Dread swamped Hunter's gut as he realized the whereabouts of that damn impatient Night Mare.
"Dammit, Alice, you headstrong mare, couldn't you just wait?" He unleashed a few more curses under his breath.
“She’s your damn magical beast; can’t you sense where she is?” Lyra raised a brow, moving towards the stairs.
Mercos shot her a glare that could curdle milk. “You're about as helpful as a sundial at night. She’s still a beast, magical or not. Have you got her favorite treat to call her back?”
Hunter didn’t have time to explain that her favorite snack was as expensive as gold dust and their bond was fragile at best.
“Don’t move and just listen…” He raised a hand, motioning for silence. In the eerie quiet, the distant clip-clop of Alice’s hooves echoed from the stairwell.
Mercos's eyes widened. He gestured to Monty with a mix of hope and desperation. “Think you can wrangle her back?”
The gray parrot looked towards the stairwell, gave a firm nod, and cawed as he took flight. Hunter swore it sounded like “stubborn pony” through the whirl of flapping wings.
They all exchanged a look, as if they’d heard the same thing.
Monty had barely vanished when the thunder of Alice’s hooves reverberated through the chamber. She charged back in, a whirlwind of midnight fur and wild, fearful eyes. She skidded to a halt beside Hunter, clomping her hooves in a display of equine angst, then vanished in a wisp of magic.
A quick glance at his inventory told him she had returned to her animal totem form.
Lyra's head whipped around. “Where in Hades did Alice bolt off to?”
Monty returned to Mercos' shoulder, feigning innocence, while Buckie looked up expectantly, all eyes now on Hunter.
“She’s taken a timeout in totem form. We’re on our own for now.” Hunter’s voice tinged with resignation with the simple explanation.
Lyra, edging towards the stairs again, sniffed the air like a bloodhound. “What's the plan then? There's a cooldown on her summoning, right?”
“Exactly.” Hunter confirmed, his mind racing for alternatives.
Lyra peeked around the corner, then snapped back, her eyes wide. “Lucky for her, because I’d have swatted her backside with my blade for alerting every damned guard.”
Mercos tensed, his hammer ready for action, as Monty fluttered upwards, scouting from above.
Hunter readied his weapon, chi coursing through him and raced to Lyra's side. “Did you get a good look? What are we dealing with?”
Lyra, weapon in hand, grimaced. “A pack of undead molemen.”
“How many?” Mercos growled, his silhouette a dark, ominous presence by the stairwell.
“Half a dozen, give or take. Not that it matters—they're as blind as bats, but they’ve got our scent, so an ambush is off the table. Got any bright ideas, beast boy?”
Mercos drew back, his expression a mix of frustration and thought. Monty perched on his shoulder, a feathered sentinel. “We can suppress our aura, but smell…”
With a grin, Hunter let his expression counter Mercos' doubtful look. He whipped out his scent-suppressing talisman. “Don’t give up on ambushing them just yet. With our chi combined, we can completely suppress our scent.”
Lyra’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “And Buckie can play the bait.” She motioned to the rooster, who seemed to realize his role and began a slow, reluctant retreat.
“Sorry, Buckie, but you’re up.” Lyra’s smile appeared apologetic but determined. “Just flap those wings, and we'll take care of the rest.”
Buckie, clearly not thrilled with the plan, gave a resigned caw.
Lyra’s smile brightened with encouragement. “Hold onto your feathers; we’ll end them before they reach you.”
The poor bird didn’t seem convinced by her confidence.
Thankful his core was replenished with chi that he’d gathered on the move, Hunter let it flow through his hands and into the Divine talisman.
Projecting chi into the talisman was as easy as breathing for Lyra and Mercos. He sensed their aura briefly pulse, a glimpse of their overwhelming power. He pushed down all distractions, focusing on the talisman.
It hummed with chi in his hands. There was only one way to see how well it would work. They didn’t have long to wait.
Emerging from the shadows, a group of molemen shambled into view. With grotesque, gray, wrinkled forms they were a nightmarish sight. Their purple eyes glowed dimly in their skeletal faces, and their massive, clawed hands and feet looked like they were carved from the tusks of monstrous beasts. Decayed noses twitched as they sniffed the air, black lips peeling back to reveal three razor-sharp tusks the length of Hunter’s forearm.
Despite their decaying appearance, the raw power in their corded, snake-like muscles was unmistakable. Hunter’s stomach churned at the stench that wafted into the air with every step.
