And despite what is about to happen, I do care. I work for the common man, but even they’ll be affected by the base violence necessary for change.

  Sel perched atop a half-collapsed tenement, studying the Darkin’s supposed stronghold through narrowed eyes. The ‘base’ was little more than a cluster of mostly burnt-out buildings at the heart of the Shattered Circle—a ring of fallen and crumbling tenements that created a natural barrier around the Darkin’s territory.

  She took another pull from her flask, letting whiskey warm her against the pre-dawn chill. Kadran’s presence weighed on her mind, but he’d fallen silent hours ago. Probably as bored as she was.

  Across the circle, Veera’s large form was barely visible on her own perch, acting as a particularly ugly gargoyle. They’d been watching for nearly two hours now, since Veldar and Ryn left to gather the Lightward and inform their master. A single contingent of cultists had appeared briefly a while ago, led by an ornately robed and masked man. They had climbed out of some sewer within the ruins, vanishing into the central building in moments.

  An icy breeze cut through the street, temporarily clearing some of the ever-present smog. The twin Celestial Belts peeked through, casting their violet and silver light across the ruined buildings. The whole scene felt wrong somehow. The city felt like it held its breath, and everything was still, save for the impossibly deep shadows around the least ruined building inside the Circle.

  Then she heard it. The rhythmic sound of marching approaching from the east, accompanied by low, droning prayers. The noise grew steadily louder, echoing off the walls of the Lanes.

  Sel straightened, stowing her flask. “About damn time,” she muttered.

  They emerged from the gloom like some gleaming knights of myth. Lightward Cassian strode at their head, his silver-white armor gleaming in the starlight. The zealous knight moved with measured grace despite his plate armor, each step purposeful. Veldar and Ryn flanked him, looking like common thugs next to his bulky radiance.

  Behind them came Cassian’s squad—all of them practically living saints and legends. Three wildly different men whose names were whispered in taverns across the province. Each bore the scars and honors of a hundred battles against heretics and monsters. Their armor was adorned with etched prayers and holy celestial symbols that seemed to catch every trace of light.

  And behind them marched the army proper, over a hundred soldiers. Rank upon rank of Defenders of Ascendant Light in polished steel plate, their uniform movements creating a rolling thunder of metal on stone. Silver starbursts blazed on their breastplates and banners, marking them as Aureon’s most devout children.

  Sel descended from her perch, using jagged bricks as handholds to reach the street. She made her way to where Veldar waited at the edge of the formation. The older assassin acknowledged her with a slight nod, his severe features set in grim lines.

  Lightward Cassian turned to address the four assassins, his helm tucked under one arm. This close, she could see the fervor burning in his pale gray eyes. His features were handsome and rugged, and he looked to be in his thirties. Sel shrunk back, unsettled by his gaze as it bore into her.

  “Fellow children of god, may Aureon’s light guide you during the grim work that lay ahead,” Cassian said, as if preaching to the masses. “We do a righteous work tonight. Allow me to introduce these members of the Silver Star Order.”

  Oh, that’s who they are. I was wondering why they were so odd looking, Kadran hummed lowly.

  Cassian is also part of the Order. He lets his devotion speak for him, but those other three let their deeds do the talking. I had no idea they were even in the city, never thought I would see them up close like this, Sel thought, eyeing the men.

  “Inquisitor Karros, The Crimson Judgment,” Lightward Cassian gestured at the tall man first in line. He wore robes of silver and ash pinned on partial plate armor, face hidden by a spiked masked that reminded her of a snarling judge. He held a short spiked chain in one bare hand, ending in a smoldering barbed censer.

  The incense was pungent and acrid, making Sel wrinkle her nose in disgust. The oddest thing about him was the way he openly had his crimson scaled Blooddrinker—a lesser type of Starborn almost exclusive to inquisitors—perched on a shoulder. The small, scaly whelp was sleek and unnerving.

