T his thing was a living nightmare, and it was going to kill me.

As its horrific half-rotted face loomed over me, I thought it might be

fitting to go this way, because this was what the face of death must look like. Cold light leaked from beneath torn, paper-thin skin, blinding behind those gaping eyes.

The soldiers had tried and failed to control it. Now they just ran.

Those sightless eyes looked only at me, as if it could smell something in me that it desired. I could feel it, too—sour, curdled, tainting the rhythm of magic that ran beneath this world.

When I’d looked over my shoulder to see Max—gods, Max—standing at the gate, I’d thought, At least I got one last look. At least he is free.

But then the world crashed down around me, and I had no time to think about anything, anymore.

It attacked, and I was barely fast enough to evade. I plunged my sword into too-soft flesh, revealing another tear of light. If this creature felt anything, it didn’t show it.

I barely glimpsed a smear of gold behind the creature—Ishqa, injured, trying and failing to get to his feet. He met my eyes just as I rolled.

A fragment of lightning scalded my shoulder.

I cringed for another incoming blow, too fast to dodge— But the creature let out a sickening screech.

I felt Max before I saw him. I knew it was him before I got to my feet.

He had buried his spear in the monster’s opened abdomen, just one quick strike before we evaded. Our eyes met barely for a moment, just long enough for a silent agreement.

I’d never felt less alone than I did when we fought together. Our rhythm resumed like a heartbeat. He knew my every move before I made it, covering me when I needed it, offering me openings for my own strikes.

The creature didn’t know where to look first, where to attack. It was wild, directionless.

At one point, I miscalculated, veering left when I should have gone right. Max saw it before I did, grabbing for me too late.

The monster lunged—then lurched to an abrupt, unnatural stop.

Behind me, Sammerin stood with his arms lifted, face twisted with exertion. “Go!” he grunted.

I wasn’t sure if he was prompting me to attack or to run, but I knew in my bones that this thing would not stop chasing us. So instead of fleeing, I charged, even though I knew it was hopeless.

I couldn’t defeat this with a little piece of steel. Did it have magic I could use? Did I even want whatever putrid, rotten magic this thing would give me?

No time to be picky.

The monster was low enough for me to reach its flesh. Max attacked it from the right. Another blur of movement came from behind it—the stranger, with the long dark hair, striking from behind.

I opened just one nick in its flesh, sliced my hand, pressed the wounds together.

That was a mistake. The pain was ice-hot and instant. Decay withered across where we touched. Immediately, I yanked my hand away, letting out a gasp of pain. The agony ran up my spine, through my veins. I couldn’t move.

A wordless voice filled my head:

Let me go. Make them let me go. Let me go. Make them let me go.

Distantly, I heard Sammerin curse. The monster broke from the grip of his magic and came for me.

A familiar body slid in front of mine, pushing me back.

The wall of flames drowned out everything else. I rolled to see Max’s silhouette enveloped in fire. Something snapped in the air, like someone yanked hard on a thread inside of me, waking up magic that had been dormant. It was like another sense flickered to life. I reached out for the creature’s mind—felt its struggle between the animal fight for survival and a chilling desire for death.

Ishqa had managed to rally himself, but he was weakened, too slow. The creature moved faster, grabbing him like he was a rag doll in one clawed hand. Ishqa let out a grunt of pain.

I grabbed Max’s abandoned spear and plunged it into the white light seeping from the monster’s abdomen.

It let out a piercing wail. Its long, backwards-bent leg dropped Ishqa, who collapsed in a heap.

In its mind, I sensed the yearning for merciful death disappear beneath feral wrath.

It pounced, not for me or Max or Sammerin but for one of the soldiers behind it, tearing him to fiery pieces. Then another, crushed beneath a speared foot.

Moments of distraction. Seconds of opportunity.

“Run,” Sammerin panted. “I can’t control it. Its flesh won’t listen to me.”

I helped Ishqa get to his knees. He was barely conscious. “Can you walk?” I grunted.

If he couldn’t, I didn’t know what we were going to do.

Another shriek cut through the air. I looked up and let out a gasp of horror. The creature had discarded another soldier, and now held Viktor in its grasp.

I was leaping after him before I could even think. But just as quickly, a familiar wall of warmth surrounded me. Max’s arm gripped me around my shoulders, pulling me against him.

“You can’t.” His voice was low in my ear. “I’m sorry. You can’t.” By the time the words were out of Max’s lips, Viktor was in pieces.

“Let’s go!” A cart rumbled beside us. The long-haired man—Max’s brother?—was in the driver’s seat. He could barely control the panicking horse. “Now. Fast.”

Seconds, while that thing was distracted by the guards. The cart didn’t even come to a stop. We leapt into it. Ishqa barely managed to lift himself onto the incline, and Max and Brayan had to drag him onto the deck.

The base rushed past us as the cart rumbled over uneven paths, rattling after the increasingly frantic horse. We weren’t staying on the road.

Crack! The cart jolted as a wheel began to give out, caught on the uneven terrain. Ahead, the forest loomed. We would never make it. Even if we did, the cart couldn’t go there.

“We need to Stratagram out of here,” I said, voice raised. “Now!”

“I can’t,” Max said, looking down, and I followed his gaze to the blistering black Stratagram tattoos peeking from under his sleeve. My stomach fell. I couldn’t either. Not reliably. I still didn’t understand what determined when my magic worked or didn’t.

Across the base, the creature dropped the final dead soldier. Turned to

us.

Max’s brother hissed a curse. He notched a bow, let an arrow fly. It did nothing. The monster was now running.

CRACK!

The cart floor fell several inches as our frantic horse tried and failed to

drag it over root-riddled dirt.

I peered over my shoulder. “Sammerin?” He cringed. “I can’t take five people.”

“I can fly.” Ishqa could barely speak. He pushed himself slowly to his feet.

“No, you can’t—”

“I can,” he said, firmly. Then, to Sammerin. “Four people.” Sammerin muttered a curse. He withdrew parchment.

The monster barreled towards us, shrieking, light collecting in its abdomen.

“Quickly, Sammerin,” I murmured. “I know,” he snapped.

I grabbed Sammerin’s arm in one hand, Max’s in the other. Max hurled his spear from the back of the cart, a streak of fire at its tip, then he gripped his brother’s wrist, linking all of us together.

Sammerin drew the last line of his Stratagram.

The spear found its target, right in the gaping wound of the creature’s stomach. It let out a scream and tumbled to the ground. Its cry echoed in my thoughts.

Ishqa pumped his wings one, two, three times, and launched into the sky.

And the world dissolved.