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I planted my foot on the ground to halt my advance, spun on my heel, and swiped at him with the sword once more. The Tyrant leaned back slightly, the tip of my sword sailing harmlessly just above his nose. The momentum pulled me forward with the swing, and by the time I recovered, the Tyrant was on me.
He grabbed hold of my sword arm and pulled me toward his body so that we were facing each other. I couldn’t move my sword arm, and I couldn’t escape his grasp. He tilted my chin up to look at him.
“You swing that blade too harshly,” he said. “Such a delicate, weightless weapon requires swift, controlled movements. It is a sword, not a hammer.”
“I’ll swing my blade how I like,” I said.
“You would do well to listen to me, Lightbringer. Like you used to.”
“I would, but you’re clearly enjoying my rebellious side,” I whispered, aware of the stirring in his fortunately clothed lower half.
“Somewhat. Now, again.” He shoved me away, releasing me from his grip and making me stagger a few paces back.
“Is this a private party?” asked Azrael, “Or are we all invited?”
The Tyrant looked over at Azrael, then scanned the angels standing around us. “Very well,” he said, “We shall train in squads,” he called out, raising his voice. He was about to start dividing the angels into groups, when Azrael stopped him.
“I believe I’m still in charge, here?”
The Tyrant frowned, his jaw clenched.
Azrael’s cheeky grin was impossible to miss.
Iwas enjoying this now.
“Very well,” he said. “Isuggestwe form into squads and train in groups.”
“I agree,” Azrael nodded and then looked toward me. “Sarakiel, if you can teach us how to summon the light sword, we can help train the rest of them.”
“Of course. But if we can summon a sword, we may also be able to summon shields. I want to try that as well.”
“Do we have the Light for that?” asked the Tyrant.
“Medrion arrives in less than two days, and if these weapons can give us an edge, I want to try to use them. As long as we use our Light carefully while we train, we should all be at full power by the time he gets here.”
“And he won’t be,” said Azrael, “Which gives us another advantage.”
“A slim one,” the Tyrant put in.
“Then, let’s get to it,” I said.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
ABADDON
The upcoming battle weighed on me. Helena’s people were not ready, and likely would not be ready. My people were still injured, and while some had recovered enough to join us in the confrontation against Medrion, the majority would not.
If our defenses fell, those angels would be killed in the recovery beds where they lay. Dealing with these thoughts, these worries, was not easy. When I was the leader of the Ebon Legion, we had a fortress. A Bastion of our own. We were feared, respected, known for our strength.
But here we were, routed and scattered, our backs broken.
I should have been there.
I had underestimated Medrion; I had not expected him to attack so quickly after his defeat at Meridian. The lives lost fell on my conscience, and I would not make that mistake a second time. Helena’s angels were strong, but they could not fathom the monstrous force that made its way closer with each passing moment. They were naïve, and likely it would get them all killed.
This time Medrion would not escape. He had taken everything from me, and left me destitute—an unwelcome, barely tolerated, refugee. I was under no illusions; Sarakielwas the only reason I was not still caged up in Helena’s cells, awaiting Medrion’s inevitable arrival like an animal to slaughter.
When I found him, when I had my moment with him, I would not offer him a swift, painless, or honorable death; and if it led me to damnation, then so be it.
