Scar hits them before they finish manifesting their defensive barrier.
Centuries of vampire fury condensed into speed that transcends physics, he becomes a blur of pale flesh and crimson eyes that crosses the distance in less time than it takes the fae to register the threat. His fangs find the throat of the lead warrior with surgical precision, draining blood and magic in synchronized gulps that leave the body a desiccated husk before it hits the ground.
A spear of pure silver light slams into Scar’s shoulder, driving him sideways hard enough to crater crystal beneath him. He snarls, ripping the weapon free and hurling it back through a fae caster before he’s already moving to the next target, fingers tearing through armor like paper, feeding not just for sustenance but for the raw violence of it, wounded but absolutely furious in ways that make even ancient fae take a step back.
Above us, winged seelie dive.
Not soldiers, nobles, their cloaks trail ribbons of magic that slice through the air like razors, forcing Maul and Coil to scatter as arcs of glowing script carve trenches into the ground.
Wreck unleashes beside him. The wendigo becomes nightmare incarnate, shadows pouring from his gaunt frame in rivers that swallow light and hope in equal measure, and the fae warriors caught in his aura begin to scream. Not from pain but from terror so profound it rewrites sanity, their minds breaking under visions of starvation and endless hunger.
One fae sorcerer counters, slamming a crystal staff into the ground. Golden music explodes outward, a harmonic pulse meant to anchor emotion and smother fear. For a heartbeat, Wreck’s shadows ripple, contained.
Then he inhales deeper.
The spell fractures like thin glass. Three warriors drop their weapons and flee. Wreck’s hollow laugh follows them into the darkness, feeding on their fear, growing larger and more terrible with each step.
I launch myself at the main formation, scales erupting across my flesh as I shift mid-stride into something between human and dragon, claws that freeze and burn simultaneously, tearing through magical barriers like they’re made of spider silk.
A fae blade catches me across the ribs.
Not a graze, a real hit. Silver burns through scale, heat, and frost, hissing where the enchantment bites deep. Pain flashesbright and vicious, and the warrior behind the strike smiles like he’s just drawn first blood for his prince.
I answer with fire.
Flame pours from my jaws in concentrated streams that reduce armor to slag, ice following in jagged spirals that freeze warriors mid-scream before shattering them into crystalline fragments.
Coil strikes from the flank, serpent form allowing him to slip through gaps in their formation that shouldn’t exist. But the fae adapt quickly. A ring of hovering glyphs ignites around him, compressing inward like a crushing halo.
He twists, fangs snapping through one sigil, venom splattering across another. The magic falters just long enough for him to strike a shieldbearer’s armor at the junction where magic meets flesh, bypassing enchantments entirely. Neurotoxin floods the warrior’s system with devastating efficiency, and Coil withdraws smoothly, already targeting the next threat.
Maul crashes into the second defensive layer like a battering ram, given purpose and fury, werewolf strength shattering barriers that were designed to withstand dragon fire. But the fae meet him head-on this time. Two warriors bind his legs with living vines of silver light, dragging him to one knee before he roars and tears free, ripping the spell apart with brute force before embedding a caster into the fortress wall.
Above us, the sky opens.
A volley of star-forged arrows rains down in synchronized arcs, forcing Ash to flare her phoenix wings wide, flames detonating upward to incinerate the projectiles before they reach us. The explosion sends waves of heat rolling across the battlefield, cracking crystal-like ground.
The fae defensive formation bends but doesn’t break. They counterstep, rotating into new positions, weaving spells that lash like whips of liquid moonlight.
Ivy’s vines erupt from cracks in the crystallized ground, curling tight and rooting into the fractures even in this realm divorced from living earth, strangling fae warriors with thorned creepers that constrict and drain in equal measure. One seelie noble counters by turning the vines to glass mid-growth, shattering half of Ivy’s reach before she snarls and forces new growth through the fractures.
Ash manifests full phoenix wings, flames burning bright enough to melt through magical barriers, her fire working in tandem with mine to create thermal gradients that crack defensive structures from the inside out.
Luna calls moisture from the air, condensing breath and ambient magic into impossible waves that crash through the second layer with enough force to send warriors tumbling backward. A fae mage attempts to freeze the water mid-motion, but Luna twists her wrist, and the wave collapses into a crushing spiral that drags him under.
And still the seelie keep coming.
Not panicked, not disorganized because the prince has prepared for this. Layers of defense fold over one another, aerial assaults bleeding into ground formations, magic blooming and collapsing like living architecture.
We punch through the outer defenses in less than five minutes anyway. The battlefield behind us becomes a ruin of frozen corpses, shattered crystal, burning wings, and bleeding starlight.
The fortress doors loom ahead, massive structures carved from single pieces of preserved night sky, sigils igniting across their surface as they try to seal against us.
I don’t slow down.
Fire and ice detonate simultaneously as I slam into them, the combined elements creating stress fractures that spiderweb across impossible architecture before the entire structure explodes inward in a shower of frozen starlight and melted reality.
Inside, the prince waits.
