Darkness closed in the moment they passed beyond Luminael's walls, the city's golden glow severed instantly. Their light came from Kael's wand, a pale sphere of illumination bobbing ahead as he ran, casting wild shadows across tree trunks and undergrowth. The fairy floated weakly in Akilliz's cupped hands, violet light pulsing like a tiny heartbeat, leaving trails of purple and red from his glowing fire potion. The tiny creature's voice whispered through his mind: "This way... hurry... please..."

  His lungs burned. The hours of nonstop work at the Sanitarium, and now this, sprinting through darkness on legs that felt like they'd been filled with lead. Beside him, Lirien's breathing came in harsh gasps, her robes catching on branches. Behind them, Kael stumbled over roots, Grimoire clutched against his chest with one hand while his wand painted frantic light across their path.

  The mark of a demon pulsed hot in his palm, keeping rhythm with his racing heart. Taimon's presence stirred, curious and patient. Akilliz ignored him. Pushed harder. Frostbane's weight bounced against his hip, solid and real.

  Focus.

  "There!" Lirien gasped, pointing ahead.

  Through the tree line, the Mistwood village came into view. Akilliz's breath caught. The village was peaceful. Lanterns glowed warm in windows. Elves moved between buildings carrying water, tending gardens, going about evening routines. Children's laughter drifted from somewhere nearby, high and bright. No fire. No screams. No blood. Just a quiet settlement preparing for night.

  "What?" Kael stopped beside him, chest heaving. "Where's the attack? Where are the dark elves?"

  Lirien spun in a circle, searching the shadows between buildings. "I don't understand. The fairy showed us fire and screaming and bodies and..."

  "Did we come to the wrong place?" Kael asked.

  "No." Akilliz stared at the peaceful square, mind racing. "This is it. It's the same village that helped me before."

  The fairy stirred in his cupped hands. Her violet glow had brightened since entering the Mistwood, wings moving more steadily now that she was home. She pressed tiny hands to his palm and new images flooded his mind. Not memories this time. Visions layered with temporal weight. The same burning buildings, the same screaming children, but overlaid with a sensation of distance. Not in space. In time. Soon. Very soon. Minutes, maybe. But not yet.

  "She showed us the future," Akilliz said slowly, understanding crystallizing. "What's going to happen. Not what's happening now."

  "How long?" Lirien's voice was tight. "How long until they come?"

  Aura's response came as pure feeling. Close. Imminent. She couldn't see the exact moment, just the crushing certainty of its approach.

  "Minutes," Akilliz said. "We have minutes."

  "Then we warn them now!" Lirien was already running toward the village.

  "Wait!" Kael called after her, but she didn't stop.

  They sprinted into the clearing, boots pounding earth, and an elderly elf emerged from the nearest building. Silver hair in a long braid, face weathered by centuries. He saw three mud-covered teenagers with weapons drawn, charging from the forest, and his expression shifted from curiosity to alarm.

  "Bandits!" he shouted, voice cracking. "A mage at the tree line! To arms!"

  "No!" Lirien skidded to a stop, waving her free hand desperately. "We're not bandits! Dark elves are coming! You have to prepare!"

  More villagers poured from buildings, grabbing whatever weapons they could find. Farming tools, hunting bows, kitchen knives. Others scooped up children, backing toward doorways with faces pale with sudden fear. A middle-aged woman with a baby on her hip stared at them. "Dark elves? Here?" Her voice trembled. "You're certain?"

  "Yes!" Akilliz stepped forward. "They're coming right now! You need to get ready!"

  A younger male elf with a scarred face pushed through the growing crowd. "Dark elves don't come here. We're protected by the forest. Hidden." His tone was skeptical, almost scornful. "We haven't seen dark elves in over a century."

  "That doesn't mean they can't come now!" Lirien's voice rose with desperation.

  The scarred elf crossed his arms. "And we're supposed to believe three children who run out of the forest at night screaming about attacks? For all we know, you're playing a prank."

  "We're trying to help!" Kael shouted.

  "Or you're just trying to cause panic among the exiles." The scarred elf looked around at the other villagers. Murmurs of agreement rippled through the crowd.

  "That's not what's happening!" Akilliz felt precious seconds slipping away. "Please, you have to listen!"