  “Ser Ephram, The Last Silver Saint.” The next man wore slightly less ornate plate than Cassian, and he gave a slight bow to the assassins. Sel knew the stories—the Saints were legendary for their devotion and skill. Some say he was blessed by Aureon himself, for the man had been alive for over a century. He had odd, wide twin shortswords at his hip and wore a blank silver death mask.

  “Veraine the Bound, The Silent Oath.” The last man was the absolute largest monster Sel had ever set her eyes on. He was seven feet tall, but he appeared much taller to her.

  Veraine’s light brown skin was covered in silver tattoos of holy scriptures, an intricate starburst on his forehead. He was broad and hulking in every way, his face reminding her of a wall of craggy stone. Her gaze drifted from his blank dark eyes, pausing at his lips—they were wired shut by glittering strands of silver.

  His armor was unconventional, to say the least. Massive curved plates and bands or rings of steel, with leather and cloth attached to their underside, covered his massive form. They were held together by thick links of starsteel, and she couldn’t help but shiver and feel as if the armor held something in. His weapon was just as odd, little more than a man-sized slab of steel with a handle—something no man could lift.

  Ryn let out a low whistle, earning a sharp look from Veldar. “The Silver Star Order themselves. Never thought I’d see the day.” His usual playful demeanor was subdued, almost reverent.

  Veera shifted uncomfortably in her black mail and breastplate, keeping her distance from the holy warriors. “Just our luck to work with the original zealots,” she muttered, but there was a tremor of awe in her rough voice. “That big bastard Veraine could probably snap me in half with one hand.”

  Veldar remained expressionless, studying each Order member with the same cold calculation he applied to everything. Only someone who knew him well might notice how his hand kept drifting near the hilt of his dagger. He was on edge.

  Then Cassian drew his sword—a length of gleaming starsteel that caught the starlight like a mirror—and gave the order to advance. The army moved forward as one, their thunderous steps now accompanied by even louder battle prayers. They pressed into the Shattered Circle through the few slim paths through the rubble, surrounding the cultists’ stronghold with practiced precision.

  It was time.

  Veera and her team hovered silently to the right of Lightward Cassian and the Order members. Within minutes, the hundred or so Defenders had the central tenement surrounded. There was only one entrance, a reinforced set of wooden doors.

  Cassian strode forward, stopping thirty feet from the tenement doors. When he spoke, his impassioned voice boomed around the wide square inside of the Shattered Circle.

  “Hear me, Darkin! The Defenders of Ascendant Light have you surrounded. You have been misled, lied to by vile wretches who have turned away from Aureon’s light! Throw down your arms and come out peacefully, and you may be worthy of god’s mercy—his love even! You can repent, and walk the righteous path once more.”

  Silence. Nothing stirred within the tenement. Ash blew across the clearing, carrying with it the sickly sweet smell of alchemical refineries.

  “Surrender, heretics! Otherwise needless blood will stain this night!” Lightward Cassian roared, eyes blazing fervently with wrath and something worse.

  The moments crawled by, the silence making Veera tense. It even distracted her from the constant dull pain of her fleshcrafted arm, and her earlier annoyance at Sel.

  Lightward Cassian lowered his gaze, his handsome face marred by genuine sadness. He donned his helmet, then stood tall. The Ascendant’s perfect, divine visage was carved into the helm, beautifully lined with silver.

  Finally something happened, and Veera relaxed, throwing back her half cloak and preparing herself.

  First came muffled footsteps, then—the doors burst open, releasing a flood of black robed, screaming cultists. Besides raising weapons and shields, the assassins and the Church forces didn’t move.

  Veera shook her head. This isn’t something she wanted to do. These men and women were all frail, broken looking commoners. Dirty, desperate and armed only with makeshift weapons.

  It was going to be a slaughter.

  The wave of darkness broke against the gleaming walls of Defenders. Veera only attacked cultists who came at her, as did Sel. Ryn and Veldar had no issue doling out death. The Lightward and his Order were destroying their foes.

  Cassian swept about with his odd starsteel bastard sword, giving precise ends to a dozen enemies in just as many seconds. His form and stance were impeccable, beautiful even, something Veera had never seen before. Even in his full plate armor he moved almost as fast as Veldar.

