The Hand moves as intended, though some pieces stray closer to understanding than I’d prefer. No matter—their fumbling in the dark only draws the Inquisitor nearer, and the other sects grow bold with borrowed courage or fervent vengeance. Let them think they dance to their own tune.

  Sel’s blood turned to ice as the cavern shook, ancient stone raining down in a deadly chorus. Kadran’s presence devolved into frantic pulses and hisses, each desperate surge trying to drag her away from that nightmarish pit. The black-plated inhuman knight who’d been trying to eviscerate her stood frozen, its sword trembling mere inches from her face, close enough that she could see her own terrified reflection in the dark steel.

  Something ancient and immense roared inside that pit—a sound that shouldn’t exist in nature, that made Sel’s bones vibrate with ancestral terror. The spell holding the battle in stasis shattered like glass, and everyone but the Defenders crashed together once more. Violet light poured from the pit, drowning the torchlight in sickening shades that hurt to look at.

  Sel danced back, not even attempting to parry the knight’s assault. Its strikes came faster than thought, each blow carrying enough force to shatter stone. Her muscles screamed in protest as she dove under a mighty swing that cratered the floor. Blood and sweat stung her eyes as cuts and bruises accumulated across her form. One misstep, one moment of hesitation, and she’d join the bodies already cooling on the stone around her.

  The Defenders held their line against a dozen Shadowkin and a slew of cultists, but their diminished ranks grew thinner with each passing moment. Before them, the assassins fought alongside Cassian and his Order—steel rang against steel as they matched the black knights blow for blow, step for deadly step.

  Veera fared better than Sel, delivering crushing blows that would have felled any mortal opponent. Yet her knight showed no sign of slowing, shrugging off hits that should have been fatal. Ryn had abandoned his crossbow for his shortsword and plated steel knuckles, twisting around his foe like a deadly shadow—but like Sel, his strikes barely scratched the knight’s armor. Only Veldar truly matched his opponent—their duel was a blur of motion and sparks that Sel could barely track.

  Terror poured from Kadran in waves, his dread a physical presence in her mind. The cavern’s tremors intensified, and the violet light grew until it threatened to blind them all.

  Across the chamber, Cassian’s squad fought with terrible precision. The Lightward finally broke through his opponent’s defense, severing first arm then head before charging to aid Veraine the Bound—the massive warrior somehow holding off both a knight and five Shadowkin.

  Ser Ephram’s duel was poetry in violence, knight and holy warrior moving faster than mortal eyes could follow. Then came a feint, a flicker of motion, and suddenly he erupted from below his opponent’s guard. The knight’s head went spinning through the air as Ephram cut through cultists and Shadowkin alike, racing to support the faltering Karros.

  The inquisitor’s strength was waning, his Bonded powers taking their toll. A Shadowkin batted aside his censer as the knight shattered his hastily-formed blood blade. Though he reformed it instantly, the construct was crude, unstable. Ser Ephram’s timely intervention saved the inquisitor’s arm from dismemberment.

  Minutes bled into eternity as monsters and men screamed and died. Steel sang against steel, claw against armor, but with each passing moment, the sounds of battle grew distant beneath the growing chorus of thuds and primal growling from the pit. Sel’s arms burned with fatigue as Kadran’s storm of emotions threatened to split her skull.

  Veera’s steel sword went spinning from her grip, the black knight’s precise strikes finding her right thigh, then left arm. She crashed to the bloodied stone, desperately fending off her enemy with that grotesque, over-muscled fleshcrafted arm. The limb’s unnatural sinew rippled beneath scaled flesh as she fought.

  Sel screamed at the thing behind her knight’s angular faceplate, instinctively drawing deep on her Bond. Her eyes lightened as theurgy flooded her system, pure starlight singing in her veins. She’d have to trust that Cassian and his Order were too occupied to notice.

  Silver mist leaked from her lips as she snarled, diving under her opponent’s strike. Hardlight crystallized along her hand and starsteel shortsword just before impact. The enhanced blade punched through the knight’s helmet with ease, sending violet-tinged ichor spraying across the stone.

