41. Chapter 41 #2
I blinked and released my hold of Earthen magic in my other hand, finding my pacifying attempt futile. I replaced it with the twin blade of my celestial power, allowing me to thrust it deep into the gut of the man with the black sword—his blood coating my hand and arm.
Before he fell to the ground, I spun to find the attacker who lashed my sister.
A woman barely older than myself had used her Earthen Wielding to form a vine into a whip, full of thorns and thistles.
I lunged quickly and lodged both of my blades underneath her diaphragm.
She wheezed as her eyes rolled to the back of her skull.
I yanked back my arms, spraying myself with her blood in the process.
Swiftly I dove through the levels of my power and transitioned my celestial sword into a whip of shadows made from my illicitus.
With a small flick of my wrist and fingers, I wrapped my illicitus around her, tightening the cord around the soldier’s failing body and pulling her close.
It was poetic, really, using my own whip on the woman who had blatantly attacked the Queen of Gria.
My own flesh and blood. Giants’ hell will pay.
The woman screamed in agony as death wrapped its arms around hers.
Her screams turned into choking gurgles as blood dripped out of her mouth in rivulets.
“Maybe you should think twice about who you attack—but then again, may Thuvina guide you.”
“Fuck…you…” The woman choked on blood, adding more to the spray on my face and tunic.
“Have it your way.” With my shadows holding her in place, I reached out to grab her fading lifesource into my palm.
It glowed so brightly against the darkened edges in my vision.
I shivered in anticipation, waiting to consume the power.
It was there, ripe and ready to fuel me.
I wetted my lips and took a deep inhale, stretching my fingers more…
My hand was knocked to the side, the lifesource forever fading in hopes of finding Cisoi’s Door.
I released my shadows, the woman falling to the ground with a dull thud, and hissed toward the attacker to find Peiro’s hand gripped tightly over my wrist with murder in his eyes. “Don’t,” he growled over the melee. “Not their power. Don’t lose yourself here.”
“I’ve tasted soldiers from Dokvalon,” I sneered back, yanking my arm away. “How are these any different?”
“And look what happened.” There was an edge to his voice. Was it panic? Something else?
Movement came from my right. Ora’s wails pierced the sun-driven sky as I took on another attacker.
Their head was covered in cloth that matched their tunics, but their eyes were…
red? After I used my Airus to choke them out, I saw it then.
They all had the same shade of red in their eyes—but I had never seen Wielders with red eyes.
Another veiled attacker jumped in front of me.
I couldn’t tell if they were a man or woman, but they moved too quickly to be Dokvalon’s undead soldiers.
They knew how to wield a blade, and their attacks became relentless.
It was useless to call for help, as everyone was locked in a battle of their own.
I recounted the steps and movements Peiro had drilled into my brain for months, the movements feeling fluid and right.
This red-eyed attacker was a little quicker, smoother.
We clashed toe to toe and met one another in strength right before I lost my footing on the beaten dirt.
Their sword slashed across my middle, forcing me to release a scream against the pain.
Thoughts ricocheted, trying desperately to wrap around the discomfort and put it into neat, tiny boxes to deal with later.
My vision shifted darker. Rage turned bolder.
My body shook with emotion. In a matter of steps, I pivoted and wound into the inside of their next attack, thrusting my moon-blade deep into their chest cavity.
Their lifeforce drifted into my peripheral like a floating seed pod carried away in the springtime wind.
“May Graevick rise,” their gravely voice said in a borrowed breath as their eyes rolled to the back of their head.
So these were Graevick’s Followers attacking us? Lovely.
I raised my celestial sword, just about to engage another opponent when I was pushed back by an invisible force.
My body twirled through the air before I crashed onto the ground, splitting the cut skin across my stomach further.
There was an Airus Wielder among the band, but their magic felt strange.
Unnatural. As if the air had been tainted and the essence turned impure.
Even a putrid smell followed. I righted onto my feet, ready to strike again and be pushed harder, but this time I whirled in the air faster and was thrown into a fallen tree trunk.
I cried out in pain as something behind me pierced through me.
Each labored breath brought sharp, twisting agony.
I desperately needed to move but the excruciating pain overtook my entire being, fueling my hatred.
A broken limb from the stump had driven through my shoulder, rendering it useless.
My eyes followed my hand as it slowly climbed up my chest toward the wound.
Blood coated my fingers, crimson and dripping, and glistened in the sunlight.
I didn’t have time to look more as a figure approached.
“Pretty little thing,” the man behind the mask hissed.
His eyes glowed redder the more he stalked forward.
He held out his hands, holding a tangible form of Airus that was laced in something black.
“Too bad a pretty thing must die,” he said as he shot the Airus Wielding into me, embedding me further into the wood.
The hard gust pushed my shoulder in deeper, tearing more muscle and tissue.
I screamed with torment against the force. My shoulder tore more, and the gash at my stomach was pushed into and forced to tear wider. Tiny cuts peppered my skin as his Airus swirled around me. What felt like sweat I could only assume was actually tiny droplets of blood dotting my skin.
With my free hand, I tried to Wield more celestial magic, but the attacker kicked my arm, disrupting the call.
In a fluid motion, he stomped on my hand, breaking every single bone.
Another sharp gasp escaped my lips. Fury wanted to take control, to push past the physical pain and claim what was mine.
Gray. Gray. Gray. Give in and let your power give way. The inky voice pressed. Suffocation crept within my chest and back to where it nestled deep.
I turned my attention back to the attack before me and dove deep into my power.
The pathetic excuse of a being’s lifesource was right in front of me.
But now I saw the difference in their lifesources: the Graevicks’ held a glow that was more jagged in its edges and tinged with hues of red that matched their eyes.
What did this mean? Didn’t matter—I would make it mine.
“Any last words, poppet?” the man said as he held his sword at my neck. I hissed at the sting where his blade drew blood.
“May Thuvina take your soul and wither.” The words left me like venom. I raised my crushed hand, the pain white-hot and blinding as I reached that source of power I so desperately craved. That I deserved.
A metallic spew coated my face. I sat there in shock as I watched a sword, embedded in the attacker’s throat, be pulled away.
The once-brown tunic and face covering turned crimson as they released a hoarse gurgle and fell to their knees.
With a crash, the man landed on his face inches from where I sat.
I looked up to my liberator.
Peiro’s eyes were pitch black, a look of wrath etched deep on his face.
He was Cisoi incarnate. A monstrous, beautiful thing—just like the painting and sculptures of the giant that guarded Thuvina’s domain.
Peiro’s gaze was distant and feral, like a wild animal caught up in bloodlust. It didn’t help matters that he was covered from head to toe in blood.
His hair was plastered to his face from the mixture of sweat and sinew, like a victor from the giants’ hell who had torn his way out.