Chapter 47 #3
Alaire stared at the mix of crimson and maroon blood staining her palms. She wiped them down her legs, but it did nothing to erase the stains. Even clean, she carried the blood of so many innocents.
She had little left to give Professor Ross, but she could prevent these monsters from desecrating his body.
Everyone she cared for kept putting their lives on the line for her.
She dragged her blades across the ground, the scrape echoing into the abyss of this hellhole. Rage flared in her chest, white-hot and consuming—not the noble acceptance of his fate but fury at being hunted, at being used, at losing the only connection to her past.
This would be her final stand.
The larger bat, perched in the far corner as though presiding over entertainment, tilted its head. Its eight eyes studied her with interest.
“ Enough ,” it rasped, voice echoing in her mind. “ Take her . But remember — she must live for the master .”
It wanted her to know that this was the endless pain and suffering it had promised. Fuck that. She’d show them what suffering looked like.
Excited shrieks rippled through the horde. Finally given permission, they unfurled their wings.
She would make them work for every drop of blood, make them remember why they should fear her lineage.
If Alaire knew anything on a cellular level, it was how to fight.
Raising her daggers, she screamed every ounce of her pain, anger, and grief, eyes locking on their leader. “Come and get me!”
“ Now !” it screeched.
They descended all at once. She didn’t meet them with graceful movements, but with sheer brutality. Each strike aimed to maim.
She tried to hold her breath, but it was impossible in battle. They reeked of filth and blood—her blood, Professor Ross’s blood. She swallowed down the urge to vomit. The stench pressed in heavy around her with no breeze to carry it away.
Numbness spread down her arms, but she used it to her advantage. No pain meant no limits. Her movements grew reckless.
Her bond with Solflara remained out of reach.
The magic Professor Ross had promised didn’t flow through her. Instead, something colder settled in her bones. Not power, but the absence of it—a void severing her from everything around her.
One arm trembled. She dug deep, summoning the will to honor at least this last promise. The hybrids seemed to delight in her suffering, savoring the struggle of their prey.
Their attacks were synchronized. Never a killing blow—only finely sharpened nails slicing shallow cuts across her skin. Tiny rivulets of blood beaded, suspended against her flesh. She paid them no mind.
Any that tried to spray spider silk at her elbows, she batted away.
A snarl tore from one of them. Raising her blades high, she struck—only for a hybrid to slit the tender skin above her knuckle.
A sharp burn flared where its claw connected, different from the numbing cold spreading everywhere else.
“ There are so many of us , and only one of you ,” the one still dripping with Professor Ross’s fresh blood rasped inside her mind. “ Eventually , you will fall like all the rest . Our venom will slow your heart and paralyze your limbs . Your blood carries something our master hungers for .”
It hovered close.
The cool kiss of steel brushed her ankle. Shifting her daggers into one hand, she adjusted her footing. Quicker than lightning, she pulled the blade from her boot and hurled it. “Savor this.”
She didn’t look away until it sank into the flesh between the hybrid’s eyes. Black blood bubbled from the wound. The creature collapsed with a resounding clatter. Vicious satisfaction coursed through her, dark and hungry for more.
At least now Professor Ross could enter Umbra’s gates knowing his life had been avenged, his murderer given the same fate.
Next was the larger bat, salivating at her pain.
Whatever restraint the others had exercised before shattered at the death of one of their own. They descended like a swarm of locusts, blotting out the faint light of the decayed nebula.
Alaire’s blades cut through flesh, wing, and bone. Again and again. She fought with the cold efficiency of someone who had already accepted her fate. Dawson’s training had given her this one last gift. To honor her fallen protector.
She shifted between offensive strikes and defensive stances, using the cavern walls to her advantage, never lingering long enough for them to overwhelm her.
Steel flashing, blood pouring, she stood defiant—fighting to keep her promise.
She carved through a leather wing, refusing to think about the last time she’d feel Dawson’s arms around her, bicker with Caius, laugh with Archer, or see Kaia’s brilliant smile. Most of all, she refused to dwell on the sourpuss phoenix who found joy in her discomfort.
The numbness spread to her torso.
A curved talon pierced her upper shoulder. Heat flared through the cold, snapping her back to raw awareness. Still fighting, she sliced coarse fur and thick membrane.
Around her, hybrids carved the same geometric symbols she’d seen hanging above into the ground.
She shoved against the air, desperate for connection—only to slam into an invisible wall. Her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth, on the cusp of something?—
A devastating blow cracked against the knob of her spine, sending her lurching forward. She caught herself on her hands, then rolled to protect her front. Another strike landed against her ribs. She groaned, fists digging into dirt.
A webbed foot, larger than the rest, pinned her right hand, then her left, kicking her blades far out of reach. She was weaponless. Magicless.
“ You will beg for death long before the end , little queen ,” the leader crooned. The fire inside her turned to ice—ice-cold fury, harder and more dangerous than mere flame. A fury that would shatter everything it touched.