It roared in response. I had no idea if it was remembering our last encounter, or if it was simply roaring to make a big show. Actually, I wasn’t convinced a bundle of rocks that had taken the shape of a monster even possessed the collective intelligence necessary to understand speech.
The rock monster swiped at me again. I flew aside. A piece of the tentacle broke off from the rest. It reshaped into the form of a dragon—a giant rock dragon. It opened its mouth, and a river of flames shot straight at me.
Correction: it was a giant, fire-breathing rock dragon. The beast was more agile than the tentacles. It turned and slammed into me. The impact knocked me out of the air. I hit the water and sank into the sea.
A big rock monster was waiting for me below the surface. Bits of the beast broke off the main body, reforming into many smaller, more agile monsters, and shot toward me.
I swam between the stony fish monsters, thankful that my father had subjected me to regular underwater battles. The sea was truly an overlooked training arena. Most soldiers concentrated on land battle, but the ability to fight underwater was essential for any Legion soldier. You never knew what threats you would have to face.
Come to think of it, improving my aerial battle skills would be useful too, now that I could fly. Later, I’d have to ask Damiel to include aerial attacks in his flight technique lessons. I obviously needed the training. Being knocked out of the air was something I’d definitely like to avoid in the future.
The small monsters circled around me. I blasted them with my psychic magic. Several shattered, but the bulk of the force continued to close in, their circle growing ever tighter. I slashed at them with my sword. Fast as I was underwater, I still moved more slowly than I could on land. A few of the little monsters remained intact. I used my shifting magic to morph them into boulders. Robbed of any way to propel themselves, they sank to the bottom.
Enraged, the big monster opened its mouth wide and roared. Jets of water smashed into me.
The monster took chase of me. My magic alone was not sufficient to take down something so big and powerful, so I drew on the power of the sea. I twisted and turned the waves to push the monster away from me.
My control over the sea was only partial here. The lands—and seas—of monsters lay outside the laws of nature, which meant my dominion over water and ice was less absolute than in the places not overrun by monsters. Even so, my power was sufficient to push the monster out of range and give me time to get away.
I didn’t make it far.
The second monster, the Beast of the West, was waiting. Before I could react, it slapped me hard with one of its tentacles. As I blacked out, the last thing I saw was the monster opening up the gravelly jaws of its mouth to swallow me.
8
City of Islands
I faded groggily into consciousness. Damiel was there, looking down on me. A slight tingle rippled across my body. It felt like residual magic, like he’d used a spell to coax me out of unconsciousness.
“What happened?” I asked.
Honestly, I was surprised that I hadn’t awoken inside the belly of a monster.
“After the monster knocked you into the sea, we dove in after you,” Damiel told me. “Spellstorm grabbed you, while I kept the two beasts busy.”
“How did you stop them?”
“I blew them up.”
My eyes widened. “You blew them up? Both entire beasts?”
“For now. They will eventually reassemble. But it will take awhile before they can attack anyone else.”
“I’ve never heard of anyone blowing up the whole Beast of the West and the whole Beast of the East. What spell did you use?” I asked him.
“One of yours.”
I followed his gaze to Colonel Spellstorm. His handcuffs were gone.
“I needed something with enough charge to blow up the monsters,” Damiel said.
“The cuffs.”
That’s what he’d meant by one of my spells. I’d designed the handcuffs. I’d made them work.
“They have a mini Magitech generator,” Damiel said. “Small but powerful. I overloaded it and threw it at the monsters.”
“That’s pretty ingenious.”
“I know.”
It hurt to laugh, so I subdued the urge. Damiel wouldn’t have approved of laughter anyway, not with Colonel Spellstorm here.
Damiel had removed his handcuffs to save me. Colonel Spellstorm now had full use of his magic, which meant it would be difficult to secure him if he decided to escape. That should have worried me, even though I believed his story.
But I wasn’t worried. No, my mind was tying itself up in knots over the fact that Damiel Dragonsire had given up our only way of restraining the angel.
For me. He’d done it to save me. He had chosen me over securing a prisoner.
More importantly, he’d chosen to be himself, Damiel, over being Colonel Dragonsire. There was hope for him yet, and that made me happier than I dared express.
I wanted to throw my arms around him and hug him to me. But that wouldn’t be appropriate. Not now. Not with others around. Not with another angel here. Not when the fate of the world hung in the balance.
I looked around at the ruined old buildings and fallen bridges around us. “So we made it to the City of Islands.”
“Yes,” said Colonel Spellstorm. “And the church where the demons’ agents plan to break the spell is just down the street.”
“Then let’s go.”
“You hit your head hard. Are you all right?” Damiel offered me his hand.
I took it and rose to my feet. “I’m fine.”
Colonel Spellstorm watched us closely. “Interesting.”
“Keep your commentary to yourself,” Damiel told him shortly.
But Colonel Spellstorm didn’t listen. “I know General Silverstar has instructed you on how vital it is that each and every Legion soldier does not betray any weakness, especially when that soldier is an angel,” he said to me, then turned to Damiel. “And you. Offering her your hand. What if she used your moment of kindness to stab you through the chest?”
“Be silent,” Damiel hissed.
As Colonel Spellstorm looked at us, his forehead crinkled up. “You two actually care about each other. Like each other. You even trust each other.” He shook his head slowly at Damiel. “You swore you didn’t trust a soul on this world or on any other.”
“I told you to be silent.” Damiel’s voice was powerful and hard, each word packed with magic.
Colonel Spellstorm chuckled darkly, as though he were filing away that information, the knowledge that Damiel cared about me, for future use. Angels were pragmatic like that. My father had taught me that too.
We followed the street. Ruin and decay reigned in the City of Islands. Water lines stained what remained of the buildings’ walls. At high tide, this whole place was flooded. Even now, at low tide, puddles of water lay on the streets.
In the distance, something let out an ominous creak. Probably one of the buildings. The city was one hearty sneeze shy of absolute destruction.
“This whole place, everything about it, feels like a ghost town, haunted by the spirits of the past,” I commented.
“That’s a very bizarre notion for an angel to have,” said Colonel Spellstorm.