I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t do anything they were doing. I was useless. Oh right, I was the only one who could touch the staff. But I wasn't the person who could turn on a time and stab, orshoot an arrow into an open mouth. It was like the scene on LOTR when the fellowship entered the mines of Moria.
Athanasius dissolved again, but this time his shadows wrapped around me—familiar, cold tendrils coiling over my skin.“We need to move up the stairs.”We ran—if I could call it that. More like stumbling forward, barely catching myself as the building shook.
More soldiers. Blocking our path. Athanasius surged forward, his shadows exploding outward like a living storm. He looked like a wave crashing on them. It was then that I see the torment that those before me have witnessed. Where once those tendrils had gently brushed my face, now they were weapons. They ripped through flesh like paper. One soldier’s head twisted in a sickening crunch, flung aside like a doll’s. Another’s spine snapped as Athanasius’s shadow slammed him against the ceiling before dragging him down through the floorboards, screaming.
I pressed myself to the wall, every nerve in my body screamingrun, but I followed. He left me for seconds at a time—long enough to eviscerate, decapitate, dismember. His rage was art, his shadows a bladed symphony.
A soldier broke through the chaos, his eyes empty, his blade raised—shock rolled through my system as I realized it was looking at me and headed for me. Then Caspian was there. He drove his dagger into the thing’s belly. Usually, on movies people are all in shock when they get stabbed the stomach, they grab the blade and try to force it out. No, this thing screamed, and the smell. It was like hot ass, a garbage can in New York summer with sewage water, mixed with the smell of a two-dollar hooker. Hot entrails spilled out, slick and steaming at my feet. The smell hit me like a punch and no, I couldn't contain it. I doubled over, retching on the stone.
“Just imagine spaghetti,” Caspian said cheerfully, shoving a dagger into my trembling hands. “Slash first. Aim for somewhere squishy.”
I stared at the blade, my stomach twisting again.
He winked. “And hey—try not to die. It’s way less fun that way.”
Athanasius snorted, moving me away from the entrails. Using the back of his hand, he wiped my mouth. "Rabbit, please, that's disgusting."
My stomach rolls again as he drags me away. "Athy, I'm going to faint, I swear it." My legs wobble under me.
I want to be dramatic at this moment, but there's too much commotion going on and I can't concentrate on my theatrics. Athanasius hoists me up, quickly running up a flight of stairs. "Well don't do it right now, woman, there are pressing matters around us."
Rude. I'm not going to faint, but he could at least show some consideration. "Seventh floor?" I ask, as he sets me down again.
"Yes," Athanasius scans the area as Caspian brings up the rear. "Hide here." He pushes me next to a tall cabinet. "Do not move." The cold press of his hand brushes my cheek. “No matter what.”
He was gone before I could protest, melting into darkness. I crouched there, my heart hammering, barely daring to breathe as the battle continued to erupt in the room beyond. Now, Caspian is a handsome man. I can't remember what movie it was, some Spartan or Roman movie, and the main character was fighting. He was hot as hell and moved like poetry—fluid, precise, deadly. That was Caspian right now. A smug little smile on his face the entire time. His bow sang, each arrow finding its mark with a brutal elegance: throat, eye socket, sternum. When they got too close, he danced backward, flipped his dagger with a flourish, and drove it home with a wink and a grin like he was enjoying a particularly competitive board game.
Athanasius was something else entirely. A force. A storm. His shadows lashed through the enemy like whips, carving through flesh with terrifying grace. He was both everywhere and nowhere, slipping between form and shadow, ripping them apart with such cold, efficient violence that I almost felt sorry for the soldiers. Almost. From my hiding place, I watched them fight—andtaunteach other.
"Five," Caspian called, notching another arrow. "Six if you count the one that tripped on his own sword."
Athanasius appeared behind a soldier and casually bisected him. “I count only worthy kills,archer.”
“Oh please,” Caspian scoffed. “You practically seduced that one to death.”
Athanasius turned, dark tendrils catching a third by the ankles and slamming him into a wall. “Jealousy doesn't suit you.”
“Neither does humility,” Caspian muttered, loosing another arrow. "Seven."
They were laughing. In the middle of this chaos—laughing.
Then Athanasius returned to me, eyes cold but gentle as he helped me up. “Ninth floor,” he said.
We ascended.
I barely had time to find my footing before the next wave hit. Screams. Steel. Bone cracking under pressure. I ducked behind a fractured pillar, trying to stay small, invisible,useful,when the air... changed. It started as a hum, then bloomed into a blinding, all-consuming white light that drowned out everything—the noise, the violence, the world. Time slowed. And he stepped forward.
The mage.
He emerged like a dream, tall and statuesque, all lithe muscle and effortless poise. His skin gleamed, flawless. His shoulders were broad, swimmer-cut. His black shirt billowed dramatically with every step, tucked into perfectly fitted slacks that should’ve been illegal. His boots clicked softly on the floor, deliberate and unhurried. The man was sex on legs, a model of the finest proportions, and nothing of what I thought he supposed to look like. This felt wrong.
His hair—deep purple, shaggy in the back, short on top—framed a face that felt like it had been painted by the gods on a good day. Green and lavender eyes shimmered beneath sculpted brows. He smiled.
Squidward screamed in my head, speaking for me.Oh no. He's hot.
Ok, I have to think of something else. Where's Athanasius and Caspian?Concentrate, Ione. Think of him naked—Even worse!
He didn’t speak. Not aloud. His voice reverberated in my skull, making me feel dizzy. “Do you really think he’s telling you the truth?”
