by Emma Hamm
And when it was finished, it dragged her into the deepest hollows of itself. To the shadows and the darkness where she could finally attempt to heal. Where she could rest.
A soul emerged then. A strong soul that was known only as the Warlord. He had once been a general. He had once destroyed an entire nation of people. And now he would destroy everything in his path.
For the girl that Legion loved had asked.
He looked down at the manacles that held him captive and snorted. Petty younglings. They had always thought that magic was so much more useful than general knowledge.
He angled the wrist that was not his and tilted his head. One, two, three strikes nearly broke his wrist. But the manacles were shattered under a strength that should not have been able to be exerted in Wren’s tiny body. But he was not Wren. Some of his strength was left over in his soul.
She would feel the pain when she woke up. But he did not feel pain the same way as others. He had been raised in fire and blood. He had been brought pain every day.
Standing, he walked towards the iron bars that stood in the way of their freedom. Cracking his neck, he grit his jaw.
“Any ideas?”
The smoke that made up E’s form roiled in his head. His eyes flipped backwards as another took his place controlling Wren’s battered body. Her hip cocked to the side, she clapped her hands in glee.
“Oh this will be fun! Iron.”
Wren leaned forward to breathe in deeply the smell of the metal that would hurt her body. But the soul wasn’t allergic to iron. It wasn’t allergic to much as it was a creature that had once spread disease like wildfire.
She squeezed through the bars and cracked a few ribs. When she was on the other side, the whimpering creature receded to allow the warlord to take control once more. He could handle the pain where the others could not.
He had always taken Wren’s pain.
He used her eyes to scan the room around him for a weapon. When there were none, he cracked his knuckles in preparation for a battle and left the room.
A person rounded the corner. The man had not been expecting to see anyone. It was easy to see the fear in his eyes when the Warlord grabbed his throat and tossed him aside. He didn’t stop to see if the man was incapacitated. He had heard the creature’s skull strike the stone.
Picking up speed, the Warlord ran. Wren’s body complained loudly as her ribs became dangerously close to shattering inside her body. But he could not stop now. He would not stop now. Her safety was imperative.
The next person did not have time to turn around to look at Wren’s body that was hurtling out of the tunnel. The Warlord launched himself at the woman and snapped her neck before she could scream. He did take the weapon off of this one. The gun felt weak in his hand. He had always thought that human weapons were petty.
Still, it might help. He tucked it between breasts he had never had in his real life. Looking down, he arched Wren’s brow and grabbed onto the flesh.
“Not bad.”
“You’d think you’d be used to it.” The female voice came from the shadows.
The Warlord spun Wren’s body around to stare at the woman who slowly moved forward. She was using a wicked green blade to clean the dirt from underneath her nails. He recognized that blade. Poison decorated its edges.
“Djinn.”
“Unless you aren’t sweet little bird-like Wren,” she crooned. “And you’re something else entirely.”
“You should tread lightly,” the Warlord growled. “I know your tricks.”
“Ah yes,” the woman nodded, and smoke curled out of her lips. “I sensed a bit of a kindred soul inside you.”
“Not kindred. Stronger and certainly more powerful.”
“I think I’m going to kill you,” the Djinn whispered. Her long dark hair flicked over her shoulder as she exhaled smoke from her pretty pink lips. “The master will win without you.”
The warlord said nothing. He knew that talk before a battle such as this had very little purpose. She was trying to anger him. To throw him off balance so that she might harm him.
He would not fall for this trickery.
“Stop talking, witch.” He licked his teeth and wished Wren’s body wasn’t quite so weak.
The Djinn’s feral grin flashed before she ran towards him. He thought he would be prepared, but he was not. Her legs wrapped around him and dropped him onto the floor. Her weight pinned him down.
He rolled, forcing her legs to unlock or he would dislocate them. Wren’s ribs contracted painfully as one of them cracked completely. The shard of bone would bother him during this fight. He needed to focus.
The Djinn was already on her feet. “Poor little Legion. Unable to really utilize those powers in such a weak little body.”
He snarled at her. Wren wasn’t able to stand. Her body was too weak and his vision was skewed.
“This is going to be too easy,” the Djinn said with a disappointed tone. She sighed and sprinted towards him again.
This time he was ready. He knew this trick already. Wren’s body might be weak, but he wasn’t tired at all. He dodged her at the last second and pushed hard against her right shoulder. She spun and slammed hard against the ground. The satisfying sound of bone cracking made him smile.
The Djinn spat blood onto the ground. Her pretty mouth was marred with a streak of red. Her elbows jutted towards the ceiling as she pushed herself up and glared at him through a curtain of dark hair.
“That wasn’t very nice.”
“And you’re kind of ugly.”
The words did exactly what the Warlord wanted. The Djinn snarled and made a mistake. He knew that his body was too weak to continue fighting like this. She launched herself at Wren, and he did the same.
That wicked green blade was buried in Wren’s gut. The Warlord snarled as he felt his flesh separate. But he wrapped Wren’s arms around her throat and watched as the Djinn’s eyes widened.
