The group of ghosts converging toward the major looked like a crowd bum-rushing him from all sides. A chill pricked the back of my neck—like the air itself had teeth. The spirits drifted forward, translucent arms outstretched and long bony claws flexed, ready to grab the major. But he didn’t flinch. Instead, he lunged in with brass-knuckled fists and punched the wraiths into a bright cloud of green mist.

  I moved to his flank, keeping my cursed sword low at my side. The high-pitched whine from the blade buzzed behind my eyes, but I forced the distraction down. A dozen more ghosts emerged from the cracks in the rubble. Their hollow eyes glowed with eerie malice.

  Waelid snorted on the other side of the major. “They sure are eager to die twice.”

  He charged ahead, crescent scimitar flashing. His first swing sliced through two ghosts in a single arc.

  I followed, stepping around their wispy claws and driving my blade through the chest of one spirit. Fern’s voice nudged at the back of my mind.

  ‘Watch out, Erik, they have us surrounded.’

  Don’t worry. These ghosts aren’t nearly strong enough, the major underestimated us, I said.

  “Major, behind you,” I warned, spotting a pair of spirits darting past me toward the turned back of Major Philip. He whirled around, meeting them with a thunderous uppercut. They vanished in a swirl of smoky light.

  “They’re too slow,” Major Philip said. His mustache twitched with a self-satisfied grin. “Nothing to worry about here, keep pressure on them. Clear the area out.”

  Most of the ghosts hovered uncertainly as if they sensed they were outmatched. Waelid took advantage, hacking a path right through the middle. I followed, and my heart remained calm as each cut grew easier. It was like cutting through jelly. There was something there. The ghosts were tangible but easily destroyed.

  I moved like an ice skater, using our synergy. We flew across the open-ended forum. Waelid moved with his unique grace, like the wind. And the major, well, the major just punched the unliving shit out of every spirit he could get near. He didn’t break a single sweat.

  Soon, the courtyard was littered with dissipating ectoplasm. The final ghost let out a keening wail before I sliced through it, my sword humming softly in my grip. Then the plaza fell silent, save for our ragged breathing. As the retreating ghosts disappeared and my grip on my sword loosened, the pinging sound lowered into a low buzz barely audible.

  Maybe I’m getting the hang of handling this cursed thing, I thought.

  ‘Or maybe it just likes killing! Hah! That was easy! Did you see how many we took down?’ Fern said excitedly.

  I lost count myself. I laughed in my head back to him.

  ‘I didn’t! Eighty-five!’ Fern said, pride emanating from him. I saw in my mind he was walking around pretending to fight imaginary enemies.

  Waelid turned to me; his sword was on his back, and he was stretching his arms. “Not even a proper warm-up.”

  I forced a grin. I hated working with Waelid, but I could never doubt his skills. He wasn’t a twin soul, yet he moved with the speed of one. “Okay, fess up, what’s your infusion?” I said.

  Waelid looked back over his shoulder and smiled. “I’ll give you a hint: I rise from the ashes.”

  Damn, a phoenix infusion? That’s got to be a powerful one, right?

  ‘It must be—phoenixes are rare creatures found only in one specific part of the world,’ Fern said.

  Oh, they just don’t exist on Earth.

  Major Philip dusted off his gloves. “All right, boys. Let’s move, area’s cleared. That wasn’t the real threat for this quadrant.”

  Without waiting for an reply, he strode forward.

  We left the courtyard behind, crossing deeper into the abandoned streets of Dust. In the corners of my eyes, I saw small shapes of glowing green figures hiding in the alcoves and windows of the ruined buildings we walked past. I concluded that not all the ghost citizens of Dust were aggressive.

  Ghost children, spectral teens, and nonaggressive spirits of men and women and the elderly hid from us as we walked through the small streets. In the waters of the canals we traveled beside, several small, translucent boats with passengers would pass us by, not angry but scared.

