Alyra was running straight toward death.

  Death given shape in that abomination, and her death was the only certainty left to her.

  The abomination loomed before her, tall as a temple of Orbisar, a hulking mass of flesh, eyes, mouths, and horns. Its squat legs ended in hooves, while two grotesquely long, jointed arms hung like the limbs of some monstrous insect.

  It had swatted Markus aside as if he were nothing. Surely, she would be next.

  And yet, the monster froze, its many eyes fixed on her.

  That was her chance. If she turned and bolted now, she might still live. She might even find the road to Rothmere and vanish behind its stone walls again.

  But that creature was the living embodiment of the spheres’ corruption. The same power that had slain Markus had already torn apart her village, her parents—her life. The same power that had reduced her to nothing but a trembling child.

  But she wasn’t helpless anymore. She would not die cowering. She would never allow herself to feel that powerless again.

  She stepped forward and stopped before the beast.

  The colossus loomed, so massive that a single swipe could crush her into a smear of red across the mud. And yet it remained still, watching her with something that almost looked like caution. As if it hadn’t decided whether she was an enemy, or something else.

  She closed her eyes and hurled all her weight—and all her fury—into her punch, just as Instructor Claudine had taught her.

  “Learn to channel yourself into every strike. That won’t just make it stronger, it will prepare you to wield Orbisar’s power one day. Every blow must carry your entire essence. This isn’t a fist hitting flesh. It’s a soul imposing its will on another. You must defeat your enemy before the battle even begins.”

  Alyra opened her eyes and struck.

  Her fist sank into the creature as if she’d driven it through a rotten fruit. Flesh split under her knuckles, her arm plunging into its belly with a wet, revolting squelch. A wave of rot and withered flowers surged up her throat. The flesh clamped around her, clammy and cold, like the grasp of death itself.

  The creature didn’t flinch.

  With a hard tug, Alyra yanked her arm free. It came loose with a wet, sucking sound, followed by a gush of dark liquid that splattered into the dirt.

  The foul substance coated her arm to the elbow. Her hand tingled, as if something crawled beneath her skin. It didn’t hurt, but it felt… wrong. As though something alien had seeped inside her.

  She had no time to make sense of it. No time to wonder why the thing had let her strike.

  Or why her small fist had managed to wound it at all.

  She struck again. Then again. Each blow ripped fresh holes into its bloated mass. More black fluid spilled out, mixed with shreds of slimy tissue. The stench was unbearable. Her vision swam, as though the reek itself were choking her from within.

  Maybe if she kept going, she could actually destroy it. Tear it apart and bury the pieces deep in the mud, where they would never rise again.

  Her vision split, doubling and fracturing like shards of a broken mirror. She shook her head to clear it—but the world only spun faster. She clamped a hand over her mouth, yet the stench still crawled into her gut like a living thing. The filth smeared across her arm reeked of rot, impossible to scrub away.

  She clenched her teeth. She had to keep going. She couldn’t stop now.

  The creature let out a low, guttural growl. The ground quaked as it stomped, one hoof gouging into the earth. A bubbling rumble swelled from its ragged maw, and one of its grotesquely long limbs lifted high above her head.

  Alyra froze.

  This was it. Whatever had held the monster back was gone.

  But then, it faltered. The hesitation returned, as if some unseen force still bound it. But that grip was slipping fast. The beast was breaking free.

  Alyra staggered back and tripped. She landed hard in the mud. The cold damp seeped through her clothes, crawling up her back.

  She looked down at what had caught her foot.

  Markus’s body. Headless. Half his arms gone. Sprawled in the muck beneath her. In her frenzy, she must have passed him without even noticing.

  But she was sure he had been farther away. What was he doing here?

  Then the corpse twitched, dragging his ruined stumps as if it meant to crawl toward her.

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  Her stomach lurched, bile rising in her throat as his mangled stumps flailed weakly in the air.

  Alyra screamed and scrambled back just as the body tried to rise.

  A heavy, wet thud shook the ground beside her, spraying mud across her side.

  The monster’s claw had slammed down less than a meter away. For some reason, it had missed.

  Something was still distorting its senses. Otherwise, she would already be dead.

  The beast wrenched its claw free from the earth, flinging muck several feet into the air as it raised the twisted limb again, lining up for another strike. It stepped closer.

