A lancing pain in her leg reminded Sybil that she was still wounded. Shaking herself out of her stupor, she imbibed the healing potion that she still held.

  Sammie trudged to her. “Brace, it's going to sting...” He warned her.

  She looked up at him with an arched eyebrow. “What do you meaaaaaaaaaah!” She began to say before being overwhelmed by the feeling of her flesh coming alive and her wound sealing itself.

  A few seconds later, when she only had rapacious ants knitting her flesh, instead of glowing hot needles, Sybil looked back at Sammie, who had a stupid grin on his face.

  “Told you,” he said, holding a hand out to help her back to her feet.

  She slapped it away and pulled her legs back, kicking forward and dragging the rest of her up to a stand, hissing as she put weight back on her rapidly healing leg. The grin on his face remained for a few moments before turning serious.

  “I don't clearly remember everything that happened, but I know you tried to carry me to safety, so, thanks.” He said.

  She eyed him before scoffing. “Shut up, you'd have done the same for me, or you'd better do the same for me!” She warned him.

  “Right! Anyway, huh, what now? That guy with the giant sword went scampering off into the woods, and I've been seeing indigo flashes come out of there.”

  Sybil looked around. “Did you see Lieutenant Morris? Sergeant Ayel?”

  Sammie wordlessly pointed at two of the guards that had been beyond saving, one missing its head entirely, the other split in two parts.

  “...oxshit,” she uttered.

  Just then, a booming voice grabbed the survivors' attention.

  “GUARDS! Form on me! Quick! Your brothers and sisters are fighting for their lives just as you did moments ago!”

  Sammie and Sybil shared a look, nodding and heading toward the large armoured man who had shouted those words.

  As she got closer to the man, she got a deep sense of familiarity.

  A light went on, and she grabbed Sammie's sleeve. “That's Knight-General Gustall!” She whispered.

  He looked at the figure, his eyes going wide with recognition. “Saint's love, it really is him! What's he doing here?”

  His reaction was mirrored in the other survivors, as soldiers recognized the near legendary Azure Knight and informed their friends.

  In his presence, they stood a little bit straighter and waited for his orders.

  Leandro called out to the small catkin who was walking back toward him, her face grim. “Girl, is David on his way back? We need to move.”

  She put a hand to her ear and murmured something before addressing the knight. “He'll be here soon, said he took care of all the nearby Fels. Jordo says we should head toward the light tower to the south, and from there, head southwest to the next group.”

  Leandro looked over the survivors, his brows knit.

  “What is it?” Niala asked.

  “The boy said he wanted to hide the survivors in the maze, but...”

  “We're all done here! Leandro, let's go!” David's voice interrupted him, and all heads turned toward him as he jogged out of the woods, Heartsong resting on his shoulder.

  The large man nodded and barked orders. “GUARDS! We are moving to the southern tower, where you will enter a safe haven! Go at full speed!” He instructed, pointing to the south.

  But none of the guards took a step.

  Leandro glanced at David before looking back at the guards. “Why are you not following orders?”

  Nobody answered right away. Sybil took a step. “Sir, we don't want to hide. We want to fight.”

  Leandro stared at the young bunnykin before a grin gripped his face. He turned his head to David. “I told you, boy.”

  David sighed, turning to address the survivors. “Fine, then. Follow me, and keep up!”

  With a nod from Leandro, the guards turned to follow the still-glowing man, his imbuements having never turned off, and powered their own to keep up as they began running.

  Leandro brought up the rear guard, Niala on his back.

  David was at the front, swerving left and right to swipe his sword at Fels on the way, cleaving them in half and leaving behind a disintegrating pile of ash.

  The group had been dashing for a few minutes like this, before the winds picked up strength and formed into a ball next to David. Under the wary stare of the guards, the ball of wind turned into the upper half of a woman made of wind, who screeched at the courier as she floated alongside him.

  “Child, at this pace, they will all be dead!”

  David grimaced. “And what do you want me to do? If I leave these guys behind, they'll get hacked by the Fels along the way!”

  “Humpf! As if you were bound to the land! Do you not have me along?” The creature asked.

  “What... are you saying you can fly all of us there?!”

  “That is exactly what I am saying!” She declared, her voice like shattering glass, before she exploded in streams of wind.

  A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  The winds picked up, soon attaining gale-like speeds, and the guards began yelping as they lifted off the ground, legs flailing over nothing.

  Sybil, right behind David, was a few heartbeats away from panicking as the winds picked her up and flung her forward, in a direction out of her control.

  On the other hand, she was flying.

  The group rode the winds for a few minutes before they angled downward. Up ahead, a campfire lit the night, with flashes of light outlining the guards from that camp as they fought back against the encroaching Fels.

  Sybil saw the man, David's, imbuements over his legs flare up to an insane degree, nearly blinding her, before he leaned forward, pointing straight at the camp, and kicked.

  The air seemed to shatter, ephemeral blue fractures appearing where he had stomped his foot, as the man was launched forward, a sonic boom washing over the rest of the group.

  Within a fraction of a second, he had reached the camp. His giant sword flew in broad sweeps, cutting down Fels as if they were made of paper, while he dashed from enemy to enemy faster than their eyes could track.

  It was only a few moments before the winds deposited the rest of the group among the flabbergasted guards from this camp who still stood, but all Fels had been turned to ash already.

  The man had darted forward and begun culling the surrounding areas, just as the catkin shouted from the back, a cargo cloth unfurled at her feet. “Everyone! Come grab potions, and go help your friends!”

  The guards did as instructed and ran around, looking for wounded survivors.

