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In the back of my mind, a strange presence looms. One with a singular purpose that makes absolutely no sense.

We’re coming.

Chapter Fifty-Nine

With each swing of my fire blade, my arms scream. My muscles burn hotter than the flames I struggle to conjure. Sweat beads on my brow and drips down my face. Between my shoulders and down my back. Blood and ichor drench the arena floor, the remains of twisted divine creatures scattered like broken dolls across the once-pristine dirt.

Beside me, Sterling’s ice shatters against the hide of a multi-limbed horror, the fragments melting in the light of a sun that’s way too bright for such a dark moment.

I drag myself forward, each step an act of pure will on legs as heavy and wobbly as filled waterskins. There is no fucking way I’ll give up.

The fire still burns within me.

The divine creature in front of us, another rugeru that’s spewing green flames, lunges with uncanny speed.

My fire blade flickers dangerously as I bring it up to block the attack, the flames barely maintaining their form.

I don’t need the flame.

Sharp steel is enough.

The impact reverberates through my exhausted arms and rattles me all the way to my bones. I push back against the creature’s incredible strength, my boots sliding through the gore-slicked dirt.

A sudden tickle at the back of my mind almost distracts me. Almost.

Something is coming.

No. Someone.

I don’t have time to dwell on it. There are already too many beasts trying to kill me.

“Lark!” Though he’s only yards away, Bastian’s voice is distant. His own fire, usually so vibrant, sputters in erratic bursts as he defends Leesa, who has relied solely on her weapons in this battle.

Her face is ghost white, loose tendrils of dark golden blond hair plastered to her forehead with sweat. The quiver on her back is empty. Even this far away, her heaving gasps reach me.

Impotent rage wells up in me. If only I had more power. Wasn’t nearing burnout. If only⁠—

Sterling passes the lead of the merge to me.

I blast the rugeru away with an arctic wind that leaves it in a stupor. Then I turn to protect my siblings.

With a desperate surge, I slice through the vini’s limb, knocking it away from Leesa, who can now barely lift her fire magic-imbued sword.

The creepy jackhole bellows out a sound no earthly being could create.

The high frequency vibrates through my teeth and causes my vision to swim. Putrid black gore sprays across my face. The substance burns like acid where it touches my skin. I stagger back, wiping the caustic goo away with my sleeve.

Across the arena, Agnar stands with his back to the wall, his makeshift barricade of earth barely keeping a wave of chitinous horrors at bay. “Get back! I can’t hold them much longer.”

A dozen civilians who’d bravely, or foolishly, left the relative safety of the stands to join our fight when the gods disappeared cower behind him. Their weapons—fists, ceremonial swords taken from fallen guards, even a nobleman’s cane—are pitiful against the nightmares we face.

They weren’t supposed to get involved.

Instead of two sides battling each other, the fight has transformed into an all-out melee. No clear lines of engagement exist, which heightens the difficulty of keeping civilians safe.

But it’s their decision.

I’m in no position to tell people they can’t join this battle. Not when their own families are being threatened, same as mine.