But a depraved part of my heart lit up. The part that sang for Echnid’s head. The part that wanted Angelblood to rain upon Gallantia.
For now, this would have to do.
Barrett tossed me my sword just as a growl ripped through the air and Rebel leapt out of the trees. The wolf soared over fallen logs, jaw snapping closed around the arm of the man who had thrown the ax.
Chaos erupted. Many in the crowd fled, the children who never should have been here bursting into tears.
Dax was in the melee, too. Rebel must have carried him here. They chased down the remaining crowd, angling them toward the path the rest of his soldiers would be charging down.
And the four Engrossians who had been subduing the girl used the madness to their advantage.
Two of them jumped back, grabbing axes from a pile of tarnished weapons on the ground. The other two surrounded their sacrificial lamb as Barrett and I each faced an oncoming warrior.
I met my opponent strike for strike. My moves were honed as sharp as my anger, and the man fighting me was sloppy. Like his attention was truly distorted by the dark magic.
Perhaps it is, I thought as he swiped lazily to my side.Maybe that’s what affected their minds.
I parried, swiveling around the Engrossian and ramming my sword in his back. I shoved him to the ground. Barrett hadn’t taken out his opponent yet, but he was fighting strongly enough that I wasn’t worried about him.
Instead, I whirled toward the Blackfyre’s edge.
And I shouted when I met the wide, terrified eyes of the girl as the remaining two Engrossians pushed her into the tar. Their hymn mounted again.
Just before the girl’s pale, stricken face sank beneath the surface, she spat out the bind around her mouth, and a cracked and broken scream tore out of her.
“Help!”
But the tar crept up, staining her. Her veins shone against her skin, neck arching as splatters coated her face.
“Over my fucking spirit,” I growled and raced forward.
I took out the warrior with his back to me, his glory-seeking stare watching the poor victim sink beneath the surface. One quick swipe down his spinal column, and he crumbled.
“Tolek, don’t touch it!” Barrett roared as he felled his own opponent with a growl.
“I’m not leaving her!” I called back, wading into the tar up to my boots.
I searched for a branch, a rope, anything I could throw to the girl fighting to get back to the surface. Angels, I could almost see her limbs struggling, pushing against the flexible black liquid as if it was a solid, gooey barrier.
There was nothing around us, though. Nothing long enough except…
“Damien, I swear on your fucking feathered cock, this better end well,” I spat. And then, I flipped my sword in my hands and grabbed the blade.
It sliced into my palms, crimson pouring across my skin as the alluring dark magic reached for me. I stretched forward, grimacing as sweat poured down my face and my blood flowed.
Barrett continued to yell warnings over his fight with the final heretic.
The hilt dipped beneath the Blackfyre, the thick substance pulling at my blade.
I stretched and stretched, leaning so far forward that my abs and thighs burned to hold me back. My blood spilled into the tar, black devouring it, but I reached further, shoving more of my sword beneath the surface.
My sister’s lifeless eyes flashed before me, and I leaned forward.
Ophelia’s scream wrenched through my memory, and I gritted my teeth.
Tar swallowed the pommel, the entire grip next. It lapped at the cross-guard, and then that was gone, too. And when the shining silver steel met the dark, magic-infused liquid, an eerie blue light erupted.
“Fucking Angels!” I exclaimed, stumbling forward.
