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“Now… We can do this one of two ways. You can either bow before your new queen or burn. Which will it be?”
Wide stares fill the room as they frantically take in their counterparts. I can practically see the wheels turning as some lower their swords and drop to their knees. The liquid slips away from them, gathering around those who are still on guard.
“Very well, then. Don’t say I didn’t offer you anything.”
With the snap of my fingers, they erupt in hell flame. Screams curdle in the air as the rancid smell of burning flesh fills my nose. Lifeless bodies drop to the floor as I continue down the hall.
Opening my eyes, I gasp, dropping the sand and sliding away from the pillar.
“What?! What is it? Is everything okay?” Finn rushes to crouch down beside me, placing his hand on my shoulder, lending me his strength.
“I’m fine. Just had issues breaking the spell.” I meet his worried azure stare, repeating myself. “I’m fine.”
I’m sonotfine. What the fuck was that? Why did I kill our own people? God… I burned them alive and proclaimed myself a queen.That can absolutely not happen.
“What did you see, Alice?” Finn searches my face, looking for some sort of clue.
“I was in the woods and some creepy ass ghosts wanted a taste of me. They tripped me and kept saying the villagers were on my tail with pitchforks.” I opt to only tell him of the first vision. There’s no way I can lie and convince him of such. He’d know in a heartbeat, but out of the two, the lost souls seemed to be a much better choice.
1
Alice
With a fierce swing of my sword, my nightmare begins. The heart in my chest slams into my ribs as the air rages in and out of my lungs.
This. Ends. Here.
Hand-to-hand combat has never been my strong suit. If I’m being honest, a year ago I would’ve laughed if someone said I’d learn how to fight, much less be good at it. The only problem is that in the seven realms of Hell, being proficient doesn’t cut it. Our enemies hunt the weak like cats do mice. They stalk, they learn, and they pounce when you least expect it.
This is a world where size and physical strength don’t mean shit. It comes down to who can strategize and outsmart their opponent on the spot. There are no white boards or playbooks to go over, to critique, and perfect. Your plan of attack has to adjust on the drop of a dime, and must remain fluid if you wish to draw breath for another day. All of which slightly works in my favor.
My opponent’s sword clashes against mine, and the metal groans beneath the painstaking pressure. Vibrations from the impact ebb through my bones like the beat of a bass guitar, making my hands numb. Still, my grip stays true, tightening around the hilt. Steel grinds against steel, letting out a whining shriek that cuts straight through the nerves of my teeth.
He’s twice my size–and that’s being optimistic–giving him an advantage over my slight frame. Sweat glistens on his brow as he spins to strike again, but where I lack the physical intimidation, I excel in my ability to think on my feet. I dodge his blade, folding my body backward as the silver metal splits the stagnant air inches from my face. As soon as it’s past me, I crouch before he can recoil from the swing and slice my sword into my opponent’s leg, pretending to sever flesh from bone. Then, with a spin on my heels, I stand back to my full height and press the dull point against his unprotected throat.
It wouldn’t take much. Just a small jolt forward would cause a sea of crimson to spill. Had this been a real fight, it would’ve been a deadly blow and Finn knows it.
“Son of a bitch!” he says under his breath, stepping back as I drop my blade to my side. His chest heaves and his fingers rub at his battered thigh. Even with blunt practice swords, it hurts like hell. I know that all too well.
Let’s just say when Finn first started training me about a year ago, he didn’t go easy. Not one bit. I had bruises on top of bruises, and even though they healed relatively quickly, they still fucking hurt. It was the motivation I needed. The more I trained, the better I got, and the fewer blows he landed. Now, he seems to lose more to me than the other way around.
“You’re getting good with that thing,” he praises, nodding his head toward the weapon still clutched in my hand. I remember when it used to feel heavy, now it’s like an extension of my own arm.
“That’s because I’ve trained with the best.”
“Damn straight!” He plops down on the ground, crunching his knees up so he can rest his arms on top of them.
“That and I’ve also been practicing without you.”
Finn snaps his head toward me. “You have?”
“Well, yeah. What else am I going to do? I’m confined to the castle unless you or Kai can escort me. There’s only so much to do. Lucifer agreed to let me train inside, but his condition was—”
Finn rolls his eyes, letting out a huff of air as if the puzzle pieces have connected. “That he help you.”
I nod. “Yes. He conjures puppet enemies for me to fight. They’re brutal, but I’d expect nothing less from him.”
“Ruthless is more like it. He used to train Kai that way, and I swear the boy came out of every session black and blue.”
