Chapter 44
The crowd surges toward me in a violent wave. They brandish their weapons, hunger and greed painted on their expressions. Not a single person hesitates, driven by the prospect of one hundred and fifty points in one swoop.
I’m not sure I would, either.
“Run!” Moe screams.
I seize her wrist and yank her after me just as the first blade slices through the air where my neck had been.
Metal whistles past my ear. Another strike comes from the side, and I twist away on instinct, my elbow driving into someone’s jaw hard enough to send him sprawling into the fighters behind him.
We bolt through the market.
Whatever order the market once had vanishes instantly.
Stalls overturn as bodies slam into them in pursuit.
Goods scatter across the ground—fruit, weapons, scraps of cloth—trampled beneath boots as fighters shove each other aside in their desperation to reach me first. The wraith merchants vanish in wisps of smoke, abandoning their stalls without protest.
A knife spins toward us.
I shove Moe down.
It whistles over her head and buries itself in the wall ahead.
“This is insane!” she gasps.
“Of course Aimaxion would notice something amiss with my advancement,” I say, quickly out of breath. “It knows someone of my level couldn’t possibly reach this far.”
A man lunges from my left, swinging a rusted cleaver with wild greed in his eyes.
I duck beneath it and drive my fist into his throat. He gags, stumbling backward, but another takes his place immediately, this one with a spear. I wrench the shaft aside and slam my forehead into his nose. Cartilage crunches. Blood sprays.
Moe serves as my eyes where I can’t see, directing me where to hit and when to dodge.
More people are upon us. We run faster.
The streets of the market twist into narrow paths between broken structures, but some fighters know the terrain better than we do. They appear from every direction—vaulting from rooftops, pouring from alleys, emerging from behind collapsed walls.
Too many. Far too many for just one person to handle; especially since some of them are at much higher levels than me.
“Nyk, behind—!”
I turn just in time to see a woman leap from a crumbled balcony above, daggers in both hands.
I seize the shadow beneath a shattered cart and rip it upward.
The darkness lashes around her ankle.
It grasps onto her but the shadow flickers in and out of existence, my control feeble over it.
But it is enough.
Her body jerks midair, balance lost, and she crashes shoulder-first into the stone instead of into me. She screams as the daggers skitter away.
My heart pounds at the unleashed chaos around us.
A burst of flame explodes against the wall to my right.
Heat washes over us.
Inferno Domain.
Someone stronger has joined the chase.
“Move!” I bark.
We sprint into a wider avenue—and immediately regret it.
There are more waiting.
A group of six blocks the path ahead, armed and ready, their expressions grim.
“They’re trying to cut us off!” Moe cries.
I see it now.
The others behind us are not attacking recklessly anymore. They are spreading. Flanking. Driving us forward.
Herding us.
By the Seven.
Someone is organizing this.
We veer sharply right into a narrower side passage just before the group closes in. A spear grazes my ribs as I pass, slicing through my shirt and skin. Heat blooms along my side.
Pain can wait.
The alley narrows until only two people can run abreast. Good. That limits how many can reach us at once. Bad. It also traps us if they close both ends.
Boots thunder behind us.
I risk a glance.
There’s at least fifteen of them, with more joining at every moment.
“They won’t stop,” Moe says, breathless.
“No. We just have to find a way to survive until the time is up.”
Another turn. Then another.
We leap over fallen stone, shove through broken archways, dart between collapsed ruins. My lungs burn. Sweat stings my eyes. Every step grows heavier.
A hammer slams into the wall beside my head, showering me with stone dust.
I whirl and catch the wielder’s wrist, using his own momentum to hurl him into the men behind him. Three go down in a tangle of limbs and curses.
Like starving beasts, more come toward me. Like I am already dead and they are fighting over the carcass.
We burst into a ruined square half the size of the market, and my stomach drops.
Open ground. No cover; nowhere to hide.
The hunters spill into the square behind us.
Others emerge from the streets ahead.
Left. Right.
More from the rooftops.
They encircle us with frightening efficiency.
My chest heaves as I pull Moe behind me.
Steel gleams in every direction.
A male near the front grins, blood already staining his teeth from some earlier fight.
“One hundred and fifty points,” he says. His grip tightens on his blade. “Worth dying for.”
A chorus of agreement follows as everyone charges at once.