  The hardlight dissolved into mist as she tore her sword free, then sprinted toward the struggling Veera. Her knight was about to drive its blade into the assassin’s gut. Sel cursed at what she was about to do, sheathing her dagger in one fluid motion.

  She launched herself in a reckless arc over Veera, contorting mid-flight to catch the knight’s neck between helm and gorget. Her momentum carried her in a tight curve as she gripped her own blade with her bare left hand. The impact against the knight’s back knocked it off-balance, nearly toppling it as she jammed the sword into the tiny gap near his neck.

  Pain lanced through her palm as the sword bit deep, the knight thrashing to dislodge her. Gritting blood-stained teeth, she began sawing back and forth. Veera stopped struggling to rise, instead retracting her bone sword to lash out with that twisted arm. She seized the knight’s leg, yanking it off its feet.

  Sel cursed as they crashed down. In that brief window, she released her sword to claw at the knight’s helmet, managing to tear it free. One arm grabbed her left wrist, stopping her from drawing her dagger.

  She screamed again, rage and desperation lending her strength as she gripped its limp black hair. The first slam against stone sent ichor splashing. The second cracked something vital. By the third, there wasn’t much left of its skull, but she didn’t stop.

  Some time later, she staggered to her feet. She’d gone overboard, it seemed. The knight’s skull was a bloody mess, the contents smeared across the floor. Sel wiped violet ichor from her face with a shaking hand, then retrieved her sword. She stumbled over to Veera, who simply laid on the bloody ground, looking exhausted.

  Sel didn’t get a chance to help her up—something made Veera prop herself up to stare in horror toward the pit. Sel turned slowly, the raging battle around her fading away, the cacophony consumed by cracking stone and cavern shaking quakes.

  The Prince rose from the pit, and reality shuddered.

  Death itself clawed its way from the pit—first came two gargantuan paws as it pulled itself up, each large enough to make The Silent Oath appear small, trailing ribbons of darkness that devoured torchlight. Then came the immense rotted head, wreathed in writhing shadows, streams of violet sludge corruption pouring from patches along its form. It looked far more demonic than the one Abyssal Sel had seen, its form a mockery of natural law. Its hollow eyes bled living darkness as it opened its jaws to roar—the sound made humans tremble and falter, a primordial note that reminded them they were prey.

  The violet light radiating from the sludge filled her vision, freezing her in place as she hovered over a still and slack-jawed Veera. The long neck almost slithered upwards, then came the tattered, folded wings and its upper body. It just kept…rising. As it maneuvered out of the pit, the stone pillars around it cracked and fractured like twigs beneath its corrupted bulk. Its normally unnatural and corrupted skin and obsidian scales bore the marks of decay, making the nightmare look half-skeletal, white bones peeking through gashes and gaps like ancient ivory.

  The knights slowly fell, as did the other Darkin forces, but most people focused on the Abyssal. Then, without warning, hell came. The Abyssal Prince—now fully out of the pit and of such size that she couldn’t even guess its length—brought down its right paw. The stone didn’t just crack—it surrendered, cratering as fractures spread in a wide circle around the impact.

  The darkness of the cavern attacked with predatory ferocity.

  Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website.

  Tendrils of shadow and countless black crystal spikes assaulted them indiscriminately. Sel watched, detached, as the darkness toyed with its prey. Cultists were torn to shreds, yanked into the void above or merged with the sea of shadows on the stone floor. Spikes erupted from all angles at random, shredding armor and impaling Defenders like they were made of paper. The remaining Shadowkin didn’t even struggle as their master effortlessly massacred them, accepting their fate as the void claimed its own.

  The black knights and Cassian’s squad didn’t pause their deadly dance, even in the chaos. The spikes and tendrils missed them or were cut back temporarily, almost casually ignored.

  As he fought alongside his entire squad, Cassian roared, “Defenders! Take what wounded you can and start the retreat!”

  There were depressingly few Defenders who could pull back, fleeing to the tunnel behind them. Even fewer wounded remained to carry off.

  Sel snapped out of her trance when Veera cursed—a glance showed her trying to pull her fleshcrafted arm free from a thick tendril. Sel twisted past one massive spike, then lunged for the tendril, trying to chop through the tough thing with her sword before more converged on them.