  “The people of Dust, those that remain trapped here, were not all fighters as we encountered. Most lived here peacefully. Most were innocent when the wrath of the ones above came to them,” Major Philip said, noticing me look around.

  We turned another corner and entered another large city square. As I stepped over what looked like the broken base of a stone column, I heard something—a song, distant and echoing. Melancholic and longing.

  “You two hear that?” I asked.

  Waelid shook his head and raised an eyebrow at me.

  Major Philip gave a shrug. “Must be the ghosts messing with you.” He glanced around at the deserted alleys and cracked rooftops. “Dust was once a hub for both the Kingdom Above and the surface world. They had art and music that rivaled any other. Probably leftover spirits, playing melodies they loved in life.”

  I tried to listen to the tune again, but all I caught was the soft rushing of water through the canals. A shiver of unease crawled up my spine, though I kept moving alongside them.

  Major Philip stopped in front of an ornate, toppled statue. The statue was that of a man wearing a spiked crown and holding a spiked mace. The man held a book in his hand and wore a long robe. Its face was worn beyond recognition.

  Major Philip reached out and touched it. “Remember, the first floor has its scrollguards—six of them, each protecting ancient histories we needed to collect? Three years ago, back when Waelid was a first-year, one of the scrolls talked about the city of Dust. Its rise, its rebellion, and its fall.

  “The scroll had many tales in it, and one of them told a story about three brothers, bastard sons of a high prince from the Kingdom Above. The story goes that the three brothers fell in love with a beautiful woman warrior who ascended the pillar from the surface to the second floor. The woman came with her people, looking for a place of refuge. At the time, the world was engulfed in a large war between kingdoms, and mages were tearing the planet apart just to take scraps of land from the others.

  “The brothers were visiting the city of Dust and met her as she arrived. Her beauty and leadership drew them to her like a moth to a flame. But the woman didn’t want love; she wanted her people protected. She supposedly told them, ‘Whoever protects my people best will win my heart, and my hand.’

  “They abandoned their godlike roots to be with her people even in death. Every time the floor resets, their souls return to guard the woman’s people. They don’t rest until they’ve driven out threats—or until someone puts them down. That’s our job now.” His tone was matter-of-fact, but I caught the hint of respect buried in it.

  Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more.

  “Do they carry anything of value like the scrollguards?” I asked.

  “No, but they are a threat to anyone who travels here, so they must be culled every reset. That is what we will do today.”

  We pressed on, and I tried to calm my nerves with distracting thoughts. I thought back to the melancholy song and couldn’t decide if the faint music in my head had truly vanished or if it was simply drowned out by my growing sense of dread for the upcoming fight.

  Eventually, Major Philip slowed at a crossroads. He looked up toward the ceiling above and held his hand over his face. He looked at the hanging crystals and then looked down each path. “This way,” he muttered. “Stay focused and move quietly.”

  A few minutes later, Major Philip beckoned us closer to a decaying mural hidden behind fractured columns. The teal-and-purple light revealed a woman’s painted form. Her delicate features and inky black hair looked hauntingly familiar.

  “Say . . . doesn’t she look like Luna?” Waelid said. “She have some sort of ancestor here?”

  I raised an eyebrow and stared at the mural; it really did seem similar to her. My spine felt cold and something in that painting set me on edge. She had seemed suspicious from the beginning . . . Could there be a connection to this woman?

  Major Philip cleared his throat. “Let’s keep moving.”

  After ten more minutes of climbing over rubble and navigating narrow alleys, we came to a narrow passage. Beyond it, a wide-open plaza stretched out with a grand fountain, dry and silent, in the center. A tall, armored figure prowled beside it, dragging a massive mace. Its body seemed half skeletal, eyes glowing with eerie green light. It wore a spiked crown.

  “That,” Major Philip said in a low voice, holding up his hand so we stayed behind the wall, “is one of the brothers I told you about. A lichguard. That is who we have to kill.”

  Waelid reached for his scimitar.

  I reached for my sword. The quiet buzzing grew louder inside my mind. “What? Just like that?”

