through her palm. It forced apart bone and puncturing out the other side. The skin between her two middle fingers tore halfway to her wrist.
She did not cry. She did not scream. She rolled to her knees, flipped her long hair away from her face, and laughed.
“It feels beautifully alive,” she said, holding out her hand so that the blood dripped onto her dress.
“Then this’ll feel like a picnic,” Brug said, having snuck up unnoticed behind her despite his noisy platemail. He jammed his right hand forward, the blade aiming for her heart. The girl heard his voice and twirled to the side. The dagger shredded her dress and nicked a rib. His desire to speak ruined him. Tessanna ducked, her eyes alight with fire. She smashed her healthy palm to the ground. A dome of shimmering violet surrounded them. Both mages tried to punch through with spells, but they were unable to penetrate. Haern slashed once with his saber. The metal bounced back, a healthy shock accompanied the swing. Brug was beyond their help.
“You penetrated me,” Tessanna said, laughing. Just a happy girl, laughing as fire burned her eyes. Brug dove, both hands punching at blurring speeds. Despite his speed, his strength, and his armor, he still only attacked with plain non-magical metal. Tessanna made a strange triangular shape with the fingers of her healthy hand. An invisible force smashed him back. He stuck for a moment to the inside of the violet dome, shivering as electricity jolted through his body. When he fell, smoke wafted from the open parts of his armor.
“Brug!” a female voice shouted. Tessanna glanced up to see Delysia emerge from hiding behind a tree. The crazed girl smiled at her.
“I missed you,” Tessanna said, drawing out her dagger. So often it had cut her own flesh, but many men had been on the receiving end of it as well. The girl stalked toward him, her dagger ready.
“She should be watching,” Tessanna said as she hunched down like an animal. “It makes this better.”
She lunged, snarling like a panther. Brug’s arms felt dead to him. He tried to defend himself, but his hands refused to move. He screamed once, when the dagger punched through the crease between his shoulder and his arm. Blood spilled. Tessanna licked the blade as the others watched in horror.
“Not as sweet as her,” she giggled. “But it’ll do.”
She shoved her dagger with all her strength. Brug kept his mouth shut, refusing to cry out. His thoughts dwindled briefly on the project he had just begun, an amazing sword that would have granted him prestige among those of his craft. He was only half done, but it was stunning. His last thought was of that sturdy blade before the dagger punched through his eye and sent him to the life beyond.
The others trembled with rage and grief as she pulled the dagger out, an eyeball pierced halfway up the blade. She pressed it off with her tongue as she giggled. She held up her torn hand to Aurelia, the ice shard still lodge deeply within. Its blue color was now a deep purple from the blood that soaked into it.
“A present for a present,” she said, throwing her dagger at the elf. It broke through the violet dome, shattering the cage that had sealed Brug to his death. The dagger landed by Aurelia’s feet, bounced twice, and then finally came to a rest pointed toward her like an arrow. Aurelia’s hands shook, and she was unsure if she could calm them enough to cast another spell. Beside her, Tarlak removed his hat and let it fall to the ground.
“Hold nothing back,” he said, his pain muffled behind his anger.
“I won’t.”
As one, they unleashed their greatest spells. A solid beam of pure magic tore from Aurelia, white brilliance, a magical flood. Tarlak shook as a stream of acid erupted from his hands. The two attacks hit the girl simultaneously. Both braced themselves, each of the attacks able to continue as long as they poured their strength into them. They expected Tessanna to raise a shield to protect herself, but she did no such thing. With open arms, she accepted the attacks.
The acid bubbled over her skin, hissing and burning. Aurelia’s white beam struck her in the chest, much of it spilling past her small frame. This, too, she endured. Her tattered dress burned away, as did her flesh. Her stomach crunched inward. Bits of her ribs poked through the exposed flesh.
And yet, she laughed. Both streams ended, neither mage able to focus them any longer. Haern streaked in, hoping for surprise after the torrent of spells. Tessanna sensed his approach without ever looking. She pointed her maimed hand at him and extended her fingers to their fullest. Black tendrils shot forth. They cut Haern’s flesh, tore at his cloaks, and slammed him to the dirt.
