Dayton charges, but the assassin doesn’t hesitate. With a snarl, he leaps, faster than any fae I’ve seen, his dual knives flashing.
Dayton deflects the strike. “Someone’s feisty,” he mutters, stepping back and spinning into another attack. His blades whirl in a blur, cutting toward the assassin’s chest, but the horned man twists, ducking under Dayton’s swing with infuriatingprecision. He sweeps low, his knife nearly catching Dayton’s leg, but Ezryn is already there, his massive war hammer crashing down.
The assassin pivots, knives crossing in an X to catch the hammer mid-strike. A shock wave ripples through the air, splintering the ground beneath them. The assassin shoves Ezryn back.
“Impossible,” Ezryn grunts, regaining his footing.
Farron charges in next, flames roaring to life in his hands. “Alright, let’s see how you handle the heat!” He hurls a fireball at the assassin’s chest, the inferno blooming with a deafening roar.
But the assassin leaps, flipping over the fireball and landing behind Farron, one blade slashing upward. Farron turns at the last moment, the blade’s edge grazing his shoulder instead of carving deeper.
Meanwhile, Rosalina’s golden briars shoot forward, snaking toward the assassin. They coil around his legs, pulling tight.
“Stay down,” Rosalina growls, her hands trembling as the briars tighten, their thorns digging into the assassin’s pale skin.
The assassin flexes, his muscles bulging. The briars snap like brittle twigs, golden shards scattering across the floor. He slashes through the remaining vines and lunges at Rosalina, knives raised.
“Don’t touch her!” Dayton leaps between them, his blades locking with the assassin’s in a flurry of sparks. Ezryn charges in, hammer swinging in a brutal arc, forcing the assassin to disengage.
I’m up, sword drawn. I charge toward his chest. For the first time, the horned man falters, barely escaping out of the way. Still, I graze his side, a streak of red blood blooming across his robes.So you bleed like us.
The man growls, backflipping away to regain his footing. Light shines as Farron materializes the Lance of Valor.
“Go, Farron!” Rosalina screams. Another briar erupts from the ground, this one thicker, thorns glinting like gold-tipped spears. The workshop trembles, beams splintering and glass shattering. The briars snag the assassin’s legs, pulling him to his knees.
Flames coil around the Lance of Valor’s tip as Farron yells and drives it toward the assassin’s chest. With no hesitation, the horned man drops his blades and grabs Farron’s lance mid-thrust. Smoke and blood ooze out from between his fingertips, but he keeps it at bay, inches from his heart. With a roar, he wrenches the lance to the side with terrifying strength, breaks free of the briars, and seizes his weapons.
“How is this possible?” Dayton breathes. “Even with all of us, we’re losing ground!”
“I can’t hold him. He’s too strong,” Rosie cries, attempting another thatch of briars.
Ezryn blocks the next assault with his hammer. “One of you think of something! Fast!”
“We’ve got to find something he can’t break free of,” I say. “Something like?—”
Just as the words come out of my mouth, a shroud of darkness covers the room. Shadows detach from their owners: the shadow of the workbench, of the wooden beams, even my own. They all rush toward the assassin.
A presence fills the doorway, stopping time itself.
Caspian.
His arms are outstretched, lines of black rot oozing out of the corners of his mouth, eyes, and nose.
The shadows wrap around the assassin’s limbs and torso. The horned man’s fingers flex, and he cries out, dropping the blades in a clatter. A sense of silence creeps across the workshop.
“Caspian!” Rosalina cries and runs to him. She grabs his face, pushing the hair away from his eyes, then wipes the oozing rot away. “I’ve got you. Okay? I’ve got you.”
“Thanks, Flower,” he mumbles. “I don’t much like using this magic, and it doesn’t seem to like the surface. But you five seemed in a spot of trouble.”
“This isn’t one of your followers?” I snarl.
“No, can’t say I’ve ever seen anything like him. Though the horns are intriguing.” Caspian walks forward, one hand clutching Rosalina’s. Just with her touch, color has returned to his face. Smears of rot still mar his skin, but nothing new oozes out of him.
“Let’s end this. I’m done looking at his ugly mug,” Dayton snarls.
The man bares his teeth and pulls at his shadow chains.
“Wait.” I put a hand on Dayton’s shoulder. “If he’s not from the Below, then who is he?”