  "Why should we?" An older woman stepped forward, expression hard with suspicion. "We don't know you. You come here with weapons, covered in mud and gods know what else, screaming about dark elves we haven't seen in lifetimes?"

  "Because it's the truth!" Lirien's voice cracked.

  "Convenient truth," the scarred elf said. "Show up after dark, cause chaos—"

  "Look at the fairy!" Akilliz thrust his hands forward.

  The violet glow was unmistakable even in the lantern light. Ancient. Wild. Impossible to fake. The crowd went quiet. The elderly elf who'd first spotted them stepped closer, eyes widening. "That's fairy light. True fae."

  "They don't hang around humans normally," someone whispered.

  "They don't lie either," another voice added, uncertain.

  "Why would a fairy warn us?" The scarred elf's skepticism remained, but doubt crept into his voice.

  "Because I saved her life," Akilliz said quickly. "She's returning the favor. She flew all the way to Luminael to find me. Showed me visions of this village burning. Of dark elves killing everyone. Please, you have to believe me!"

  The crowd shifted, uncertainty spreading. Some lowered their weapons slightly. Others remained tense, unconvinced.

  "This is absurd," the scarred elf said. "Dark elves, here, because some human claims a fairy showed him visions? We should—"

  "SILENCE."

  The voice cut through the square like thunder. Everyone turned. Eryndor stood at the longhouse entrance. No staff raised, no magic crackling around him. Just an old elf in simple robes, weathered face calm and assessing. But his presence commanded instant attention.

  He walked forward slowly, measured steps, ancient gray eyes sweeping across the scene. Taking in the three teenagers, the frightened villagers, the weapons, the confusion. "Lirien." His voice was quiet but carried easily. "Why are you here? You should be safe in Luminael."

  "Elder Eryndor." She stepped forward, relief flooding her face. "Dark elves are coming. Right now. We have to prepare!"

  "So I've heard." He glanced at Akilliz, and recognition flickered across his features. "You've returned, Akilliz. The one who passed trial after our aid."

  "Yes, Elder."

  Eryndor's eyes dropped to his cupped hands. "May I see Aura?"

  Akilliz extended his hands carefully. Aura looked up at Eryndor with violet eyes that held centuries of forest wisdom. The old elf reached out slowly, one weathered finger touching the fairy's tiny hand with surprising gentleness. His eyes closed. The square held its breath.

  After a long moment, Eryndor opened his eyes and stepped back. His expression had shifted. Still calm, but now weighted with grim certainty. "She speaks truth." He turned to address the villagers. "Dark elves come. Soon."

  The scarred elf's face went pale. "But Elder, we haven't—how can you be certain?"

  Eryndor raised his staff and slammed it into the earth. The ground rippled outward from the impact. Green energy pulsed through the soil like a heartbeat made visible. His eyes went distant, focused on something only he could sense. "I feel it in the earth." His voice was hard as stone. "Movement. Many footsteps. Coming fast from the northwest."

  The color drained from faces across the square.

  "How many?" someone whispered.

  Eryndor's jaw tightened. "Enough."

  "LIRIEN?"

  The desperate cry came from the weaving shop, where Akilliz remembered receiving his new clothes. She appeared in the doorway, auburn hair flowing past her shoulders in waves that caught firelight. Silver eyes. The same spattering of freckles across her cheeks. Taller than Lirien, features sharper with age, but the resemblance was unmistakable. Lira.

  "Lira!" Lirien broke from the group, sprinting across the square. The sisters crashed together, holding each other like drowning people finding driftwood. Lira's hands tangled in Lirien's hair, pulling her close, while Lirien sobbed into her shoulder.

  "What are you doing here?" Lira pulled back just enough to see her face. "You're supposed to be safe in the city! You shouldn't—"

  "Dark elves." Lirien's voice shook. "Coming here. Now."

  Lira's expression shifted instantly. No skepticism. No hesitation. Just immediate, absolute belief. Years in exile had taught her to trust warnings that others might dismiss. She turned to face the gathered villagers, one arm still wrapped protectively around her sister. "Listen to them." Her voice carried authority despite the fear underneath. "If my sister ran here through the Mistwood at night, risking death in the forest, it's because the threat is real."

  Eryndor's staff pulsed with gathering power. "She speaks truth. As does the earth." His voice rose, commanding. "Children to the longhouse, now! Lira, you shield them. I don't care if it drains you dry, that barrier does not fall!"

