I don’t care aboutanyonewhen I seeher.
A blade pierces right through Ritter’s shoulder, with Matthias standing slightly over him, holding the weapon.
I can’t—Jane.
While his attention is focused on Ritter, she lunges at Matthias’s back. Ritter stabs the Zenith in the stomach—still pierced in his own shoulder—while Jane’s initial attack lands a dagger right above his collarbone. She yankshardas skin stretches and blood sprays out, the liquid coating his armor. His black skull mask conceals his expression, but his aura deciphers aspetrified.
Gripping his lower neck with one hand, glistening blood pulses through his fingers, while his other dagger slices right at Jane.
My body freezes, my breathing hitching, the meresuggestionof her being seriously injured ripping at my sanity.I’m not a man who does well feeling powerless.
Jane’s yelps morphs into a wince, placing a hand on her hip.
Phantom charges forward right through a carriage of goods, Phantom bursts through the wood, the war horse trained for this, and Iswearif it’s too late—most of the men that follow Matthias look on in shock to see he’s slumped on one knee and profusely bleeding, their attention honing in onJane.
They can all fuck themselves.
I grab a throwing knife from Phantom’s harness, sit up slightly, leveling my hand, and throw with as much force as I can muster, the powers of my mask channeling into the blade to send it further than any normal man is capable.
I aim right for the group, knowing it’ll pierceone—when it strikes one of the bastards in the neck, it draws all of their attention to him before arriving atme.
Basilisk steps in after dropping his long sword, grabbing Jane by the waist, and hoisting her up to get her out of the way. Their blood thirst diminishes when they realize I’m not alone, and relief rejuvenates me when I’m close enough to dismount Phantom while he still moves, hitting the street as my knees intentionally buckle so I can roll forward. Carrying the momentum without hurting or slowing myself down, I rise to my feet, drawing out two swords, cutting away at flesh and armor.
I channel my focus on slaying the ones who might run, my body moving with the practiced finesse of fighting with brute force and relying on my powers to guide me, feeding off of the intention from each opposing strike.
When my steel slices at a forearm, the thrill of battle pulses through my veins, and clearly his; I recognize this cunt as a man that’s akin to Bones, the asshole transforming into a feral animal in his assault.
But there’s no time for this, and I’m bigger than him.
When he strikes again, his sword slides against mine as I kick my heel right into his liver. He collapses to catch his breath, and in that same labored inhale I slit his throat, that very blade pivoting in my hand to rise in a counterstrike.
These men are swiftly outnumbered when at least double their amount arrives on horse.
“Cut down every last one of them!” I demand, the mask amplifying my voice. The clashing of steel reverberates in theconfined space, each strike echoing like crisp lightning in my ears.
I scan the vicinity when enough of my people enter the fray, fear spreading through the street as wet grunts mix in with the sounds of battle, many trying to flee but get struck down or hunted out. There’s never a lot crying out in pain; barbarism tends to silence someone before they realize what’s happened. Just like with Matthias, who was mostly a Zenith because of his connections, and the land he held.
Good fucking riddance.
I near the dying Zenith when a glance at Jane tells me she’s fine—six of my people surround her, including Basilisk who many are clearly too afraid to strike. Matthias continues to grip his neck, pressing hard on the wound. Disbelief clouds his dying mind, his shoulder rising and falling heavily. He can barely lift his head to peer at me, his eyes so wide the whites are visible around the entire iris. “It was a poor decision to injure Jane.”
No onewill hurt her without suffering immeasurable pain or death. Not anymore.
Not with me in her shadow.
With no forgiveness, I swing my sword with full force as Matthias’s head cleanly lobs off. Grabbing him by the hair he so prized, the scalp is still warm as I break off a pole of a nearby tent and spike the wood through the severed head with acrunch. In a pile of melons being sold, I lodge the spiked head. When I glance up, my gaze connects with a merchant who blanches, her eyes fluttering before collapsing.
Anyone looking on might think she’s squeamish, but that pulse of primal fear as I looked directly into her eyes is what did her in. I survey the rest surrounding us. “Keep your tongues tied until sundown, and you won’t be spiked like him. Until then, leave his head as a warning.”
Ritter holds his hand to his shoulder, removing it to look at the blood that wets his palm before reapplying pressure. “Reset yourselves!” I yell to my men. “And if Anya isn’t here by the time your blades are cleaned, we’re moving!”
I approach Basilisk, the man slightly older in appearance than we last met but hasn’t changed much otherwise. Any oddness to seeing him is absolved in the ability to connect with another sensor. The capacity to communicate deeply with him is unnerving when he’s been a stranger for so long, a man with deep insight to my younger, more volatile self.
None of that matters right now, though, for some reason, he’s here for us. And I trust it. I can deal with thewhylater.
He releases Jane, who winces when back on her feet, her hands at her side. As soon as she’s got her bearings, everything screams in her to rush over to her father, that wave of desperation colliding with me. I stick out an arm and grab her outer shoulder, my back to Ritter as she faces him. “Heal yourself first.”
She looks at me with the same intensity that she just looked at Matthias. I tilt my head, doubling down. “Yourself.First.”
