32. Danica

Danica

32

B utts numbed to oblivion and sporting a second skin of trail dust, we haul our road-weary selves off at a clearing that unfolds like a scene from a painter's wildest dreams.

The Light Lands stretch out below, a mesmerizing tapestry of luminescent meadows that seem to glow with an otherworldly light. The forests whisper secrets on the breeze, their leaves glinting like shards of emerald glass in the fading sunlight. And the rivers—oh, the rivers—catch the last golden rays of the day and transform them into liquid gold, a stunning sight that almost hurts to look at.

"Here," Axilya declares with a sweep of her arm, "we make camp."

Rhyland, ever the chivalrous gentleman, is at my side in an instant, his strong hands lifting me out of the saddle with ease. "Easy there, Angel," he murmurs, his voice a low rumble that sends heat through my body.

Of course, I'm about as graceful as a newborn giraffe, sliding down his muscular torso like a sack of potatoes. Meanwhile, Axilya's crew dismounts with an effortless grace that screams, "I could do this in my sleep." And here I am, legs wobbling like jelly after our marathon riding session.

As we set about pitching our tents, the diamond-dusted trees stand watch, their branches glittering in the twilight. The fireflies, not to be outdone, put on a show that would make Las Vegas proud, their flickering glow a well-choreographed dance number that fills the air with magic. And the flowers, oh, the flowers—they swing open in a standing ovation, their perfume notes mellowing the soul as they drift on the breeze.

I do my part, pitching in where I can, but mostly, I am lost in a state of pure awe. This is the deep magic of the Light Lands, untamed and pristine, a force so powerful it steals the breath from my lungs.

Dead center of the camp stands the granddaddy of trees, looming like a massive silent protector. Its roots sprawl out, doubling as nature's own seating arrangement, and the leaves rustle with the kind of hushed chatter that has me itching to eavesdrop on their ancient tree tales.

As the last tent peg is hammered into the soft earth, I take a moment to stand and soak it all in. The beauty of this place, the sense of belonging that washes over me like a warm embrace—it's a feeling I've never quite experienced before, a connection to something greater than myself.

As the night wraps its arms around us, we huddle up close to a campfire that pops and hisses, its flames flickering with a color palette that would make even the most vibrant rainbow turn green with envy. Axilya's crew of fae folks lay out a spread of fruits and veggies that practically have their own inner light show, each bite a fireworks display of taste—equal parts novel zing and déjà vu yum.

I'm all cozied up in my go-to spot, sandwiched between Rhyland's linebacker thighs, soaking in the double warmth from my personal heater and the crackling campfire. It's a moment of pure bliss, a respite from the chaos and uncertainty that seems to follow us wherever we go.

"How's my Angel holding up?" Rhyland murmurs softly, his breath tickling my ear as he plants searing kisses along my neck, heading southbound with a purpose.

It's classic Rhyland—thoughtful as the day is long, with that caring, mine-all-mine vibe wrapping around me like a snug comforter. His presence is a balm to my frayed nerves, a reminder that I've got him by my side no matter what happens.

But our moment of tranquility is shattered by an ominous rumble underfoot. Gentle tremors rapidly swell into thunderous quakes, sending the fireflies scattering in all directions. Their once-harmonious light show is replaced by a frenzied dance of panic, the insects darting and weaving desperately to escape the impending danger.

A monstrous roar shakes the air, deep and booming like the hunger pangs of a ravenous beast. It's a sound that chills me to the bone, a primal cry that speaks of violence and death.

"They're coming!" Axilya's guard shouts over the deafening din, his voice laced with a mix of fear and determination.

They? I quiz myself, mentally flipping through the Who's Who of potential enigmas, as hulking silhouettes crest the hill—gigantic stone-skinned monsters with arms thick as tree trunks, their every step shaking the earth beneath our feet. Trailing behind, serpentine horrors slither forward, a grotesque array of deadly claws and venom-dripping fangs announcing their ominous advance.

