bones.
Tol’s hand pressed against my chest, shoving me backward. Out of the way of the explosion.
Dust and debris engulfed me. The roar of glass shattering and brick tumbling was deafening.
And then, only silence filled my head. Because?—
“Tol!” I coughed over the smoke.
I couldn’t see him. Couldn’t see?—
Rubble rained where he’d stood a moment ago—where he’d stepped to push me out of the way.
Buried him.
“No, no, no.” The word left my lips, a repeated prayer. My entire body shook as I stumbled forward, falling over rock until my knees were cut.
Clawing, climbing, digging. Others joined the search, throwing aside ruins to find those buried.
My nails cracked and bled. Chest seized.
“Please, Damien, please…” I begged.
I tried to channel that place of calm Tol would instill in me, willed my body to stop shaking, but I couldn’t do it.
It was only panic and fear and emptiness without him.
He was alive.He was.