  “Derek… Isabelle… Markus…” she whispered. Her eyes burned. “I’m sorry…”

  The claw came crashing down, but midway through the swing, it jerked sideways.

  Alyra froze, her breath caught in her chest.

  The limb didn’t just veer off course. It kept going. Flying.

  It was… gone? How the hell had it lost an arm?

  Something spun through the air—a black scythe, gleaming like a steel-winged bat. Beneath it, two burning coals for eyes.

  The NOVA.

  And then came Derek’s voice, more beautiful to her than a choir of angels.

  “Really? You’re going after little girls now, you sack of shit?” Derek staggered forward, swinging the massive black scythe fused to what had once been his arm. The swing was clumsy as hell.

  He stepped wrong, lost his balance, windmilled and faceplanted straight into the mud.

  “Goddammit, Vanda, do something!” he shouted, his voice muffled with rage.

  “Derek!” Alyra cried. Her pulse hammered so hard it drowned out every other sound. She lurched forward, hands half-raised, not knowing whether to run to him or stay back.

  The now one-armed monster staggered, snorting and huffing. It looked weakened. The holes Alyra had torn into its flesh still leaked black sludge, the flow refusing to slow.

  Its insane healing factor… was failing. Just like Derek’s armor.

  The abomination scraped deep into the ground and hurled a chunk of mud the size of a boulder. Then it limped toward Derek, who was still half-sunken in the muck, unable to rise.

  Markus—or what was left of him—had risen, waving his arm and stump in her direction.

  Alyra kept her distance. Even if he couldn’t see her, if he managed to grab hold, she would never break free of his grip.

  “Stop!” a woman’s voice rang out.

  Alyra barely had time to turn her head.

  A white blur shot past her, wind whipping her hair across her face. She shoved it aside just in time to see the blonde woman charging the blacksmith’s corpse.

  “Perish, foul abomination!” Isabelle roared, her sword crackling with lightning as she brought it down.

  Alyra held her breath. Isabelle… she was back!

  The Warden’s greatsword carved through the corpse’s legs in a wide horizontal arc. A surge of electricity wrapped it in a glowing cocoon.

  An instant later, what was left of Markus collapsed into a heap of charred, sizzling flesh.

  At the sight of what had become of poor Markus, Alyra could barely hold back her tears.

  But Isabelle was unstoppable. With her sword in hand, she charged the monster closing in on Derek.

  The abomination turned just as she lunged.

  Its claw caught the blade with a screech of metal on bone, but the surge of lightning made it convulse and fling the weapon away. Smoke curled from the scorched flesh as Isabelle wrenched the sword back under her control.

  She pressed her advantage, raining thrusts and slashes. Sparks leapt with every strike, lightning crawling across the monster’s bulk like glowing insects.

  Snarling, the beast lunged again. This time its claws clamped around the blade and wrenched it sideways. Isabelle staggered, the greatsword nearly torn from her grip, but she twisted with the pull and threw her weight back into the fight.

  With a guttural cry, she tried to tear the sword free—but the monster held fast.

  A fireball slammed into its hand, searing flesh and forcing it to recoil with a hiss. The sword came loose.

  Tunga limped up beside Isabelle and drove his staff into the ground. He was pale and swaying on his feet, but his eyes burned with defiance and a savage snarl twisted his lips.

  Alyra fixed her gaze at her companions.

  They could barely stand. Yet they still fought.

  The creature was wounded, yes. Something was wearing it down. But they were in even worse shape.

  She was just a Sprout, still green, still learning, but even she could see the battle tilted in the monster’s favor.

  Its strength was overwhelming, and neither Isabelle’s strikes nor Tunga’s fireball had done a damn thing to it. For some reason, only Derek’s strange blade had left a mark.

  That… and her fists.

  Alyra stared at her hands. Something writhed beneath her skin, then slipped deeper into her forearm. She clawed at it, rubbing hard, desperate to scrub the feeling away. Had it really been there?

  For some reason, her fists could wound a creature otherwise untouchable. A creature not even the Warden of Narkhara could bring down.

  And that meant she had to play her part in this battle. She clenched her fists and stepped up beside Isabelle and Tunga.

  The Warden scowled at her. “What are you doing here? Stay back.” She reached out, as if to grab her or shove her away.