  The Silent Oath ignored the cultists as they tried to beat against his armor. He moved faster than someone his size should, twisting and sweeping his slab of sharpened steel out in front of him in a series of strikes. Veera stared in disbelief as he cleaved six men in half with little effort and threw another ten back, clearing a wide space around him.

  She had to fall back a little, near the grim faced Sel, in an effort to start distancing herself from the sprays of blood and the flying gore. She glanced at Ser Ephram.

  He was the only one of the Order to stand still. The man stood like a statue, double-edged shortswords lowered. He only killed those who approached him, ending them in an impossibly quick blur of steel—he was far faster than Veldar.

  Karros reveled in the death he caused, swinging his bloody censer as he said with a laugh, “You refused our mercy, brothers and sisters! Come, accept Aureon’s wrath.”

  The inquisitor smashed aside several cultists in quick succession, crushing limbs and tearing faces to shreds. He effortlessly dodged incoming strikes, then crouched, placing a hand on the blood covered ground. In an eye blink, a swath of hardened blood spikes shot up, impaling shrieking cultists. His two headed whelp of a Starborn shot over to a corpse, biting it with one head and draining it of blood. The other rose, stared down the flood of enemies, then fired streams of glittering shards of blood from its mouth, killing or wounding five men.

  The cultists were getting butchered in scores—but they didn’t falter. The ranks of Defenders advanced like an inevitable avalanche of steel. The cultists threw themselves at them, only to be skewered on spears or cut down by longswords. The Defenders pressed them back further and further, until the battle was confined to an enclosed fifty foot wide circle.

  The battle, if it could be called that, was over in minutes. They advanced, Lightward and the Order at their head, the assassins and Defenders just behind them. In moments they stormed the building, cutting down the few dozen stragglers—the most frail and fearful of the cultists, she supposed. Cassian sent a few squads to clear the upper floors, but they came back quickly, having found only a few cultists.

  The assassins and a ten man squad of Defenders followed Lightward Cassian and his squad down a flight of stone stairs that led to the basement. Veera widened her eyes—the room was really a small cavern. It was barren, lit by a few torches on the walls. A gaping, massive tunnel sat on the far end of the room, leading deeper underground.

  Within five minutes, they advanced steadily into the tunnel. Veera’s skin started to crawl for some reason. The tunnel was rough, uneven and full of cracks and crevices. The shadows smothered the small army, making the few lanterns the Defenders carried next to useless.

  After ten minutes, the shadows themselves moved against them—shadows that could inexplicably hate.

  Screams, curses, and shrill prayers resounded through the tunnel as black-violet explosions of shadow and darkness rippled down the tunnel. Infernos of unnatural black flame cooked Defenders in their armor, flailing tendrils of darkness yanked men partially into walls rippling with shadow before disappearing—leaving halves or pieces of men to messily fall to the floor, as if neatly sliced by a blade—and oddly beautiful clusters of crystalline black spikes impaled dozens of soldiers.

  Veera and her team were expertly avoiding death and managed to rush ahead after a minute. The traps continued to go off for thirty seconds or so before stopping. The tunnel echoed with the screams and moans of the dying, and the clanking of the Defenders as they slowly caught up to the Lightward and the assassins. Nearly thirty men were missing from their ranks.

  The Lightward was impossible to read beneath his helmet as he paused, letting Karros inspect some shallow wounds on his arms where spikes tore through the armor. As he touched the blood and skin, it glistened oddly, then retreated back into the wounds. Only a few pale scars were left after a few moments.

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  They continued their descent.

  The tunnel opened into an immense cavern, its ceiling lost in darkness above. Thick stone pillars rose like ancient trees, some cracked and leaning. Torches cast a sickly glow across the scene.

  Sel fought down bile, trying to tune out the terrified humming and pulses Kadran had been making since the tunnel laden with bonewards—a good enough name for the disks of rune covered bones she glimpsed before they were set off.