  “Fuck off and retreat, you light-blinded fuck!” Veera yelled, still viciously struggling to no avail. (She continued on with a string of creative insults—an odd priority in this situation.) Sel took a moment to glare at her, sharp, narrow face lined with annoyance, terror and disbelief.

  “Forgive me if I don’t listen to your dumb arse, who’s currently about to meet a fun death at the hands of, oh, just an ancient, undead Abyssal!” Sel shot back, continuing her chopping.

  She had to pause as a tendril snaked for her, and as shadows roiled around Veera she screamed, “No!”

  Several crystal spikes shot up erratically—most of them missed Sel and Veera. But not all.

  A thin spike tore into Veera’s right side in a spurt of blood, then a wide, slim one burst up from below her fleshcrafted arm—in a shower of too much crimson blood, it severed the large, twisted limb where it started at the shoulder.

  Sel stood frozen for a moment, horrified at the sheer, absurd amount of blood pouring from her shoulder. A weak hum from Kadran sent her scrambling forward. Her hands hovered hesitantly over the listless assassin. She was going into shock, losing far too much blood.

  Sel frantically waved over Ryn and Veldar. A heartbeat later, they materialized beside them, grim and streaked with blood and ichor. They helped Sel pick up the limp Veera, then they awkwardly carried her to the tunnel, barely managing to avoid the tendrils and forest of spikes.

  Sel fell back, covering their retreat as some shrieking cultists came for them. Without a thought, she left them in pools of their own blood. She was twenty feet from the tunnel, stopping to look back as a handful of Defenders rushed by.

  The rest of the black knights had fallen to either the Order or the Abyssal’s rampage—now it lumbered forward, jaws opening wide. With a roar, black-violet flames bellowed from its mouth, jetting toward the Order. Any spikes, tendrils and humans caught in its sweeping path were incinerated.

  Even as she continued her retreat, she watched the Order retreat. Before the jet of flame caught them, The Silent Oath—parts of his odd armor ripped apart, revealing silver scripture covering the skin below—stood tall, then drove his massive sword into the ground, using it as an anchor. Inquisitor Karros was quick to move behind him, placing hands on him in preparation for healing. Ser Ephram and Lightward Cassian both took cover behind the massive man, bracing against him.

  As the all-consuming black fire crashed against them, Veraine accepted the hellfire without so much as a flinch. Sel rushed into the tunnel just before death reached her, trying to push down the terror that surged through her at the sight of those cursed flames.

  It took a few minutes to reach her team, who had stopped, even though the tunnel threatened to collapse on them as the battle below raged on. The Defenders were nowhere in sight, probably gone ahead to gather the wounded who’d been left behind during the descent. Ryn crouched next to an unconscious Veera, hopelessly trying to stem the blood of her wounds with his cloak. Veldar stood to the side, arms crossed and face impassive.

  As she dropped down next to Veera, she snarled at Veldar, “One of your team is dying, and you’re just standing there?” He didn’t respond.

  Kadran! She’s going to die before we even get above ground! Sel thought in a panic. I’ve never been able to manifest starlight before, you need to help me, now!

  Kadran weakly said, I…I don’t know—

  Please! She’s an arse but I don’t want her to die here!

  Kadran sent a barely reassuring and calming pulse through their Bond. It’s natural for me now—almost like breathing. I think…yes, it doesn’t have to be much…you’re trying to cauterize the wounds, correct?

  Yes! She scowled at empty air, beating a fist against the blood slicked ground.

  Fill yourself with theurgy until you’re ready to burst, keeping it just below your skin, like you’re about to camouflage yourself, Kadran hummed.

  The energy flooded her veins as she pulled on their connection while Kadran himself pushed even more theurgy into her small being. She passed the amount needed for illusions and camouflage, then hardlight, in mere moments—it kept pouring into her, boiling her blood and searing her insides. It was agony. She screamed, torrents of silver mist bursting from her lips, but it was lost in the roaring in her ears.

  Now! Draw it to your hands, and push that burning you feel out through them gently! Kadran hissed, sounding strained.

  She put one hand on Veera’s shoulder and the other on her nasty side wound. She gasped and held back another scream as she felt the flesh of her palms bubbling and blistering. Silver light started shining just below the surface of her palms. She held the power there, trying not to let it pour out of her violently.

