Chapter Six

Awhimper escaped Thea as she took in the mighty sight of him. Wearing only a pair of tattered undershorts, Wilder Hawthorne was a blaze of bare-chested bloodshed and glory. Though his body was bruised and brutalised beneath the gore, he moved like a god of war, becoming a savage blur of steel as he carved through the remaining monsters to get to her.

Thea held her breath, her lightning dancing at her fingertips as he reached her.

When he met her gaze, she exhaled. For his silver eyes were his. He was whole.

Wilder's stare widened at the sight of her. Despite the carnage around them, he took in the Warsword totem at her arm, the strength that radiated from her and the power thrumming between them.

He staggered towards her, lips parted in awe. ‘Thea —'

But she lunged for him, gripping the back of his neck and silencing him amid the madness with a deep, searing kiss. She didn't care that he tasted of iron and sweat, only that he was hers. His lips met hers in a fierce claiming, his mouth opening for her and her tongue brushing against his as she pressed her armour-clad body to his bare torso.

She broke away, panting. ‘I love you,' she gasped, refusing to tear her eyes away from him. ‘I love you so much I can hardly breathe. I've wanted to say it for so long —'

Wilder gave a hoarse, broken laugh. ‘Tell me again later. Tell me when we're safe.'

Thea kissed him again, desperate to show him that tempest he'd brought to life within her from the moment they'd met. ‘I'll tell you every day until my last,' she murmured.

Outside, beyond the blanket of darkness, something exploded, ripping through the air.

Thea and Wilder broke apart, rigid with tension as they listened.

It started as a distant, muffled sound, akin to the low rumbling of thunder echoing across the marshland, only to crescendo into a near-deafening blast that shook the very foundations of the Scarlet Tower.

Thea grabbed Wilder's hand and pulled him towards the exit. ‘Come on, let's get the fuck out of here.'

‘What is that out there?' he asked, following, his hand not leaving hers.

‘Our back-up,' she replied, kicking debris from their path. The laboratory was ruined, empty but for the rivers of black blood at their feet.

When they reached the corridor beyond, she halted them, crouching by a body on the floor and wrenching its boots from its lifeless feet.

‘Here.' She held them out to Wilder. ‘They'll be a snug fit, but your feet —'

Wilder was already hauling the pants off the corpse and tugging them on before stuffing his feet into the too-small boots. ‘They'll do,' he said, his gaze flicking to the darkened hallway. ‘How —'

‘A story for another time,' Thea said, snatching his hand back in hers, dragging him down the passageway towards the spiral stairs. Spotting a unit of howlers coming towards them, she took the lead. Though he was keeping up, she knew Wilder wasn't at his full strength and she wasn't about to let him take the brunt of their violence.

‘Thea,' Wilder objected, but she simply gave him a wicked grin and flung herself into the heart of the fray, cleaving through one howler after the next, spraying blood on the stone walls and letting her steel sing. In the frenzy and rhythm of the rampage, she was dying to use her magic, to unleash that powerful storm magic like a wave upon them all, but with Talemir's warning fresh in her mind, she reined that part of herself in. If she couldn't kill them with lightning, she'd cut them down the Warsword way.

Wilder was far from passive in her wake. His twin swords glinted in the torchlight as he parried and struck with the same mesmerising dance of strength and precision he'd taught her, a force to be reckoned with, death's own calling card.

He didn't question why she wasn't using magic. He simply let her take the lead, an equal, a fellow Warsword in command.

When the way was clear, they scrambled up the staircase, towards the open gates of the tower. More howlers, and wraiths too, were spilling across the drawbridge in swarms.

Closing in, a wraith aimed a lash of darkness at Wilder, who stumbled slightly before righting himself, his silver gaze molten with determination, still gripping his swords menacingly.

But Thea's rage surged within, like a flood breaking through the walls of a dam, nearly blinding her with its force. She stared the wraith down, swinging her sword as she closed the gap across the bridge, her stormy gaze meeting its clouded blue eyes.

‘You're dead anyway,' she promised. ‘But touch him again, I dare you.'

A whip of darkness came for the Warswords, but it never landed.

Thea cleaved it and its master in two with one slash of her blade, leaving its heart to simply fall out of its chest with a grotesque slap against the bridge.

Behind her, Wilder gave another hoarse laugh. ‘Furies save us all,' he murmured with a savage grin.

Together, Thea and Wilder fought the howlers and wraiths back across the drawbridge, discarding their corpses into the murky waters either side. Bodies piled up high, and the Warswords clambered over them, slaying every vile creature in their path.

Overhead, membranous wings blocked out the yellow sliver of moon, arrows raining down on the enemy from above and striking wraiths from the sky.

Thea didn't know how Wilder was still standing, but they ran, crossing the outer grounds of the tower, monsters still falling from the sky thanks to the Warsword defending them from above —

But when they reached the iron gates, three enormous figures blocked their path.

Rheguld reapers.

The largest Thea had ever seen, easily fifteen feet tall. They were beyond grotesque, their sinewy frames pulsating with that nightmarish quality, their talons gleaming in the pale moonlight and their horns foul and twisted atop their heads. But it was their eyes that were the most unsettling feature of all; she had always thought so. Round and unblinking, clouded with a hazy blue hue, they pierced the world around them, reflecting the void of evil within.

A bleat of fear sounded. At their feet cowered an emaciated man. He was clad in rags and covered in all manner of filth.

‘Aemund?' Wilder breathed beside her, staring at their prisoner.

Thea's stomach bottomed out. ‘You know him?' she murmured, training her gaze on the wretched soul between the reapers.

‘We know him. He's the man we put here… The one who tried to poison Artos in Harenth,' Wilder told her, his expression pained. ‘He… he was in there with me.'