  The village exploded into motion. Mothers grabbed children, some crying, some too young to understand, some old enough to know exactly what was happening and terrified because of it. A little girl, maybe six years old clung to her mother's neck, silver eyes huge with fear.

  "Mama, what's happening? Why is everyone—"

  "Shh, flower. We're playing a game. We hide, and the mean people can't find us."

  "But I don't want to play—"

  "I know, I know." The mother's voice broke, but she kept moving, kept holding her daughter close. "Be brave for Mama. Can you be brave?"

  The little girl nodded against her shoulder, crying silently. Akilliz felt something twist in his chest watching them. These weren't just abstract villagers. They were families. Children who should be playing, not hiding. Parents who should be tucking kids into bed, not preparing for slaughter.

  Eryndor was already directing fighters. Elira appeared from her hut, staff in hand despite her age. Theron emerged from the forge with a war hammer that looked like it had seen decades of use. Bram the farmer gripped his woodcutting axe. Finnian materialized from the shadows with a hunting bow and a quiver bristling with arrows. Gavren held a sword that had clearly been his before he settled here. About fifteen adults total who looked like they'd held weapons before, plus another ten who grabbed whatever they could find and joined them, hands shaking but faces determined.

  "Those with bows, take elevated positions! Rooftops, tree branches, anywhere you can get clear shots!" Eryndor's voice carried authority born of old wars. "Everyone else, form a line twenty paces from the tree line. When they come through, we hold them there! Do not let them reach the buildings!" His staff glowed brighter, green energy coiling around it like living vines. "I'll support from center. If you get wounded, fall back. Don't die proud. We just have to hold until Luminael's guards arrive!"

  Theron stepped forward, war hammer resting on his shoulder. "Elder, they're dark elves. We're farmers and craftsmen. How are we supposed to—"

  "We hold," Eryndor said firmly, meeting his eyes. "Until help arrives. That's all we have to do. Hold."

  "And if they don't come in time?"

  Eryndor's expression was grim. "Then we die protecting our children."

  The man nodded shakily and took his position.

  Lira had already gathered the children, fourteen of them, ranging from toddlers to teenagers. She herded them toward the longhouse with desperate efficiency. "Everyone inside! Quickly now!" Her hands began to glow green, power building. "I'm going to make a special shield. You'll be safe inside it, I promise."

  A teenage boy, maybe fourteen, grabbed her arm. "Let me fight! I can help, I'm not a child—"

  "You're my child," said his mother from the defensive line, longbow in shaking hands. "And you'll do what Lira says. Please, Verin. I can't fight if I'm worried about you."

  The boy's face crumpled, but he went inside with the others.

  Lirien stayed beside her sister. "I'm not leaving you."

  "Lirien, you should—"

  "I'm a healer. I'm staying. Don't argue." She pulled supplies from her satchel, bandages, herbs, a few healing concoctions. "If someone gets hurt, I can help. You focus on the barrier. I'll focus on keeping everyone alive."

  Lira looked like she wanted to argue, but there wasn't time. She just pulled her sister into one more crushing hug. "Don't let them get you," she whispered fiercely.

  "You either."

  They released each other, and Lira moved to the longhouse entrance. Pressed both palms to the ground. Closed her eyes. Her whole body began to glow that same green light, brighter and brighter until Akilliz had to squint. A dome of translucent emerald energy erupted upward, expanding to cover the entire longhouse and the children inside. It pulsed with Lira's heartbeat, solid but flickering. Strong now, but Akilliz could see what maintaining it would cost. There was always a cost.

  Eryndor positioned himself in the center of the square. Kael, Akilliz, and Lirien stood together near the defensive line, weapons ready despite their exhaustion.

  "Stay behind the fighters," Eryndor called to them. "Support where you can. Don't try to be heroes. You've done enough by warning us. Now let those who know how to fight do their job." He paused, eyes finding Akilliz. "I trust you told the guards on the way out?"

  Akilliz nodded, gripping Frostbane tighter. "We did. Let's just hope they believed us."

  The village fell silent except for the crackle of lanterns and Lira's labored breathing as she maintained the barrier. Everyone watched the tree line. Waiting. The elderly elf with the silver braid stood near the defensive line, a hunting spear in weathered hands. He looked at Akilliz, meeting his eyes across the space between them. "Thank you," he said quietly. "For warning us. Even if... even if it's not enough. Thank you."

