Page 53 of What Courses Through Her Blood
The mist thickens, a desperate attempt by the Sorcerers to diminish our onslaught, but it does little to quell the ferocity of our advance. Each step I take is a calculated dance of death—parrying, thrusting, and moving with a grace born of countless battles and many years of training.
I glance back to ensure Poe is keeping up. His young face is set in a mask of concentration, his actions mirroring my own as he fends off attackers. Our rhythm is synchronized, a testament to the countless hours of training and battlewe’ve shared.
Sorcerers fall one by one as I weave through the gardens up the hillside, the castle growing larger as we near it.
The ground beneath us cracks, a spiderweb of dark energy spreading with alarming speed. I brace myself, planting my feet firmly on the earth, ready for whatever Samael’s twisted magic might conjure.
Without warning, the ground tilts, a sudden steep incline throwing many off balance. I watch as the levitating Sorcerers begin to chant in unison, their voices a haunting melody that chills the blood. Above us, the sky darkens further, clouds swirling into a vortex directly over the battlefield blocking out the moonlight.
“Samael’s manipulating the terrain,” I shout to my men, my voice barely carrying over the crescendo of rising winds and the Sorcerers’ incantations. “Stay alert. Keep your footing!”
The Sorcerers, now mere silhouettes against the darkened sky, start to hurl bolts of energy toward us from their elevated positions. Each bolt hits the ground with the force of a meteor, sending shockwaves through the already unstable ground.
I dodge a bolt, feeling the heat singe the air where it passes. The rumble beneath us grows more violent, and I realize Samael’s attacks are an appetizer—something’s coming.
“Poe, stay close!” I yell, not taking my eyes off the floating adversaries. We need to disrupt their concentration, break their formation. I hurl my enchanted dagger toward the nearest Sorcerer. It strikes true, and for a moment his chanting falters—but the dagger returns to my hand, and his levitation resumes as if nothing had happened.
The ground shifts again, more violently this time, and a new crack opens up, spewing a foul, sulfurous gas. I cough, the acrid air burning my lungs, and glance around, realizing that Samael’s spell is more than an attack; it’s a trap meant to disorient and weaken.
“We need to move!” I command, slicing through another bolt of energy with my sword. “Head for higher ground away from the cracks!”
As we maneuver, the realization hits me—we’re up against the very landscape we stand on, twisted by Samael’s dark spells. How has he gotten this powerful?
“Brace yourselves!” I shout to my comrades, barely getting the words out as the ground beneath us seals shut. Suddenly, a torrential rush of water cascades down the hillside like an avalanche, striking with the force of a boulder. I grab onto a nearby tree, anchoring myself as the deluge hits, threatening to sweep me away. Glancing around, I see several of my men aren’t as fortunate, carried off by the newly formed moat swirling violently around the castle’s base.
Enough of this madness. As the water subsides, leaving a slick, muddy mess, I drop from my makeshift perch into the mire. My boots sink into the mud with a sickening squelch, each step a struggle against the thick sludge. But Samael’s magic has to have limits. He can’t sustain this level of power indefinitely.
The Sorcerers, visibly fatigued and now grounded again, struggle to remain upright. “Attack now! Push forward. They’re weakening!” I command, rallying my troops as we advance through the muck.
My blade meets the next opponent with a satisfying crunch. The Sorcerers’ earlier poise has evaporated, their spells now desperate attempts to ward off our relentless assault.
We press on, and Poe and I finally clear the gardens, reaching the castle boundary. All entrances are heavily guarded, but they stand no chance against us. I swiftly take out the first two guards at the bottom of the stairs.
“Cover my back,” I instruct Poe as I start my ascent. Three guards charge at me simultaneously. I kick one squarelyin the chest, sending him tumbling down the stairs. His fall won’t be fatal, but it buys me time.
The other two come at me, swords drawn. I fend off one with my dagger while stabbing the other in the chest with my sword, which gets stuck and fucking goes over the side of the stairs, still impaled in the guard. “Poe, my sword!” I grunt, pointing over the side with one arm while holding off the other guard with my dagger, not looking back but hoping Poe gets the message. If only my sword were imbued with magic to return to me as well.
“You’re all going to die tonight. He can’t be defeated,” the guard I’m fighting says between gurgled breaths, blood spurting out of his mouth with his last words as I strike him in the collarbone, bone crunching as I retract my blade.
“Can’t be defeated, my ass.” I kick his body over the side and turn back as Poe runs up the first few steps, reaching out with my sword in his hand.
“I have it, King On—” His voice cuts off as a blade pierces through his chest from behind.
“No, Poe!” I scream, catching his collapsing body. The world narrows to the point of that blade as rage seethes within me.
Rolling Poe gently to the ground, I grab my sword and unleash hell on the man at the bottom of the stairs, who is laughing mockingly. I know he’s dead after the first vicious swipe of my sword, but rage fuels me, driving my blade through him again and again until his laughter is choked out by his own blood.
Even after his body goes limp, I continue pounding his face with my fists until my knuckles are raw and bleeding, the pain a dull echo compared to the agony of losing Poe.
Breathing hard, I return to Poe, his body still warm. I kneel beside him, pressing my hand against his chest, futilely wishingfor the magic that could save him. His eyes flutter open, a weak smile playing on his lips.
“Do you remember the first time we sparred off in the ring together?” I ask, my voice cracking as I clutch his hand, trying to distract him from the inevitable.
“I kicked your ass. You never saw my acid rain coming,” he murmurs, his voice fading.
“I told everyone I let you win. Truth is, you really did kick my ass,” I chuckle, gripping his hand tighter. His smile flickers with pride then dims as the light fades from his eyes, his chest falling still.
In that moment, something within me hardens—Samael will pay for this.