“Mistake,” he growled in a thousand voices as he cracked her neck to the side. Her soul screamed in his head, but he absorbed her. He absorbed the Djinn’s power as well and breathed in the smoke that would only strengthen him now. He knew how to use it.
Breathing hard, he let the body hit the stone floor. The blade was a white hot fire in his gut. But it was bearable. All of it was bearable just to get Wren out of this place.
Limping, he made his way to the mouth of the tunnel. There was light there. Surely that was freedom.
He was not so lucky.
The darkened shadow of Malachi stood in the mouth of the tunnel staring down at him. He was frowning, and the Warlord was not impressed. This man did not frighten him. But it did frighten Wren. For that, he should die.
“Wren. You should be back in your room.”
The Warlord bared Wren’s teeth in a bloody grin. “Wren’s not home right now. Why don’t you leave a message?”
“Legion,” Malachi tsked. “You are only hurting her. Let me take her back.”
“Let her go.”
He stumbled. Wren’s leg didn’t seem to work anymore. It buckled beneath him, and he dropped to the floor onto one knee. The Warlord blinked in confusion. The poison running through the blade wasn’t enough to stop him.
Not him.
Malachi looked at him with false pity in his eyes. “Come now. The fighting is over.”
“You were worried about something,” the Warlord growled through Wren’s mouth. “What. What were you worried about.”
“Your boyfriend showed up.” Malachi chuckled when Wren glared at him all the more. “Or perhaps not your boyfriend. But the girl whose body you just destroyed.”
Malachi knelt in front of him and reached forward to hold Wren’s chin. He forced the creature inside her to stare at him. Thousands of angry souls stared back.
“I’m going to take care of the one she loves. I’m going to pull him apart layer by layer and then I’m going to kill him. You stay right here.”
When his hand was r
emoved, the Warlord couldn’t keep Wren’s body upright. She listed to the side and fell onto the ground at Malachi’s feet.
He tsked. “Really, Legion. I expected more.”
Just as he walked away, the Warlord made one last ditch effort. He had failed her. He had failed all of them if he did not do this last attempt at saving his girl. The one he loved. All of the creatures that had given him a second chance and immortality.
What use was immortality if one didn’t do good?
Wren’s hand stretched out and clasped onto Malachi’s ankle. He paused to look down at her and the creature inside her.
“What are you doing? Do you really think you can fight me now? You’re a puddle on the ground.”
“Go to hell.”
The Warlord screamed one last defiant cry that echoed through the souls that made up E. He launched himself through the connection that her hand had made and poured his soul into Malachi’s Void.
Understanding what he was doing, other souls quickly followed.
Three, seven, then more pulsed through the connection. Each of them died. Shattering against the unbreakable darkness inside Malachi. The shuddering mass inside of Wren mourned every death but poured more and more into Malachi.
He started to shake. The souls overwhelmed him. The power was too great for him to contain. The human body he possessed was not capable of containing that much.
He dropped to a knee and then fell forward onto his face. Seizures began to contort his body as he convulsed on the ground next to Wren. E had completed its job. It had sacrificed much to save the girl.
Another soul surfaced. An old soul. A kind soul.
“Time to let a woman shoulder the pain.”
She had been a healer in her days. She had birthed many children herself. She had experienced pain untold. But the pain that overwhelmed Wren’s body made even her flinch.
Stumbling, she got her feet and walked to the door at the end of the tunnel. There was no time for thank yous. No time to mourn that which Legion had lost.
She pushed the door open and launched herself and Wren’s body out into the waiting storm.
CHAPTER 12
T he sound of flesh striking flesh marked the end of the fight as Jasper’s meaty fist struck the man’s face. As though they were watching a slow motion fight scene, the man spun slowly and sunk to his knees on the ground.
They were all breathing hard. They had lost count of how many of Malachi’s men they had plowed through, but he suspected the number was higher than twenty at this point. Each soldier had fallen quickly and, hopefully, silently.
“Lyra?” he called.
“Yeah yeah.” She walked back into the room they were in and wiped her blades off on a scrap of fabric she always kept with her. The white color was now stained dark red. “Look, this isn’t getting us anywhere.”
“What do you mean?” He arched a brow and extended his arms. “We’re a lot further than we were.”
“Sure, but one room at a time isn’t going to save her. You know they’re keeping their best guarding her. Where ever she is.”
“So you think these are the expendables?”
“Absolutely,” Jasper interjected. He kicked one of the men that had started groaning. “These aren’t fighters. They’re just distractions.”
Burke’s heart stopped in his chest. “You think they’re moving her?”
All three of them paused to stare at each other. Reality was that they didn’t know what Malachi’s plans were with Wren. She could be gone already, and they wouldn’t know.
Lyra clacked her teeth hard. “I’ll run the bug again.”
“You can do that here?”
“Yup.”
The sound of boots striking stone floors echoed from the hallway deeper into Malachi’s makeshift establishment.
“Really?” Jasper groaned. “Do these guys ever stop?”