  Major Philip flashed a hard grin. “Yes. You two can’t handle it in your normal state. But your infusions should tip the scales. Waelid, you might survive as you are, but Erik, not a chance without the boost. Get ready.”

  We put our backs to the wall as Major Philip drew out the two small blades from inside his coat. “Stand still,” he ordered, and before we could protest, he plunged the blades into our chests. Pain flared, and Fern screamed inside my mind.

  ‘Erik!’ he yelled. ‘It’s here!’

  Waelid gasped, staggering.

  “Stay calm, boys,” Major Philip hissed. “The first time’s hell—like holding a crazed dog on a thin leash. But you’ll have all the power you need. Focus on the enemy, not each other.”

  My heartbeat thundered against my ribs, and I felt hot blood dripping down my chest. I barely registered that the major had stepped aside, urging us forward around the wall. Stumbling out into the open, the lichguard noticed us and turned slowly, mace scraping across broken tiles. My vision darkened at the edges as my body began to change.

  Blood rushed through my ears so loudly I could hardly hear Major Philip bark, “Remember, focus on the enemy! Don’t let it take you under.”

  ‘Erik! Help!’ Fern shouted.

  But his words made no sense to me. My veins felt like they were on fire. My ears were filled with the sound of rushing blood. The world around me—the ruined city, the teal crystal lights, even the hulking silhouette of the lichguard—blurred. My breath came in shuddering gasps as a terrible pressure welled up in my chest, like some wild, living thing fighting to burst free.

  I faintly heard Waelid letting out a strangled groan beside me. Through my hazy vision, I saw him clutch at his chest. Sparks of fiery light crackled around his fingers, forearms, and shoulders. His legs spasmed, half melting into something birdlike. Feathers sprouted along his arms as a swirl of embers glowed at his back—phantom wings that flickered between flesh and flame. A white mask with a phoenix painted on it covered his face. He grew twice his size and began to curl up into a ball of red, fiery feathers.

  A stifling heat raged through my own body, but it was different from Waelid’s. Mine felt primal and feral. My skin prickled as fur pushed through in patches. A harder coating appeared across my fur, creating a sort of hide armor. My spine elongated with a sickening crunch and pop. A roar built in my throat, so low it vibrated in my ribs. When I tried to step forward, a heavy hoof scraped against the broken tiles.

  The lichguard must have sensed something shifting. It started to walk faster toward us, lifting its mace. Green flames flickered in the hollows of its eyes. Despite the agony of transformation, I felt a raw thrill of power surge through me.

  I wanted to tear that thing’s body apart.

  I took a single staggering step on my two back hooves, and the tiled floor cracked beneath my weight. My sense of self slipped behind the anger of the beast inside me. I felt my back fur pinch, twist, and rip. Then wings grew rapidly through my fur. It felt like stretching a second pair of arms.

  The chimera had awoken.

  My gaze locked on the lichguard. Its mace was raised high, and a swirl of blackish-green energy crackled around the spiked head. I snarled, baring fangs that scraped the inside of my mouth. And I had only one priority. To kill.

  Waelid let out a shriek—some mixture of a human cry and a bird’s screech. He threw himself at the lichguard, slamming it in the side with flaming talons. The creature staggered back, metal boots scraping on stone. I saw the opening and got on all fours.

  My lionlike forelimbs pounded the ground, claws scoring deep lines in the aged tiles. I kicked off with my hooves, and as I leaped, the lichguard twisted its mace and slammed it upward.

  The blow caught me across my shoulder, sparks flying from the collision of metal and my hardened chimera hide. Pain flared, but the fury in my blood drowned it out. I twisted back and dug my claws onto its arm, ripping into the corroded armor.

  A hiss escaped the lichguard’s jaw, echoing in the courtyard. It swung the mace again, smashing me aside. My body bounced across the ground, stone shards cutting into my hide and embedding themselves into my flesh. I roared, frustration burning in my throat. Nothing mattered but destroying this undead monstrosity.