Buckie, playing his part, let out a loud caw and flapped his wings, drawing the molemen’s attention. They advanced, sniffing the air, honing in on the agitated rooster.
At Hunter’s signal, the ambush was unleashed. He swept his Dust Storm Whip low, aiming to topple their legs, while Mercos launched a barrage of fiery chi blasts.
The combined attack sent five of the six crashing to the ground.
Lyra whipped the last one standing, first cracking it across the back of the leg, sending it to its knees. She whipped it back around in a deadly arc, lassoing it around the neck and yanking the creature flat to the ground. It cracked against the stone, its purple eyes lit with vengeance.
Mercos’ follow-up fiery blast ensured it stayed down.
The element of surprise had worked in their favor, but it took a brutal effort from all three to annihilate all six molemen, whose hides were as durable as stone.
Relief washed over Hunter as the last moleman dissipated into a black mist. But as he turned towards the stairwell, his relief froze into shock.
There, standing as if waiting for an invitation, was another moleman, this one oddly attired in servant’s robes.
“Easy, everyone.” Hunter cautioned in a low voice. “We’ve got company at the stairwell.”
Turning with slow cautious steps, Lyra and Mercos’ expressions shone, a mixture of wariness and disbelief.
Lyra let out a laugh, devoid of humor. “Well, this is a new one…”
The moleman, dressed in servant’s robes, spoke with an eerie formality. “Hail, Honorable Cultivators, I bid you welcome to the Black Temple.”
In its massive, clawed hands, it held two silver trays. On the right, an array of honey and nut encrusted pastries, enticingly garnished with mint and lemon; on the left, to Hunter’s bemusement and disgust, were steaming piles of dung, each carefully placed in a leaf-shaped bowl.
The moleman's sagging, gray flesh seemed to blend with his silk robes, cut short to reveal bony knees. The menacing tusks protruding from his upper lip seemed slightly less threatening as he inclined his head. “I am Digby.” He extended the trays, offering a choice between pastries and excrement. “Please, help yourselves; my master bids you welcome.”
Mercos, his face taut, barely concealed his revulsion, managed a stiff nod. “Hail, Digby. We acknowledge your... hospitality.” His bow was as awkward as a blacksmith trying to dance a minuet.
Hunter understood Mercos' overly cautious approach. “Are you the master of this place?” He already knew that the beast was merely a vessel for the necro mage on the level above them, but kept with the politeness offered to them.
Digby looked down at the two trays in its hands as if to suggest that someone standing there handing out pastries and shit to a bunch of misfits was unlikely to be the boss. Hunter knew enough about his father’s and uncles' dealings with other clans to recognize the significance of offering two trays. It wasn’t uncommon for guards to present would-be conquerors with a choice of two gifts. One typically was a bag of gold or a magical artifact, a bribe for switching allegiances.
Hunter often heard his uncle fail to persuade his father to take up the practice.
The other choice often was a bloody severed head of the general's scouts, symbolizing the prospect of war. Piles of shit, however, were a uniquely death cultist twist on an old theme.
“May I have one of those delicious-looking pastries?” Hunter tilted his head toward the more appetizing tray.
“You may.” Digby looked mildly disappointed by Hunter’s choice. “Would the rest of your party like to taste these refreshments? My masters, busy with their next great endeavor, insisted that such honorable guests, though uninvited, must be offered the hospitality of this sacred space.”
Mercos' face turned into a thundercloud, and Lyra’s words echoed his thoughts. “In other words, they want to know what in Hades we’re doing on their turf.”
Hunter shot her a warning glance and then gave Digby a polite smile. “Lead the way, big guy.”
The moleman gazed past them toward the stairwell. “Right this way, please follow me.”
Lyra scooped up Buckie, her arms a makeshift fortress for the feathered beast.
Hunter led the march, the stairwell looming ahead, flanked by Lyra with Buckie and Mercos, who had Monty eyeing everything with a mix of curiosity and suspicion. Cycling chi as he moved Hunter began to feel an intense pressure build in his core but he dismissed it as a side effect of his growing tension.
A notification flashed in Hunter’s vision, but he ignored it not wanting to take his eyes off the moleman for even a second.
Digby's claws clicked against the stone with each step, the sound echoing in the dank stairwell that, despite its spotless walls, smelled of decay and old secrets.
Just shy of the top, Digby craned his neck back. “Might I have the honor of knowing who to announce to my esteemed overlords?”
Hunter wondered if there was any point in using his alias, but did so anyway.
