Blood

Chapter Fifty Three: Expecting the Unexpected II

Eliza's sharp gaze locked onto the masked man as he fell silent mid-sentence, his body eerily still. His head tilted slightly, as though he were listening to something-or someone-Eliza couldn't hear. The only sound was the faint whisper of wind slipping through cracks in the building. A chill ran through her, though her expression remained unshaken.

Finally, the masked man opened his eyes, his tone regretful but laced with malice.

"I'm sorry, Eliza, but I can't give you your guardian."

Her eyes narrowed. "Why? We had a deal."

"You didn't keep your end of the bargain."

"What do you mean?" she demanded.

The masked man's lips twisted into a smug smile beneath the mask. "You didn't come alone. My men have captured your escort, and they'll do the same to you."

Before she could react, masked figures emerged from the shadows surrounding the building, weapons glinting in the dim light. They stepped forward, their movements predatory and deliberate.

Eliza sighed heavily and slid her dagger free, the blade whispering against the sheath. "I really don't have time for this."

The first man lunged, a jagged blade arcing toward her head. Eliza sidestepped smoothly, grabbing his wrist mid-swing and twisting sharply. The man screamed as his weapon clattered to the ground, and Eliza slammed an elbow into his jaw. He crumpled instantly.

Another rushed her from behind. Without turning, she dropped into a low spin, sweeping his legs out from under him. As he hit the ground, she rose fluidly and drove her heel into his chest, knocking the air from his lungs.

Two more closed in simultaneously, one swinging a mace while the other thrust a short spear. Eliza pivoted left, narrowly dodging the mace's crushing blow, the wind from it brushing her cheek. She caught the spear mid-thrust, wrenching it from the man's grip and driving the blunt end into his stomach. He doubled over, groaning. The mace-wielder charged again, but Eliza ducked under the wild swing, stepped into his guard, and delivered a vicious upward strike with the spear's shaft. Blood splattered as he staggered backward, his nose shattered.

For every man she downed, two more seemed to take their place. They swarmed her with practiced precision, their weapons coming from all directions. Eliza's breathing quickened as she parried a sword, ducked under a knife, and deflected a flying fist with her forearm. Her movements were a seamless flow-each strike, dodge, and counter deliberate, efficient. But their sheer numbers began to overwhelm her.

She delivered a spinning kick to one opponent's temple, sending him sprawling, but another immediately closed the gap, slashing a blade that grazed her arm. Eliza hissed in pain. Her movements began to slow as fatigue gnawed at her limbs.

"This is getting ridiculous," she muttered.

Realizing the odds were against her, she pivoted and broke into a sprint, darting through the gaps in the attackers. Blades swung and missed as she weaved through the chaos, her boots pounding against the cracked ground. One man dove for her, and she vaulted cleanly over his back, rolling to her feet before bursting into a full sprint down a narrow alley.

The masked men pursued her, their shouts echoing off the walls. Eliza's heart pounded as she ducked through shadowed passages, finally skidding to a halt in a crumbling alcove hidden beneath debris. She pressed her back against the wall, chest heaving as she caught her breath.

Closing her eyes, she whispered an incantation. The telepathy spell hummed to life.

"Ethan, are you good?"