The Red Hollow swallowed sound under a sky like spilled blood, war drums thudding through the haze. Lian Voss ducked an arrow, its black fletching kissing his ear before it buried itself in a corpse’s chest—some poor bastard from his own Azure Dawn unit. Steel clashed ahead, the Iron Crane Legion’s ranks slicing through conscripts like a blade through silk, their cultivators darting overhead on wings of silver qi. “Told ‘em this canyon was a coffin,” Lian thought, scrambling over a shattered shield, his notched sword dragging like dead weight. “Should’ve bolted when I had the chance.”
He slid behind a jagged rock as another volley rained down, splintering stone and flesh alike. The Azure Dawn’s banners—blue cloth stitched with sanctimonious gold—lay trampled in the dirt. Across the canyon, the Cranes marched in lockstep, shields up, spears gleaming, a wall of death herded by officers barking orders. Above, a cultivator spun mid-air, qi flaring as he loosed a barrage of steel feathers that shredded a dozen men. Lian spat dust. Those bastards don’t even need foot soldiers. Why’d they bother with us?
A scream cut through—Jek, the wiry kid who’d shared his last crust of bread yesterday. Lian peeked out. Jek thrashed, pinned to the ground by a Crane spear, blood bubbling from his lips. “Lian—help—” The plea choked off as the soldier twisted the shaft. Lian’s grip tightened on his sword. Move, you coward. Do something. But his legs locked. Another arrow whizzed past, and he bolted, Jek’s cry clawing at his back as he dove for a crevice in the canyon wall.
The shadows swallowed him, cool and damp against the battle’s heat. He pressed against the rock, chest heaving, the clash of steel muffled now. Survive first. Mourn later. He’d seen too many die—friends, strangers, didn’t matter. The Azure Dawn scooped him up from a gutter six months back, promising food and purpose. All he got was a rusty blade and a front-row seat to slaughter.
Boots crunched outside. Lian froze. A figure stepped in—tall, armored, sword trailing with a faint silver shimmer. One of them. Big shot, from the gear. Her face was sharp, eyes cold under a crested helm, some kind of energy humming off her like a storm about to break. She’d seen him—probably smelled the fear dripping off him.
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“Cowards like you deserve a brutal death,” she said, voice flat, disinterested. Her sword rose, light coiling into it.
Lian rolled as she swung. The blade hummed, and a gust of razor wind ripped through the crevice, clawing the stone where he’d been. Rock shards bit his arm, blood seeping through his sleeve. He lunged, swinging wild. Her sword met his—clang sent his hands numb—and she smashed a boot into his chest. He slammed the wall, air gone, head spinning.
She stepped closer, blade whirling again. Lian ducked—too slow. A sharp gust of wind sliced his shoulders, a tiny but painful cut; she was toying with him. He snarled, grabbing dirt and chucking it at her face. She flinched, light stuttering, and he charged. His swung his sword low, aiming for the unprotected area between her chest and leg armour. She tripped—just enough—and he rammed his blade up, catching soft flesh under her ribs.
The sword sank in. She gasped, light fading from her, and crumpled, blood pooling black. Lian staggered back, panting, as her weapon clattered beside her. She's ... dead. I’m alive—
A rush hit him—hot, sharp, like a gale trapped in his bones. His knees buckled, and a voice growled in his head, low and rough: “Essence reaped.” Silver threads snaked from her body, sinking into his chest. His arms tensed, sword suddenly lighter. “What the—?” He swung at nothing—air hissed, and the dirt split, a shallow cut with a faint snap of wind. Not her trick, not quite—but something raw, alive.
He stared at his blade, then her corpse. “This… this power ... hers?” His stomach churned. He wasn’t one of them—no training, no glowing nonsense. But this felt stolen, wrong, and real. He swung again, harder. The air bit deeper, cracking stone. “I didn’t do that before.”
Shouts snapped him out—enemy voices, close. “Captain Vara, I saw her disappear there! There—light!” Lian cursed. His sword flickered, a faint shimmer—whatever he’d taken, it glowed like a damn beacon. He stumbled from the crevice, blood dripping, the canyon a mess of torn banners and twitching dead. Run. They’ll carve me up for this.
A horn blared—deep, wild, not the shrill screech of the Iron Crane whistles. Lian’s head jerked up. Dust boiled across the ridge. Red banners rose, jagged teeth scrawled in blood, riders on hulking beasts—wolves, scaled things, claws glinting. The Crimson Horde faction. Not the same enemy. Worse. Their howls drowned the drums, locking on him—or his stupid, glowing sword. “Saw it too. Great.”
The ground rumbled as they charged, a flood of fur and steel. Lian gripped his blade, the stolen heat thrumming in his veins. Run or fight—either way, I’m dead meat.