  Their advance faltered at the sight before them. Strung between the pillars hung the mutilated bodies of Imperial priests and nobles, their fine robes and holy symbols still visible despite the horrors visited upon them. Below them stood rows of black robed cultists, unnaturally still and silent, each bearing a bone spike inscribed with runes. Each man and woman had unsettling joyous expressions plastered on their faces.

  A figure in ornate black and violet robes stood on a circular platform of stone, his mask bearing a symbol like the starburst of the Church, but corrupted, twisted. Twelve points instead of six. When he spoke, his voice made Sel grip her weapons tighter. His mask…it was similar to Cassian’s helmet, except…the face etched into it bothered her.

  It almost looks like a younger, prouder version of the Gray Priest? Kadran hummed weakly, his curiosity rising above his fear for a moment. His observation went ignored for the time being.

  “Cassian, old friend. Still fighting for a puppet and the Betrayer?” The figure removed his mask, revealing a surprisingly kind and weathered face. “How many years did we serve together in the Grand Cathedral?”

  “Mallius.” Cassian’s voice was tight with rage. “You disappeared after the Crimson Spring. We thought you dead.”

  “Dead? Almost, but I persevered. I became enlightened.” Mallius gestured to the hanging bodies. “These were the true heretics, glutting themselves while preaching sacrifice. The Dark Star showed me truth—our Empire is built on lies, Cassian. The Ascendant is no Avatar of Aureon, merely a hollow thing, moved by silver strings.”

  “Your words are the darkest, vilest poison, Mallius.” Cassian took a step forward, his armor and masked helm glinting in the torchlight. “You were one of our greatest teachers and prelates. What evil has taken root in your mind?”

  Mallius smiled sadly. “I remember teaching you, yes. Such a devout soul, such a supplicant to the only evil offered to you. But devotion to lies is still devotion to lies.” He spread his arms wide. “Look around you! The Church preaches mercy while dealing in death and suffering. It allows the nobility and criminal organizations to poison and damn our people! It promises salvation while damning the desperate. We offer true freedom.”

  Behind the cultists, figures in black plate armor shifted, their movements odd and jerky. Sel counted at least eight of them, their armor etched with twisted sigils.

  “These people,” Mallius gestured to his followers, “have already found that freedom. They’ve found hope, love and divine purpose. Would you like to see what true faith looks like, old friend?”

  Sel tensed, waiting for the coming storm.

  Mallius smiled and said, “Do you remember what I taught you about faith, Cassian? ‘True devotion requires understanding, not just belief.’ You were always asking questions—until they beat that habit out of you when you joined the Defenders, and then the Silver Stars.”

  Cassian swept a hand out toward the cultists and said, “I remember you teaching us mercy and wisdom. Look what you’ve done to these people—your ‘followers.’”

  Mallius gestured to the hanging bodies. “Mercy? I watched the Church’s ‘mercy’ during the Crimson Spring. Watched them murder innocent commoners to contain the plague while nobles fled to their estates to throw parties of decadent excess. Where was Aureon’s mercy then?” His kind face hardened. “I found real truth during that butchery, Cassian. The Dark Star showed me that true mercy requires destroying this corrupt order entirely.”

  A moment later, the cultists shifted as one. They raised their bone spikes—and drove them into their hearts. The fifty or so men and women didn’t make a sound, their joyous expressions only growing in intensity. Lightward Cassian lowered his blade, the command to charge dying on his lips.

  They’re all burning with theurgy, Kadran hissed, wonder and horror pulsing through their connection and slamming against Sel’s hazy mind.

  Instead of collapsing and dying, each cultist exploded in shadows. They poured from the violet glowing spikes in their chests, blooming across them and burning them. As their flesh and muscles melted from their frames, black sludge crawled from their now empty eyes and grinning mouths. Sel took a step back unconsciously as Kadran fell dead silent within her mind.

  Over a dozen moments, the sludge covered the still burning cultists, then solidified. Twisted, spindly nightmares stood before them. Sel felt as though she were hallucinating, she could hardly believe her eyes. These were Shadowkin. Creatures of myth, fables that commoners told their unruly children to scare them. She desperately wanted to reach for a flask.