  Akilliz tried to respond, but his throat had closed up.

  Then the demon mark went ice-cold.

  "They're here," he whispered.

  As if in answer, the first dark elf emerged from the tree line. He was easily seven feet tall, making even the tallest villagers look small by comparison. His skin was storm-cloud gray, darker than any natural shadow. Blood-red eyes glowed faintly in the darkness, pupils completely absent, just crimson light that tracked movement with predatory precision. Silver-white hair was pulled back in a warrior's braid that seemed to drink in light rather than reflect it. Pointed ears were sharper than any city elf's, almost bat-like, twitching as they caught every sound. Black leather armor hugged his frame, so dark it seemed to absorb light itself. The curved sword in his hand was already stained with something dark. As if he'd warmed up on his way here.

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  He smiled, all teeth and no warmth, speaking in thickly accented Common: "We smelled your fear from miles away."

  Then twenty more dark elves emerged from the forest like nightmares made flesh. They moved in coordinated silence, fanning out in practiced formation. Warriors flanking. Archers taking position. A mage in the back, hands already glowing with black energy.

  The lead dark elf studied the prepared defensive line with something almost like respect. "Interesting," he said, tilting his head. "You knew we were coming."

  Eryndor stepped forward, staff blazing with power. "You are not welcome here. Leave now, or face Luminael's wrath."

  "Or what, old mage?" The dark elf laughed, a sound like breaking glass. "You'll kill us? With these?" He gestured dismissively at the defensive line, farmers with axes, hunters with bows, desperate people with kitchen knives. "We are children of the mountain. Born from shadow and stone. You are prey pretending to be predators." His smile widened. "But we appreciate the effort."

  He raised his hand.

  The attack began.

  Dark elves surged forward in a coordinated rush, and the defensive line broke almost immediately. Not from cowardice, from simple reality. Villagers who'd maybe fought bandits once or twice in their lives were facing professional soldiers who'd been bred for war. The speed difference alone was terrifying.

  A dark elf closed the distance to the defensive line in three seconds, blade whistling toward a villager's throat. Eryndor stomped the ground. Earth exploded upward in a wall between the dark elf and his target, absorbing the blade strike with a crack of stone. Eryndor thrust his palm forward and the wall shot toward the dark elf, slamming into him like a battering ram and sending him flying backward.

  "Hold the line!" Eryndor roared. "Do not break formation!"

  But two more dark elves had already breached on the left flank. An archer on the longhouse roof loosed an arrow. It was a good shot and well-aimed, but the dark elf caught it mid-flight without looking. Snapped it. Grinned up at the archer with glowing red eyes. Then hurled one of his own daggers. It hit the archer in the shoulder, spinning him around. He fell from the roof with a scream, hitting the ground hard.

  "No!" A woman broke from the line, running toward the fallen archer.

  A dark elf intercepted her. Blade flashing. Kael's voice rang out: "Somnus tactus directa!" The white orb shot from his palm, hitting the dark elf square in the face. The attacker collapsed mid-swing, unconscious before hitting the ground. The woman reached the fallen archer, dragging him back toward Lirien, who was already running forward with bandages.

  But the breach was widening. Three dark elves now inside the perimeter. Four. Five.

  Eryndor moved like a force of nature despite his age. He slammed his staff down and thorned vines erupted from the earth, wrapping around a dark elf's legs and pulling him down. The dark elf slashed at the vines. They bled green sap but regrew faster than he could cut. Eryndor stomped again. The ground beneath two dark elves rippled like water, then hardened suddenly, trapping their feet in solid stone up to the ankles. They struggled, cursing, unable to move.

  Eryndor thrust both palms forward. Chunks of earth tore themselves from the ground, fist-sized rocks that floated for one heartbeat, two, then launched like cannonballs at his targets. The stones hit with sickening cracks. One dark elf took a rock to the temple and dropped instantly, skull caved in. Another caught one in the chest, ribs shattering audibly.

  But Eryndor was breathing hard. Sweat pouring down his face. Each spell cost, and he was burning through power faster than was sustainable. A dark elf got through his zone while he was focused elsewhere. Charged straight at the longhouse, curved blade raised, clearly intending to break Lira's barrier.

  The elderly elf with the silver braid stepped into his path. "Not. My. Grandchildren!"

