52. Danica

Danica

52

T he coldness of the Whispering Woods bites at me, the frosty air a far cry from the heat emanating from Rhyland's body against mine. I keep Storm steady, navigating the maze of paths, all shrouded in mystery.

Swirls of fog slither through the air, wrapping around us in ethereal wisps while an eerie quiet smothers the woods. Trees loom like watchful guardians, their twisted limbs stretching toward us, ready to either share the forest's ancient tales or catch us in their wooden grasp.

Suddenly, the single-file path decides to throw a party, branching into a spiderweb of 'choose your own adventure' trails. Each one's a gamble, heading who-knows-where. The air gets heavy, holding its breath, waiting for us to move in this game of forest roulette.

"Which way now?" Faedryn's voice cuts through the foggy haze.

Erik moves forward, his silver eyes scanning the murky surroundings. "Left," he asserts, pointing to a path shrouded in thicker mist.

Axilya shakes her head, her crown of pale flowers and thorns catching droplets of mist. "No, we must take the right fork. It leads to higher ground."

Lucian scoffs. "And what? We'll just fly over this damned fog from there?"

Rhyland's authoritative voice rumbles behind me. "Enough! We can't waste time bickering."

Tension crackles around us like the prelude to a tempest, but deep down, there's a flicker in me—a knowing without words, a compass in the chaos.

"Hang on—" I announce. My companions fall silent, their eyes fixed on me.

I shut my eyes and inhale deeply, holding the quiet of the woods in my lungs before letting it seep out, slow and controlled. Storm remains unflinching and quiet, as if he understands my intent.

Inside, there's a pull—a visceral anchor to the stone, transcending the fog and shadows enveloping us. It tugs at me insistently, the sensation amplifying until it becomes irrefutable. I feel a tingle at my crown, a physical echo of the certainty blossoming within me.

"This way," I declare, my voice laced with an assurance that surprises even me. That intangible tether seems to direct me as surely as a compass needle finds magnetic north. With a soft coaxing of Storm, we venture onto a less-traveled path—a thread in the woods that sings of both promising and perilous fates.

Lucian's voice drips with a know-it-all tone. "Obviously, I was about to choose this very route."

My crown vibrates as though it's coming alive.

"Your crown," Rhyland's voice is hushed and thick with awe, right behind me, "the glyphs are glowing... shifting."

We enter a clearing. Beneath us, Storm's restlessness grows; he shifts his weight, his body wound tight as a bowstring, as though he's picking up vibes we can't. Suddenly, he lets out a piercing whinny, and his hooves hammer a nervous tattoo into the forgiving earth—his unease is contagious as the other horses follow suit.

"Easy, boy..." I try to soothe him, but before I can even start, something zips by—a blur of speed that's anything but natural. Storm's reaction is immediate and explosive; he's up on his hind legs, powerful and magnificent but utterly terrified, pitching wildly beneath us.

My fingers tangle in Storm's mane, desperate for anchorage, but the force defies my grip. Like ragdolls in a typhoon, Storm launches us off his back, proving that gravity's got nothing on a spooked horse in a supernatural forest.

The impact with the ground is brutal, a crushing embrace that knocks the wind from my chest. My silent gasp is for oxygen that seems to have fled the scene. Pain stabs from shoulder to spine—unwelcome and searing.

I can't breathe at first.

Then, finally, air staggers back into my lungs, and each gulp is a sharp-edged blade as the taste of moist soil and the tang of fear mingle in my mouth.

The moment I wrangle control over my breath and will, Rhyland is right there instantly to lift me off the unforgiving earth. That's when it strikes—an unearthly scream that shreds through the silence of the trees. It's not just a sound; it's a pronouncement of dread, making every hair on my skin stand at attention.

My hands dart for my daggers, their solid heft both calming and empowering—a tactile promise that I'm not defenseless against whatever horror is about to emerge from the Whispering Woods' deceiving tranquility.

Lucian's question pierces through the heavy mist. "What the fuck was that?!"

My eyes snap open to our new reality. Everyone's dismounted, poised for combat, turning a wary circle to face the unseen threat.

The horses bolt away in a frenzy as though fleeing from flames. The map sits at my feet, enclosed in its leather case, dropped and forgotten.

That's when the nightmare crew decides to make their appearance, stepping right out of the fog. These ugly fucking things? They stand tall and foreboding, silhouettes knitted from the woods themselves with limbs of gnarled branches and a maze of thorns protruding dangerously from their humanoid forms. They move in a freaky lockstep that feels like they're dancing to the tune of the seriously unhinged.