  The Shadowkin were varied, but all were spindly, with bulging chests, bony, long limbs that didn’t bend the right way, and a variety of wicked claws and deadly protrusions. The heads were grotesque, some with no eyes, others with too many glistening violet eyes. Their mouths were wide, twisted holes of black spikes. Their skin was rough and wrong looking, part glistening obsidian flesh and part dull, jagged carapace.

  The Darkin leader strode off into the far tunnel, laughing and followed by the plate wearing soldiers as Cassian bellowed out, “Stand fast, Aureon’s beloved! Remain staunch in your resolve! We are the blade of Aureon, and our faith is our shield! Do not falter, do not fear these dark demons!”

  The Shadowkin rushed forward—some loping on all fours, others scrambling forward on two clawed feet, all of them moving in impossible or nonsensical ways—and Lightward Cassian raised his sword as he said, “Do not fear death, relish the chance to embrace our Lord! Charge!”

  The creatures had no cohesion or precision—they were a raving mass of darkness that knew only savagery. The Defenders crashed against the Shadowkin, and faltered. The monsters ignored wounds as they tore through the soldiers. Claws and spikes tore steel and flesh alike to shreds. Their spindly limbs crushed and ripped apart men with immense strength. A dozen paces to the right of Sel, one leering Shadowkin used its mouth to tear a man’s head off.

  They were too fast, too inhumanly strong. Sel forced herself to advance anyway. She missed Kadran’s pulse of warning as a bloody armored torso flew through the air, hitting her and knocking her down.

  Through a dreamlike haze and an annoying ringing sound—or was it Kadran’s humming?—Sel watched as the battle raged. Veera was desperately helping Veldar hold off two Shadowkin, using her sword and claws to defend herself. She surprised one foe as her bone sword burst from her right palm, spearing the thing’s head. Dark violet sludge poured from its wounds as it collapsed the the ground. Veldar dispatched the other in a few lethal strikes when Ryn sent four bolts into its chest.

  To her left, ahead of everyone, the Order and Cassian fought like living tempests. Veraine twisted about, tossing away Shadowkin, cleaving through claws and limbs. He disappeared after he cleaved one in half, and six more converged on him.

  Karros supported Cassian, acting as one after years of fighting together. The inquisitor was a whirlwind of chained censer and blades of blood. He wove between several of the monsters, slashing at them with the hardened sword of blood sprouting from his freehand. His Starborn clung to him, biting down on his shoulder as the other head released a high pressure, concentrated line of blood, shearing through several incoming attacks.

  Cassian made good use of his ally’s distraction, delivering powerful, deadly strikes. He sheared through the left arm of one Shadowkin before swiftly beheading it, then moved on to the next, cutting one leg out from under it.

  He kicked the thing to the ground, then brought his sword down, slamming it at an angle through its gnashing maw and into its brain. Lightward Cassian raised his sword and said, “These monsters of darkness bleed and die! Bring them down! Show them the only mercy they deserve!”

  That rallied the soldiers, but they were still outmatched and taking horrific losses. The cavern was a haze of mists of blood and flying gore —Sel had never experienced a fight so horrific. The soldiers were like ants against the tide of claws and darkness.

  Ser Ephram strode through the discord like the eye of a storm. Calm, peaceful almost, until the Shadowkin came for him. His movements were inhumanly fast as his swords blurred out, cutting a path to The Silent Oath. Not one Shadowkin laid a claw on the holy knight. He worked through five of them without pause, each ended in two or three impossible to track thrusts or slices.

  The awesome displays by the knights made the Defenders surge forward, finally making some progress. They speared the monsters and brought them down as teams before hacking them to pieces with swords, many of them screaming prayers or cries of courage.

  Sel struggled from under the heavy torso pinning her, then got up, the world twisting around her. She leapt for Veera, just barely deflecting some claws that almost cut into her back. The woman spun, hacking the offending limb off without hesitation. Together they took it down, Sel delivering a few careful thrusts to its torso as Veera cut into its head with her bone sword. The taller woman sneered at her, but nodded before moving off in Veldar’s direction.

