The tent, flimsy as it was, must have protected me. Absorbed the brunt of whatever unholy weapon the Renegade had unleashed. Around me, the structure still stood. It was in tatters in places, but it was there. One wall had collapsed, but enough of it remained to shield me from the worst.
My heart pounded in my ears, loud and erratic. I forced myself upright, every joint stiff, every breath sharp. I pushed aside a torn flap of canvas and crawled to the opening, dizzy and trembling, and looked out. An icy gasp escaped me. Dragoons lay everywhere, scattered like dolls, their limbs at awkward angles, their weapons dropped beside slack hands. No one was moving. No one was rising.
My gaze swept frantically over the devastation until my eyes found him. Mallack lay face down in the dirt, one arm twisted awkwardly beneath him, blood streaked his side. Like the others, he wasn't moving.
“Ney…” The word left my lips in a whisper.
My already trembling legs felt even weaker. I clung to the tentpole as panic slammed into my chest with the force of the blast itself. The air felt too thin. The world, too loud. My eyes refused to blink as I took one stumbling step forward.
He wasn’t dead. He couldn’t be. He was such a force of nature; the very thought of him being dead was an anomaly. But he wasn't moving.
Nothing moved, except… there, by the trees. The breath that was still stuck in my throat felt heavy. With growing terror, I watched the figures emerging.
More Renegades.
I realized then that they hadn’t fled at all; they had waited. For their terrible weapon to do its job. And now they were coming back to finish their job.
I stood frozen in the mouth of the tent, heart stuttering, while the cold swept through my veins like ice water. I saw one of themapproach a fallen dragoon, watched as he raised his sword and drove it down through the defenseless male's chest; another slit a dragoon’s throat.
Oh gods. They weren’t just here to scavenge. They were here toexecute. What would they do if they found me?
My mind screamed at me to run, to hide, to survive. But my body refused. I looked again at Mallack, lying broken on the ground. I couldn’t leave him. Even though there was nothing I could do. Even if it meant my death, Iwouldn’tleave him.
The devastation the unknown weapon had caused fully registered with me. Somehow, it had frozen every living thing in its path. But why had the blast spared me? Or the Renegades?
Why was I still standing while all of them were on the ground?
The tent?
The Renegades had been hiding behind the trees, so that had to be it. Not that it mattered. Because all I knew was that death had come for us again—and I was the only one left standing. And I had no idea what to do. There was only me.
And the Renegades.
They moved like shadows reborn, stepping from the trees with blades drawn and eyes gleaming with sick purpose. One by one, they advanced through the carnage, stabbing down into the fallen warriors to make sure they stayed that way.
I pressed a shaking hand to my lips, choking back a sob. Glancing around, my eyes swept the wreckage. There were weapons on the ground. Swords. Blades. But I’d never held one. I didn’t even know how to lift something like that. The idea of wielding a weapon felt absurd—but so was the alternative.
Letting them reach him?
Letting them put a blade into Mallack while he couldn’t lift his own?
I couldn’t let that happen. Tears welled in my eyes, but I forced myself to blink them back. I took a deep breath and stumbled into motion. My legs didn’t feel like my own. Each step was leaden, shaky, more instinct than coordination. The air smelled of ash and burning leather, of copper and blood. The kind of scent that belonged to nightmares. I didn’t care.
I just needed to get to him, and if I had to crawl, I would do so.
I passed a broken spear, its haft snapped in two, and nearly tripped over a dead Renegade. His eyes were still open. I didn’t look into them. I couldn’t afford to. I kept moving.
Mallack was still there. Still on the ground. Still motionless. The Renegades were getting closer. One of them reached a fallen dragoon and leaned down, blade glinting?—
I let out a noise. Something between a sob and a scream. It caught in my throat and tore through me anyway. Suddenly, I didn’t care if they saw me. I didn’t care if I died. I took another step and saw it. Movement. At first, it was nothing but a flicker. A twitch of Mallack’s fingers.
I was sure I imagined it. But then he moved again, more than a twitch this time. His arm dragged beneath him. He groaned. Slowly, painfully, he began to push himself up. My knees buckled as relief crashed over me so violently I nearly wept. He was alive. He staggered to his feet, not fully upright at first; he was swaying, blood dripped from his side, and his chest was covered in dirt, sweat, and the raw sheen of exhaustion. But his eyes burned. Black and brilliant. Fully focused.
He looked at the Renegades like death itself had come to claim them.
And then, he moved. Swordless and without armor, he let out a roar that made the trees tremble. That made the Renegades hesitate long enough for him to tackle the first enemy. The male didn’t even have time to react. Mallack’s fist cracked into his jaw, and he dropped like a felled tree. Another came from the side. Mallack turned, fluid and brutal, and drove his elbow into the male’s throat.
Mallack’s momentum built with every heartbeat. He fought like he’d been reborn in fire. Every single one of his strikes was deadly. He picked up a sword, and with incredible precision, he began to punish the Renegades like they were beings made from straw instead of flesh and blood, sword-wielding males. His strength wasn't just physical. It poured from his heart, filled with utter fury.
