A Shade of Vampire 90: A Ruler of Clones - Bella Forrest Page 0,76

it echoed through the forest.

It brought everything to a sudden halt. The sounds of war stopped. No more swords clashing. No more claws slicing through flesh. No more shouts or snarls or grunts. No more thuds or kicks or punches. No more death, if only for a few moments. Time stood still, everything suspended in its otherwise violent motions. And I only had eyes for Hrista, her soul still in my grip.

I tried to understand how it felt. Like I’d just hugged the sun. I sensed the atomic power it held within. I sensed the possibilities. The destruction it was willing to bring upon this world, and the next, in order to accomplish a smidge of self-satisfaction. This soul… it was bright and white and beautiful, but empty. Bitter. Toxic. It stung my brain. It burned my stomach. It pricked my skin with a billion needles.

Hrista was a miserable entity with a vacant soul and… a broken heart. It took me a while to figure it out. “There it is,” I murmured. “The broken heart.”

“Get away from me!” she huffed, but there was nothing she could do. I had her in my grip, though I could feel myself weakening. My insides were liquefying—or at least that was the impression I had as my own spirit understood the sheer size of the soul I was trying to control. “This isn’t possible! How can you? How? Only Spirit could… Get away!” Hrista screamed again, louder and sharper until my ears hurt.

I caved in. My hold on her fell apart, and she gasped with relief.

That had been my moment. Torrhen was watching. Smiling. Hrista got up, glowing rapier in hand. She wanted to say something, but Myst and Regine both slashed at her with their swords—Myst from below and Regine from the back, in opposing directions. Swish. Swash. Light bloomed from Hrista’s wounds.

“You need to get them out of here!” Brandon shouted.

I saw Torrhen rushing to help Hrista, his humor suddenly gone. Black shadows danced and swirled around us. No one had expected this. My glamoring had distracted their precious leader long enough for Regine and Myst to strike back. It wasn’t a miracle, and it didn’t exactly save our sorry asses, but it bought us a handful of precious seconds.

“Jericho, fly away!” I shouted, hoping he and Dafne would hear me as the melee resumed in full force. “Fall back! Fall back!”

They knew what that meant. We’d planned for this.

I was weak. Myst appeared in my line of vision. “Astra…” I mumbled, realizing how numb my tongue and lips had gone. That last attempt at glamoring had burned me out and then some.

“She’s alive,” Myst replied.

Hrista cursed under her breath, but Regine snarled and went after her once more. I liked the spunky Valkyrie. She never let an opportunity slip by her. Never. She was a good ally to have on the battlefield.

“Take them away!” Brandon shouted again.

“We don’t know if it will work!” Myst replied.

“You have to try!”

Myst gave me a worried look. “I’ve never teleported living people. I might end up killing you.”

Her concerns were real. I almost smiled. “If you don’t kill us, Hrista will.”

It wasn’t the most encouraging response, but it was the best my mushed brain was capable of producing, considering our increasingly dire circumstances. “Damn it…” Myst spat and slipped an arm around my waist.

Footsteps rushed across the hard ground. “No, you don’t!” Someone was coming for us.

“Stop them!” Hrista moaned.

Astra’s hand found mine. “Thayen…”

“Hold tight,” Myst whispered, and everything disappeared.

Silence. Darkness. Not even the echo of my own beating heart. Had she done it? Had Myst, a Valkyrie, successfully teleported two living creatures? I’d be dead otherwise, I figured. But this nothingness was strange, too. Not like other zapping experiences. It felt… eternal. Empty.

Safe.

Unending

Eneas and the other Ghoul Reapers grew restless as we entered the second day on Biriane. Tristan was still awake, pensive as he sat beside the black marble lectern. I’d been reading the tome from its very first pages. Hours had passed in heavy silence, broken only by the occasional commentary from Filicore or Deas. The more I read, however, the angrier I became.

Of course, part of this anger came from the World Crusher’s presence. Similar to my Black Fever, her rage was infecting me. I was able to hold it back for the most part, though it had turned my mood foul. At least it would take ages for it to break my soul down like it had done to the