Page 109 of Property of Scar

Then suddenly, Hellfire tears across the platform from the left tunnel entrance, orange-black flame consuming everything in its path, and before the rogue can even react, a column of white-hot divine light crashes in from the right, the two forces colliding on the same target in a way that shouldn’t be possible, and reducing the rogue to nothing.

I turn to see Rhett and Bennett standing at the tunnel entrance as though they belong there, shoulder to shoulder, moving in sync without looking at each other, each covering the space the other leaves open without needing to be told.

They are NOT supposed to be here.

“Left!” Rhett shouts.

“I see it!” Bennett is already moving, wings snapping out to intercept a rogue mid-lunge.

Another rogue goes for Ruckus, and both of them hit it at the same time.

Hell’s shadow slams it down.

Heavenly light pins it in place.

For one suspended second, they fight back-to-back, no words, no friction, no argument, just instinct and alignment, covering each other like they’ve been doing it for years.

I don’t get to watch it.

A rogue hits me from the front before the moment can settle, driving in low and fast, trying to take my legs out from under me. I shift with it, letting the impact glance instead of landing clean, my hand snapping down to catch the back of its neck as it closes. Its momentum works against it, and I drag it past me, turning hard enough to send it crashing shoulder first into the edge of the platform. Bone cracks on impact, not enough to end it, just enough to slow it.

It comes back anyway.

They always do.

Its hand swings wide for my throat again, faster this time, more desperate, and I step inside the line of it, closing the space before it can build power. My grip shifts from its neck to its jaw, forcing its head back at an angle that strips leverage out of the rest of its body, and I feel the resistance in it, the strength Mordain has pumped into its system pushing back hard enough to matter.

But it’s not enough.

I drive my knee into its midsection, once, twice, folding it just enough to break its structure, and when it tries to recover, I don’t give it the chance. My hand releases its jaw and comes back in the same motion, striking down across its collarbone with enough force to fracture it clean, the sound sharp under the noise of the fight.

It stumbles.

That’s all it gets.

I step through it, already finishing the motion, the stake coming up in my hand without thought, without hesitation, lining up with the center of its chest like it’s always been there, and drive it in hard.

The resistance lasts a fraction of a second.

Then it gives.

The rogue jerks once, the fight in it cutting out mid-motion as the stake punches through, and I hold it there just long enough to make sure, just long enough to feel the stillness settle into it before I let go.

I lift my head, looking straight at the prospects. “I told you to stay at the clubhouse!”

Rhett doesn’t even blink. “We got bored!”

“Also…” Bennett adds, calm as anything, “… we don’t take orders well.”

I don’t break eye contact as the rogue comes at me from the left, fast enough to matter, claws already cutting through the space where my throat would have been if I hadn’t shifted half an inch. I step inside the strike without looking, my hand snapping up to catch its wrist mid-swing, stopping it dead with a grip that grinds bone under pressure.

It tries to follow through with the other hand.

I twist hard, dragging it off balance, using its own forward momentum to pull it into me, and my other hand comes up with the stake already in line, and I drive it straight through its chest.

The impact is clean and final.

The rogue’s body jerks against me, whatever it was about to do cutting off mid-motion as the fight leaves it all at once. I don’t slow down, don’t look at it, just rip the stake free and shove the body aside, letting it hit the ground somewhere out of my peripheral.