Thea surveyed the reapers. One of them had a taloned hand resting atop Aemund's head, the way a master might comfort a pet. ‘I don't think he's with you anymore —'

A shout sounded from above – a warning from Talemir. Thea's gaze snapped up, but it was too late.

Darkness billowed from all three reapers in thick, rolling masses, a swell of power expanding around them. Thea had never seen reapers join forces like that before, a solid wall of obsidian taking shape before it came crashing down upon them.

Thea lunged forward, blades raised, but was knocked back by a powerful, invisible force. She went sprawling across the dirt, but was on her feet again in an instant, only more determined to end the monsters before them. They had taken enough from her, enough from the midrealms —

But the darkness grew stronger still, taking form around them, around the tower – a shimmering shield of shadow, trapping Thea and Wilder within and blocking Talemir outside. The sliver of moon beyond disappeared, leaving them in pitch-black. The only sounds were the beating of wings beyond the barrier, and Aemund's short, shallow breaths. The reapers made no noise, but she felt them moving closer; could sense their malevolence, their thirst for power and pain, as though it were tangible, a hand reaching out to coax their nightmares from their minds.

The stench of them became overpowering, rancid enough to make Thea gag. But she held her ground, Wilder's presence stoic at her side.

Thea closed her eyes and felt the first whip of obsidian lash out.

It came for Wilder, not her, as though it knew where to strike to hurt her the most.

With a precise slash, she severed it from its host.

A shriek pierced the air.

Rage dripped through the silence that followed, and she felt the reapers close the space between them, the air shifting.

‘Thea…' Wilder warned. ‘We need to run.'

‘I'm done running,' she replied.

And the storm-wielding Warsword, Althea Embervale, summoned her lightning.

Forks of white light kissed her fingertips and illuminated the dark.

Wilder grabbed her arm. ‘You saw what they planned on doing to me in there.' His voice was rough. ‘If they capture a storm wielder, this war is over before it starts.'

Thea's power swelled. ‘I have no intention of being their captive.'

‘Then the whole world will know who you are.'

He'd echoed Talemir's concerns. But Thea had made up her mind. A tempest roared within her, demanding to be unleashed upon the evil in their midst.

‘It's about time that they did.'

The reapers hissed. The lightning at her fingertips illuminated their forms stalking towards them, their clouded eyes drinking her in, hungry for a taste of her power.

Beside her, Wilder gave her a nod and twirled his blades, and that told her all she needed to know. It was her choice, and he would stand by her until the end.

Thea felt the storm rise in her blood instantly. It had been simmering just beneath the surface, waiting to be released.

She set it free.

Overhead, thunder rumbled, thick grey clouds swallowing the wall of darkness created by the reapers, and Thea reached inward, to the ancient power that resided deep in her bloodline, and the core of the very world she stood upon.

Whips of darkness came for her, but Wilder slashed through them with his twin swords, clearing a path for her and her magic, allowing her the time to draw it out. The thunder roared this time, vibrating through the ground, reverberating in her chest and echoing her heartbeat.

Thea tipped her head to the sky and stretched out her hands. She tasted the rain on the wind, and lightning crackled from her fingertips – not in fine forks, but in mighty bolts. She felt the intensity of their charge in her palms before she unleashed them on the reapers, throwing them like spears at the monsters.

The creatures shrieked as each bolt landed, sinewy flesh burning in their wake.

Thea summoned rain as sharp as daggers, and with a shower of lightning breaking through the shield of shadow above, both pelted down on their already writhing enemies. With a swirling motion of her hands, Thea conjured a vortex of wind. The scent of burnt hair tangled with that of wet soil, and she deflected another attack of shadow before aiming the tunnelling gale right for the reapers, charging the very air with the promise of their demise.

She advanced, the three monsters trapped in the clutches of her storm. But she was far from done. At her command, the energy intensified, and she sent more bolts of lightning surging for the reapers, electric tendrils of power striking them over and over again, illuminating their leathery forms in a surreal blue light.

They screamed in earnest now, and it was a melody she relished. Around her, the wind howled and rain poured, drenching the grounds of the Scarlet Tower, turning it into a muddy field. She let her storm rage, her senses heightened to a blade's edge, becoming one with the tempest as it shattered the barrier of darkness around the tower and shadow wraiths beyond it fell from the sky.

‘Thea…'

Wilder's voice brought her back from the lure of the storm, her gaze snapping to his.

Silver eyes met hers. ‘Let's finish this,' he said, starting towards the twitching reapers, their power now nothing but dissipating wisps of dying shadow.

Palming her dagger, Thea followed.

But there was no need to carve out the monsters' hearts.

For she had burned them right out of their chests.

Panting, she and Wilder stood amongst the remnants of battle, the ground around them scorched, craters scattered far and wide across its surface.

Thea's heart ached with regret as Wilder stared at the tower, his body tense. Amid the smoke and carnage, it still stood, tall and foreboding: a symbol of the darkness that threatened their world, a grim sentinel, a bleak silhouette against the smouldering battlefield.

Thea knew no words would comfort her Warsword in that moment, and so she said nothing. Instead, she summoned another charge of lightning, and held it in her palm: an offer.

A muscle twitched in Wilder's jaw as he looked from her magic to the question in her eyes.

‘Bring it down,' he said at last. ‘Bring the whole fucking thing down.'

He didn't need to ask her twice.

Thea rallied her strength, her power, and threw everything she had at the Scarlet Tower. The place that had held her love captive, that had hurt him, that had seen monsters created and thrust upon the midrealms…

‘I am the storm,' she told herself.

She let her lightning rage, right alongside her heart, and she split the gods-damned tower in two.