Page 149 of Under the Iron Sky

One Vordellian got too close, the scythe at his forearm scorching with power bright as a sun as he ducked low and swiped, aiming for her stomach. Soraya looked at him, felt his blood pumping in and around his heart, and blinked.

All at once, every drop of blood in his body tunneled inward, as powerless as she was under this Hex to stop it, where it all collided and exploded him from the inside out.

Bone and organs and blood rained down from above, showering her with her crime.

Inside, Soraya was screaming for it to stop stop stop. On the outside, she took hold of that blood as it splattered to the floor, hardening it into crimson spikes that flew forward with a wave of her hand like a barrage of arrows, impaling the soldiers and familiars that tried to stop her.

The lights in the ceiling were flickering red, the warning alarm blaring in her ears telling everyone to run. If only it were loud enough to drown out all the screams.

Traitor.

Murderer.

Monster.

Soraya saw the words in the eyes of each person as they fell to the ground, each one carving a separate slice into the already palace-sized crater in her chest.

On and on she stalked, silently and efficiently moving through every person who charged toward her.

She was death herself. She was the Vous Mylista. The killer of all Dar’rak.

Killer of all things now.

She made it to the top level, the double doors at the top of the stairs forced open with a screech, and stepped into another green-and-bronze hallway.

Rubies and gold glittered at the far end. Raina. Disheveled as it was, the sight of her lovely red hair alone would’ve made Soraya’s knees buckle had the Hex not been holding her up, never mind the eagle-handled cane in her hand that she needed to hobble down the hallway.

All that faded away, though, when Soraya noticed the Sentinel running beside her. It was carrying a smooth chipped black stone as long as a door with intricate carvings all along the side, and curved inward at the top with loops of stone beneath it that vaguely resembled the points of small mountains.

The piece of the Arch.

Raina was moving it to its next location.

Soraya sprinted after it.

No! Not Raina. Please—not Raina.

The Hex sank its claws deeper into her mind, her body, whatever was left of her tattered soul, and pushed her toward what it wanted. What it had been ordered to collect.

Soraya was a passenger in her own mind, a screaming child that’d been grasped by the wrist and pulled into a dark tunnel by a towering monster that wore a cruel version of her own face.

She tried everything she could think of to stop herself. Tried to dig her heels in, to grasp on to any of the walls or doors or people close by and drag herself and this thing festering in her blood to a stop.

Gods, she just wanted to stop!

The Hex propelled her forward. And there was nothing Soraya could do, no more than an unwilling spectator in her own body as she watched herself chase her best friend down the halls.

A door to Soraya’s left swung open. A Vordellian soldier jumped out, sunrifle poised and ready—

Soraya disposed of him with a wave of her hand.

Raina jumped at the sound of his body smacking against the floor. She turned around, the Sentinel carrying the piece of the Arch stopping with her, and brandished her cane, preparing for a fight despite the state of her spine—

Her face had been twisted into the most brutal snarl—until she noticed who was standing before her, then that snarl gave way to confusion, then utter, utter relief.

The Hex dragged Soraya to a stop. Curious.

“Soraya,” Raina breathed, joy lacing the word. “How did you escape? How did you—” She shook her head. “That doesn’t matter right now. Come on, we have to go.” Smiling, she stepped toward her, hand outstretched—until her gaze drifted to the top of Soraya’s head, where the rotting bluish-green and bronze crown sat. “Why are you wearing that?”