Without hesitation, Kael used his wings to slam their bodies together, then sidestepped, his sword smacking his foe’s shield out of the way. A single thrust ended the man, steel piercing through his eye and into the vitals behind. Kael stood over the corpse, and he gasped in air as he felt his adrenaline easing.
“I don’t care where Johan got you,” Kael said to his shield, and he shook his head as he sheathed his sword. “You’re goddamn amazing.”
Kael looked to the sky, peering through the broken ceiling of the cathedral. A guilty part of him knew he should rejoin the battle, but there was no shaking the feeling deep in his chest. He’d felt it when he rescued Bree, but he’d turned away out of their need for a hasty escape. Not this time. It had haunted his daydreams and troubled his sleep. This was his chance. One way or another, he was getting answers.
Kael opened the compartment of his gauntlet, tossed the blackened ice crystal to the floor, and then reclosed it. Adjusting the shield on his left arm, he descended the steps and entered into the hidden corridors beneath the Crystal Cathedral. As before, light elements softly glowed from insets in the ceiling. Kael saw no sign of guards. Likely all were battling Weshern’s ground troops. The silence unnerved him, making his footsteps echo that much louder in the empty hall.
A lump grew in his throat, and Kael had to fight down his growing nervousness. It made no sense, none at all. Why such fear? Why such attraction in the first place to those stupid doors? What did he think would be behind them? Why did he feel so certain it was worth going inside while his friends and his sister warred in the skies against Marius’s knights...
And then he turned the corner and saw it. The doors with the painted wings loomed at the far end of the hall. The gold runes didn’t shimmer like in his vision, and he heard no voice, but the pull in his chest grew all the stronger. It took all of his willpower to keep from running as he crossed the distance. Yet with every step, he also felt his fear growing. It was terrifying, feeling so little control over his own actions. A rather important question echoed in his head. Did he even want to know what was on the other side of those doors?
Didn’t matter. The door was before him, the cry to open it overwhelming his mind. Kael put his hands on either side, and he saw his fingers shake as they pressed against the cold gold runes. His fear made him angry, and he clenched his jaw as his weight leaned against the doors. Stop it, he told himself. You’re braver than this.
Kael stared at the doors, envisioning a hundred things that might await him on the other side, some wonderful, some terrible. He sucked in a long, deep breath, then slowly let it out.
“Here goes nothing,” he said, and he pushed open the doors and stepped inside.
CHAPTER
30
This is my purpose, thought Bree as she swirled through the air. Twin trails of fire marked her passage. This is where I belong.
Her muscles ached and exhaustion clawed at her eyes, but nothing would stop her. No attack would touch her. The skies were her home. She would defend her home. A solitary knight flew ahead of her, weaving side to side while circling above the dwindling ground forces. Lances of ice flew from his gauntlet, striking down Weshern soldiers. Bree’s blood boiled at the sight, and she pushed her wings harder, closing the gap.
The knight spotted her approach, rotated in air, and aimed backward as he flew firing blindly. Bree danced around two lances, above one, below another. The knight never had a chance for a third. She pushed her wings to their limits, curling downward while using the pull of gravity to give her even greater speed. Her right blade lashed outward as she flew past, cleaving his firing arm at the shoulder. She saw the severed limb fall past her as she climbed, blood spraying into the air as the knight fell after it, overwhelmed with pain. Her mind blanked away the horror, refusing to let any of it sink in.
Do what you must, she told herself. Death and blood were inevitable in battle.
Bree rose higher, surveying the area as she sought a new opponent. The battle had gradually spread out, all pretense of formations and group tactics long gone. The knights had begun to ignore the ground battle altogether, instead spreading out far and wide. They were trying to fight the Weshern Seraphim in smaller engagements to take advantage of their greater skill. Given how badly they were outnumbered, it was the knights’ only real chance. Bree spotted the nearest fight and increased her throttle. The longer the battle wore on, the more of her friends would die. She couldn’t rest. She couldn’t wait.