  He thrust his hunting spear forward with desperate strength. The dark elf sidestepped contemptuously, blade moving in a casual arc. It took the old elf's head off in one clean stroke. The body collapsed. The head rolled. Blood pooled dark on the ground.

  A woman in the defensive line screamed. It was a raw, animal sound of grief so profound it stopped Akilliz's heart. "Father! No! No no no—"

  She broke formation, running toward the body, and the defensive line collapsed. Dark elves poured through the gap like water through a broken dam.

  "Hold!" Eryndor roared, but it was too late. Chaos consumed the square.

  Akilliz found himself face-to-face with a dark elf before conscious thought could catch up. The curved blade whistled toward his throat faster than he could process. He brought Frostbane up on pure instinct, blocking with a crack that sent sparks flying. The impact nearly tore the sword from his numb hands, arms screaming with the force of it.

  The dark elf grinned. "You're slow, mortal."

  He lunged again. Three strikes in two seconds, each one faster than thought. Akilliz blocked the first desperately. Redirected the second the way Vaelrik had taught him. Missed the third entirely. The blade sliced across his ribs, shallow but burning like fire, and blood bloomed hot across his shirt. Vision blurred. Legs went weak. He stumbled backward, barely keeping his feet.

  The dark elf raised his free hand, black energy gathering in his palm. "Lux caeca!" Kael's voice rang out.

  Flash!

  Brilliant white light exploded like a newborn star, turning night to noon for one blinding instant. The dark elf screamed, his enhanced vision overwhelmed completely. His spell fizzled, black energy dissipating.

  Akilliz saw the opening. Ignored the fire in his ribs. Lunged forward with Frostbane low, aiming for the legs. The blade caught the dark elf mid-thigh. He felt the edge bite through muscle, felt the resistance of bone, felt the wet pull as Frostbane cleaved through and emerged the other side. Blood sprayed hot across his hands.

  The dark elf collapsed with a roar of agony, gripping his leg, arterial blood pumping between his fingers. Akilliz stood there, frozen, watching him bleed. He'd just—he'd—

  I killed someone.

  The thought felt distant. Unreal.

  "Akilliz, move!"

  Lirien tackled him sideways as another dark elf's blade whistled past where his head had been, close enough to feel wind on his neck. They hit the ground hard together, rolling. She came up first, his belt dagger gripped in white-knuckled hands despite being completely outmatched.

  The dark elf advanced on them, smiling. Kael's second spell hit him square in the face. "Somnus tactus directa!" The dark elf's eyes rolled back. He collapsed mid-step, unconscious.

  "Get up!" Kael shouted, already flipping through the Grimoire with shaking hands. "I'm almost out of magic!"

  Akilliz struggled to his feet, ribs screaming. The world tilted dangerously. How much blood was he losing? He fumbled for the Soul's Breath vial on his belt, pulled the cork with trembling hands. Took a sip. Warmth flooded through him, but the wound didn't close. Not completely. Just sealed enough to stop bleeding. The dark elf blade had left something behind, something that resisted healing.

  He passed the vial to Lirien, who drank shakily, her split lip from earlier healing shut. Then to Kael, who nearly dropped it. It would replenish them, for now.

  Across the square, Eryndor was surrounded by three dark elves. The old mage fought with everything he had left, but exhaustion was written in every movement. Blood ran from his nose and ears, magical burnout from pushing too hard too fast. He thrust his staff into the ground. Vines erupted around two dark elves, pulling them down. The third got inside his guard. Drove their blade deep into Eryndor's shoulder with a meaty thunk.

  Eryndor screamed, pain and fury and defiance all at once. Dropped his staff. Fell to his knees. Blood poured from the wound, dark and fast.

  The dark elf raised their sword for the killing blow. "We will reclaim these woods, and the city!"

  "No!" Akilliz sprinted toward them, Frostbane raised.

  Two dark elves intercepted him. One tackled him sideways, driving him into the dirt hard enough to knock wind from his lungs again. The other joined immediately, pinning him down with superior strength. His arms wrenched behind his back. Face pressed into blood-soaked earth. His sword clattered away, out of reach.

  He could only watch, held down and helpless. The blade descended toward Eryndor's throat.

  And a child screamed.