Thorns as sharp as daggers jut menacingly from their limbs while their faces remain veiled in a tapestry of moss and leaves. Only their eyes are visible—glowing orbs radiating pure loathing.

I plant my feet, my resolve steel. We're not the all-you-can-eat buffet they're craving. Rhyland's at my side in an instant, every inch the vampire Viking fortress he is, and our fingers brush—a promise of battle to come.

"Anyone wanna clue me in on what these freaky fuckers actually are?" Lucian asks, his voice taut with wary irritation.

My heartbeat accelerates, thudding in my ears like a drum, sounding the alarm, adrenaline coursing through me. They move with an eerie grace—the forest closing in—reminiscent of twisted trees that come to life, stretching out limbs toward us with purpose.

The whispers begin to invade my mind, sneaking and squirming through with deceit and falsehoods. Without hesitation, I throw up my mental defenses—my mind sealing shut like a fortress. "Shields up!" I tell them.

A buzz of anticipation zips under my skin like my power gearing up to crash this monster mash with its killer playlist. Ready to turn this imminent bloodbath into a dance-off with me as the headliner, the battlefield's about to become my stage—and trust me, I'm ready to put on a show that'll have even the grim reaper taking notes.

"Ax! Care to fucken' enlighten us?" Lucian calls out, his voice piercing through the uneasy atmosphere.

Axilya's face is etched with concern as she replies, "I believe...these…are Thicket Shades—these woods, sites of ancient betrayals and battles, now give rise to physical forms born from the land's deep-seated pain and anguish. They will stop at nothing to bury you alive."

I shoot Rhyland a look, our eyes sparking a wordless pact in an instant—we'll be damned if we let that happen.

Lucian's brow furrows as he asks urgently, "Alright, so we're dealing with some spooky-ass tree spirits? What's the strategy, Ax?"

"Beats the hell outta me," Axilya snaps.

The first strike comes fast—a Thicket Shade unraveling an arm like a venomous vine, aimed straight for Erik. Even with his vampiric swiftness, Erik can't fully avoid the blow, taking a glancing hit to his side that elicits a feral snarl. In a blur, he retaliates with his sword with an arc of quicksilver vengeance. There is no hesitation, no mercy, just lethal intent etched into each movement as Erik unleashes on our assailant. The clash of blades on gnarled flesh rings out—barbed plants vs. vampire steel, a visceral duet heralding the start of a ruthless battle.

"Battling bitchy bark," Lucian quips with a derisive snort—his own brand of battle hymn, before leaping next to Erik, tapping into his speed and might as if he's the main act in a supernatural circus act. He springs up and delivers a forceful kick—the impact like a battering ram that sends one Shade falling to the ground—crashing down with a resonant boom, shaking the very foundation of the forest.

Lucian flashes a devil-may-care grin and drawls, "I can play Paul Bunyan."

Faderyn plunges headlong into the melee, blade unsheathed and slashing with precision. He dances through the conflict, an artist severing limbs, each move cloaked in shadow and silence.

Yet the Shade, unfazed, seamlessly regenerates its limb, drawing from the sylvan energies around it as if the forest itself conspires to mend its form.

Right there with Faderyn, Axilya steps into the dance, her sword harmonizing with the clash of battle, a symphony of steel as she meets her foes.

Rhyland, with his subtle command, the very air becomes his weapon. A casual flick of his wrist sends a Thicket Shade reeling as effortlessly as if he'd tossed aside a pebble, revealing the might of his telekinetic prowess—an unseen titan at play. The Shade shatters into fragments as if it were torn to pieces by a wood chipper's relentless maw.

I take a deep breath, and at this moment, I grip time by the reins. The chaos around me succumbs to a sluggish tempo—the Shades now sluggish marionettes in a vicious dance. I explode into motion, my body a whirl of acrobatic flair.

As one of the Shades stretches its limbs toward me, greedy as branches craving the sun's kiss, I dance beneath their reach in this dilated moment. My form twirls and contorts, slipping through the heavy air gracefully—an astral dancer spinning through the very fabric of time.

Craning my neck to peer beyond one of the creatures, I catch a glimpse of a core embedded in its back—a smoldering red beacon. Intrigue flickers through my analytical mind as a hypothesis begins to take shape.

With daggers that might as well be my pointy fingers, one gets to meet the 'heartwood' of a sneaky Shade eyeing Rhyland from the rear. I send it flying with a flick and a wink—it's got a date with destiny. Even before it lands its kiss, I'm scouting my next enemy across the battlefield.

Who needs regular feet when you can whoosh yourself places? In a heartbeat that feels like a leisurely stroll in my time-warped bubble, I'm there, winking into existence—call it willpower, call it a magic taxi ride with my trusty dagger as the driver, parked right in a Shade's back.