"Ogres!" Faderyn's alarm slices through the tension like a blade, his eyes wide with disbelief and dread.

"Everybody, battle formation!" Axilya's command rings out, her voice steady and sure as she draws a slender blade that shimmers like moonlight on water. It's a weapon fit for a queen, a symbol of her power and authority.

Rhyland and I spring into action, our muscles coiled tight and ready for battle. True to form, he muscles me behind his back, always playing the overprotective shield, his body a wall of muscle and determination between me and the approaching horde.

The ring of Erik's broadsword pierces the air as he rips it free from its sheath, the steel humming eagerly for blood. "Stay behind us, Little Huntress!" he barks, his voice a mix of gruff affection and steely resolve.

His blade becomes an extension of his body, weaving effortlessly before tearing into thick ogre hide. Flesh and bone split apart like overripe fruit under each savage blow. Erik fights with the intensity of a gathering storm, carving a path of utter devastation through the ranks—geysers of blood spray with every severed limb and decapitated head.

The night erupts into a cacophony of snarls, shrieks, and the clash of steel against flesh as the monstrous horde descends upon our makeshift camp. The stench of death and decay fills the air, a nauseating miasma that threatens to overwhelm my senses as I watch the slaughter unfold.

Lucian blurs into the fray, his movements a dance of viper-like grace as he twists and weaves between snapping jaws and grasping claws. His fists and feet crack bone and rip flesh in a flurry of pinpoint strikes, each blow delivered with devastating precision. Using the ogres' own bulk against them, he sends the lumbering fiends crashing together with well-placed shoves and kicks, their pained howls echoing through the night.

Amidst the chaos, Rhyland stands tall and unwavering, a pillar of strength in the heart of the storm. His outstretched hands crackle with telekinetic fury, the raw power emanating from his fingertips visible only by its gruesome effects. With a casual wave, he sends an ogre hurtling skyward, its massive body flailing helplessly before it comes crashing down in a sickening smear of pulverized bones and oozing gore.

The stench of death is overwhelming, a putrid wave that threatens to bring up the contents of my stomach. But I force it down, my eyes fixed on the carnage before me. Seizing my chance, I let loose a primal scream, the sound tearing from my throat as I hurl myself into the fray, my dagger clutched tight in my sweat-slicked palm.

The blade connects with an ogre's bloated gut, sinking deep into the fetid flesh with a sickening squelch. A geyser of partially digested slop erupts from the wound, splattering my face and chest with a foul-smelling slurry.

"Eww... fucking gross," I mutter, my nose wrinkling in disgust as I yank my dagger free with a wet sucking sound.

But I'm not content to stop there. With a surge of power, I conjure a searing orb of light, the energy pulsing and writhing in my palm like a living thing. With a grunt of effort, I hurl it at the wounded ogre, watching in grim satisfaction as the creature's flesh blackens and melts away, its agonized shrieks rising to a frenzied pitch before falling abruptly silent.

A serpent's venom-dripping maw gapes wide, its fangs gleaming in the firelight as it lunges for my throat. I narrowly spin away, my heart hammering in my chest as I seize one of its flailing appendages and wrench with all my might. The sickening pop of dislocating joints fills my ears as the creature crashes to the ground, its body thrashing in agony.

With an animalistic snarl, I strike, my dagger slicing through the serpent's soft underbelly. Blood and viscera spray with each brutal thrust, painting me in a macabre masterpiece. The blade sinks deep, again and again, a savage dance of steel and gore until the beast's chilling hisses fade to an eerie silence.

The air is thick with the coppery tang of blood. It drips from my hair, splatters my face, and soaks my clothes. The creature's insides ooze and drip, an unsightly mess of gore and putrid fluids that coat me, mingling with my own sweat and grime.

"We need to push these bastards back!" Rhyland roars across the din of steel and screams, his voice a rallying cry that sends a surge of adrenaline coursing through my veins.