  Lira's barrier shattered like glass. The green dome protecting the longhouse fractured into a thousand pieces that dissolved into nothing, and Akilliz understood with sick certainty. She'd seen Eryndor about to die. Her concentration had broken. Her focus shattered. The children were exposed. Fourteen kids, huddled together, crying in terror. Three elderly elves trying desperately to shield them with their own bodies.

  Dark elves turned toward them like wolves scenting blood.

  "The children!" someone screamed.

  Akilliz struggled, bucking and thrashing, but couldn't break free. The elves were stronger, heavier, trained. One pressed a knee between his shoulder blades while the other twisted his arms. "Stay down, marked one. We'll take you alive," one hissed.

  Ten paces away, Lirien knelt beside her collapsed sister, hands glowing green as she tried to stabilize Lira. The barrier's violent shattering had left the weaver bleeding from nose and ears, barely conscious. "Stay with me," Lirien whispered frantically. "Please, Lira, stay with me."

  A figure emerged from the smoke between them. A dark elven mage, robes deep purple and marked with silver symbols that pulsed with gathering power. Taller than the warriors, face gaunt and eyes burning brighter red. His hands moved in complex patterns, black energy coiling between his fingers like living shadow.

  He raised one hand toward Lirien. The air around her throat seemed to solidify. Lirien gasped, hands flying to her neck, clawing at nothing. An invisible grip lifted her off the ground, boots kicking uselessly as she rose. Her face flushed red, then darker, eyes bulging.

  "Lirien!" Akilliz screamed, but the elf on his back pressed harder, grinding his face into the dirt.

  The mage's smile was thin and satisfied. His fingers curled slightly, tightening the invisible grip. Lirien's struggles weakened, movements becoming sluggish. Twenty paces away, Kael pushed himself up on shaking arms. Blood ran from his nose where he'd hit the ground. His wand lay three feet away, Grimoire splayed open beside it. He crawled toward them, every movement obviously painful.

  "Lirien," Kael gasped, reaching for his wand. His hand shook badly.

  The mage noticed him. Gestured with his free hand, almost lazy. A pulse of black energy shot across the square. Kael threw himself sideways. The blast cratered the earth where he'd been, showering him with dirt. He grabbed his wand, scrambled for the Grimoire, eyes scanning the pages with desperate speed.

  Lirien's lips were turning blue.

  Akilliz's vision tunneled. He could see her dying, could see the exact moment her body would go limp, and he was pinned face-down in the dirt like a child, helpless and weak and useless. Just like with Ma.

  The demon's voice came quiet beneath his panic. Patient. Almost kind.

  "I can save them."

  "Please." The word tore out of him. "Please! I'll do anything."

  "Give me your arm and I'll give you strength. Speed. The skill to kill them."

  The elf on his back drove a knee harder into his spine. Pain flared white-hot. Lirien's eyes were rolling back.

  "Do it!" Akilliz gasped. "Take it, just save her!"

  Heat bloomed in his left palm. Not the slow spread he'd felt before. This was immediate and total. The demon mark flared black and then erupted outward, veins of corruption racing up his wrist, forearm, past his elbow, consuming his bicep and nearly reaching his shoulder in three agonizing seconds. The pain was extraordinary. Like his arm was being unmade and rebuilt from the inside out. Blood hardening beneath skin. Muscle fibers reinforcing. Bone density increasing. Everything human about his left arm burning away and being replaced with something else.

  He screamed into the dirt.

  His left arm tore free from the dark elf's grip. The elf's eyes went wide. "What—"

  Akilliz twisted, his corrupted arm moving with strength that shouldn't exist. Grabbed the elf's wrist where he held Akilliz's right arm. Squeezed. Bones crunched. The elf screamed, grip releasing, and Akilliz bucked hard. Threw him off. The second elf lunged, trying to pin him again, but Akilliz's left hand shot out and caught him by the throat.

  He stood, lifting the dark elf off the ground one-handed. The elf kicked, clawed at fingers that felt like iron, red eyes wide with shock and something that looked like recognition. "The master's mark," the elf choked out. "You're turning—"

  Akilliz's right hand grabbed the elf's own dagger from his belt. Drove it up under the ribcage, angled toward the heart, exactly the way the demon whispered he should. The elf jerked once. Went still.

  Another kill.

  Akilliz dropped him and spun toward where Frostbane lay five paces away. The first elf, cradling his crushed wrist, scrambled for his weapon with his good hand. Saw Akilliz moving. Raised his blade.

