Abolisher

Faolin’s heart was hammering, and not entirely due to the amount of the unchecked mejest she’d let rise, untainted by the Darkness after over a year—Ferouzeh had built walls bulwarking it, trapping it.

Prime Raocete’s head lay beside her as she went rolling atop the twigs.

The Prime of Wolves—dead. Beheaded.

And if Prince Azryle and the firebreather had been any late … Vur and Levsenn …

This was no time to contemplate what could have been, what wasn’t, she knew. Definitely not as she went beyond her limits to entrap Delaya’s gathering mejest in the claws of her mejest. Yet the thoughts lingered, the bitter taste of terror remained.

Prime Raocete’s head remained.

Vur and Levsenn still knelt lifeless, but Felset was still alive. Faolin knew the prince had missed her heart on purpose—he wouldn’t give her an easy death. Wouldn’t dream of it. She felt his mejest as it ate Felset from inside, the stench of her leaking blood polluted the area.

The only thought that kept Faolin’s limbs moving was that Ferouzeh was safe. Untouched. And she knew, even if it felt wrong, that she would lay the world to ashes to keep the healer safe.

The thought was enough to set Faolin’s teeth grinding, her punch had Delaya’s nose snapping.

Knock her unconscious, that was the plan, but the woman moved swifter than she would have liked. Every time Faolin gained on her, Delaya managed to roll and switch positions—pin Faolin beneath her.

Faolin wasn’t slow either: every time Delaya gained a touch of her power, Faolin flipped her.

And so round and round they went across the ground.

The shapeshifter was much stronger than her—she’d landed punches after punches, but Faolin had barely felt any, her fear too consuming.

More baeselk had appeared—Azryle was dealing with them with that ungodly power of his, laying them down one by one by one. The power Faolin only felt increasing by the second—as if an infection plaguing his entire mejest.

That unending mejest.

She swallowed. And the thought distracted her enough that Delaya punched her jaw hard. So hard that Faolin was surprised her head was still on her shoulders as she was knocked off of her.

But she was at her feet instantly. So was the shapeshifter. Her dark eyes went to Azryle, who met her gaze unfalteringly, even as Silencer slew two more baeselk, as if slaughtering these horrendous beasts that would no doubt be tainting Faolin’s nightmares were no more than a child’s play. A muscle memory.

With that wrath brimming in her eyes, Delaya stepped toward the ripper with each intention to butcher him as he was doing baeselk. But Faolin’s lilac fog instantly gripped the shapeshifter’s legs, and yanked. Delaya went to the ground with crushing impact.

From the corner of her eye, she caught Vendrik moving to Delaya’s back, cornering her—flames rested at his hands, burned in those amber eyes.

Utterly unaffected by the fallen Darkness upon them. Only star burning in the darkest sky.

Lilac fog had moved to coil Delaya’s neck, squeezing.

The shapeshifter made to lift, made to fight Faolin’s mejest, but the more she struggled against it, the more Faolin tightened her grip.

It wouldn’t last long though, she knew. She was already feeling Delaya’s unearthly power fiddling with her mejest, attempting to pry open a way to graze it raw. Taint it.

The walls about it were already melting.

Vendrik had moved closer in Delaya’s range. So silent—he was so damned silent that Delaya hadn’t even noticed him until Vendrik gave Faolin a nod—you can let go now—before vicious fire replaced lilac fog around Delaya’s neck.

Faolin felt it—the moment that fire touched the environs of her mejest before it vanished. Felt the hotness of it, fierce enough to lay the world to ashes.

But when it grazed Delaya’s neck, the unguarded skin, the shapeshifter screamed.

And screamed.

And screamed.

No tree rustled. All the life had already been sucked out of this forest.

Of all the forests in Lavestia.

No matter how deadly, the fire wouldn’t kill Delaya, wouldn’t reduce her to ashes—Faolin felt the woman’s power rising to protect her, felt it calling to her own Darkness. She ignored it. Vendrik could only hold her for so long.

She didn’t even know when she aimed for Ferouzeh, but she was already touching the healer’s slumped shoulders.

“Are you okay?”

Ferouzeh’s lips were drier than they should have been. Even in the gloom, Faolin could just make out the sickly paleness of her skin. The Darkness was eating at her mejest.

The healer weakly nodded, licking her parched lips. “I’m fine.” Her gaze went to her side.

To Syrene.

She was kneeling on the ground, eyes close. Comatose. And yet … her body held.

Before Faolin could so much as twitch towards her, Azryle appeared before her, crouched. He gripped Syrene’s face, but—

She stilled. So did Ferouzeh and the prince. The fire burning Delaya behind them was the only movement.

Azryle lifted his hand again—dark fog dancing around his fingers—but it went right through Syrene.

Faolin’s heart sped—knew the ripper’s did too as they both eyed the area. Scanned the people. Felset lay limp—Vendrik’s fire was doing its utmost to burn Delaya’s otherworldly form.

Faolin and Ferouzeh stilled further when Azryle looked at them.

Not at the rising frustration in his gaze, or the agony, but at … at the eyes. It was as if twin torches stared up at them. Bright smoke swirled in those unearthly eyes. They burned. Not as bright as Vendrik’s fire did, but …

Ablaze Kosas.

Faolin ignored it—tried to—and shifted her gaze to Syrene.

Or rather, to the glamour of Syrene.

For Syrene was definitely not present there.

She’d been taken.

And Maycusen was nowhere in the area.