Page 31 of Prince of the Phantom Sky

But it wasn’t. Kordelia was a gods-damned skeleton and . . . what the fuck was she wearing? Rage consumed Raiden as his power impulsively shot through the room, snuffing out the candles. Leto raced in, hidden by his power as he sliced through guard after guard’s knees, toppling them all to the floor. He always did his best work in the dark.

But they weren’t the only ones who thrived in the dark.

Blake located Raiden within an instant and their weapons clashed, blade upon blade sparking in the shadows. Aryn’s eyes glowed, their ethereal gold illuminating his surroundings as he speared for Kordelia. Skylar followed, protecting his back as Aerion held the ground with Raiden, their backs pressed against each other. Raiden’s chest twinged that it wasn’t him running to Kordelia’s aid. But they all agreed it had to be Aryn. She needed that familiar face, and Raiden was all too happy to take on Barron’s mutt.

A roar vibrated from the end of the room, and something unnatural pressed against Raiden’s power, pulsating with deadly cold. A whimper followed and Blake faltered, whipping his gaze to the far side of the room.

“Kora!” Aryn yelled, and both Raiden and Blake rasped in response, their weapons lowering as Kordelia’s whimpers increased. Something was wrong. He needed to get to her.

“Get out of my way, mutt.” Raiden swung his sword and Blake danced back, sneering as he thrusted his weapon, the metal thick and sharp.

“She doesn’t want you, Windward.” Blake’s voice was thick, and his hands diseased, like decaying earth.

“She sure as fuck doesn’t want to be here.” Raiden lunged, pushing Blake into a stream of moonlight. The chaos of the room fell away as they fought within the light, lashes of wind whipping at Blake. He snarled, his eyes glowing, and a second shadow split from his skin. Raiden stumbled as two swords clashed against his own, becoming a flurry of green and black.

The mutt had skill. A kick flew to Blake’s stomach, and he bowed over, sucking in a breath. Raiden grabbed his hair, wrenching his head up. He wanted to look him in the eyes as he delivered his vengeance.

“She made . . . her choice,” Blake panted. “She’s staying with us. With me.”

Raiden’s eyes flared. No . . . she wouldn’t.

“Rai!” Aerion said. “Focus! Switch now!”

His brother’s warmth brushed his back, and Raiden rotated with Aerion, who leapt into the fray to push Blake away, disappearing into the dark. He was nimble and swift, capable of using his specialised weapon and power in unison to become a formidable force.

Raiden stumbled, clutching his head as a trail of voices filled it, a mixture of moans and cries, warbled in a way that resembled being underwater. He darted past Blake and Aerion, weaving through the pandemonium of battle, pausing occasionally to assist Leto’s pirates in their fights. Talmon guards continued filing in from unseen doors, replacing their fallen comrades effortlessly.

He had to reach Kordelia. But he could barely see, his rage hindering them. Blood splattered the floor and Raiden slid, falling on top of a rigid form that moaned in return, followed by a squelch.

“Help . . .” it wheezed. With a sigh, Raiden lifted their head from the table, balking as something sticky and sour coated his fingers. The male’s dark eyes pierced through the already black-as-night room.

He looked familiar, but Raiden couldn’t place him. Was he an enemy? He cast his stare over his wan form, grimacing at the oozing sores and bruised flesh. Definitely not an enemy.

“Help . . .” he coughed, as his eyes lolled in the back of his head.

Raiden cursed. This male was surely to die soon, and he couldn’t spare a minute from saving Kordelia. “I’m sorry,” he replied. “Thanos will collect you soon. May the fates bless you.”

The male shook his head. “Help . . . save her. I will be . . . fine.”

Someone lit the fireplace, and the full might of chaos erupted into the room. A gasp escaped Raiden as he saw the full extent of this male’s plight. He should already be dead. It was impossible for him to be alive. His dark eyes were the only thing that still burned with a flame of life, leaking into his surrounding skin.

“I . . . can see.” His hoarse words scraped Raiden’s ears.

“The light returned,” he explained.

“No, no. I can see. Save her. I promise you, Raiden Windward. She . . . will right the wrongs.” The male quivered, as he attempted raising a hand. Those blackened veins wriggled, thrumming with one of the few things in this world Raiden innately knew.

Power.

“Theron!” A stick-thin male dashed from the thick of bodies. His skin was pale, his black hair braided, paired with beady, black eyes. A magnificent black bow hugged his spine, and as he sprinted across the room, he mowed down any Talmon-dressed guard in his way with it, firing arrows with such precision it’d make Aryn jealous.

“Ivar,” Theron moaned, reaching for him. “You wonderful bastard.”

Ivar—supposedly—reeked, his clothes stained with something Raiden didn’t want to know, and hidden under a servant’s shirt. He made no sound as he attempted to haul Theron to his feet, his thin form surprisingly strong.

“I hid,” he spoke bluntly, his voice cool and sharp. “Sewers. I’ve been looking for you.”

“Go,” Theron hacked a cough, gesturing to Raiden. “Go now.” Ivar nodded at him once, as he balanced Theron against his shoulder, whilst firing arrows at guards pouring into the room. They had each other, and Raiden spun on his heel, forcing himself to leave Theron’s side.