  A Shadowkin ten feet ahead of her fell, three crossbow bolts sprouting from its head. Ryn ran up next to her, nudging her and giving her an odd look. She shook her still muddled and ever-hazy head, and they dove back into the battle against living darkness.

  A Shadowkin’s elongated arm snaked through the chaos, seizing a Defender and yanking him into the air. Its joints cracked and twisted backward as it spun, using the screaming man as a flail against his comrades. Sel watched in horror as the monster’s shoulder dislocated, arm stretching impossibly as it whipped the soldier around in ever-widening arcs.

  Veraine finally emerged from the mass of creatures that had swarmed him, though he had released his weapon at some point. His strange armor was scratched and dented, dark ichor dripping from it. Three Shadowkin still clung to him, trying to tear through the metal bands. The giant warrior’s muscles bulged as he grabbed one and literally pulled it apart, the creature’s spine snapping with a wet crack. The others retreated, skittering away on all fours like massive spiders.

  “Press forward!” Cassian’s voice cut through the din. “Let Aureon’s light guide your blades!”

  The Lightward proved his words, his starsteel blade leaving trails of silvery light as it blurred through the darkness. Where his sword struck, the Shadowkin’s flesh seemed to hiss and bubble as scripture inscribed on the blade inexplicably flared silver. One creature lunged at him, its jaw unhinging to reveal rows of needle-like teeth. Cassian met it head-on, ramming his shoulder into its chest before driving his blade up through its throat. The thing thrashed, its claws scraping uselessly against his plate before it finally went limp.

  Karros’s blood magic was growing stronger, feeding on the carnage around them. Crimson tendrils whipped around him like angry serpents, skewering any Shadowkin that came too close. His Blooddrinker had gorged itself on the violence, now almost the size of a large dog. The twin-headed beast launched itself at a wounded monster, both sets of jaws tearing into corrupted flesh.

  But the Defenders were still dying. For every Shadowkin they brought down, two more soldiers fell. The creatures moved like living shadow—flowing around sword thrusts, their bodies bending at impossible angles to avoid spears. One moment they seemed almost insubstantial, the next solid enough to tear through steel plate like parchment.

  Sel barely registered Kadran’s warning before a massive Shadowkin crashed into the ranks near her. This one was different—its chest cavity was open, revealing a writhing mass of violet-tinged darkness where organs should be. Defenders tried to surround it, but it spun with unnatural speed, using the razor-sharp whips it had in place of arms to cut three men in half.

  Ser Ephram appeared beside it in a blur of silver, his twin blades dancing. The monster’s attacks seemed to pass through him as if he weren’t there. His counterstrikes were precise—targeting joints, severing tendons that shouldn’t exist in a creature of shadow. The thing collapsed in pieces, its form leaking oily smoke.

  “Keep formation!” Cassian called out, his armor splattered with dark ichor. “Drive them back to the tunnel! Let none escape the light’s judgment!”

  The surviving Defenders—barely forty now—rallied around their Lightward. They fought with desperate courage, knowing retreat meant death. The Order members formed a spearhead, creating a path of destruction through the remaining Shadowkin. Even Sel found herself caught up in their holy fury, her blades claiming two more of the creatures as they pushed toward the far tunnel.

  The last Shadowkin fell to Veraine’s massive blade, nearly cleaved in two. An uneasy silence fell over the cavern, broken only by the groans of the wounded and the drip of blood and ichor. The dead lay everywhere—both human and monster—their blood mixing in dark pools on the stone floor.

  Cassian removed his helmet, his sweaty face grim but determined. “Gather the wounded who can still walk. We press on—the true evil awaits us below.” He turned to address the survivors directly. “You’ve proven yourselves worthy of Aureon’s grace this day. But our work is not done. Steel your hearts, for I fear what we’ve faced here was merely a taste of the darkness that awaits.”

  The tension in the air was palpable as the remaining forces regrouped, preparing to descend deeper into the earth. Sel nodded to Ryn, then caught Veera’s eye across the carnage—both of them knowing that whatever horrors they’d just survived, worse things lurked in the shadows ahead.

