Page 130 of The Blood Rites

I am on him instantly. “Are you—”

He cuts me off, spitting out a bloody tooth. “Fucking hell. Thanks for the assist.”

I stare, uncomprehending. “You should be in pieces.”

“Should be,” he agrees, brushing off the debris. “Good thing you were here, eh?” He looks at me finally. “You’ve got a little something—” He gestures to my face.

I wipe at my mouth. More blood.

He notices my arm, dangling loose once again.

He looks me up and down—really looks this time—and grimaces. “I mean this nicely—but what the fuck happened to you?”

I don’t know where to begin. I shake my head, something like a laugh catching in my chest.

It sounds wrong. Like something inside me giving way.

Above us, a new roar. The Fireborn must be attacking the shadow dome in earnest now. A chorus of voices—shouts and battle cries—fills the air.

“What’s happening up there?” I ask.

Alaris gestures up with his chin. “The Fireborn, you mean? They’ve been trying to get into that shadow dome that your Shadowborn and his bodyguards made. They’ve been holed up in there for ages.”

Nyxen and Vaelis are here too. That helps. A little. At least Kael isn’t alone.

A tremor ripples through the arena, and the dais rises even further into the sky.

“Fuck,” Alaris says, not even bothering to hide his panic. “I guess the Mother Shard wants a finale. Are you ready for round three?”

He smirks, spits blood onto the ground, and shrugs. “Or maybe it’s round four, who knows?”

My eyes flick to the outer ring. It is barely visible through the prismatic haze. Marissa and Morwen are out there still. But... everyone else seems to be on the dais.

“How do we get up there?” I ask, and to my surprise Alaris smiles, a wicked grin that, for just a moment, makes him look almost like himself.

“I can get us up there. It might hurt a bit, though.”

“It can’t get any worse.”

“That’s the spirit.”

He kneels, pressing both hands to the ground, and the wind starts to howl, a low moan climbing in pitch. The air shivers, and my skin prickles as he channels. At first, it is cold and sharp. Then—with a loud crack—we are yanked upwards, propelled by a cyclone of invisible force.

I tuck my limbs in as best as I can, trying to make myself small.

We hit the dais hard, tumbling across the glass. I land flat, the pain in my shoulder so intense I scream. Alaris rolls, coming up crouched. He smiles through the blood in his teeth.

The world rocks before it settles into something I can understand.

The central platform is smaller than it looked from below, the space crowded with bodies and the writhing black dome. Atheron stands with his back to us, sending whips of fire across the surface of the dome in waves. The darkness swallows them, leaving only a faint afterglow.

Through the shadows, I see nothing. No movement. No sign of Kael. But I know he is in there. I can feel his power—strained... but still fighting.

Serraith and Maleiros flank Atheron, both bloodied. Serraith has a limp, his right leg buckling awkwardly.

I imagine Kael inside the dome, shadows leaking from his body. Nyxen and Vaelis at his sides. All of them working to keep the dome together by sheer force of will. They must be spent. Do warriors like them even get scared? Or is this what they train for?

Alaris surveys the scene and grins, a savage line of red cutting through the ruin of his face. He licks blood from his lip.