As time snaps back like a rubber band, my fingers wrap around the hilt, pulling it free with a flourish. My 'dance partner' lets out an ear-splitting shriek, a sound so piercing it feels like my eardrums might burst.

Instinctively, I drop to the ground, hands pressed firmly over my ears. Around me, others do the same—a field of warriors brought low by the cacophony. Then, as suddenly as it began, the wail ceases, and the Shade collapses, its form desiccating rapidly, crumbling away like a tree surrendering to the relentless march of time.

I'm moving again before its pal can react, slipping through the cracks between seconds. The tempo changes on my cue—slow, then fast, then slow again—leaving the Shades stumbling like two left-footed partners trying to match my flawless choreography.

There are so many!

Rhyland's gaze burns into me, alight with pride and something far more primal, as I swiftly dismantle a Shade on the verge of blind-siding Lucian.

We're enveloped in the heady scent of the earth—the rich, moist musk of upturned soil and decaying leaves caught in the throes of nature's death grip. Abruptly, Lucian collapses, his body wracked with convulsions, as the Shade releases a cloud of toxic gas.

I choke and twist the other way, retching on the soil. I hold my breath, dive back to Lucian, and pull him out of the way. The Shade sprayed some hallucinogenic as Lucian began mumbling incoherent nonsense. I gaze up as I see Rhyland flexing his fingers, and another Shade is hoisted into the air as if gripped by an invisible hand. Its limbs flail helplessly before he slams it down onto the forest floor, shattering it into pieces.

Yet the Shade begins to reconstruct itself, the wooden shards melding back together as if drawn by a dark and twisted spell of enchantment.

Shit!

"Lucian—" The smack of my hand on his cheek could've kickstarted a dead engine, all to jolt him out of his narcotic stupor. His eyes lock on me, clarity striking like a lightning bolt's comeback tour and bam! He's a vampire blur, hurling himself back with the grace of a caffeinated ballerina into the fray.

"You're welcome, jerk!" I toss over my shoulder, not pausing to see if his ego's bruised. Time is ticking, and I've got more Shade goons to introduce to my daggers. "Eyes peeled for their gas!" I yell into the bedlam, tossing a lifeline of a warning into the sea of madness to keep us from going under.

Axilya battles with ferocious determination, her form a blur of motion perfectly attuned to the rhythms of combat. She slices through limbs that regenerate as swiftly as they are severed, but she is relentless, a tireless warrior who refuses to abandon the deadly dance.

"The heart core!" I yell out to the others. "It's on their back!"

I can't help but wonder how these tree-hugging pricks would feel about a taste of my angel fire.

My pulse becomes a war drum in my ears as I dance between the Shades—slow, twisted things groping to snare me in their gnarled claws. I drop and slide beneath one, driving my blade up to the hilt in its wooden hide. It unleashes an otherworldly shriek—my very bones seem to quake in protest. Channeling my power as I've practiced, I concentrate on setting this bastard ablaze. Sparks dance from my fingertips, erupting into a searing white inferno that engulfs the Shade, reducing it to charred remains.

A flash to my left shows Faderyn trapped in the coiled embrace of a Thicket Shade. Its twisted limbs bind him, crushing his breath.

"Faderyn!" Already rushing forward, fear grips my heart. In desperation, I focus my power, willing time to slow. The world around me syrups. I dart forward, a blur of motion.

Faderyn's face contorts in agony, each breath a ragged gasp as the Shade constricts without mercy. I pour on the speed, blades glinting, ready to hack through woody flesh to free him. But I can see the desperation in Faderyn's eyes—he knows help will come too late. Still, I race closer, refusing to abandon hope, just as Faderyn's body slows in resignation.

No! I howl inside. I will not lose him like this!

I angrily throw myself at the Shade, screaming, and my daggers carve furrows in its gnarled hide. I hack at the appendage holding Faderyn, but it's like striking oak—unyielding. I restrain my flames, afraid of scorching Faderyn in the process.

"Let him go, you bastard!" I scream. The creature regards me with glowing eyes, indifferent to my pleas. I reach over and stab in the back—hoping I hit my mark. It shrieks in rage, whipping a branch to swat me aside before it falls to the ground and withers away.

The impact is thunder—knocking the wind out of me—I hit the ground hard, breathless. Twice, seriously? That's two helpings of face-planting gourmet with a side of 'oomph' sucked right from my lungs. Faderyn drops to the ground, coughing and gasping. His eyes meet mine, filled with torment but also resolute trust.