  The smell of cooking meat hit her nose. Veera’s flesh sizzled beneath her touch—in an agonizing minute, both of her major wounds were cauterized, then the profusely bleeding ones, though many smaller gashes decorated her bulky form. Sel slumped back, forcing the theurgy away from her hands. She started gasping for air, letting all the energy she held leak out in streams of light.

  Veldar said nothing, he simply turned and started up the tunnel again. Ryn placed a hand on Sel’s back, saying nothing about her gasping, trembling, or the tears leaking from her eyes. The tremors coming from below lessened after a few moments, and slowly, Sel and Ryn started carrying Veera as they ascended.

  Sel and Ryn half-carried, half-dragged Veera’s unconscious form through the debris-strewn streets of the Shattered Circle, the old stones beneath their feet still trembling. The pitifully few remaining Defenders staggered ahead of them, some supporting wounded comrades. Above, the twin Celestial Belts cast their merciless light across the scene, making the whole thing feel like a fever dream.

  A deep rumble shook the ground, and two of the three tenements behind them finished surrendering to gravity. Though the ruined buildings fell away from them, chunks of stone and clouds of gravel still found their marks. The deafening noise of stone crashing against stone continued for thirty seconds, filling the air with choking dust that turned the Circle into a gray haze.

  Sel looked up just as darkness erupted from the ground several streets away, a massive pool of writhing shadow that stretched wider than she could judge. The Abyssal Prince burst forth, its decaying form somehow even more horrifying in proper light. Buildings and sections of the Circle's barrier of rubble crumbled as it phased through them, rising higher on tattered wings that drank in starlight.

  “Sweet merciful Aureon,” Ryn whispered, his usual charm replaced by naked fear.

  The beast wheeled overhead, each beat of its wings sending waves of shadowy corruption cascading down. Where the droplets landed, stone bubbled and hissed. Hellfire poured from its maw as it dove, incinerating entire sections of the district. The distant screams of those caught in its fury echoed through the Lanes.

  Cassian and his Order emerged from the Darkin base, their armor severely scarred and dented. Even these legendary warriors could only watch as the Prince laid waste to the district. The Lightward’s face was drawn with exhaustion and something that looked almost like despair.

  Then Sel heard it—a whistling roar, as if something massive were crashing through the atmosphere. Five points of brilliant light descended from the cloud-choked sky, falling like stars. The Lightsworn emerged, their silver-white hardlight armor blazing. Each rode a Radiant Starborn larger than any Sel had seen, the creatures’ scales gleaming with hardlight plates as they banked through the air. While massive, the Prince still dwarfed them.

  “The Lightsworn,” Veldar intoned. “Coming to save the day when it suits them.”

  The mounted knights engaged the Abyssal Prince with lances and streams of pure starfire. Their coordinated attacks drove the beast back, beams of radiant energy cutting through corrupted flesh. The Prince roared in pain and fury, black flames meeting silver light in massive explosions above the city.

  The battle raged for several minutes, neither side gaining clear advantage. Then the Lightsworn formed up, their Starborn moving in perfect sync. Five beams of concentrated starfire struck the Prince simultaneously. The beast’s roar of agony shook windows for blocks as chunks of its massive form began to fall away.

  With a final, thunderous blast of light, the Abyssal Prince fell. Before its corpse could crush the Warrens below, two Lightsworn broke formation. Their Starborn seized the remains, carrying them away from the city proper.

  Prayers and cheers erupted from the surviving Defenders. But Sel felt no urge to celebrate. She looked down at Veera’s scarred face, then at the destruction around them. Something terrible had been set off—she could feel it in her bones.

  Veldar appeared beside them, his severe features set in grim lines. Without a word, he gestured for them to follow. As they limped away from the gathering crowd of Church forces, Sel cast one last look at the sky. The Lightsworn were already gone, leaving only falling ash and the eternal starlight above.

  They headed back toward the Guild castle in silence, leaving the prayers and celebrations behind. There would be coin waiting for them, Sel knew. She’d be a tiny step closer to buying her freedom. But somehow, that seemed to matter very little now.