The thrum of her wings was so loud it sounded like a scream as she crashed through the nearest battle. Three Weshern Seraphim were dancing about a single knight, trying to fence him in as he expertly weaved and dodged. Bree attempted to cut him off, knowing her burning blades would immediately steal his attention. As expected, he saw her coming and banked hard upward. It was exactly as she’d hoped. The maneuver cost him speed, and Bree raced ahead as the other three Seraphim struck him down with a combination of fire and stone.
A Seraph and a knight battled one-on-one directly ahead of her. Bree recognized the black lines of Argus’s Wolf Squad on the Seraphs’ armor, which explained how the fight remained even. The two followed alongside one another, weaving in and out, testing each other for a break in concentration. Bree came up behind the knight, slowly closing in the distance. Both combatants flew just shy of their wings’ maximum in case they needed a sudden burst of speed. Bree felt no such need, and she sheathed her right blade as she neared.
A shard of ice crossed the path of the Seraph, which he dodged. He retaliated with a stone of his own, and when the knight curled to the right, Bree was there, arm extended. A great explosion of flame filled the air, and the knight flew straight through, momentarily vanishing amid the red and black. When the knight reappeared, her trajectory was wild, her body hanging limp as the wings carried her in a death loop.
The Seraph twirled once to show his thanks, then arced right, chasing a knight fleeing two other Weshern Seraphim. Bree curled back around over the Crystal Cathedral, needing a moment to gather herself. Releasing her flame left her lightheaded and out of breath, and she didn’t want to search for another fight while disoriented. Her speed eased, her path steadying. She just needed a few seconds to recover, that was all, but she never had the chance. From the shadow of the cathedral flew a hidden knight, his aim straight for her.
Oh shit...
A blast of lightning sent her rolling out of the way. The afterimage flashed in her eyes, and she twisted her body to fly higher, realizing only too late that the lightning wielder was already in chase. Another bolt hit her wings, and they sputtered, the deep thrumming sound becoming a high-pitched whine. Bree flicked the throttle, trying to force speed out of it as her body careened through the air at the mercy of her momentum.
Though it felt like an eternity, it took only a few seconds for the glow to return about her wings. She pushed the throttle while turning her body about, slowing her descent. The rapid approach of the ground ceased, her body began to climb, but then her pursuer raced past. A sword lashed out, slicing through the chord connecting Bree’s left gauntlet to the wings. Immediately they died, and she dropped straight down. Bree flailed, feeling so helpless, so vulnerable.
She landed with a hard jolt near the bottom of the cathedral steps. She heard metal twist and groan from the landing, and she screamed as the interior of one wing jammed into her back. Through tears in her eyes she saw the knight circling above her like a bird of prey. Bree rolled, her wings dragging on the stone, one hanging limp and leaning against her side. Pain shot through her back and shoulders. She could barely get to her feet. Panicking, she ripped at the clasps of her harness. The wings were just deadweight now. She had to move. She had to find cover.
The harness dropped to the ground, followed by her gauntlets. Her sword belt remained, one weapon still sheathed. The other she spotted nearby on the ground, and she stumbled over to it. Irrational relief filled her once she had it in hand. She drew the other, then turned t
o flee up the stairs, only to find the way blocked. Nickolas Flynn landed before her, sword drawn in his left hand. Blood stained the lower half of his white tunic. Electricity sparkled from the focal prism in his right palm. Hatred flooded his brown eyes.
“You never listened,” he said. “No matter how wise the advice, you just...never...listened.”
Light swelled around the focal point, and Bree dove aside. Her shoulder hit the steps hard, and she cried out as she rolled down two more, the sharp edges jabbing into her skin. A blast of lightning sundered the spot where she’d been, blackening the stone and scattering loose tiny pebbles.
“I told you to stay away from Johan,” he said. Another blast, this time faster than Bree was able to dodge. It ripped into her chest, the pain reminiscent of when she was strapped to the table at the mercy of Er’el Jaina. She flailed, muscles tightening, fists about her sword hilts clenched so hard she feared her fingers would break. The electricity flowed through her, she screamed, and then all at once it ended.