Before I can react, I'm snared, woody limbs coiling around to pin my arms. My feet leave the ground, suspended helplessly in its clutches as they tighten like a vise, crushing breath from my lungs.

Erik's cry, "Dani—!" ends in a guttural grunt as a Shade punts him across the clearing like a rag doll. He hits the ground and rolls bonelessly, silver hair falling across his face.

Across the clearing, Rhyland's face contorts in torment. He surges forth but is battered back by two more Shades.

"Danica!" Rhyland howls across the clearing.

I gasp for air, stars bursting across my vision as the creature's grip grows ever tighter. Each breath now requires a Herculean effort, hard-won and fleeting.

Rhyland fights with savage determination to reach me, and he tries to blur, but a Thicket Shade impales his stomach, and Rhyland crumples to the ground. Though mute, I try to cry out at his anguish, feeling the phantom agony lance through my own body.

Wood—it's like kryptonite for Vampires.

My pulse pounds relentlessly, the rapid thunder of my heart desperate to sustain me. Struggling to summon my fire, my hands flicker with feeble sparks, but it's futile when air refuses to fill my lungs.

Everyone is in battle, fighting them off as they continue to close in.

His eyes, azure—wells of torment and love, beg me to hold on just a little longer as he scrambles to get up off the ground. But the darkness crowds the edges of my vision, smothering light and sound.

No. This can't happen.

I can't find my strength to fight—to use my light—darkness is consuming my vision.

Lucian is below me, hacking at the Shade—"Piece of fuckin' shit, let her go!"

The Shade constricts tighter, cracking my ribs under the strain. Before I can react, a slender tendril whips forward and impales my chest in a burst of crimson. For a suspended moment, there is only pressure, no pain. I watch the blood bloom, staining the leather vest red. Then agony—white-hot pokers lancing through my torso. A ragged scream tears from my throat. The tendril withdraws, my blood dripping from its tip. I'm discarded carelessly, hitting the ground with a bone-jarring thud.

Through the haze of pain, I see Rhyland's face contorted in anguish and fury. Time slows to a crawl—with a roar, he tears through the Shades separating us, eyes blazing cobalt fire. He hurls the Shades aside as if they were mere trifles, but they continue to swarm.

Through the haze of my darkening vision, I can just make out the gruesome sight: he's been impaled yet again.

There is a roaring void where the clamor of battle once reigned. Now, there is only deafening silence and the frantic cadence of my faltering heartbeat.

A silent scream rends my throat asunder. I glance down to see the ragged hole in my chest, blood pouring slick and crimson. My vision whitens at the edges.

Through the descending veil shrouding my senses, I see Lucian's face swim into view. Though mute to my failing ears, I can read the shape of words on his lips. "Fuck…Hold on," he pleads, " I got you…stay with me." his dark brown eyes brimming with anguish.

I try to cling to consciousness, focusing on the lifeline of his gaze.

"Rhyland!!" Lucian screams, but it sounds muffled like I'm underwater. My strength bleeds away along with the crimson tide spilling unchecked onto the forest floor.

Somewhere in the distance,Rhylandunleashes an anguished cry that pierces my fading consciousness. He is a man possessed, fighting through the Shades with primal fury etched on his face, telekinetic power hurling them aside like leaves in a gale.

But even his strength cannot hold back the tide rising to swallow me. Each breath is a fire in my chest. My life spills hot on the damp earth beneath me.

"Luc—" His name bubbles past my lips, drowned in a crimson tide rising from my ruined chest. I cough violently, blood spraying, feeling as though I'm drowning on dry land.Lucian's face swims sickeningly before me as he tries to stem the relentless flow. But we both know it is futile.

"Shh…don't talk," he tells me. "Rhyland!!"Lucian's cry resonates through me, a thunderclap rending the shroud of silence. The raw anguish in his voice seems to shake the very air.

The shadows continue their insidious march, consuming my vision by degrees. Soon, only a tunnel remains, framingLucian's anguished eyes.

"Fuck…I'm so sorry…for what I'm about to do. Please forgive me," Lucian pleads.

I'm confused— lost in the void. I blink; time's a twisted joke here. It could be minutes, seconds, or a fricking eternity.

Rhyland's face appears above me, shouting words I can't understand. I feel like I'm being lifted. His voice fades, and a bone-deep cold creeps through my limbs.

"Rhyland…" I cling to one final shred of light, determined to imprint his face on my heart.

Darkness creeps into the edges of my vision, beckoning me into its embrace. My eyes fall shut, too heavy to keep open. Rhyalnd's frantic voice echoes from somewhere far away as oblivion rises to claim me.