The shadows surge—one last attempt to claim her. I pull her to the ground, covering her body with mine as the field howls. My blood drips onto her face. Her chest rises and falls beneath me, ragged but present.
The shadows retreat. The pressure eases. Her eyes hold mine, finally seeing me.
“You’re not done,” I say, voice controlled despite the rage still burning through me.
Her eyes lock with mine, clear for a moment. Then something shifts in the air around us—a ripple that makes my skin crawl.
“Dane, it’s not over,” she says, voice hoarse.
I feel it before I see it. The pulse of wrong energy crawls across my back. The shadows aren’t retreating—they’re condensing.
The first construct forms ten feet to my right. Shadow folds into substance, stretching into limbs too long, too thin. No joints where joints should be. It pulls itself from the earth like it’s being birthed, skin pale as bone but not skin at all.
No scent. Nothing living should have no scent.
A second forms. A third. Stretching up from the forest floor with wet, hollow sounds.
“Move,” I say, pulling Nova to her feet.
I shove her behind me as the first construct lunges. No footsteps. No breath. Just wrong movement cutting through space.
I don’t think. I react. Drop low, pivot, catch it with my knife. The blade sinks in with resistance that doesn’t feel like flesh. The construct splits open—spills nothing.
Another rushes from the left. I barely dodge its arm as it stretches unnaturally long, fingers extending like claws.
“Cut the head,” Nova shouts, her voice strained.
I slash upward, catching the thing where its neck meets its skull. It collapses, folding in on itself like paper burning from the inside.
Nova’s magic erupts behind me—violent purple energy that whips across the clearing. It strikes a construct approaching from the trees. The thing screams—a sound with no throat behind it.
Two more emerge where it falls.
“There are too many,” she says, backing toward me.
I spin, take down another with a brutal slash. “Then make less.”
Her magic flares again—wilder this time. A bolt of energy sears past my shoulder, missing me by inches. It hits its target, butbarely. The construct staggers, its misshapen head tilted at an impossible angle.
I lunge forward, driving my blade through its chest. It crumples.
More rise. Five. Seven. Surrounding us.
Nova stands at my back, her breathing ragged. I feel her magic building—unstable, crackling with power she can’t quite control.
“Left,” I growl.
She pivots. We move together—her magic striking one while I take down another. Not perfect. Not even close. But something clicks. For three seconds, four, we find a rhythm.
I duck. Her magic blazes over my head. I roll past her left side, and she shifts right without looking.
Blood runs down my arms. Sweat soaks my shirt. Nova’s energy flickers—strong, then weaker. The constructs keep coming, but slower now.
We move faster. More aligned. Her magic finding targets my blade can’t reach. My body blocking attacks that her shields miss.
Until suddenly—silence.
The clearing stills. The constructs are gone. Just us, standing in the aftermath.
