Among the remaining survivors, Amaro never considered himself to be better than them. He never considered himself to be more worthy of survival. The resonant chime of the bell carried a strange tranquility to it. He could not tell if his eyes were adjusting Ux naturally to see the monsters, or if the bell was eliminating their invisibility. Either way, it seemed he was not the only one who could see them. There was no time to question the situation. Amaro could only fight.

His body took care of everything. His instincts had always been sharp. He knew when his opponent would strike, but Amaro could never articulate how he knew. A twitch of the shoulder, a shift in stance, a killing intent. He always thought his lightning magic had gifted him with a quick mind that could react to anything. Amaro slipped through the ranks of the Malaki like a violent flash. He allowed the spirit inside Quinrai to guide his hand, adjusting its angle only slightly to deal as much damage as possible.

That voice which impressed itself upon him was gone now, but a fraction of its power remained. His instincts told him that if he did not fight with everything he had, he would die. If he did not strike these monsters down, and sever their hazardous limbs, his friends would perish.

He could hear the whistling of Sancta’s arrows as they whizzed past his head and pierced the Oskuutor’s ranks. Tulos’s thin wires creaked and cut through the monsters that tried to crawl through the gap in their wall. Those ravenous Oskuutor did not seem to care that they were cut to pieces. They grinned, laughing hysterically as they pushed themselves through like a pile of ground beef. They enjoyed the pain. They enjoyed the fight.

That was something they had in common with Amaro. Every cut on his skin, every wound in his body, was exhilarating. He was healing faster. He felt invincible despite brushing so close to death. Like he was hanging from an unbreakable rope over the endless groaning abyss.

An Oskuutor lunched, its maw primed to swallow him whole. He could see the rows of teeth leading all the way down its throat.

He felt Anitus behind him, ducking instinctively as his brother swung his greatsword overhead, cleaving the head of the Oskuutor in two. Amaro dashed forward, his hooked blade a silver blur as it cut through its limbs and sent it tumbling into the snow. He felt a searing pain in his shoulder as another Oskuutor stabbed into him. He cut through its spider-like appendage and retreated to the backlines to where Sancta stayed.

“Don’t rush in like that. You’ll die,” Sancta said coldly as she pulled the appendage from his wound.

Amaro grit his teeth, “You’ll die if I don’t fight with everything I have,” He said, watching as the frontlines replenished with Deka and his allies to hold the Oskuutor at bay.

Sancta frowned as she scanned the battlefield. “Those effigies need to burn faster.”

“The effigies help them to find us right?”

This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

“That’s one part of it. I found that the effigies also have a death curse which makes it impossible for us to properly harm them.”

“And who is ringing that bell? Why does it work better than the one we’ve used?”

Sancta laughed dryly, “Because the one ringing it understands the meaning behind the story. Look, the Malaki recoil everytime he rings it. They know they’re vulnerable.”

“And yet I still haven’t found a way to make one stay dead.”

“But they are regenerating slower, and that’s all we need. The bell ringer is observing from a hiding place, looking for their vulnerabilities.”

“And who is this mysterious bell ringer?”

“The very same who severed your horns, brother.”

“I see, then I cannot afford to be outdone by them again.” Amaro said, standing as his wound fully closed.

“Sancta! We need your help over here!” Miiruka called out.

“On my way!” She said, slapping Amaro’s shoulder, “Come back alive.”

Amaro nodded, “Get me into the next wave!” He called out, cutting the rows to stand shoulder to shoulder with Arik and Tadios.

“At least you’re reliable when it counts,” Arik smirked.

“Of course he is. His family’s fighting with him, aint that right?” Tadios said.

Amaro felt strength well in his body once more, “In more ways than one, yes.”

Deka’s party retreated. The prince himself shouldering Fealux as he entered the backline. A flame lit up between Tadios’s horns, and green runes lit up along Arik’s dark skin. Amaro’s eyes set ablaze with magical power, trained on the monsters ahead as they entered the fray once again.

Again and again, Amaro fought with everything he had. His body moved on its own. He could hardly hear his own thoughts. He felt at one with himself. How much time was passing? Seconds? Minutes? It felt so long, and so short at the same time. When the Oskuutor revealed their true power, he was ready. When they feigned their weakness, he drove his blade deep. His hooked blade became the reaper’s scythe.

All of those laughing Oskuutor made him want to laugh too. He grinned, his sharpened canines showing as he tore into them. Hot foggy breath exited his mouth as their cold black blood steamed from his clothes. He had found his purpose. He had found what he’d been missing all this time. As the wave changed out, he was still uninjured. He stood atop one of the Oskuutor, slipping past the jabs and swipes of the other monsters. He allowed their fellow Malaki to do all the damage for him.

“What’s wrong?! Can’t hit me when I know how you work?!” He laughed, severing their limbs in an instant. He tilted his head off to the side as another sharpened limb shot past. He hopped over a grasping Oskuutor and blasted lightning into its face before kicking its jaw to pieces. One of the bone armored Malaki came rushing towards him, but a wooden arrow shattered through its eyeless skull and burst into thorns. Amaro landed in the snow, feeling the shaft of a spear under his foot. He kicked it into his hands and stabbed it into the maw of another bone armored Malaki. In an instant, he felt a wave of exhaustion hit him. Amaro narrowly dodged another few strikes, but he couldn’t bring his arms back up to counterattack.

“You’re poisoned! Get back!” Sancta shouted.

Amaro’s vision blurred. He jumped back, and tumbled on wobbling legs. The Oskuutor chased him down. He felt them dragging him back. He blasted his lightning into them, but it was ineffective. His vision was tunneling. The sounds of battle dampened. A low ringing in his ears.

He looked down. When had he been stabbed in the gut?