TWENTY-ONE #2
He swings—a devastating punch wreathed in golden fire—and the nearest shadow warrior bursts apart on impact. The flames burn hotter. Burn pure. The creature shrieks as it disintegrates, its form unraveling into nothing.
I barely have time to process it before another wave of shadows surges toward us.
“Get back!” Thane shouts as he spins, forcing me behind him.
He flicks his hand. A blistering stream of golden fire erupts from his palm, scorching a path through the shadows. They scream as their forms shrivel and dissolve beneath the flames.
I barely register the chaos around me—the screams, the clash of magics—before I’m already moving.
Valen’s training clicks into place, muscle memory and instinct taking over. I reach out with my mind—the Air answers in an instant. A fierce gust surges across the ballroom, slamming into the shadows in a howling wave and hurling them so hard against the wall, exploding on impact.
Others gather, slithering toward the guests, hungry for more.
I need to do more. I have to do more.
I release Thane’s hand and stretch my focus deeper, down into the marble beneath my feet and toward the grand fountain at the center of the ballroom.
Earth answers first.
Stone erupts from the floor, jagged and sharp, spearing three advancing shadows. They dissolve into black mist.
Water follows.
It rises into the air, twisting like liquid silver as I shape it into razor-edged shards and launch them forward. The shards rip through the shadows, piercing them and scattering their forms into black vapor.
Then I reach for Fire.
Heat surges through me.
I snap my hand forward, and a whip of flame lashes across the ballroom.
It cracks through the air, wrapping around a shadow’s torso before tightening.
Fire races across its form, consuming it from within.
The creature erupts into a column of flame and dissolves into ash before it ever reaches the floor.
The remaining shadows recoil, hissing as the firelight chases them back.
Beside me, Thane glances over, the corner of his mouth lifting slightly even as he hurls another fireball into the chaos.
“Show-off.”
“Focus, fire boy.”
I send another gust of wind into the fray, ripping apart a fresh wave of Fellborn.
The ballroom is a battlefield now. Soldiers fight back, the clash of steel and power ringing through the air, deafening. But for every shadow that falls, another rises in its place.
Elemental magics swirls all around us, a storm without mercy.
Spears of frozen water pierce through shadowed forms, shards of stone erupt from the marble, impaling anything in their path. Whips of fire lash through the darkness, leaving trails of ember and ash, while invisible blades of air carve through Fellborn with terrifying efficiency.
Every warrior capable of channeling is fighting.
Across the chaos, I spot Kieran—a whirlwind of movement leading a group of wielders against enemies three times their size.
He doesn’t falter, his footing unwavering, his strikes devastating.
Fellborn after Fellborn disintegrates beneath his blade, his Elemental attacks slicing through the creatures as sharply as the wind he commands.
To my right, I catch sight of Sera. With her gown now cut above the knees, she moves like a river in flood, a blur of speed and flashing steel. Her twin blades catch the light before sinking into shadowed flesh. She weaves through the battlefield without hesitation. A force of nature.
But even with all of us fighting, the Fellborn keep coming.
My hands move instinctively, reaching for the Element that raised me.
Earth.
The ballroom trembles. Marble fractures beneath my feet as jagged spires of stone burst from the floor, ripping through polished tile. They splinter apart at my command, hundreds of razor-sharp fragments spiraling through the air.
They tear into the Fellborn like a hailstorm. Shadowed bodies rupture beneath the barrage, their screams echoing through the ruined ballroom as they dissolve into drifting black vapor.
Beside me, Thane fights at my side, all fire, resolve, and impossible grace. Gods, if he doesn’t make battle look like a dance. His attention stays locked on the battlefield that was once the ballroom floor.
Through all of it, the bond pounds in my chest like a bridge holding firm beneath the chaos around us.
“These things aren’t acting alone.” His sword cleaves through another Fellborn. “Find who’s leading them. Don’t engage. Signal me, and we go together.”
“Of course,” I reply, forcing my voice to remain calm despite the fear clawing at my chest.
