Chapter 40
CHAPTER FORTY
Delphine
Our efforts to draw out the more powerful monsters under Belial’s command weren’t working. The Obscuritas Kings weren’t on the battlefield, Belial was nowhere in sight, and our people were dying. It wasn’t enough. Morax wasn’t tempting enough to draw out his brother, but someone else was.
I jogged over to Michaela. Her blonde hair was tied back, and sweat coated her brow. She had blood on her clothes as she worked over injured daemons, lumens, and even some mortals. The trained army of humans brought to us by the Obscuritas Princes were dying too quickly.
“We need to level the playing field,” I mumbled to myself, an idea beginning to form.
“Delphine!” Michaela shouted, running toward me. “I saw something. I think it will help.”
A smile played on my lips. “Your gift is strengthening. And I think you’re right.” Without another word, I called to my fellow witches.
Those with more offensive magic were on the field, but a handful that were primarily healers and shields stayed back to tend to the wounded. But what I needed now was a damn impenetrable bubble to keep everyone I cared for safe.
“I have a plan, but not everyone is going to survive it,” I began honestly, because they deserved to know what would come of this. “With the zombie army intact, we cannot draw out the real players. And if that doesn’t happen before midday, we will lose.”
“What do you need?” a young female witch with jet-black hair and stormy gray eyes asked, her face filled with determination.
“Those of you with the ability to syphon,” I continued, gazing at each of them.
“I need you to use every ounce of your magic to break the connection between Belial and his army. At least then, maybe some of them will bail and they will no longer be able to function as one. The generals will have to enter the field to restore order.”
Several witches, male and female, understood what this meant and one by one, agreed to take this task. Seven in total.
“What of us, Imperia?” An older male witch spoke, his words catching me off guard.
The term Imperia was given to the highest ranking witch of the Mal-Regia. I hadn’t been an active member of the court for over a decade. Hadn’t been back to my home, my city, or my people. Grem and Tabitha were the only souls who knew of my nerves regarding my return. Would they accept me?
The others nodded encouragingly, whispering words of fealty to me as their leader.
There were roughly thirty witches in all.
Ten of them I bid return to the camp and remain healers.
The other twenty I sent to the field as shields for our army.
These witches could create invisible armor around each creature, protecting them from other magical attacks, and hopefully give us more opportunities to fight back.
With their orders, the witches dispersed.
The syphons spread out at the edge of the battlefield and dropped to the earth, digging their hands into the soil.
The shields guarded them while they chanted.
Magic crackled around them, tunneling into the earth beneath the armies.
The witches chanted, reaching a crescendo, the strain in their voices piercing my heart.
This magic would kill them. It would suck every bit of power from their veins and their bodies, turning them to dust.
There was no doubt in my mind, Belial would feel the souls of these creatures being cast away from his source. He had to have some kind of anchor to manage all that power.
Chaos erupted across the barrens as the slaves were given their free will back.
Some began to run away, others fought with renewed vigor.
But as the last of that unholy magic left the battlefield, my fellow witches dropped to the dirt.
Seven died for us to live. And we would not waste their sacrifices.
A roar of pure rage bounded over the army, echoing all the way from the castle, and I smirked. Belial was pissed.