  Akilliz was faster. He scooped up Frostbane and the sword felt wrong in his left hand, the balance all shifted, his stance awkward because he'd trained right-handed his whole life. But the demon knew how to compensate. His left arm guided the blade through a parry that his conscious mind didn't plan, deflecting the dark elf's strike with precision that came from centuries of experience rather than sixteen years of fumbling practice.

  The return strike was equally perfect. Blade angling through the gap in the elf's defense, finding the throat, cutting clean. It felt wrong. His left arm moving with skill his right had never possessed, his body executing techniques he'd never learned, muscle memory that wasn't his own.

  The dark elf fell.

  Akilliz spun toward the mage. Lirien hung limp in the air now, not even kicking anymore. Her face was going purple, her eyes half-closed. Seconds. Maybe less.

  The mage saw him coming. Those red eyes tracked his approach, calculating. His choking hand remained steady on Lirien while his free hand rose, fingers spreading. "Ignis barrage!"

  Fire erupted from his palm in a roaring torrent. Akilliz ran straight into it. The flames hit his chest and right shoulder, and the pain was instant and total. His tunic ignited. Skin blistered and blackened. The smell of his own burning skin filled his nose. He screamed but didn't stop running.

  His left arm was cold. Numb. The corruption insulated it from the heat, from the pain, and that arm kept moving even while the right side of his body burned.

  The fire cut off. The mage's eyes widened, just slightly. He'd expected Akilliz to stop. To drop and roll. To do anything except charge through fire like it didn't matter.

  Akilliz closed the distance. Ten feet. Five. Raised Frostbane in his left hand, the stance still feeling wrong, unnatural, but the demon guiding every movement. The mage's lips moved. A barrier flared between them, translucent purple energy crackling with magic.

  Frostbane struck the barrier and deflected, scraping along the magical surface with a sound like metal on glass. They were three feet apart now. The mage maintaining both the choke on Lirien and the shield between them, face tight with concentration.

  Akilliz swung again. The barrier held.

  "You're a half turned mortal," the mage said, voice strained but steady. "You're nothing compared to me!"

  He was right. Akilliz could feel it in the resistance of the barrier, in the way his strikes couldn't quite break through. One corrupted arm against a trained mage's full power. Not enough.

  Lirien's body had gone completely slack.

  Behind him, Kael's voice rose, shaking but determined. "Somnus... tactus... directa!"

  A white orb shot across the square. The mage's eyes flicked toward it. His free hand twitched, pulling back from the barrier to deflect, breaking his concentration for just an instant. The choke spell wavered. Kael's spell hit the mage square in the back.

  The impact wasn't dramatic. No explosion. No visible damage. Just the mage's whole body going rigid for a heartbeat as Kael's sleep magic tried to take hold. His shield flickered. His choking spell broke. Lirien dropped hard, hitting the ground in a gasping heap.

  The barrier disappeared entirely as the mage fought off Kael's spell, red eyes blazing with effort. Akilliz didn't hesitate. Frostbane drove forward. Through the empty air where the shield had been. Into the mage's chest, just left of center, punching through purple robes and the flesh beneath.

  The mage's mouth opened. Blood bubbled at his lips. His hands came up, gripping the blade, trying to pull it out or push it away, but Akilliz's corrupted arm was too strong. He twisted the blade. Felt it scrape against bone. Pushed deeper. The light went out of the mage's eyes.

  Akilliz pulled Frostbane free and the body crumpled.

  Another life taken by his own hands.

  For three heartbeats he stood there, chest heaving, burns screaming across his right side, left arm cold and numb and wrong. His left hand still gripped Frostbane with perfect form, the demon's skill keeping the blade steady even while Akilliz's conscious mind reeled.

  He looked down at himself. Black veins covered his entire left arm, visible even through his torn and burned sleeve. They pulsed faintly with something that wasn't blood. The arm felt distant, like it belonged to someone else, like he was wearing a glove made of someone else's flesh. When he tried to move his left fingers, they responded. But there was a delay. A fraction of a second where his intention translated through something else before the movement happened.

  The demon was in there now. Sharing space. Guiding. Controlling.

  "Akilliz..."

  He turned. Lirien knelt while coughing, one hand still at her bruised throat, staring at him with eyes that held gratitude and horror in equal measure. Her gaze fixed on his arm. On the black veins. On the way it hung at his side with unnatural stillness.