“Thank you,” she said to all of them. Her tattered dress fell from her body. She looked like a dead aberration, her ribs showing and her chest horribly burned. Yet her eyes and hair shimmered with life they did not understand. Tessanna spread her arms, and from her back grew ethereal wings. She turned her eyes to the sky, a robe of purest black flowing over her naked body. When she spoke, the death in her voice chilled them where they stood.
“You cannot harm a goddess,” she said, bolts of shadow growing around her hands. She threw them like pebbles, dozens of the swelling meteors. Haern, unable to dodge due to the tendrils that still bit into his skin, screamed under the assault. Each one bruised like a brick, and then the magic seeped in, igniting every nerve with pain. Tarlak, Aurelia, and even Delysia summoned what shielding they could, but the torrent was great, and their own beings weakened. Two hit Tarlak square in the chest, sapping his breath. One hit Aurelia’s hand, numbing her fingers. Poor Delysia felt one punch through her shield and crash against her throat. She fell to the ground, gasping for breath that refused to come.
“You’re no goddess,” Haern said, squirming away from his biting prison.
She tried to kill him for his insolence. Her blade of darkness sliced off a chunk of his hair but drew no blood. It went on to fell two trees before dissipating. The assassin lunged, hurling a saber as he did. The weapon hit her and bounced off. She tried to grab him but he twirled, avoiding her touch, and then slashed at her neck. He felt grim satisfaction as it pierced flesh. Tessanna shrieked, the wail of an injured banshee. Blood flowed down her neck.
“ Be gone! ” she screamed. The command flung him through the air. Three more bolts of shadow followed. When he smacked into the upper branches of a tree, the bolts pummeled his chest. He fell to the dirt, moaning.
Tessanna glared at him, her good hand pressed against the wound. Blood, her blood, poured over her fingers and onto her shimmering black dress. Delysia rushed to Haern’s side, tears on her face and healing light pouring from her hands.
“For a goddess, you bleed nicely,” Tarlak said, preparing another spell. His head ached. His temples throbbed. Beside him, Aurelia seemed to be suffering similar problems. She looked unsteady on her feet as she loosed an arcing net of lightning. The silver-white swirled around Tessanna’s body, causing no damage. Tarlak tried another fireball, but she prematurely detonated it with a spell of her own.
“I do this for Aullienna,” Tessanna said before chanting words of a spell. A wave of shadows rolled toward them. Within the wave they saw stars, nebulas, and galaxies that they had no name for. Then the blackness hit, and all they knew was pain. Delysia lost her concentration, her healing spell dying on her lips. Tarlak fell to his knees, his mind spinning. Aurelia managed to stand, the darkness parting before her as if out of respect. When the wave passed, the elf looked at Tessanna with an expression that fueled the dark goddess’s anger: pity.
B efore Qurrah could draw any bones from his bag, Harruq slashed it open, spilling a chalky white pile to the dirt. Nonplussed, Qurrah enchanted all of them into a giant barrage of ribs, teeth, and fingers. Harruq crossed his arms and endured. The bones could bruise, even draw blood, but they could not do serious damage unless they found his eyes, mouth, or throat. The half-orc took a blind step forward, then another. He felt his brother’s hand latch onto his wrist, and again a thieving, draining sensation flooded him. He gave it no time to feed. Both swords whipped around, slashing away the wrist. Harruq looked down, fascinated by what he saw.
“Your armor is gone,” Harruq said, lifting Condemnation so that Qurrah could see a single, scarlet drop of blood fall from the keen edge. Qurrah glanced to his arm, where a thin cut marred his pale skin. For once, fear rounded the edges of the necromancer’s eyes.
“You will not dare strike,” Qurrah said, firing off a spell. A bolt of shadow leapt from his fingers, thudding into Harruq’s chest like a hammer. Ribs snapped. Before he could move, a second followed, striking his shoulder. For an agonizing moment, he thought the bones there would crack and break, the pain was so intense. They did not, and his anger grew with each new source of pain. Not desiring a third blow, he leapt forward, his head leading. The top of his skull rammed into Qurrah’s chest, knocking the air out of another spell.
Harruq tried an awkward cut as they both fell. The blade sliced just below the knee. No pain or darkness flooded into his hand. No solid stone greeted his blade. Just soft, bleeding flesh. Qurrah rolled back and pushed away, needing distance from those cursed swords. He put his weight on the cut leg, which buckled from its wound.
