38. A Heroic Figure #2
I watch, horror tightening in my chest, as Ash suddenly stumbles, his usual effortless movements thrown off. The force that was pressing against us condenses around him, twisting in on itself. His balance is gone.
One of the soldiers lunges.
I snap back to the present, but I am too slow.
Ash barely manages to lift his arms before the strike hits, his defenses down for the first time I can remember.
And all because I hesitated. Panic and fury surge through me in equal measure. No more distractions. No more doubts. I summon my power, my vision narrowing in on the soldier who dares to lay a hand on my friend.
I lunge, power surging through my veins, crackling to life in a rush of raw force. The soldier who struck Ash barely has time to react before I slam into him with a wave of energy. He is lifted off his feet and thrown back, hitting the ground hard with a sickening crunch.
Zander moves like a phantom, his blade cutting through the air in precise, brutal arcs. Another soldier falls, blood spraying across the packed dirt, and for a moment, it feels like we are gaining control of the fight.
Then everything twists.
The warping soldier flexes his fingers, and suddenly, space itself seems to constrict around us.
I gasp as an invisible force wraps around my limbs, dragging me down. My power sputters uselessly, locked inside me. I strain, but I can’t move.
Zander is locked in place beside me, his sword frozen mid-swing, veins bulging in his arms from the effort of fighting against the unseen bonds.
Ash curses, struggling, his teeth bared in frustration. His power requires motion, and without it, he is helpless.
The soldier steps forward, his expression impassive as he tightens his grip on whatever force he is wielding. I can feel it constricting around my chest, stealing the breath from my lungs.
Panic claws at me, cold and sharp. We are losing.
I try to summon my power, try to reach for something, anything, but I am trapped, helpless as I watch the blood dripping from Zander’s arm, the way Ash’s breath hitches in pain as the force squeezes tighter.
No. No, no, no. I won’t let this happen.
I feel it then, the fear, the desperation, it coils in my chest, raw and burning, a scream building in my throat. My vision blurs, a pulse of agony searing through my skull as something inside me snaps.
And then I let go.
The scream tears from me, but it isn’t just a sound. It is power.
The air ripples, space itself fracturing like shattered glass. The force binding me collapses in an instant, replaced by a raw, concussive energy that breaks through the world around us.
The warping soldier's eyes widen before the effect hits.
They drop, all of them. One by one, the remaining soldiers crumple to their knees before hitting the ground, blood seeping from their noses, their ears, their eyes.
Lifeless.
The forest falls silent.
I stand there, my breath ragged, the taste of copper thick in my mouth. My legs feel weak, the world tilting slightly as I stare at the bodies surrounding us.
Ash and Zander are still standing, motionless as they take in the carnage.
Zander is the first to speak, his voice low, almost wary. “What the hell was that?”
I can’t answer.
I can’t breathe.
I look at my hands, at the bodies, at the blood pooling into the earth.
What have I just done?
My breath comes fast and uneven as I stare at the bodies, at the blood staining the ground, at the way Ash and Zander still haven’t moved.
I don’t know what I have done. I don’t know how I did it.
But I can still feel it, whatever it is, lingering beneath my skin like something wild and untamed, waiting to be unleashed again.
Zander is the first to break from his shock. He takes a step toward me, carefully, like he isn’t sure if I’ll shatter or strike out again. “Lyra?”
I flinch. “I—I didn’t mean to—” My voice cracks, hoarse, my throat raw from the scream that ripped through me.
“You just—” Ash lets out a slow breath, shaking his head as if he can’t quite believe what he witnessed.
He glances at the bodies again, then back at me.
“That was insane. I mean—damn, I knew you had some power, but this—” He lets out a low whistle, rubbing the back of his neck. “Remind me to never piss you off.”
Zander studies me for a long moment, his expression indecipherable. Then, finally, he sighs. “We can figure that out later.” He glances at the sky, already darkening. “Right now, we need to move. More patrols could be coming.”
Ash nods, recovering quickly, though I catch the way he still eyes me like he isn’t quite sure what to make of what just happened. “Camp’s not far. Let’s get some rest before we move on.”
I’m not sure how much rest I’ll get after this. But I nod anyway.
We move quickly, leaving the bodies behind. The scent of blood clings to me, making my stomach turn, but I force myself forward, step by step.
"Zander?" I ask, keeping my voice steady despite the tension gnawing at my insides, "Does it ever get easier? The killing, I mean."
He doesn’t immediately respond. “No,” he says after a moment, his voice flat, “but you get used to it.” His tone leaves no room for further debate, and it doesn’t make me feel any better.
I hesitate, my fingers twisting in the fabric of my shirt. “What about the ones you’ve known? Any of the soldiers you’ve had to kill?”
“Doesn’t matter,” he mutters.
“They’re just bodies. You kill, or you get killed.” He doesn’t look at me as he speaks, his voice thick with indifference.
“How do you handle it?” I ask, my voice trembling despite myself. “Knowing the faces? The people?”
Zander’s lips curl into a half-smile, but it isn’t reassuring.
“I don’t handle it,” he says, his voice colder than before.
“I do what I’m told.”
“I don’t have the luxury of ‘handling’ anything.” His gaze finally flicks to mine, sharp and unwavering. “Feelings get in the way. They’re a weakness. And weakness gets people killed.”
I feel a chill run through me, more from his tone than the night air. His words sink deep.
“You just . . . kill?” I whisper, my breath catching in my throat. “No remorse? Nothing?”
Zander’s eyes darken, his gaze turning colder, harder than steel.
“I don’t always have the luxury of remorse, either,” he says, his voice so quiet it is almost a threat. “I don’t get to choose who lives or dies. I do what’s necessary. What I’ve always done.”
I don’t know what to say. There is nothing left to say. I turn away, my mind racing, but all I can hear is the hollow sound of Zander’s voice echoing in my head, a constant reminder of the price of survival.
Zander leads us through the thick trees until we find a small clearing just off the main path. A fire will be too risky, we have blankets and enough supplies to get through the night.
As we settle in, I wrap my arms around myself, trying to shake the lingering fear coiled inside me. My power has never done that before. It has never felt so raw, so violent.
I clench my fists, shoving the thought down. There is still work to do.
We have more supply lines to hit before the real fight begins.
We settle into the camp, taking seats and preparing for the night, when Ash digs into his pack and pulls out a bottle of liquor with a triumphant grin. The weight in my chest eases, just a little.
“Well, I’d say we earned this,” Ash declares, popping the cork with a quick flick of his wrist.