Page 50 of Commanding Scythe and Sky

Thunder boomed above us in answer, but he didn’t look up. He only glared at me with unveiled disgust.

“All for naught. That idea would make her suffering all for naught. Foolish, shortsighted child.”

He spun on his heel and strode away as my mind fought to reclaim control of my body. To make it move.

To do something.

Slowly, trembling with agony, I lifted my hand from the dirt and jerked my fingers into a fist.

Lightning cracked down.

The sky erupted in white-hot bursts of fury, obscuring Adrastos from view.

The energy shifted.

Swelled.

Shouts broke out around me—voices I didn’t recognize barking orders in accents that offered little reassurance.

Another twist and swell of time and space, larger this time. The words dissolved into shouting, the thunder of footsteps, the rush of shadows.

Knees struck the ground beside me, and Freya’s short red hair came into view, her hazel eyes wide with panic.

“Jesus Christ, August,” she breathed.

“Okay,” I muttered. “I’m okay.”

“Yeah, you look okay, asswipe.” She frantically surveyed our surroundings as thrown curses flashed through the smoke. The unmistakable thuds of combat filled the air—a memorized song calling to my blood.

“Just winded.”

When my hand hovered uselessly above the ground, she grasped it, then whistled loudly enough to cut through the tumult. A vaguely familiar woman appeared beside her, brown hair swept into a military-tight bun above rich brown eyes.

“Hey, Commander. I’m Jo. We’re gonna set you right, okay?”

“I’m fine,” I breathed, though the rattle in my voice didn’t help my argument. “Just catching my breath.”

She was already moving, her hands glowing white over my chest and abdomen. A grimace pinched her beautiful face, suggesting she wasn’t a fan of what she found.

Shouts and flashes of light—the crackle of shields fracturing beneath curses—drew my attention toward the conflict.

Renown and demons, Paladins and Grayshellians alike were locked in the melee.

Where the fuck did they all come from?

Warmth flooded my veins as Jo funneled healing light through whatever injuries had robbed me of my ability to move, but my gaze snagged on a swirl of shadows at the edge of the chaos, tucked between two abandoned buildings in a city that had thrived only months ago.

Within it stood a solitary, ghost-white figure.

Towering.

Regal.

My blood ran cold.

Moros was here.

I forced down a rattling breath and, ignoring Freya’s hiss, rolled onto my side.