The man’s shriek only lasted a moment before ending abruptly, pieces of him stuck to the horse’s hooves, glistening in the fading light.
At least three of the watchers had their hands buried in their pants, jerking themselves off. The others clutched at their weapons or dug their fingers into the dirt, grinning wide, panting with every wet crunch.
Rynna knew what would come next. Once Empty Night was done, they’d crawl through the blood-soaked mud, smearing their faces with flesh and shit like it was sacred warpaint. The horse stomped once more, then lifted her head with a satisfied snort, flicking goo and bone fragments into the maddened faces of the raiders.
“Good girl,” Rynna touched her mouth to the mare’s fuzzy nose, coating her lips with the dead man’s remains. Then she ran her fingers through the horse’s now drenched mane, before drawing them over her face, leaving four muddied crimson streaks spanning from one cheek to the other, crossing over her nose.
When she looked back at the Horsemen’s followers, one dropped to his knees, hands shaking. Another followed, whispering broken words as he cut his own wrists, blood pooling beneath him in offering. A third muttered something guttural, forehead pushing into the dirt, arms stretched out before him.
Around her, the hardened killers knelt one by one, eyes wide as if afraid to even blink.
She looked over them—worthless shitstains lapping up the destruction of life like it made them something more than carrion. Her lip peeled back in disgust, the sound in her throat low and feral as she stepped forward. Turning from the kneeling crowd, she moved toward the center of the village.
Behind her, the raiders snapped. Squeals filled the air as they swung wildly, weapons slashing. They threw themselves into the grime and gore, letting death’s ichor baptize them in abandonment. And when they rose again, men who had once fought side by side now turned on each other in a frenzy. Allies became prey in the blink of an eye.
Rynna moved through them, unbothered. She knew this place would soon be a graveyard for the damned. By day's end, the bloodlust would fade, and silence would reclaim the village.
The village’s center loomed ahead. If any fight remained in this rubble, if any defiance yet stood, it would be there. Her pace quickened at the thought of an actual challenge after the mindless slaughter.
As the tower rose into view, something lit at the base of her skull.
The sensation rang through her spine like the first strike of a bell, clean and cold, each vertebra buzzing with electric tension.
Another immortal.Muscles tightened like a bowstring drawn too long. Her legs nearly took off without her, hunger rising in her chest.
This wasn’t the Horsemen. She knew their chimes well. This was someone new.
As she drew closer, the sound of steel reached her, each clash crisp and controlled, rather than frantic.
“Dammit,” she muttered, the itch to join already crawling under her skin. “They’re already at it.”
The strikes stopped.
A brief silence stretched in the air, and for a moment, she wondered if it was over, if whoever fought had already been bested. But then the clash resumed, faster now. Whoever held their ground down there wasn’t just skilled; they were dangerous.
She crested the final rise when the high-pitched wailing of children sliced through the air.
Well. That answered that.
Whoever was down there knew they wouldn’t survive the day. No immortal mistook the chiming. It was a signal—a warning to any others nearby that one of their kind had taken the field. And entering a fight against more than one? That wasn’t recklessness. That was a choice.
The challenger hadn’t come to win. They’d come to die. Sacrificing life unending to protect the younglings cowering behind them.
She slowed to a saunter.
Malekar, Vorian, and Kaelric stood off to the side, their attention fixed on the duel unfolding before them.
Steel clashed in a burst of sound, each impact booming through the scorched clearing.
The other was a beast of a man, towering over Daziel by two full heads. His brow jutted heavy over deep-set eyes, his frame thick and broad like something carved from an older, meaner version of the world.
No one that old survived this long by accident.
Rynna shot Malekar a questioning glance.
“We told him we’d spare the children if he could defeat one of us,” Malekar said, still watching the fight with unreadable calm.
Vorian scoffed. “And of course, you’ll hold us to our precious word, won’t you,Death?”
