Chapter 32
Von
“I feel like I snorted a line of salt,” Folkoln grumbled as we ambled forward, matching Lyra’s much slower pace. Folkoln carried Kaleb on his back while I had Harper on mine.
I grunted in reply.
He wasn’t wrong. The briny, damp air was relentless.
It saturated my nostrils, stuck to my skin, dampened my clothes.
It was a menace. One I was eager to get away from.
Also grating against my frayed nerves were the ceaseless sounds of the rushing river and the water that trickled from the cave’s mouth.
Just like this tunnel, it was never-ending.
Drip. Drip. Fucking drip.
We hadn’t seen Saphira since she’d stormed off, which was probably for the better. Ryker, Fallon, Soren—not one of them had turned up either.
It was just us five, the endless river, and the salty fucking air.
We had been walking for four days, only stopping when Lyra needed to rest. As there wasn’t a speck of natural light to be found, I relied on her sleeping patterns to measure the time.
Mortals were like little clocks, their sleeping and waking hours revolving around night and day.
Although time was relevant to us all, mortals were passionate about it, and as usual, they liked to claim it was one of them who had created the concept of it.
Take the calendar, for example. For thousands of years, people had fought over who invented it.
Some would say that it was this scholar or that great king, or oh no, it was Pharaoh Such and Such.
And while they claimed this, they would completely ignore the fact that women’s bodies ran on a thirty-day cycle—just like the calendar.
I rolled my eyes. Morons .
The ground started to shake beneath my feet, causing small stones to jump from their resting state. Something was on the move. Something big.
Folkoln and I exchanged brief glances.
A screeching roar sounded from up ahead, followed by another, and another. From one to the next, they were vastly different, which meant—
“There’s more than one,” Folkoln whispered. “What do you want to do?”
“We’re not going back,” I stated firmly, my mind fleshing out a plan.
Lyra’s fingers slid under my arm as she stepped closer to me, her attention locked on the direction of the monstrous sounds.
Her complexion had paled, her heart pumping at a thunderous rate.
I needed to find her somewhere she could hide, as well as the others, so that Folkoln and I could advance and figure out what we were up against.
Eyes searching, I looked over the wall of the mountain. There. A crevice.
The ground shuddered again. Worse than before.
“Quickly. Follow me,” I commanded, hoisting Harper further up on my back before I took off toward the fracture. Folkoln and Lyra followed behind me.
Reaching it, I peered inside the sizable crack, my immortal eyes seeing through the darkness.
About fifteen feet in, the fissure opened up to a small cavity—just enough space to lay Harper and Kaleb down.
Shadows swam from my shoulders, gently taking Harper’s body and sliding her through the fissure until it reached the small, open space, placing her there on the ground.
Umbra returning, they took Kaleb from Folkoln and did the same.
I turned to Lyra. “You’re next.”
Eyes as wide and bright as two full moons, she nodded, and then began to slide inside.
As I went to turn away, I felt a small tug on my sleeve. I glanced over my shoulder. Lyra looked up at me with pleading eyes, her message clear.
“Don’t worry, we’ll be alright,” I reassured her.
She gave a small nod before her hand slipped away, and she slid into the crack.
Folkoln and I advanced, sticking to the shadows. I cloaked us in my umbra, but considering some species could see through that, we weren’t about to take any chances, so we crouched low to the ground and ducked behind a massive boulder with a flattened top.
Muscles tense, I raised my head slowly until I could just see over the top of the rock, laying eyes on the gigantic, snarling beast—
A hydra .
It had at least a dozen heads. Its wet scales glistened like a layer of black, impenetrable armor. Dark, sinister eyes glowed with malevolence while razor-sharp teeth hissed and snapped as it slithered after its prey.
“Guess we found them,” Folkoln stated.
Ryker raced in our direction with Fallon on his back. She was awake, although by the way her scrunched face was contorted in pain, something was definitely wrong.
Both she and Ryker were wearing clothing made of large, green, leather-like leaves, secured in place by a braided rope that looked like it was made from the root of something.
Wherever they came from, there were plants.
If I knew one thing, it was that plants with leaves like that needed sunlight to survive, which meant they’d made it outside, or at least found a space that was open to it.
Hope filled my chest, but it was quickly smothered out—the hydra was gaining on them.
One head struck, just narrowly missing Ryker as it plunged its teeth into the ground, causing a spray of stone. Fallon screamed in horror.