Bree gasped as she rolled onto her knees, pushing with the hilts to rise back to her feet.
“I told you to remain loyal to Center.”
A straight blast through the chest should have killed her, which meant either Nickolas was holding back, or his elemental prism was too badly drained. Clarification came from another short burst, this one a pale reflection of the first two shots. Bree hopped aside as it blasted the steps. Nickolas shook his head as he twirled his left sword while drawing another into his right hand.
“Now look at what you’ve become,” Nickolas said. “A pathetic idol for a misguided nation soon to crumble.”
Bree rose to her full height, biting down a grimace as her bruised back twitched, and she lifted her swords.
“We’re not afraid of you,” she said. “None of us are.”
Nickolas smirked.
“No matter how brave or frightened, if put your hand in fire, you burn.”
Bree dashed toward him, knowing surprise was her best hope. Nickolas had both the size and height advantage while above her on the steps. If she didn’t equalize the situation immediately, she might as well stretch out her neck and await the beheading. She swung both blades for his nearer leg, hoping it would be too low for him to easily block.
He didn’t need to. He jumped, wings flaring momentarily to lift him overhead. She rotated, blades swirling above her, but Nickolas spun before landing, weapons ready to meet her. Steel clashed with steel, and skilled as she was, Bree could not match his strength. He shoved her backward, and she struggled to keep her footing as her heels struck the steps. His swords attacked, and she weaved back and forth, parrying as she climbed two more steps.
Nickolas kept up the attack, showing no real hurry. He thrust for her chest, and she smoothly swept it aside with her left only to find his other blade already slicing in for her abdomen. Her frantic parry pushed it just shy of her skin, but her balance was now precarious, and he took advantage of it immediately. Both his swords crashed down in a powerful overhead swing that she had no hope of blocking. Bree dove aside, landing hard on her shoulder. Nickolas’s swords struck the stone steps, the loud clack sending shivers down her spine.
“What is it you hope for?” the knight lieutenant asked as he stalked closer, weapons twirling in his hands. High above, ice shattered against a boulder of stone, thin shards raining down on them like hail. “Fame, perhaps? Or did Argus promise you a position of power when his suicidal rebellion succeeded?”
He leapt toward her, his speed incredible. One moment he was walking toward her, and the next his swords were crashing down upon her, her finely honed reflexes the only thing keeping the steel from burying into her flesh. Bree screamed as she pushed against him, buying a momentary separation. A double-thrust forced him to defend, and as their weapons rattled against one another, Bree dashed up three more steps.
“I’m fighting for my home,” she said as Nickolas stalked below her like a panther from the old world. “You’d never understand.”
Nickolas swung at her ankle. Slowly, like an insult. She flicked it away as he shook his head.
“I serve the will of God and his angels,” he said. “As if your home means anything in comparison.”
He climbed a step, swung for her waist. Bree blocked, countered with a swing toward his neck. His other blade easily blocked its path, and as their weapons collided, he shoved her away like an unworthy child. Bree retreated, nearing the very top of the cathedral’s steps.
“Marius is a liar,” she said. “You follow the will of a tyrant.”
“You’re a babe ranting against the rod in her father’s hands,” Nickolas said. “Your protests mean nothing.”
Bree’s hands tightened around her hilts, and she let her anger fuel her. Enough retreating. She descended in a blur, assaulting Nickolas with all she had, her momentum giving her strength in the opening exchange. Their weapons danced. Bree pushed herself to her limits, her vision narrowed, her entire existence just her and Nickolas. The movements of his blades, she predicted, every twitch of his body and shift of his feet, she saw and reacted accordingly. Bree kept the offensive, refusing to back down. Sweat poured down her neck, and her muscles screamed as she hammered her blades again and again on Nickolas’s seemingly impenetrable defenses. Nothing she did surprised him. No feint worked, no swing fast enough to connect.
Despite all her skill and training, Bree was outmatched, and Nickolas knew it.