“Jakob.” The moleman butchered his name, making it sound like a hunk of meat caught between his front teeth as he announced their arrival. He sniffed the air, as if smelling something unpleasant, which was a bit rich coming from a wrinkly bag of bones that reeked of death while carrying a tray covered in shit. “You carry the scent of mana on you, like those monsters from the Towers of Ascension.”
Hunter was impressed that Digby could smell mana but kept it to himself. “Is that so?”
“Yes, it’s a distinct, artificial scent …quite unique to their kind. It is quite strong. Can you not smell it yourself?”
Lyra shot back. “Every dog smells their own.”
Unfazed, the moleman simply gestured for them to follow him to the next level.
As they entered the chamber, Hunter's eyes took in the grand, yet ghastly, spectacle.
Thirty-foot-high walls converged in a dark dome. A homage to death and pestilence, blackened as if kissed by fire. There were four tall windows overlooking the city below, or so Hunter assumed, given the obscured view by the moving glass itself. Its layers bubbled and rippled like a molten river of purple lava. Each bubble swelled up like a grotesque blister, popping with a sound akin to a damp firecracker, followed by a sizzle as it sealed back up.
The place looked deserted at first, but Hunter’s keen eye caught the shimmer of an illusion array.
Digby cleared his throat, a wet and ragged sound, as he motioned for all five to move further into the great hall. As they moved, the illusion faded, revealing figures in black robes, and one in a flashy red coat who Hunter recognized instantly.
“Nastes.” He exhaled the pirate’s name.
The air took on a copper tang, and Hunter’ eyes narrowed on red and brown stains of dried blood in patches at their feet.
A sharp elbow and head tilt from Lyra drew his gaze upwards.
Hanging upside down on purple tendrils from the ceiling above their heads were the milky-eyed, open-mouthed, grimacing corpses of dead adventurers—so many of them.
The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
Hunter counted at least twenty horrified expressions, including a few familiar faces.
“Hey, I remember them.” Lyra pointed at two wretches in haggard clothes. “They’re Nastes' henchmen from the Tangled Mermaid. I don’t think Elijah will be happy. They didn’t serve much time behind bars, did they?”
“Yeah, but they’re dead if that’s any consolation to Elijah.” Hunter shrugged, still staring in disbelief at the ghostly pale bodies drained of blood.
Right then, Hunter couldn’t deny the pressure building within his core, along with a series of notifications he’d ignored, flashing in his vision.
He held his side and gasped from the sudden sharp pain.
Lyra frowned. “You look constipated, love.”
Hunter shook his head and spoke in a low voice for her ears only. “Feels like I’m about to break through, but that’s impossible.”
Her brows snapped together, and she clucked her tongue. “Not impossible if you’ve been stupid enough to gather chi into your core while inside a Dark plasma-tainted tower.”
Hunter stood upright, letting go of his side. “Are you saying it acts like a chi cultivation enhancer?”
Mercos gave a sharp nod. “Hold it in best you can, lad. The last thing you want is to break through to Peak Star Refiner in this cesspit of Dark plasma. Who knows what that’ll do to your cultivation base.”
Nastes greeted them with a sneer as welcoming as a shark's grin. He stepped forward, his red coat glinted with the addition of a few jewels along its collar.
“If you’d be so kind as to come closer, my eyesight isn’t as keen as yours.” His self-assured voice echoed towards them. Nastes sauntered forward unbothered by the clear lie coming from him as he unleashed a hint of the true power of his aura.
Hunter looked to the moleman, then to the fancy pirate. “I think we’re quite comfortable here.”
“Welcome to our humble abode.” Nastes motioned to the cloaked figures flanking him. “We like to give all our guests a warm welcome.”
Lyra’s laugh was dry as sandpaper. “I don’t know about that, love. For starters, you should fire your decorator.” She gestured to the bodies hanging overhead.
The cloaked figures scattered to reveal a shocking sight.
Inside a sigil, Jo stood trapped within the dome. The words ‘As above, so below’ scrawled in blood across the floor, walls, and along her forearms.
Nastes sauntered closer. “I have to say I’m impressed you got this far. If you’re looking for work, I’d hire you all… well, maybe not the little chicken shit—”
A growl from Mercos, hammer in hand, cut him off. “Shut your trap, or I’ll shut it for you.”
“I take that as a no.” Nastes sighed, glancing over his shoulder to a shrouded figure radiating a purple aura. “What a shame to see such talent go to waste.”
Letting Buckie hop to the ground, Lyra nodded towards the figure. “There’s our necro mage. But where’s Aspa?”