  During the minutes it took to traverse the tunnel, Veera twitched and jumped at every writhing shadow—but no traps went off. She was out of her element. Her skills generally involved kicking down doors and killing thugs or assassins, not going up against literal monsters of myth. She didn’t know how the hell Sel looked so calm, so detached from it all.

  She was exhausted and bloody, and her gut twisted when the assassins and soldiers streamed into a natural cavern, most of the walls and ceiling hidden in shadow. Four torch lined pillars sat in the center of the space, a massive pit between them. Runes lined the rim, flickering violet.

  Mallius and three Darkin priests stood near the pit, chanting and holding long spikes of bone. Arranged before them were the eight black knights, about twenty aggravated and chattering Shadowkin, and a handful of cultists with knives, axes or swords.

  The cavern seemed to swallow sound, making Mallius’s voice echo unnaturally as he faced them. “Look upon your vaunted warriors, Cassian. Bleeding, broken—yet still you lead them deeper into darkness.”

  “Your darkness holds no power over us, old friend.” Cassian’s voice carried steel beneath the weariness. “We’ve cut through your monsters. Surrender, and perhaps some small measure of mercy remains possible.”

  Mallius smiled, the expression somehow worse than his mask had been. “You still don’t understand. This was never about survival.” He gestured to the black-armored knights. “These were once men like you—devoted, righteous. Now they serve a higher purpose.”

  The knights moved with uncanny synchronization, spreading out in a line. Violet light leaked from the joints of their armor. One turned toward Veera, and she caught a glimpse through its visor—dead eyes blazing with that same cold light, skin gray as old ash.

  “The Dark Star demands sacrifice, Cassian. Blood and death to wake what sleeps below.” Mallius raised his bone spike. “Every drop of blood, every dying breath—all of it feeds the Prince’s resurrection.”

  The black knights charged first. Veera barely got her swords up in time as her opponent crashed into her. Its movements were wrong—too fluid, too fast for something in full plate. Its blackened blade whistled past her head as she ducked. Behind her, she heard the clash of steel and the inhuman shrieks of Shadowkin.

  The remaining Defenders engaged the cultists and monsters, but Veera could only focus on staying alive. Her opponent pressed her relentlessly, its sword strikes carrying impossible force. She caught glimpses of the others—Sel dancing away from her knight’s attacks, Veldar actually being driven back, Ryn firing bolt after bolt to little effect.

  Even the Order members struggled. The Silent Oath swung his massive blade in wide arcs, keeping three Shadowkin at bay while also trading blows with his knight. Ser Ephram moved like quicksilver, but his opponent matched his speed, their duel a blur of steel.

  Veera’s arms burned with fatigue, her scale covered right arm covered in gashes and cuts. Her knight’s helmet had been partially crushed by her bone sword, revealing more of that corpse-gray face. Its lips were pulled back in a rictus grin, teeth filed to points. It didn’t speak, didn’t grunt with effort—just pressed forward with mechanical precision.

  Then she saw the priests fall, one by one, driving bone spikes into their hearts before toppling into the pit. Dark streams rose from the dead and dying, flowing like black smoke toward the chasm. The runes blazed brighter, casting everything in violet shadows.

  A sensation like ice water down her spine made Veera stumble. The fighting stuttered to a halt as something vast stirred below.

  Mallius spread his arms wide. “Witness the truth, Cassian! The first of the Dark Star’s Princes returns!” He looked almost euphoric. “This corrupt city will be reborn, made clean and pure.”

  “Mallius, stop this madness!” Cassian took a step forward, but froze as the ground began to shake.

  “Madness?” Mallius laughed. “I’ve never seen more clearly.” He raised his spike. “Behold, Kezirithal rises once more! May his darkness sunder you all!”

  The spike plunged into his chest. As he fell backward into the pit, violet flames erupted from the chasm. The cavern trembled as something massive began to climb upward, and Veera felt true fear grip her heart.