Something at the center.
I file the observation and keep fighting. No time to act on it now. Maybe no way to act on it at all.
The creature doesn’t slow.
Fuck.
TWENTY
KASTER
We’re losing ground.
The canyon narrows farther as we retreat—Soreia backing away while I hold the creature’s attention, buying her the distance she can’t afford to give up. The ice beneath our feet becomes more treacherous. Meltwater trickles from overhead, making every surface slick and unpredictable.
The abomination doesn’t care. Its multiple limbs find purchase where we can’t. It moves across ice like it was born for this terrain.
Maybe it was. Maybe they built it specifically for this canyon, this moment, this kill.
I block a strike that would have reached Soreia. The impact numbs my entire arm. The creature’s face—faces—track past me to where she stands.
I look at Soreia.Really look at her, past the combat and the strategy. She’s pale. Exhausted. The magic she’s been using toanchor the creature’s discarded pieces has cost her—I see it in the tremor of her hands, the slight sway in her stance.
She’s burning through her reserves trying to help me win a fight that can’t be won.
And the creature knows it.
“You need to run.” The words come out harsh. Ragged. My voice doesn’t sound like my own.
Her expression hardens. “No.”
“Soreia—”
“I said no.” She straightens against the canyon wall. “I’m not leaving you here to die.”
“You staying doesn’t prevent that.” I deflect another probing strike from the creature. “It ensures you die with me.”
“Then we die fighting.”
The implication lands hard.We. Not her escaping while I hold the line. We. Like she’s already decided our fates are braided.
They can’t be. They shouldn’t be.
“That’s not—” I catch another blow, redirect it into the ice. “That’s not acceptable.”
“Your acceptance isn’t required.”
The creature adapts again.
It stops targeting me entirely. Mid-combat, without transition, it pivots and drives straight for Soreia.
No.
I intercept. Barely. My body takes the impact meant for her—a strike that would have torn through her torso, would have ended her in a single blow. Instead, it catches me across the back, opens me from shoulder to hip.
The pain is extraordinary. Transcendent. A white void that swallows conscious thought.
I stay upright anyway. Put myself between her and the next attack. And the next.
