Growling, Lore let go and slammed his palm on the wall.
The scabs on his back split and warm wetness seeped free. The sounds of bones creaking like dry twigs echoed, and they grew heavier.
By the dark stars! Now what?
Teeth gritted, he glanced over his shoulder?—
His wings unfurled and spread, revealing their brilliant hues… His heart pounded, but he ignored everything, instinctively retracting his regenerated wings. Damn, they hurt.
Weapon in hand, he flung the door open and flashed across the terrace to the battle. The Guardians were more on the defensive now…and they were slowing.
Hell, it didn’t look good at all.
Though Ely and Blaéz held it together—the latter exploding heads with his deadly ability—they couldn’t hold out for long. Those seraphs would send more thrones.
A blaze of fire speared from above, and his gaze shot up at the massive dark creature hovering?—
Race?
His breath of fire incinerated a line of thrones at the back of the fight, and their soul lights shot skyward like stars. Clever to target the periphery—the dragon could do widescale damage if he chose, but not with the Guardians scattered amidst the battle.
Race landed beside him and shifted to human form, summoning a flame-streaked sword. Naked as the day he was born, he winked at Lore before lunging at the enemy.
Lore leaped back, evading a deadly thrust from a throne. His hand buzzed, and he flung out his arm. A crackling bolt shot straight into his attacker, incinerating him. The idiot’s soul departed in a bright light.
His new power? Good! Grim satisfaction took hold.
A flare of light erupted. More thrones descended, their powers blasting, but the strikes bounced off an invisible shield surrounding the warriors. The psychic energy seemed to emanate from the castle, but it petered out too fast.
There was no winning this.
With an annoyed growl, Lore flung himself back into the battle, his Gaian sword swinging. He thrust and sliced, lethally injuring his former comrades. They stumbled and disappeared in flashes of light.
A pair of thrones flew at him, weapons arcing. He ducked and gored the first straight through the chest. All his senses on high alert, he whipped around, decapitating the second angel mid-strike.
No, no remorse at all.
But the single-mindedness of sheer destruction, when things didn’t go the seraphs’ way, glared like an open wound as they dropped more thrones on his fellow Guardians, showing their upper hand—an endless supply of troops.
“Aethan, watch out!” someone shouted.
A pained grunt echoed.
“I got you!” Blaéz yelled, moving like lightning, defending his brother. The clanging and grunts grew. The thrones surged in a wave. The Guardians fell back. Curses flew.
Jaw clenched, Lore fought hard, evaded attacks, and deflected power blasts with his sword. He tried reaching into the castle to where his mate and her siblings were working the Trinity chant. He couldn’t feel a thing, didn’t know what was happening.
More thrones took form.
A power blow to his back sent Lore stumbling. Frustrated to his core, he wheeled around, his gaze connecting with a throne. His smirk was as cold as his eyes. “You survived?” the male drawled. “It seems I will be the one to kill the invincible Power after all?—”
Lore dove forward, letting his fist connect to the cur’s jaw, and he flew back several meters, crashing into the shrubs.
“You have become as black-hearted as them, Power—” He leaped up, his massive sword swinging in an arc.
“Then I consider myself blessed!” In a move so fast, Lore evaded the blow, grabbed the angel’s weapon, and kneed him hard in the balls.
The male screeched, full-on siren as he fell to his knees, doubled over.