  Waelid soared overhead, his wings blazing. He twisted and dove in a spiraling streak of fire, raking the lichguard’s back. For a moment, it spun wildly, trying to keep up with Waelid’s aerial assault. I used that distraction to lunge forward again, hooking my claws under a gap in the lichguard’s chest plate. Metal groaned, and I felt the armor give way.

  “H-hold him s-still!” Waelid’s voice sounded closer to an eagle’s screech than a man’s. But I registered his command. I put my weight down onto the lichguard, holding him in place.

  Waelid swooped down once more, driving his flaming talons into the lichguard’s shoulder. The monster reeled, stumbling against the grand fountain at the center of the forum. Dust and broken masonry rained around us. I snarled and pressed in, head low, jaws snapping.

  Rage pounded in my skull, blotting out reason. I felt unstoppable, a perfect storm of claws, muscle, and reckless fury. My teeth grazed bone, and the lichguard’s unearthly shriek rattled my eardrums. It wrenched free, swinging its mace wildly. Green lightning crackled along the weapon’s head, lancing off columns and scorching the stone floor.

  Waelid darted in again, but the lichguard’s next swing caught him in midair. He tumbled across the courtyard, flames sputtering. I roared, a vicious surge of adrenaline pulsing through my limbs. Any hint of caution evaporated. I barreled forward, slamming into the lichguard with all my weight. Together, we skidded across the ground.

  I raked my claws through the tear in its chest, feeling corroded metal and brittle bone splinter under my grip. Up close, the stench of death and ancient magic choked me. The lichguard lifted its mace to the side to smash me.

  A screech echoed across the plaza. Waelid had recovered. He lunged forward in a blazing tackle. Waelid latched onto the creature’s arm, yanking it sideways.

  That gave me all the opening I needed. Digging my hind hooves into the ground, I clamped my jaws over the gap in the lichguard’s armor. Bone cracked between my fangs. An unholy wail reverberated off the courtyard walls. Its mace clattered to the stone with a resounding crash.

  “Finish it!” Waelid screeched. Embers whirled around him like a living inferno.

  I tore again at the lichguard’s rib cage, and with a last surge of power, its torso snapped apart in my claws. Green mist exploded outward, cascading over the fountain and swirling high into the air. The lichguard’s eyes dimmed as it collapsed into a heap of crumbling armor and bone.

  A moment of stillness followed. My heart thundered, and my breath was ragged. Rage still coursed through my veins, refusing to release its grip on me. I whirled, half blinded by my bloodlust. Waelid landed on the ground next to me. He glanced his white mask at me warily.

  I drew a shuddering breath and launched myself toward him.

  KILL HIM. KILL THE CRIMINAL. My mind was filled with rage as I brought my claw down on Waelid.

  Then I froze. My body wouldn’t move forward anymore. Something held me back. I turned my head and saw Major Philip, eyes leaking white mist, holding one of my legs with one hand. I saw him mouth something, and then I fell to the ground. My vision blurred, and the fur along my arms receded. The dagger in my chest burned as I felt it fall out of me. My head spun, and my stomach twisted. I looked back at Waelid, my senses slowly returning to me.

  Did I just try to kill him? I thought hazily.

  Waelid’s feathers fell from his body one by one, embers dying to reveal his normal arms. He let out a shaken exhale, face slick with sweat. The remaining green mist from the dead lichguard floated around us.

  Victory, yes, but I could hardly celebrate. My lungs fought for air, my skull pounded, and all I could think of was how that raging monster within me had nearly taken control completely.

  Darkness crept into the edges of my vision, thick and suffocating. My mind grew hazy, thoughts slipping through my grasp like water through clenched fingers. Sleep tugged at me, relentless and insidious, like some demented goblin clawing its way into my skull. I fought to keep my eyes open, but the battle was futile. The world faded into shadows, and as my head hit the floor, a strange unease settled over me—something wasn’t right.