Can I do this? Am I ready? Elemental gods, help me.
I force myself to tear my attention from Thane and scan the ballroom. My gaze races over the bedlam. The surviving guests. The guards. The Fellborn swarming from every shadow.
Who’s controlling them?
I search for someone directing the chaos. Someone untouched by the frenzy.
A flash of movement catches my eye.
Rowena.
The slitted skirts of Rowena’s gown have been tied high behind her legs, allowing her to move unhindered.
I take my dagger to my own skirts, stripping away the fabric until my lower legs are completely free.
Rowena wields twin blades wreathed in flame, their molten edges blurring through the chaos with lethal accuracy. She moves like a waltz of death. Swift. Fluid. Untouchable.
A shadow lunges at her from behind. She spins, embers trailing in her wake, and cuts it down in a single seamless strike.
Across the room, Garrick stands like an immovable wall. His massive shield is raised high, glowing with radiant Elemental light as he holds the line against a dozen shadows. They swarm him relentlessly, but he doesn’t waver, bashing them backward with sheer brutal force.
“Move back, you dark bastards!” he roars, lifting his shield just in time to block a shadow’s strike.
Beside him, Lyra fights with ruthless efficiency.
She may not channel greater Earth magics, but every strike of her blade is deadly. It flashes once—fast, brutal—slicing clean through a shadow before it can even react.
Determination is carved across her face: sharp, relentless, merciless. She drives her sword deep into one creature’s chest. It shudders. Shrieks. Crumbles to nothing.
A thought skitters across my mind in the midst of the chaos: Where did she get a sword? Where did everyone’s weapons come from?
And then I am back in the middle of the battle.
Lyra doesn’t pause.
Wrenches the blade free. Spins. Cuts another down in one savage, perfect motion.
Garrick didn’t just train her to fight. He made her a weapon.
I glance to my left and see Jarek, sending blinding bolts of light into the shadows, his body a beacon in the darkness. His power pulses, cutting through the fight as he protects the soldiers’ flanks.
And just a few feet beyond him, Rian lashes whips of water, cracking through the air with merciless force.
A sudden boom shakes the hall.
The main chandelier crashes down, sending shards of glass flying in every direction. I barely have time to react before I throw up a shield of earth, the marble rising just in time to block the deadly rain of debris. Several other wielders and channelers throw up shields of various Elements.
At the far side of the ballroom, Rowena is fighting alongside Jarek and Rian.
But it’s Jarek who draws my eye.
A master of hand-to-hand combat, Jarek moves like a force of nature.
His fists and feet are lethal, every strike precise, devastating as the runes activated on his gloves and boots.
Flames ignite along his forearms and calves, searing brightly as the inscriptions on his Cinderstrike Gauntlets and Moltenstride Greaves burn with molten light.
Heat rolls off him in waves. The air distorts around his body.
He drives a flaming fist into the nearest Fellborn. It detonates on contact, exploding into embers before it can even scream. He spins, twisting into a brutal kick. The second shadow is hurled backward, a trail of fire left in its wake.
A third comes at him—too fast, too close.
Jarek slams both fists together, his rune-marked gloves flashing blindingly bright, and releases a violent burst of fire. A shockwave of heat erupts outward, blasting the creature apart in a fiery detonation.
His boots scorch the floor as he steps forward, each move leaving molten imprints in the marble.
Another shadow lunges.
Jarek dodges, then stomps down hard, activating the seismic rune in his boots. A fiery shockwave rips through the ground, knocking enemies off balance.
One tries to claw at him from the side. A mistake. Jarek catches its twisted wrist, flames flaring violently beneath his skin, and crushes the creature’s arm before driving his fist straight through its core. The shadow screeches before bursting into ash.
“Is that all you’ve got?” he taunts, rolling his shoulders as another wave of Fellborn surges toward him.
His runes burn brighter, the flames crawling up his limbs like a living inferno. He grins. Then he dives back into the fight—a walking storm of fire and destruction, his fists and feet turning the battlefield into a blazing graveyard of shadows.