“Apparently not.” Lyra grinned brightly and pulled an orb out of her pocket. She kissed the glass that held a swirling red vortex within it. “I’ll buy us some time.”
She opened the door and jutted a hip out to the side. “Hello, boys!” She shouted down the hall as she tossed the glass ball into the hallway. Immediately, she slammed the door and held it shut as an inferno of magical fire exploded. Puffs of flames extended past the outside of the door but barely touched the Siren.
“Boy, don’t let the girl do all the work. Hold the damned door, would ya?”
Jasper casually walked over to take her place. He could probably hold the door against three men on the other side. Once the others got to their feet, they would have a bigger problem.
“Just hurry up,” Jasper growled. The door wasn’t moving yet behind him. Apparently the magical orb Lyra had tossed did more damage than Burke had imagined.
She was pulling at another small bag that was tied onto her waist. Quickly, she pulled a table up that had been tossed aside during the fight. It listed to the side and nearly fell back to the ground. Frowning, she stooped to stare at the missing leg.
“Burke, hold this please.”
“Shouldn’t I be waiting to back up Jasper when the men start pounding on that door?”
“I don’t know. That’s your choice. Find the girl or fight.”
“Damnit,” he growled. But he walked over to hold the table upright for her. “You know, you’re really getting bossy lately.”
“I’m bossy all the time; you just don’t deal with me often,” she muttered as she emptied the contents of the bag onto the table.
“She’s right,” Jasper grunted.
On the table were a random hodge podge of items. Chicken bones, a few runes, a bright red feather that had seen better days, and another one of Lyra’s glass orbs that was filled with clear liquid. Lyra grabbed the feather and ran it through her fingers to smooth it out.
“I deal with you often,” Burke muttered.
“Only on missions.” She started to create a pattern with the bones. Small, large, small.
“More than that!”
“You leave after the mission and go off on your own. You’ve always been a loner.”
He didn’t think of himself like that. But Burke supposed they were right. He had never really attempted to get to know the people that he worked with. He just never thought he’d find that out while they were all battling death back.
“What’s that?” he asked when she picked up the orb.
Lyra arched a brow at him. “Liquid acid.”
“Really?”
A snort echoed through the room from the man holding onto the door. He braced his legs as the door started to shake behind him.
“No. It’s water.”
Burke rolled his eyes. “Really? Jokes right now?”
“Jokes always.” She cracked the orb on the table and sprinkled the droplets onto the runes and bones. The feather was then placed on top of all of it as she muttered in a language Burke did not understand. The runes started to bubble as the bones rattled on the table.
“Done, Lyra?” Jasper growled from the door.
“Almost!”
“Well hurry it up!”
“You can’t rush perfection.” She leaned down and breathed on the runes. Instantly, water started to pour from seemingly nowhere. It rushed into the room so quickly that within seconds Jasper was calf deep in it.
“Done now?” he shouted.
“Yes, fine, let go!”
He instantly bolted away from the door. The water continued to pour. On the other side of the table, there appeared to be some kind of shield. It was only filling up half of the room. The other half remained untouched by the wall of water that was quickly growing.
“That should do it.”
“How’s that helping us find Wren?” Burke growled.
“It’s not. She left the building.”
“Why did we do this then?” Burke shouted as he turned towards the door.
“Cause we needed a distraction! What are you? An amateur? She’s heading
north.”
Jasper and Lyra ran ahead of him. They had managed to get through much of this underground bunker, and now they were backtracking. Burke looked once more at the wall of water that Malachi’s men were attempting to fight through. To her credit, they were having a really hard time battling up a waterfall.
“I hate working with you two,” he muttered as he ran to catch up with them again.
They ran past rooms filled with the bodies of the injured men they had beaten. They ran past rooms filled with magical objects they didn’t dare touch. They ran until they were breathing hard and sweat dripped down their backs.
Finally, they could see the door that would lead them back out into the snow. A burst of energy propelled Burke in front of the other two, and he struck his shoulder hard against the door. It flung open, and he ran out into the knee deep snow.
Only then did they pause. Their chests rose and fell as they looked around and only saw blankets of white that covered the land.
“Lyra?” Burke asked.
“I’m working on it!” Once more she looked at the contraption that covered her wrist. Her hand rose to point directly ahead of them. “Somewhere in that general direction. I think.”
“You think?”
“Give me a break! It’s cold, I’m tired, and the damned girl is running. That way!”
He sprinted in that direction. The snow made it hard to run. All of them were half as quick as they should have been. But their goal was in sight, she was close to him.
He could feel it.
The snow parted ahead of him. A dark shape stumbled in no general direction. She wasn’t moving very fast, but at least she was upright.
His throat convulsed. “Wren!”
The wind took his words and dashed them into the storm behind him. She didn’t stop moving, but he was moving faster. His feet plunged through the snow, and his body bowed forward as he rushed towards her.
Spots of bright red decorated the snow.
“She’s hurt!” he shouted, hoping that the others would hear his cry.
Her arm was pressed against her side, and every step seemed to be forced. The closer he got, the more he could see that she was seriously injured. Her entire right side was bright red against the white background.