The necro mage raised a ghost pale hand, and undead creatures began to gather around. “You cannot stop the Dark Harvest…”
“Sounds rather dramatic, I know…” Nastes raised his hands, his voice taking on a mocking tone. “But it is true, I’m afraid. You cannot hope to save Jocasta and defeat us.”
Lyra’s eyes narrowed; she clearly didn’t like the way he talked. With a swift fluid motion her rapier appeared, the blade glinting with a fierceness in the purple glow of the chamber.
Nastes leaned forward, his cunning gaze fixed on the deadly movement of the blade’s edge. “I say, where did you acquire such a fine weapon?” His voice was smooth, tinged with a hint of a challenge.
Flames burst along the blade, casting a hellish glow that mirrored the fiery spirit in her eyes. "Why don't you step a bit closer, and I'll give you a first-hand demonstration?" She unleashed the taunt as quick as her sword, her voice a sultry mix of challenge and threat.
Nastes chuckled, a sound as cold as the depths of the ocean. "I like your spirit, fiery girl." He retrieved his own rapier in a swift, fluid motion. The blade, a stark contrast to Lyra's rapier, appeared black as a moonless night with a shimmering serpent design that writhed along its length.
As he waved its blade in front of them, the serpent's color shifted to a blood red. “Oh, I much prefer a good duel." Nastes’ smile widened as he eyed Lyra with a mix of respect and a hunger for the fight.
The chamber crackled with the energy of their opposing affinities. Lyra, standing her ground, let her Fire and Earth energies swirl around her, creating an aura of heat and power.
Nastes, with the fluid grace of a Water cultivator, infused his rapier with his own brand of death cult magic—a dark art of blood magic that sought to draw life from its victims.
Lyra lunged forward, the flare of the sword only an afterimage in Hunter's sight. In a heartbeat, the clang of contrasting metals collided with each other.
Surprised grunts echoed from Nastes’ mouth as his serpentine sword sparked crimson before sliding with ease across Lyra’s blade.
With quick, long strides, Nasty retreated. Backstepping several feet, his serpentine blade sliced through one of the hanging bodies, the blade’s serpent flared red as it drew in what remained of any life essence from the victim.
The necro mage glided across the back wall, admiring Nastes’ work, leaving a straight line open for Hunter to reach Jo.
Nodding to Mercos, Hunter tipped his head toward the dome. "Do you think you can break her out?"
Mercos smacked the handle of his hammer into his palm. "With all the might of steel I carry, I'll try. Keep that necro wench off my back."
Flapping his wings, Monty flew into the air, a trail of steamy droppings landing on the cloaked figures as though they’d been marked for targets.
Hunter sprinted behind Mercos, watching the necro mage follow their movements with a sharp gaze. He side-glanced down at the floor, sigils glowing.
"We're only here for Jo." Hunter glanced back at the necro mage and three cloaked figures who stood still as statues.
Mercos' hammer rebounded off the dome with a loud banging echo.
The necro mage laughed.
Hunter's eyes narrowed as he stomped on one of the sigils, trying to snuff out its energy. Brief glimpses of Lyra and Nastes skidding across the temple floor, a streak of someone’s blood followed.
"Set my sister free!" Hunter yelled after Mercos's next attempt failed again.
The necro mage tilted her head, the cloak still shadowing her face. "You're too late; she's on the path to a slow death already."
Hunter glanced over his shoulder as Jo pressed her hand against the dome wall. He shook his head and turned back towards the necro mage. "It's never too late."
"Such foolish words." The necro mage lifted her chin to reveal a grimacing smile. "Jo was the perfect specimen and the final piece we needed to complete the Dark Harvest. Her disrupted core from her childhood, a simple serpent's bite.” She inhaled, her voice taking on a hissing whisper. “We've waited years for all of this to come together."
Hunter shook his head, wondering if the death cultists had plans for the Dark Harvest set in motion long before he was born. "You'll never get what you want."
The necro mage raised her hand and dropped it with such force. The bodies swayed above before splattering onto the temple floor with several thuds. "When the fruit is ripe, it falls."
Hunter grimaced at the sight of the dozen disfigured bodies lying in front of him.
The necro mage’s aura pulsed as she raised her hands as if about to give a sermon to the damned.
The air turned icy cold.
As her hand fell, the once lifeless bodies began to twitch and convulse enhancing their grotesque nature, their limbs bending in unnatural angles.
One by one, their eyes snapped open, revealing a milky, sightless gaze. The corpses, now vile puppets of the necro mage, lurched to their feet. Their movements became less erratic with each step they took towards Hunter.