Metal flashes from every direction, a chaotic blur of blades, spears, and wild desperation.
The first man reaches me screaming, sword raised overhead, and I step inside his swing before it can fall, driving my fist into his throat hard enough to crumple him where he stands.
He collapses clutching his neck, but another immediately fills the space he leaves behind.
Then another. And another. It’s a flurry of movement.
They come in waves, singleminded in their greed. They strike, retreat, and strike again, probing for openings while the others wait for me to make a mistake.
I shove Moe behind the shattered remains of a fountain.
“Stay behind me.”
A spear lunges for my ribs. I slap it aside, catch the shaft, and wrench the wielder off balance before smashing my elbow into his temple. He goes down hard, but a knife flashes toward my face from the side and I barely jerk back in time. The blade grazes my cheek.
Pain blooms hot and sharp.
Another cut follows across my forearm.
Then one across my thigh.
They are not trying to kill me quickly. They are dragging this out, as if they’re waiting for someone.
“Back!” someone calls from behind them.
The fighters in front of me part immediately.
A large male steps through the opening.
He is older than most here, perhaps by appearance if not actual years, his movements measured and calm where the others’ are frantic. A jagged scar cuts from brow to jaw, and faint arcs of electricity dance lazily between his fingers.
My stomach sinks.
That must be the Tempest Domain. Who knows what level—most probably advanced if he’s able to command those lesser fighters.
He doesn’t rush me. He studies me for a brief second, then flicks his wrist.
Lightning tears across the square.
I react on instinct, ripping the shadow of the fountain upward between us.
The bolt slams into the darkness. Some of it is absorbed into the darkness, but the residual crashes onto me.
Agony shoots down my arm as the force throws me backward, smoke curling from my sleeve. My entire side goes numb.
My shadow disappears.
He smirks and retreats. With a signal of his arm, the lesser fighters come crashing in, joining the action once more.
I duck beneath a swinging axe and drive my palm into its wielder’s nose, hearing cartilage crunch. Someone grabs my shoulder from behind and I twist, slamming my head backward into his face before kicking another away from Moe as he tries to circle toward her.
“Nyk!” Moe cries.
Two fighters have broken from the group and are angling toward her.
My heart lurches.
I seize the shadows at their feet and yank.
The darkness coils around one man’s ankle, throwing him hard to the ground. The second reaches Moe before I can stop him, but she snatches up a broken stone fragment and smashes it across his temple with enough force to stagger him.
Good girl.
I hijack his shadow and reach him a heartbeat later to drive my fist into his throat. This is what you get for daring to threaten her!
The Tempest warrior watches from the sidelines. Like a skilled conductor, he uses his right and left hands to direct the crowd to his liking, as if he’s staging a grand performance.
It becomes clear quickly that this isn’t just a hunt: it’s a display of authority. He is making a statement to everyone that he controls this part of Aimaxion and there are plenty ready to do his bidding.
“We need to get out of here,” Moe says urgently. “We can’t beat that many people.”
I nod.
I slam my shoulder into the nearest attacker, knocking him aside, then grab Moe’s hand and run.
A bolt of lightning blasts into the ground behind us, showering us with shattered stone.
We sprint through the ruins with the mob at our heels.
At first I think we’re escaping.
Then I notice the pattern. Every street we choose has someone waiting. Every turn forces us narrower. Every open route suddenly closes.
“They’re playing with us,” Moe says, breathless.
A burst of flame erupts ahead, cutting off one path.
We veer left. Three men appear there.
Right. A collapsed wall forces us forward.
They are boxing us in.
By the time I understand the full extent of it, it is too late.
We round one final corner and skid to a halt.
Dead end.
Footsteps echo through the passage.
The hunters flood into it slowly now, no longer frantic, no longer desperate.
Because they know exactly where we are.
The level three steps into view at the front of them, electricity crackling softly over his skin.
The crowd spreads behind him, sealing off the exit.
He smiles at our desperate expressions.
“You have some fight in you,” he says. “I don’t know what you did to trigger the system, but I will thank you for your points.”
He leans forward in a mock bow.
Moe’s grip tightens on my arm.
Blood runs warm down my side. My chest heaves. Every muscle in my body aches. My energy is so low, my healing has already slowed down.
I don’t know how much longer I can last—how many more people I can fight.