Page 103 of Starside

A smile inches across my face, just as an immortal’s glimmering gaze meet mine. He frowns, skin splitting around his dry lips.

I lunge forward, slicing across his torso, his guts spilling out of him, smelling like rot, then duck out of the way of a gold blade, curved like a scythe. It whistles through the air, and I kneel, running him through, then rolling out of the way, before slicing the heels of the man about to put his weapon through the top of my head, sending him to his knees. I thrust my sword through his back. He falls face-first into the dirt.

It happens in a blink. One moment, I’m surrounded, and the next, all the immortals are bleeding out around me.

Fuck, it feels good to actually be able to use a weapon after weeks of struggling to even get my new one off the ground.

But I wouldn’t trade mine for anything.

I rise, walking toward a final immortal who’s trying and failing to pull my sword from the ground. My boots squelch over blood, but he doesn’t even turn, he’s so transfixed by my weapon.

No matter how hard he tries, it remains rooted in place, still buried in two men.

I reach behind him and slit his throat. He falls, and I throw the bronze sword at his body, reaching for my blade again. It slips out of the ground like slicing through butter. I lift my chin, feeling triumphant.

I only make it a single step forward before I’m slammed into a tree.

My head rings. The strange crimson glowing blade is at my neck. I thrash as much as I can, my skin brushing against the cold metal.

“Enough,” the first man says, dirt and spit flying into my face. This close, I can see the cracks in his raw skin. “Lordship is arriving.”

He doesn’t waste another moment before shoving me to the ground. Metal still trained against my throat, he drags me by the hair through the dirt, past all the bodies. I fight against his hold, screaming, swinging my blade, but before I can get a good hit in, I’m being hauled to my feet again.

We’re standing at the edge of a deep crater, lined in a strange pattern.

Before I can wonder how that happened, the dirt begins to swirl. And the hairs on the back of my neck rise one by one.

Somehow, I know this is the root of all this poison. I know that if he shoves me into this hole, I will never make it out alive.

The blade is still against my throat … but he hasn’t killed me yet. He wants his lord to claim my sword. Not him. I take a risk.

I slam my metal through his foot, and he roars, loosening his hold.

He can’t move my weapon. He’s pinned in place. I use that to my advantage as I slip out of his arms and turn.

But his sword has magic. Before I make it far, my blood—

It stills.

And I fall to the ground.

How—

Without my own volition, my limbs start to move. They lurch forward … and I begin to stand. Even though it’s the last thing I want to do, I stagger toward the crater. No. I grit my teeth, trying to fight it …

But the blade is like a thread pulled through my blood and bones, controlling my every move. Its crimson color flashes bright, deepening. Reveling.

I’m forced toward that swirling hole, and I fight every inch of the way, but it’s no use. I keep shuffling toward my certain death. My jaw sets, refusing to give up, and I push back. With a burst of strength, I manage to turn my head to look at the immortal, and that’s when I notice he and I might not be as different as I thought.

He’s struggling to hold his blade too.

It’s fucking heavy. I know. But he’s supposed to be far stronger. I wonder if this rot has weakened him.

My own sword has him stuck. He can’t fall into a better stance. His arms are trembling. I know what that’s like.

He’s going to lose his hold.

I keep fighting. My feet inch toward the crater, but I resist with every muscle, veins straining with the effort.