Abolisher [Drothiker #2]

43.

The vision she'd always seen at the horizon became reality.

The vision—the one she'd dreaded like nothing else.

Inky Darkness was spilling across the night sky—unnatural and grotesque—eating away the stars and the moon like a wave of sea.

Terror claimed Syrene and Faolin as they tore through the forest—to the direction they'd come from. The direction where everyone was. Her mother, her prime—her people.

But they weren't alone.

All around them an army of wolves, lions, jaguars, sorceresses, witches, and otsatyas knew what else, had formed—every tribe, clan, come together. They dashed past Faolin and Syrene, causing the ground to shake more violently, all armed, battle rage seemed to have thickened the air.

Growls crammed Syrene's ears, failing to overpower the bellowing of her heart.

But those earthly growls weren't the only inhuman noises.

Hers wasn't the only army present here.

Hisses and snarls of baeselk rose above all others as they flowed into Lavestia like ants. Their battle cries thundered in the darkened clouds as the airborne rose higher, higher, higher, and the terrestrial dislodged the trees.

At those cries, the air thick with rage now sizzled with sparking fear. The legion slowed slightly as they beheld their horrendous enemies.

War—they were at war.

Syrene's legs ached as she dragged them along, not letting the paralysis of terror take a hold of her even for a second. But—

The baeselk dashed for them from the skies. For the human bodies to be taken as hosts. For the endless feast sprawled across the ground for them.

Light flashed about the area—so bright that Syrene was blinded for mere moments—as majority of the shifters took their human form and drew their swords.

Cries of assault swallowed the area and Faolin and Syrene were still running. Clashes of swords and ripping of flesh—human and non-human alike—began sounding soon.

Screams—painful screams.

Death touched her environs and smiled.

Faolin and Syrene had every intention to not let their feet falter, but the beasts had something else planned. A bunch came at them at once.

Wordlessly, Syrene and Faolin instantly fell into a back-to-back position, as if they'd been fighting together since they were born. Neither of them hesitated as their daggers stabbed the baeselk and were dragged through their leather-sort flesh, slicing them open. Olive liquid spurted out and clothed their arms.

Syrene kept all her attention at her pulses, even as she drove her weapon through one's neck, and dragged it to the other end, decapitating it.

Now would be a great time to come alive, Drothiker.

But of course, when had her own beast ever heeded whatever she had to say? Now of all the times. Baeselk were Felset's people, and Drothiker was Felset's power.

Loyal as a dog.

Syrene's hands, legs, kept moving—by now, she didn't even have to think over her maneuvers, every blow was a muscle memory—but her mind wasn't here. Her mind, treacherous as it was, continued reiterating Kefaas' image, wielded it like a sharp metal cord and stabbed her heart, twisted it so cruelly that each pulse heated her blood to the point it felt like molten lava had been poured inside her instead of blood, roasting the inside of her skin.