rapid succession. Pinpricks of light bloomed inside of the bodach, dozens and then hundreds permeating every aspect of the Unseelie beast. The bodach pawed the air, angry, screaming as if struck by thousands of spears at once.
It took Bran a moment to realize what was happening.
The bodach was being shot by gunfire.
Bran spun about, searching.
From the darkness soldiers emerged, each one carrying assault rifles and pistols. There were two dozen of them, each dressed as black as the night around them. The odor of burnt gunpowder on the air, they unleashed bullet flurries into the bodach. The creature could not prevent it; the lead from the gunfire, anathema to the Unseelie creature, ripped through its smoky being.
Finn Arne, Captain of the Vatican’s Swiss Guard, ordered his men to press forward.
The warriors did. The bodach raged. With no thought to his own safety and the power radiating through him, Bran sent the magic of Arondight into the side of the bodach. The fire tore into the Unseelie beast, casting it off of the knight as though struck by a gigantic fist.
The shadow careened across the clearing, singed and smoking.
“Arne!” Richard roared. “Don’t let it flee!”
The noose of Swiss Guard tightened about the bodach. Sensing it was outmatched, the creature tore across the clearing to escape into the night.
Richard was too quick. He sent the power of the Dark Thorn into it. The bodach fell to the earth again, smoking, flames licking its insubstantial body. It regained its feet, eyes glowing hotter. With Deirdre behind them, Bran and Richard faced the circling fey assassin together, the guards from the Vatican preventing escape.
White fire ran down the Dark Thorn, and Bran held Arondight before him, ready.
The bodach tore at the sod, bounding toward them.
“Go after it with everything you have, Bran!” Richard yelled. “Into its deepest part!”
Bran gritted his teeth, bracing his feet. The attack didn’t come. Richard flung fire to one side of the bodach, forcing the beast away from Bran and instead toward him. It strayed from the blast and slammed into the knight. The bodach ravaged the magical shield Richard had readied—but suddenly the knight let the shield vanish. The bodach tumbled forward. As Richard let the Unseelie beast fall, he lashed out with a quick low swing, using the Dark Thorn like a sword. The fire severed the forelegs of the bodach, the limbs evaporating into the ether. The bodach dropped to the earth, screaming, scrambling in panic, using its remaining four legs to retreat in hopes of escape and regenerating its body.
“Now, Ardall!” Richard roared, diving aside.
Bran was on the bodach immediately. With all of his might and ignoring his own safety, he drove Arondight into the very center of the beast, letting the magic flow as it hadn’t yet.
The blade penetrated deep, burning so blue it became white hot. The bodach let loose a deafening screech, one of anguish and loathing. It fought the sword, biting at the steel as it squirmed to be free. Bran sent all his will through Arondight and into the creature, trying to incinerate it from within, wishing the evil assassin forever gone from world. The injustice of the things he had seen helped him wield the justice to do what was right. Images of Connal dying, the tears of Kegan, Hollick disappearing within Caer Glain, and Deirdre being tossed onto their campfire like a doll seared Bran like a cauterizing iron, bolstered his resolve, and lent him power he had never known.
Light shattered the night, intensifying, as blinding as the sun.
The bodach howled, pinned, screaming and thrashing from the onslaught. The shadow dissolved in the brightness, losing what corporeal form it had. Bran did not let up. He twisted Arondight deeper, its fire penetrating farther into the center of the creature, even as euphoria he had never before experienced but frightening in its delicious taste gripped him. Bran reveled in it—fierce glee at seeing the beast destroyed reinforcing his conviction.
Like a conduit, he sent his heart into Arondight.
The bodach shuddered, unable to flee, and in a final scream of unrequited rage disintegrated to ash.
“I will not continue to discuss this with you, Finn Arne,” Richard said angrily.
Deirdre listened to the knight argue with the other outworlders, but the pain racking her body sent darkness before her eyes as Bran cleaned her burnt back. Deirdre remained focused though. Finn Arne, the captain of the warriors, stared hard at Richard, his arms crossed, his one good eye appraising the knight. With the bodach