“Keep the others safe,” I commanded Folkoln as I stood. My shadows plummeted from my hand, producing my Vischordian blade—Death Weaver.
Then, I charged.
“Von!” Ryker exclaimed, relief spreading over his face.
“Keep moving,” I growled as I passed him.
I’d never faced a hydra before, but I knew enough about them to know there weren’t many ways to kill them. The best way to do it was to cut off each head. The problem with that? The heads were immortal and able to replicate, so if I sliced one off, two more would grow.
Luckily, I had an idea. Not a fucking clue if it would work, but it was worth a shot.
My quadriceps fired up as I leapt from the ground, wings bursting from my back, snapping outward in one swift movement. With a mighty flap, I shot forward like an arrow loosed from a bow. Two dozen monstrous eyes turned on me, tracking my movement as I flew straight for them.
“That’s right, beasty, I’m what you want!” I shouted as the heads reared back, readying to strike.
The first one released, launching at me, its snapping teeth stretched wide. Twisting to my left, I dodged it with ease. I darted this way and that, moving through the heads, looking for an opportune moment to test my theory.
Finding it, I tucked my wings in as I launched toward two entangled necks, which resembled the number eight.
Passing through the top hole, fire engulfed my blade.
In a blur of onyx steel and flame, I swung it, slicing through scales, tissue, and bones.
The scent of cooked meat, like a pig roasting over a spit, permeated the damp, briny air.
The head fell onto the ground in one, loud thunk .
A cacophony of bloodcurdling roars erupted from the beast, their heads swiveling back toward me.
Wings flaring out, I flew higher, out of its reach.
Turning around, breath locked in my chest, I watched to see if another head grew from the swaying stub or if my flame had cauterized it fast enough.
When none did, I grinned. My idea had worked.
One down. Eleven to go.
Shooting back toward the hydra, I focused on my next target.
Death Weaver found purchase, and another head fell to the ground below.
And then another.
And another.
I chopped and hacked and cut, every chance I got, until I was bathed in the ichor of the hydra.
My powerful wings cut the air, blasting me forward as I flew toward a recoiled head, readying to strike. It shot toward me, but before my blade could find its mark, pain lacerated my outstretched left arm. A mouth full of razor-sharp teeth clamped down on it, piercing through muscle and sinew and—
Snap .
My humerus broke under the beast’s mighty bite. It jerked its head to the side and tore my arm off. I roared in agony.
Crunch. Crunch. Crunch.
Chewing, the beast’s mouth opened and closed, revealing my arm—or rather, the mushed-up version of it. On the hydra’s forked tongue, I spotted a bit of silver. My black phantom heart dropped instantly.
Damn it! I really liked that ring.
The other heads noticed and began to fight with the one that had taken my arm, completely forgetting about me in the process.
I landed on the ground, my lungs heaving as I looked at what was left of my shredded arm. Scraggly bits of flesh, cloth, and jagged bone were all that remained.
“Fuck,” I groaned painfully.
“Need a hand?” Folkoln taunted as he walked up beside me, the flat of his blade resting against his shoulder.
My eyes sharpened on the jackass. “You’re a prick.”
He chuckled, lowering his sword to his side. Tendrils of smoke curled around it, and within seconds, it lit with a black flame. His wings flared out, and he surged from the rocky ground. Wind blasted against me.
Clank . I tossed my sword on the ground so I could support my aching nub, watching as my brother took on the hydra. Folkoln moved with speed, skill, and precision, smoke curling around him, tracking his movement in a blur of onyx.
It didn’t take him long before he chopped off one head.
“Show off,” I panted under my breath as I plopped down on my ass, watching as he went after the next one.
He cleaved its head free, sending it spiraling, blood spraying out before it landed on the ground, rolling to a stop.
Its lifeless eyes peered at me, its mouth stretched unnaturally wide from the way it had landed.
Something sparkled in the back of its mouth, caught beside its tooth.
I squinted—
Well, I’ll be damned.
Instantly, my spirits lifted. Fingers curling around the handle of my sword, I grunted like an old man as I got up. I walked over to the head and used the tip of my blade to flick the shiny round object out of the beast’s mouth.
Ting . My skull ring landed on the stone.
A tendril of shadow swirled forward, scooping up the ring and taking it back into its storage. It wasn’t like I could wear it now anyway, all things considered.