"Behind you!" Erik warns, his own blade flashing in a deadly arc as he ducks under a club swing to bury the gleaming steel in an ogre's throat. The creature gurgles, black blood bubbling from its lips as it staggers and falls, its massive body hitting the ground with a resounding thud.

Amidst the chaos, Lucian's laughter rings out, wild and exhilarated, the sound a jarring contrast to the screams and snarls that fill the air. He moves like a whirlwind, his fists and feet a blur of motion as he takes down one monster after another, his face alight with a fierce, almost feral joy.

I can feel the heat of the battle singing in my blood, the rush of adrenaline and magic coursing through my veins like liquid fire. My heart pounds in my chest, each beat a drumbeat of defiance against the encroaching darkness.

We fight on, our blades and bodies a wall of steel and flesh against the onslaught. The ground grows slick with blood and gore, the stench of death and decay hanging heavy in the air. But we do not falter, do not waver.

The sight that greets me as I glance to my left freezes my blood and sears my soul. An ogre, its massive club wet with blood, delivers a bone-crushing blow to one of our comrades. The sickening crunch of bone meeting wood steals the breath from my lungs, the sound resonating through me like a curse.

The warrior collapses into a mangled heap, limbs bent at unnatural angles, blood pooling black in the moonlight. It's a scene from the darkest depths of hell, a twisted, grotesque tableau that makes my stomach heave. Bile rises in my throat, sour and acrid, as I fight the desperate urge to vomit.

There's no time to dwell on the fallen as razor-sharp serpent claws come slashing toward me, eager to disembowel. I barely dodge out of the way, my heart hammering in my chest as I feel the rush of air from the near-miss.

Rhyland is at my side instantly, his wrist flicking in a casual gesture that sends the serpent hurtling skyward. Its agonized shrieks echo through the night until it slams back to earth with a cringe-worthy crunch.

"Danica! On your six!" Rhyland's warning comes a split-second too late as an ogre blindsides me, its massive form looming out of the darkness like a nightmare made flesh.

I drop and roll, feeling the rush of air as its club whistles by, missing me by mere inches. Rhyland lets out a bellow of rage, his hand gesturing sharply as he sends the beast pinwheeling into a nearby tree trunk with a sickening, wet thunk.

As I regain my feet, I find myself face-to-face with two serpents, their eyes glinting with malice as venom sizzles from their dripping fangs. Screaming my defiance, I hurl myself at the fiends, my white light blazing forth to zap them with arcane fury.

But even as they fall, more snapping jaws and hellfire eyes surge forward in a great wave, an endless tide of nightmares that threatens to overwhelm us.

I can feel myself fading, my hits packing less punch with each passing moment, but still, these nightmares keep surging forward like a never-ending conveyor belt of monsters. How many more rounds can a handful of fighters survive against an infinite horde?

Sensing my fatigue, Rhyland summons a maelstrom of telekinetic fury, a crushing wave of invisible power that blasts back the encroaching ranks, shattering bones and pulping bodies into a viscous ruin.

"Damn," I can't help but mutter, my eyes wide with a mix of awe and horror at the sheer destructive force he wields.

Lucian's voice rings out, full of unhinged delight. "Keep that Obi-Wan Jedi shit coming, bro! Now toss me that mind-forged lightsaber! I wanna show these slimy bastards where the sun doesn't fucking sparkle."

Erik whirls through the thinning enemy ranks, his sword singing a cadence of death as he paints crimson on the ground. "We've got them on the run!"

With hope rekindled, I rally the last dregs of my strength, scorching serpents to ash with searing orbs of light. Their numbers are thinning now, their broken bodies littering the ground in grisly pieces.

An ogre lumbers forward, its club raised high for one final, desperate strike. But Faderyn is there in a blur of motion, his blades sinking deep into the monster's abdomen. With a savage twist, he spills its steaming entrails onto the blood-soaked earth.

"That's the last of them!" he shouts triumphantly, his voice ringing out over the sudden, eerie silence descending upon the battlefield.