He braced himself, weapon at the ready.
The first of the undead lunged, a twisted mass of limbs and dead flesh. Hunter swung his weapon, slicing through the decaying body. But for every one he felled, another took its place, relentless and unyielding.
Hunter wrestled with the chaos bubbling up inside him, teetering on the edge of a breakthrough that felt both exhilarating and terrifying. He jammed a hand against his gut, trying to still the nervous dance of worry there.
Will another breakthrough so soon to the last crack my core?
The sensation roared through him, like having overindulged in food and drink at the tavern. This was a different kind of excess—a surging tide of chi that threatened to swamp his core.
The experience was intense, far more than any physical overindulgence. It was as if a storm was brewing in his very soul, leaving him staggering under its weight. Hunter steadied himself, preparing to ride the tempest within.
His body strained under the pressure, as though it pulled in a dozen directions. Pain wove its tendrils into his gut and wrapped around his lower back. He tried to shrug off the pounding headache and the tingling in his hands and feet as he held off the undead hordes’ relentless attacks.
The storm within him raged so fierce that Hunter didn’t need to close his eyes to sense it. The once dense and orderly flow of chi now surged with chaos—the excess Dark plasma-tainted chi spilling over his core's boundaries. It was a deluge of energy scouring his channels, burning like hellfire.
Sweat streamed down his face, stinging his eyes and leaving the taste of salt on his lips. Each movement pulsing agony that barely allowed him to dodge the undead horde's relentless onslaught. His body, reliant on the power from his core, struggled against the foreign energy. The Dark plasma, chaotic and destructive, threatened to tear him apart from within.
The pressure was immense, a crushing weight that threatened to overwhelm him.
But Hunter was not unprepared.
He recalled the breathing techniques he had learned from his parents, focusing on them to bring calm to the chaos. He needed to filter out the tainted chi and Dark plasma, to find a way to harness this storm.
Hunter's breath came in ragged gasps, his body teetering on the brink of rebellion against the tumultuous energy within. In that crucible of pain and power, a serene calm began to seep through the chaos, like the first rays of dawn piercing through a storm-ravaged night. It was more than just a glimmer of hope—it was his chance to wrestle control of the wild tempest raging inside him.
"Let go, trust yourself." His voice grated just above a whisper.
He focused with intent on his breathing, refusing to buckle under the pain. A sudden shift occurred, a release, as if a dam had burst within him, and a smile etched across his face amidst the transformation.
Hunter fought on, until finally, his core expanded, accommodating the newfound power.
Drenched in sweat and the tarry residue of his breakthrough, Hunter clung to his weapon with renewed vigor. It was as if the gods themselves were looking down on him, amused and intrigued by his audacity.
How was it possible to muster such strength at his most vulnerable?
Was there a price to be paid for flirting so closely with disaster?
But such thoughts were for later. Survival was his sole focus. Wiping away the tar-laden sweat stinging his eyes, Hunter plunged back into the fray.
The bodies flew among the chaos, but he couldn’t mistake the squawk and caw of the beast companions. He glanced above him to see Monty flying above the location his sister had been held captive. The sigil inscribed words dimming. His heart raced as he scanned the dome, unable to find his sister.
A hit to his back, sent him stumbling to the ground. He rolled to the side to attack the corpse puppet as its feet danced readying to pound him into the floor with a Dark plasma-powered fist.
Claws dug into his arm as he retrieved his dagger. He winced, but whipped his leg to the side, kicking the crawling corpse off him. The undead’s head bounced across the limb-scattered floor as he turned back to face his initial threat.
He gripped the hilt of his dagger, waiting for the pounce, but held steady at the sight of the blond highlighted ponytail flying through the air.
Jo's punch landed squarely on the face of an approaching undead corpse, buying Hunter just enough time to struggle back to his feet.
“Jo? How did...” Hunter kicked a corpse's head in between breaths. “…you get out of there?”
Mercos shouted, pointing the base of his dragon hammer toward Hunter. "Behind you."
Hunter's eyes widened as Jo pivoted and thrust another killing blow against the final corpse. She wiped her knuckle along her thigh, a streak of blood smearing down her pants. “I’ve always known how, but I couldn’t break out of that dome sooner, knowing you and your friends were already inside the temple—They’d have killed you all.”
“Killed us sooner rather than now? You underestimate my own intelligence. You’re risking your life fighting now, Jo.”