  Alyra met her gaze and shook her head. She wasn’t going to hide. Not this time.

  Isabelle’s hand froze mid-motion.

  Tunga narrowed his eyes. “Little heart on fire. You not stay back, yes?”

  Alyra gave a slow nod and started toward the beast.

  The abomination shifted, snorting, but did not strike.

  With a curse, Derek hauled himself and the NOVA out of the mud and dropped into what might’ve passed for a very awkward fighting stance. “The hell are you doing, Alyra?” he called.

  She ignored him and kept walking toward the monster.

  Derek followed, one leg stiff, the other dragging. “Goddammit, Alyra, stay back!”

  But she didn’t listen. Nothing else existed anymore, only that damned creature, trying to rip away what little remained of her life.

  For the first time, the beast backed away.

  Alyra froze, blinking. That towering, near-immortal horror was… afraid of her?

  The tiny eyes scattered across its bulk darted wildly, as if searching for a way out.

  Derek and Alyra pressed closer.

  Up close, Derek’s armor looked like hell. Whole chunks of plating were gone, exposing tangles of colored wires and glowing crystals. He moved clumsily, the massive black blade fused to his arm constantly pulling him off balance.

  Of all of them, he looked the worst off.

  “Kid,” Derek growled through clenched teeth, “Alyra, get the hell back! You lose your mind? Go into shock? Because this is not the time to start falling apart. In fact, it’s probably the single worst time in history.”

  “I-I’m fine,” she said, raising her fists.

  “You wanna box a ten-meter undead nightmare?” Derek shook his head. “Yeah, that’s not what fine looks like.” He jabbed NOVA’s one good arm toward the open field. “Do me a favor. Turn around and walk. Away. Now. I don’t know why that thing’s just standing there drooling, but it’s not gonna last. And when it starts stomping us again, I don’t want you in the way.”

  Her stomach twisted. His words hit like body blows, but she clenched her jaw and stepped forward anyway. “I…” She swallowed hard. “I said I’m fine. I can hurt it. Look at it.” She jerked her chin toward the monster. “It knows.”

  The thing lurched back, scraping the ground and snarling. Viscous black fluid poured from its wounds, and a thin trickle oozed from the ragged slit that passed for a mouth.

  Tunga stepped up beside her, teeth bared in a feral grin. “Girl is right,” he rasped. He raised a hand and conjured a flicker of flame between his fingers. “Beast is scared.” He sniffed the air, sharp and loud. “I smell it.”

  Derek shook his head. “All I smell is corpses and animal crap.”

  Isabelle moved to Alyra’s other side, her grip firm on the sword. “Derek, we strike together. It seems weakened, and this may be our only chance to finish it.”

  Derek’s gaze bounced from Isabelle to Alyra, then back. “Her too?”

  The Warden’s jaw tightened. “She’ll die anyway if we fail. Better she stand with us now than face it alone later.”

  Derek just stared at her.

  Alyra’s chest clenched. If he sent her away, they were finished. Derek could barely stand, and Isabelle’s and Tunga’s attacks weren’t enough. She knew it—felt it in her bones. Without her, they’d all die. And she’d be left alone again. This time, forever.

  “Shit,” Derek muttered. “You’re all insane on this planet.”

  Alyra locked eyes with him, holding her breath between heartbeats.

  He gave a sharp nod. “Fine. On my count, we hit it with everything we’ve got.”

  Alyra nodded fast.

  Isabelle and Tunga mirrored her.

  Derek turned to Alyra. “I don’t know what the hell’s going on, or what a little runt like you can do to that thing, but try not to die, got it?”

  She gave a small nod. “You too.”

  Derek shrugged—an oddly comical gesture in that battered armor. “I’ll try, but I wouldn’t put money on it.” He ignited the plasma blade with a hiss.

  “One…” Derek said.

  “Two…”

  Isabelle charged her sword with lightning, raising it high. Tunga lifted a hand beside his staff, a sphere of fire swirling into being between his fingers.

  Alyra raised her fists. Her pulse drummed so loud she could barely hear anything else.

  The creature twitched, suddenly agitated as if it had sensed their resolve. It roared like broken glass tearing across steel, then lunged, its one remaining limb stabbing forward.

  “Three!”