  Sybil saw a man get passed by, even though she still saw life in his eyes when they met hers. He had a deep gash, his left side nearly rent asunder. There was something beating within the wound; his uncovered heart.

  She looked at the potion in her hand, then at the man who, by all reasonable measure, was going to die.

  She gripped the bottle, walked up to the man, and shoved it in his mouth, making sure he drank every last drop.

  One of the camp's survivors caught her in the act, his eyes still wide from shock. “What are you doing? Why are you wasting a potion on him?! There's no way to survive a wound like this! He's-”

  The wounded man yelled in surprised pain as his flesh boiled. Under the berating guard's bulging eyes, small tendrils of flesh grew, reconnecting the man's torso into a single piece before pulling it closed.

  The man on the ground sucked in a breath through his teeth, clawing at the rapidly healing wound, before he slumped back onto the ground, groaning.

  Sybil looked up at the silent guard who had observed the impossible.

  “The girl's potions will heal anything.” She said. “If she gives you one, and you see that someone is still alive, give it to them. If they have a limb torn off, reattach it. It will heal.” She instructed him, staring into his eyes.

  He weakly shook his head. “But... that's not...”

  “It is. Don't ask questions. I think we'll be leaving soon for the next camp. Go pick up whatever healing supplies you can and assemble around the catkin. Go!”

  The man nodded and moved himself as instructed. Sybil helped the recovering soldier to his feet, gave him a tap on the shoulder and pointed him to the assembling guards, before moving on to search for other survivors.

  Soon, David was returning to the camp, and Leandro instructed everyone on what was going to happen.

  Before long, the winds accelerated, lifting people up on cushions of air, and then flinging them toward the next massacre.

  At their head, a man with a sword that brought death to their enemies. At their back, a woman with potions that brought people back from death.

  And in the middle, some very bewildered guards.

  Isaac held his wounded arm close, the remnant of that limb's armour crumpled around it like a metal cast, leaking blood.

  His other arm swung his battered sword down on the head of one of the monstrosities that had just finished ripping off a man's arm with its jaw.

  The blade managed to leave a small gash before breaking apart a few centimetres from the guard, its tip flying off into the cruel night.

  He looked at his broken weapon, blinking the sweat out of his eyes, before turning his attention upward, and at the Fel turning around to face him.

  Pulling back his arm, he threw the rest of his sword at the thing, spinning on the spot to grab one of the weapons lying on the ground. A mace, one that Arnam, his bodyguard, had wielded, or technically, was still wielding, held in his dead hand as it was.

  Isaac wrenched it free and immediately spun, delivering a back-handed swing at the Fel. His augmented armour strained, its magimechanical actuators empowering the strike to many times a man's strength. He felt the metal connect, and saw a deep dent in the monster's skull as it stumbled a few steps to the side.

  With a roar, Isaac stepped forward, bringing the mace down in an overhead swing, directly on top of the Fel's head. He heard bone crack, and metal snap.

  The monster slumped, its body limp, as Isaac made to inspect the mace, thinking its head had detached, but found the movement resisted.

  He strained his arm up and realized with horror that the mace was fine. The sound had come from his armoured arm. It was now nothing but inert metal.

  Cursing, he looked around, trying to find a safe spot where he could try and detach the hamstringing piece of armour.

  All he saw were desperate fights from small groups of wounded soldiers, trying desperately to hold back the tide of monsters amidst their fallen comrades.

  He felt his body jerk backward, and something cold take over his chest. He forced his head down to see three large bony spines jutting out of his body, blood already pouring out through the holes in his armour.

  Ahead of him, a Fel with a mantle of quills stared at him with its needled eyes, observing its prey as Isaac's vision narrowed, darkening at the edges.

  A Wardenfel fought.

  He had fought.

  His legs gave out, and he fell backward, slumping against someone's body, keeping his head up, allowing him full view of his approaching death.

  A flicker, up in the sky, caught his attention. He pushed his eyes upward and saw a streak of indigo cutting through the night, heading straight for him.

  And then deafening thunder cracked, a flash of light blinded him, and the ground exploded.

  The Fel that David had landed on simply ceased to be, its limbs left behind as its body was mulched and imprinted into the earth.

  From there, he bolted into action, his imbuements flaring like bonfires, darting over the bloodied battlefield.

  Heartsong hummed as it sliced through air and Fel flesh, leaving behind ash and stunned soldiers.

  A dozen last stands, where death had been held at bay through obstinate defiance, turned into incredulous stares as the indigo blade danced around them, clearing the field of Fels before a minute had passed.

  With the whirlwind of salvation moving away and scything into the mass of Fels converging to what had been a buffet a few moments ago, a group of thirty men and women landed within the midst of survivors.

  As one, they gathered around a small catkin woman who distributed potions to them, before darting to all corners of the bloodbath, forcing healing fluids into the gullets of the near-dead and dying.

  Gasps, hisses, and screams soon filled the battlefield once more, just as they had mere moments ago, but this time due to pain being eaten away, instead of being inflicted.

  A dozen more lives had been saved, and grievous wounds erased. There was no in-between anymore. You were either dead, or healthy.

  Isaac, his mind swimming from blood loss, had trouble understanding what he was seeing.

  And then, his head was jerked around as his helmet was torn off.

  He looked up and found familiar blue eyes looking at him, sitting atop a face filled with concern.

  A bottle was shoved into his mouth, and liquid flew down his throat.

  He nearly choked on it as a strong hand gripped the spines and tore them out of his body, right before a second bottle was opened and poured onto his wounds.

  His consciousness vanished as his body flared to painful life.