“I’ve been dealt my fate, but I don’t have to live by its terms.” Jo lifted her chin, the ribbon fluttering behind her ponytail as she glanced toward Lyra who plunged a sword through Nastes’s chest. “I’ll define myself.”
Lyra lifted her head, eyes narrowed, face splattered with blood. She shook her head as she pressed her boot onto Nastes’ chest to dislodge her sword. “Aspa couldn’t keep up with you even if she were here.”
The necro mage laughed, applauding her hands. “That, my dear friend, is where you are wrong.” She pulled back her hood, letting her cropped hair flow free.
“Aspa!” Lyra readied her sword.
Aspa raised her hands, a Dark plasma wave sifting around Nastes. “I don’t want your friends to think they could get away so easily.”
Nastes' eyes shot open, and he clamored to his feet, his arm morphing into the head of a serpent.
“Lyra, darling,” Aspa stepped back, “please enjoy watching the death of your friends with me.” She raised her finger, pointing it at Hunter.
Before he could blink, Nastes charged, serpentine fangs protruding toward him. Hunter leapt out of the way, dodging the attack.
Mercos followed behind Nastes, rage in his eyes, but Mercos was too slow to keep up with the reanimated pirate.
Hunter lifted his knife-broom, pressing it against the serpent’s opened mouth, his Peak Star Refiner strength enough to keep him gridlocked as Nastes swiped the air between them with his other hand.
Nastes groaned.
With a smile, Hunter pulled his knife-broom free. “Gut check.”
Nastes’ jaw dropped as Mercos’ dragon hammer plunged into Nastes’s rib cage.
Aspa groaned. “I do wish they were smarter.” She raised her hands, more Dark plasma energy flooding around Nastes as he turned on his feet, struggling to readjust the alignment of his torso.
Hunter grabbed Mercos’ shoulder. “Take Jo, keep her safe. I’ll finish what’s left of Nastes.”
Mercos nodded and took off running with Jo toward the stairwell.
Hunter returned his gaze toward Lyra as she sliced her sword across Aspa’s arms.
A grimace flooded Aspa’s face as she beckoned Lyra forward, blood dripping down her wrists. “Come now, you can’t wait?” She pressed her palms together and thrust a black energy orb toward Lyra.
Lyra lunged and cut through Aspa’s cloak, the flaming whip sword wrapping around Aspa’s neck, leaving behind a gaping wound.
Aspa lifted her shoulder, sealing the wound, easier than Mercos had done with his own injury. Another pulse of energy orbs cast toward Lyra, but the pair were weaker than before.
Hunter shifted his gaze back to Nastes and released his Dust Storm Whip causing the undead pirate to stumble into the side wall of the dome. His chi too low for another attack, he raised his knife-broom and glanced back as Lyra sported a smile at Aspa.
“Oh, love, that’s where you’re wrong. You’ve wasted your energy on your dead boyfriend.” Lyra lunged and pivoted, spinning the flaming whip around and connecting it with a large slash across Aspa’s chest, her cloak set aflame.
Aspa screamed and dropped, rolling along the temple’s floor as she gripped her chest. She calmed, as she rid herself of the cloak. Blood oozed across her chest from the deep set, gaping wound. The once silver dagger pendant painted crimson. She pressed her hands over it, but blood still pooled around her.
She’d been heavily injured, unable to generate any of her energy to heal herself further—a fatal wound even for a cultivator at her higher level stage.
Lyra approached, her footsteps slow and deliberate. Sword raised. “Consider this an exchange for our mentor’s death.”
Aspa smirked. “I know you too well, Lyra, you’re too honorable to kick a warrior when they are down.”
Lyra raised her whip sword and paused. “I used to be, and look where it got me, left without a mentor, betrayed, stabbed in the back, and left to bleed out on the streets of Delphare…” She lunged forward, but Aspa raised her hand. Lyra paused, her grip tightened.
“No wait.” Lacking their fierceness, Aspa’s eyes pleaded. “I wasn’t the one who stabbed you—”
Lyra stepped back. “No, you didn’t, but you twisted the knife in my heart when you left me there to die. I thought you were my sworn sister. I was wrong. Now look at what you’ve become, you’ve done so much worse to Jo than you ever did to me…” She lunged and slammed her sword whip down, the fury behind it leaving Aspa’s body charred.
Lyra pivoted, ready to unleash the remaining flaming fury upon Nastes as the undead pirate hovered above Hunter.
Nastes’ arms fell limp, and Hunter kicked him in the chest, the corpse’s body thudded beside him—his lifeless tether to Aspa gone.