“Enough,” he said, and it seemed his hands moved faster than her eyes could perceive. He attacked from both sides, guiding Bree’s blades closer together, and then looped up and around, thrusting directly between them. Bree fell back, pulling her swords even tighter together to block. It was exactly what Nickolas wanted. His swords flung outward, separating her weapons and forcing her arms out of position. In came Nickolas’s swords, and despite knowing it was futile, Bree tried to block anyway, her body braced in expectation of the lethal blow.
But the killing stroke never came. Instead he struck the sword in her left hand with all his might, sending the weapon clattering down the steps. His boot struck her chest, and she stumbled out of reach, her other sword flailing in a pathetic attempt at defense. Nickolas didn’t press the attack and instead patiently closed the distance. He had no fear of her. No uncertainty in his movements.
“Phoenix,” he spat. “What a joke. Consider yourself fortunate Marius wants you alive.”
Bree closed her left hand about the sharpened edge of her sword. Only one last desperate play left to make. The idea had been squirming through her mind ever since she saw the blood of a dying fireborn harden into an elemental prism. Magic, Instructor Kime had called it. But it wasn’t magic, not quite. They stole it from the fireborn, drained it from their bodies, bent it to their will. And if her own blood was capable of restoring that power...
Nickolas swung high. Bree ducked down a step, spinning, her own blade slicing into the flesh of her palm. Nickolas’s swords passed above her, and they looped back around to block a strike that never came. Bree completed her spin, left arm lashing outward. Blood flew from her hand in a great spray, and as it filled the air, Bree made the mental connection now second nature to her, but this time the connection was not with a prism tucked carefully into her gauntlet. She had no need of a prism, no need of a gauntlet. The power of the fireborn already flowed within her veins.
Her blood ignited, exploding with flame. It splashed across Nickolas’s face and neck, and he screamed as it seared his eyes and melted into his skin. Bree gave him no chance to recover, her sword thrusting for the opening beneath his breastplate. The blade sank up to the hilt. Warm blood poured across her hands as the knight lieutenant collapsed to his knees. His scream halted as his lungs struggled to pull in breath. His swords fell from limp hands, and his body collapsed onto her, held in her arms as if he were a long-lost friend. The smell of charred flesh filled her nostrils.
“Did you ever care for us?” she asked as she pulled her
blade free. “Or was it all pretend?”
There would be no answer, not from the burning corpse crumpling at her feet halfway up the stairs of the cathedral. Bree stepped away, and she looked to the dwindling battle in the sky.
My blood is fire, she thought, exhaustion eating away at her shock and replacing it with dawning horror. My blood is fire.
The forces of Center flew in retreat, the ground forces crushed at last. Johan’s disciples rushed up the steps while Seraphim circled above like carrion birds. They’d successfully taken the cathedral, and yet Bree could not bring herself to care. Too much pain. Too much death. Too much she feared to understand.
“My blood is fire,” she whispered, and she stared at her bleeding palm. But not just fire. With every beat of her heart, she felt an awareness growing of the demon blood coursing through her veins. There was no hiding it, no pretending it meant anything else. She glared at Nickolas’s corpse, tears building in her eyes.
“What am I?” she asked. “Am I even human?”
Johan ascended the steps, bloody dagger in one hand, shimmering gauntlet in the other. She watched him as if lost in a dream.
“The cathedral is ours!” he shouted, and the gathered forces cheered.
All but Bree, who sat on the steps, closed her eyes, and begged for the day to end.
CHAPTER
31
Kael had thought himself prepared for anything. He’d stood at the edge of their world and put a hand upon the dome separating them from the fireborn. He’d survived an assassination attempt, flown through battles filled with unleashed elements, and stood his ground against a giant demon that had mocked his very existence. The lies of Center no longer blinded him. His mind was open to the truths of the past. He should have been prepared.
He was not.
“My God,” Kael whispered, mouth slack as he gazed upon the naked creature that stood before him.
Fireborn Page 36