Page 107 of Skyshade
This was something worse. Something buried that had risen.
She thought about all the graves that had been ransacked. She thought about how Lark had been able to regenerate herself.
Before she had time to even consider the possibility, the warrior pulled another blade from his belt and attempted to stab her in the throat. She ducked and struck her stolen sword through the gaps in his armor, right in the stomach. It stuck all the way through him, but he didn’t so much as falter.
Dozens of soldiers were closing in. She was surrounded. Grim’s true army was approaching now, portaled in spurts by their ruler, but it was impossible to see who was who, when they wore the same metal.
Confusion, clashing swords, chaos, as the warriors discovered what they were up against. Then, death. Soon, she could tell which were Grim’s soldiers by all the blood. By the bellows of pain, as they fought an enemy that felt none.
They were losing.
She shot into the sky, flying high above. She could wipe the army clean with a burst of her ability, especially with her skyre. But the soldiers were all interspersed, battling one another. What if she injured Grim’s army as well?
Did she care? She remembered their brutality as she had fought against them on the other side...
Yes. She did care. To have any chance against Lark, they would need Grim’s forces.
She closed her eyes, focusing on the seed of power in her chest. The world dimmed. Her panic quieted. Her abilities were a horizonless sea and her skyre was a gleaming sieve, filtering it through, shaping it into a scythe. Her marking burned as she summoned its control, trading it for a shred of her essence. She breathed in. Out.
And unleashed.
Her arms flung out, and from her fingers, silver sparks exploded, smothering the world, rippling, targeting only the bloodless soldiers. They fell into shards, breaking until they were nothing but indistinguishable pieces.
Grim’s army stopped. Looked up at her.
And they started to run, fleeing as if she was the enemy about to strike them down. She found herself smiling. That was what they expected. They hated her. She found herself wondering if she should do it. Wondering if she should give into that rage, that revenge. Especially the cowards who ran, when there was a battle right in front of them.
In the end, she let them flee. Let them fear her.
Some remained. They stood firm in their places. She nodded down to them.
Then she threw her arm out, and shadows formed a tidal wave, washing over the entire army, swallowing only the ones who didn’t bleed.
When the darkness cleared and Grim’s remaining forces found themselves whole, they advanced toward the next wave of bloodless soldiers.
Again and again she struck, clearing the way for the Nightshade warriors. Still, Lark’s soldiers were relentless, attacking from all sides; and some of Grim’s army were cut down, no match for an enemy that felt no pain. That didn’t bleed. That kept going, even while missing limbs.
She raged until all the bloodless army was vanquished. She breathed heavily, nearly spent—and that was when she heard them. Distant screams coming from the direction of the closest village.
They needed her.
As she raced through the sky, she saw mile after mile of warriors marching as one.
Thousands of them.
Bigger than Grim’s current army. Millennia worth of dead, risen.
Her throat went dry. There were too many. And they were headed toward all the villages, as if to recruit new soldiers.
One had already been infiltrated, the wall around the town turned to rubble. The bloodless warriors were clogging the streets, advancing, marching over dead bodies that were being pulled into the soil. Dead innocents.
Villagers screamed as they ran away, only going quiet as the soldiers cut down everyone in their path.
Ash. Bodies. Shapes—
She wouldn’t let these people die.
With the force of a meteor, Isla landed in the streets, right between the bloodless soldiers and the villagers in their path.
