A waft of stink—Kaysar twisted, slashing again. Thud. More cold. Twist, slash. Again. Then again.
And so it begins. A cold stench enveloped him as the spirits crowded him. Usually he experienced glee as he warred. A temporary reprieve from internal struggles and obsessions. Today he sought the battle’s end.
He flittered in and out, twisting and slashing as he reappeared. Frigid black blood splattered him as bodies toppled. Always he pushed forward, determined to find Chantel.
As he turned a corner, the number of goblins increased substantially, the hallway arctic. Every breath misted in front of his face. With a snarl, Kaysar attacked. Slashing—without—pause.
A vibrant green vine whooshed past him, snaring a goblin. Kaysar paused mid-battle, bathed in relief. Chantel lived! And she’d aided him, despite his abrupt abandonment.
Because she is my partner. My...friend.
Multiple vines snagged multiple goblins, popping off their heads as they embodied. As thick black blood spurted, Kaysar kicked into motion, slaughtering his way through the hallway. The emerald stalks propagated and attacked the goblins, but never turned on him.
Chantel appeared at long last, and he staggered under the weight of his relief. He kept his gaze on her but a moment, fighting, fighting, fighting, yet the sight seared itself into his memory. Hair no longer black, but pink and split into two curling ponytails. A pink-and-white dress covered in bows, lace and blood molded to her torso but flared widely at the waist. The skirt reached just below her backside. Torn white leggings led to stained combat boots.
Gut-punch. She opted not to wear the metal claws.
No longer a team?
She glared at him while wielding her vines, the embodiment of feminine pique. Silent, he worked his way to her side, killing any fiend who neared her.
When he moved to buffer Chantel from an incoming strike, she lunged to safeguard him, putting herself in the line of fire. A goblin raked its claws across her collar, and she cried out.
Fuel for his fury. Kaysar punched a hole in the offender’s throat and ripped out its spinal cord.
“Amber told me she...saw no path to victory...” Chantel admitted between panting breaths. Her vines slowed as goblin venom weakened her. She would shake it off and heal. Any moment. “Think she might be...right.”
Her injury wove back together at last, but her steps slowed. Without the elderseed, fatigue already set in.
Kaysar doubled already doubled efforts. “We won’t lose.” Will cross any line... The glamara heated his throat. “You will survive.”
A stronger stench came from his left—only a distraction. A goblin slammed into Chantel, knocking her to the floor with every intention of eating her there. Kaysar flittered and clasped the goblin by the nape—
His fingers slipped free, slickened by the pus. A vine grew over Chantel’s face, the fiend biting into it. Relief. Another goblin glommed onto Kaysar, sinking its teeth into his shoulder and flinging him across the hall. Searing pain.
He shook off both the goblin and the sting, fighting to reach his queen as other opponents piled onto her. Two by two, he tore them off and tossed them aside, minus an appendage. She clashed with the others, but the creatures were far taller and a hundred pounds heavier, pinning her down and gnawing through her vines.
Goblins latched on to her arms and snapped her wrists to prevent her from pushing them away. Her hands dangled, useless, as she bowed her back, a scream of agony tearing from her. A scream that quickly deteriorated into a whimper.
Pure. Undiluted. Rage.
Kaysar fought as never before. Sharp pains erupted as more fiends swarmed him, scratching and biting. So many. More than he’d ever fought at once. He didn’t care. He fought without ceasing.
Despite his skill and ferocity, he made no headway. I am...defeated?
A pathway opened up as every goblin reared back, flattening itself against a wall, granting Kaysar an unobstructed view of Chantel. Pinned to the floor, clutching her broken hands to her chest and struggling for freedom as a smiling goblin loomed above her, staring at Kaysar.
Denial, horror and terror converged.
With a husky accent, the goblin proclaimed, “King Micah and King Hador paid a hefty cost to ensure your deaths. But I would have done it for free.”
The others chortled and huffed in encouragement, urging him—their leader?—to end the Briar Rose at last.
“Know this,” Kaysar snarled. “Her harm assures yours.”
“No, Kaysar. Her harm assures yours.” The goblin reverted his gaze to Chantel, a long tongue unfolding from its mouth, licking over her cheek. “Fight if you want. I’ll like it.”
As she craned her head away, Kaysar saw red, the total annihilation of the Dusklands certain. He geared to flitter. Except, where were her tears? Why did she smile, exuding rage rather than fear?
“Scream if you want,” she purred, a split second before a sharp green vine exploded from the top of the goblin’s skull. “I’ll like it.”
My queen.
The remaining fiends lunged for her. Kaysar flittered over, stopping many but not all. “Chantel!”
A sword came out of nowhere, cutting through the lot of them, ending the immediate threat to his queen. Eye stood at the other end of the blade.
She’s overdue a reward.
The rest of the goblins flickered in and out of view, as if unsure what to do upon their leader’s loss. Kaysar exploded into action. Flitter. Gently tug Chantel to her feet. Her bones had begun to heal. Flitter. Kill. Kill. Kill. Every death flamed a spark of gratification. He protected his female, as instinct demanded.
Vines filled the hallway once more, a welcome sight as they cut through a cluster of fiends.
“My apologies for the delay,” Eye said with another swing of her weapon. Two bodies slumped, both missing a head. “I had to cave in a maze of tunnels and traps where Hador and Micah had positioned an army of trolls. They were seconds away from breaching a trapdoor.”
“Don’t care about that. How do I keep Chantel safe?” His primary concern. Though the level of danger had decreased substantially since the death of the leader. “Why didn’t you sense the attack?”
“You, a one-hundred-pound fluff of nothing, caved in a tunnel?” Chantel bellowed, squeezing a goblin with her vines until it popped. “How am I the only one confused by this statement?”
“Upon my orders, she keeps a ready supply of forbidden weapons, artifacts and tomes.” He decapitated an opponent with a single strike. “To be employed when necessary.”
Remaining mute, Chantel wielded her stalks, stopping two goblins from reaching him. She looked as if she had a thousand things to say, and none skewed in his favor.