  "What happened to you?" Her voice came out raw and broken from the choking.

  He looked at his arm again. At the price he'd paid. "I had to," he said quietly. "You were dying."

  "Thank you." Tears tracked through the dirt on her face. "Gods, thank you, but your arm... what did you—"

  A slow clap echoed across the square. They both turned.

  The dark elves had reformed while he'd been fighting. Twenty of them, spreading out in a coordinated circle. Villagers held at blade-point. Children's faces white with terror as the dark elves encircled the longhouse.

  Stepping forward through the circle was a massive dark elf in ornate black armor. Seven feet tall, shoulders broad as a door. A greatsword rested casually across one shoulder. His face was a map of old scars, one eye milky white and dead, the other burning red. The commander.

  "Well." His voice was like stones grinding together. "How entertaining." His good eye fixed on Akilliz's corrupted arm. "Tell me, how does a boy expect to defeat an army?"

  Akilliz said nothing. Just gripped Frostbane tighter in his left hand, feeling the demon's skill keeping it perfectly balanced despite the burns screaming across his right side.

  The commander smiled. "Drop your weapons. All of you. Or we start killing hostages." He gestured lazily. A dark elf pressed a blade harder against Bram's throat. Blood welled. "Starting with this one."

  Across the square, Eryndor struggled to stand, bleeding heavily from his shoulder. "Don't—"

  "Silence, old mage. Or you die first." The commander's eye found Akilliz again. "You. The marked one. Drop the sword. Now."

  Akilliz's jaw clenched. His corrupted arm twitched slightly, the demon whispering that he could kill them all if Akilliz would just give more, just surrender completely. "Shut up," he muttered.

  "What was that?" The commander leaned forward.

  From the ground nearby, Kael stirred. Still on his knees, Grimoire open in front of him, wand clutched in shaking hands. His lips moved, forming words so quiet only Akilliz and Lirien could hear. "I can't believe... I can't believe I have to do this..."

  "Kael?" Lirien whispered. "What are you—"

  Kael's face flushed red with embarrassment. He took a shaky breath, closed his eyes like he was about to jump off a cliff, and began to sing. His voice cracked on the first word. Wavered through the second. He sounded absolutely mortified.

  "Mortal, mortal, deep in peril,

  Sinking in a wooden barrel,

  All you need to do,

  Is chant the song given to you.

  Say it loud, sing it high,

  The words, my dear, are:

  Mighty, mighty Zolam, rescue me."

  The last note broke embarrassingly high. Silence. The dark elves looked at each other, confused.

  The commander's face twisted with contempt. "Did that boy just—"

  A portal tore open in the air behind them. Purple and crackling, edges unstable, like reality was being forced apart by someone who didn't care about doing it neatly.

  Master Zolam stumbled through. Eyes closed. Snoring. Floating three feet off the ground while completely asleep, his beard swaying slightly with each exhale. "Wha... someone summoning... very rude... middle of perfectly good dream about... cats in..." He rolled over in midair, still snoring.

  The dark elves stared. Zolam exhaled, a long breath that smelled like old parchment and stranger things. Three dark elves approaching cautiously from his left froze mid-step. Literally turned to stone, faces locked in expressions of shock.

  Zolam snored louder. A bubble formed at his nose. Expanded. Popped. The pop sent a pulse of force that knocked two more dark elves flat on their backs.

  Then Zolam started drifting away from the battle, still completely asleep, heading toward the tree line.

  "Wait!" Kael shouted, face burning red. "Master, we need—"

  Zolam bumped into a tree. Bounced off. Changed direction as his snores faded into the forest. Gone.

  The commander recovered first, face purple with rage. "Kill them! Kill them all—"

  "No." Akilliz's voice came out steady despite the pain. "Not like this."

  His right palm, maybe it could work. Thalindra's mark lay hidden beneath dirt and blood. But he didn't care. He had to try something. He had to hope she was watching, or listening. If it took angels and demons to save his friends, he would trade his life to either.

  Akilliz pressed his right hand to his chest, over his heart, fingers leaving bloody prints on his burned tunic. He thought with everything he had left.

  I don't know if this works. I don't know if you can hear me. But we're all about to die. Every last one of us. The children. The villagers. Lirien.

  Please. Thalindra. Save us.