The world around me is a blur of shadows and pain, the darkness clawing at my vision as the stab in my side sends waves of agony through my body. The golden orb of Reon’s power flickers dimly, sputters like a dying flame, its grip on time beginning to slip as my consciousness wavers.
Suddenly the armless guard’s scream, long trapped in frozen silence, erupts with bone-chilling volume. It shatters the quiet tension that hangs over the room, ripping through the air like a whip. His mouth opens wide, but his voice is like the tearing of fabric, raw and violent. The sound itself seems to crack the spell, and in an instant, everything comes rushing back.
Solena, caught off guard, is tackled to the ground by one of the reanimated guards, her shocked cry barely leaving her lips as his body slams into hers. Her hands go instinctively to defend herself, but she’s overwhelmed, pinned beneath the weight of the male’s armor-clad form. Her breath is crushed out of her, and she fights, desperate to regain her footing.
The other Fae guards, once frozen in Reon’s time-bind, spring into motion. They are swarming, their movements swift. Without their weapons in their hands, the Taramethos art of transmutation does not leave them defenseless for long. They bend, reshape, and forge new weapons from the very essence of their surroundings.
One of the guards raises his hand, palm outstretched, and in a flash of fiery magic, the floor beneath him splinters, fragments of stone shooting upward. With a snap of his fingers, the jagged shards twist and meld into a spear as he swings it at Orios.
Without as much as a glance, Orios’ thick arm raises to defend himself, catching the spear in its swing, his teeth grit as it impacts but he does not move an inch. Another guard, a lithe figure with silver hair, flicks his wrist, and the leather straps of his armor ripple and shift. Within seconds, the straps have morphed into a long whip. It lashes out, seeking Orios’ neck, but instead he fists its end then winds it around his wrist over and over, dragging the guard closer while still grasping the spear in his other hand.
Both Taramethos Fae go pale with panic as Orios steps forward, his massive frame holding them at bay. Muscles straining, he lets out a low, guttural growl.
Then he moves. Fast.
He grabs the whip-wielding guard and yanks him across the room, pulling him close enough to drive his forehead into the male’s nose with a sickening crunch. Blood sprays across both their faces.
Before the guard can recover, Orios tears the whip from his limp hand, spins, and loops it around the neck of the second Fae.
He pulls.
Hard.
The guard claws at the tightening coil, his face shifting from panic to purple, eyes spiderwebbing with red. His spear clatters to the floor a second before his body goes limp.
Orios lets him fall with a heavy thud.
Reon’s breath comes in ragged bursts, the golden orb in his palm flickering weakly as the massive Fae guard barrels toward him, weapon raised with a roar.
With a flick of his wrist, the world stutters, then slows.
A single heartbeat stretches impossibly thin. Time bends. The guard’s swing freezes midair, his face twisted in a snarl.
Reon pivots. His sword flashes like lightning, slicing through the guard’s side with a crunch as the blade bites into armor and flesh.
Time snaps back.
The guard howls in pain, stumbling, but Reon is already moving.
He slows time again, just long enough to duck beneath the guard’s wild counterstrike, the blade singing past his head by inches.
In that fleeting breath between heartbeats, Reon drives his sword deep into the guard’s abdomen, each motion clean and precise, guided by time itself.
Then, with a gasp, he lets go of the magic. The air crackles as the world resumes its natural pace and the guard collapses. But Reon’s strength begins to fail him. His knees buckle. He catches himself, teeth clenched, the last dregs of power slipping through his fingers.
The guard looming over Solena fumbles at his belt, hands trembling until they finally close around a dagger.
Reon’s eyes narrow.
He summons the last of his strength, golden sparks barely flickering between his fingers, until one catches, flaring to life.
Time stretches.
The dagger hovers in the air, suspended above Solena’s vulnerable form, the guard’s face twisted into a vicious sneer, frozen in that final moment.
In the unnatural stillness, Orios moves.
Like a shadow with teeth.
