Page 22 of Wings of Desire

Despite his weakened condition, he stands with pride, gripping his spear and pounding it into the earth to intimidate me. The Krel is a massive red beast with long, matted, ink-colored hair. Torn sections of his exoskeleton show the raw flesh beneath it. His left arm is bruised, and his back leg is crudely bound with twine.

“I will show you no mercy, Nocris!” He beats at his chest with a roar, foaming spit sprays from his mouth.

Even with his injuries, he will be a difficult opponent to win against. I’ll need to use every clever trick in my arsenal in order to win.

“You are wounded!” I shout from my place above him. “You cannot last.”

He charges toward me, enraged by the fact that I exposed his weakened state. His tail rises and his spear thrusts forward, but I time my dive perfectly to slice along his back. There is no cry of pain, instead, his tail whips toward me, narrowly missing me. The venom from his tail would immediately render me unconscious.

The Krel thrusts his spear into the sky, and a flash of blue magick light erupts from the tip. The flame strikes my shoulder and singes part of my wing. I scream, spinning in the air so the flames don’t engulf me completely. It only scalds my skin, but the pain makes me lose focus, distracting me enough that the warrior strikes.

His tail jabs toward me, and I roll out of the way, narrowly dodging it.

“I smell a female with you, Nocris,” he snarls. “When I find her, I will make you watch as I feast on her.”

Rage ignites inside my gut, consuming my senses. I lunge at his head, swinging my sword at his broad neck. He proves he’s faster than I anticipated, as his spear snaps to intercept my strike.

“Why are you here?” I scream as I spin before he can land a blow. “This is not your land!”

The Krel’s laugh booms across the camp, doing nothing to temper my building rage. “We will take this land as ours!”he cackles gleefully. “The badlands are unfertile, and we desire to thrive without your measlyKugitauri’said!”

I see, so it’s like that then. The Krel no longer wishes to be controlled by the caliphate’s rule. We banished them to the badlands after the last war, only giving them minor aid during the drought. Their leader has grown far too old, and perhaps with this new show of strength, someone must have usurped him.

“We will never allow you to take this land!” I bellow as I rise further into the air.

From this vantage point, I see he’s already sweating, and he’s only defended against my attacks. The warrior will eventually wear himself down and once he does, I’ll deliver my final strike.

The Krel’s tail lashes upward one more time, as he casts a fireball in my direction. It’s too slow. My instincts kick in, and I dive, noticing the muscles in his neck twitch. With a fierce scream, I slice down in a backhanded swing.

As a Nocris, I have the advantage of speed, agility and having higher ground. The Krel may have a superior magical affinity, but this one is far too weak to cast it properly.

My blade slices through the air across his neck, and I deliver a kick straight to his hideous face. His tail thrashes wildly and its tip stabs directly into my side.

Pain explodes through my body as the venom courses in my veins. I watch as the Krel’s severed head falls from his torso, and he drops to his knees. His headless corpse collapses to the ground, and I stagger, clutching my side.

“ECHO!” I scream as my body goes rigid as the venom takes its hold. My vision begins to darken around the edges, and I fall from the sky to the ground below.

Come back to me

From my hiding place under a fallen cot, the silence is pierced by a desperate shout of my name. “Echo!” Xakira’s voice is filled with urgency and pain.

My heart races, knowing without a doubt he’s calling for me. I scramble from underneath the cot, sliding upon the blood slicked ground. While hiding I found a blaster hidden underneath blankets. In my hands, it feels cold, sleek and heavy.

I may not know how to use it, but I know enough to point and fire.

Once outside, I see no sign of Xakiras at all and cup my hands calling out, “Honey? Where are you?”

There’s no response.

My heart races and my underarms sweat as anxiety bubbles up. Aiming the gun outward, I walk on high alert through the rows of tents, watching for any sign of danger. “Xakiras?”

There’s no response again.

As silence stretches onward, tears begin to well in my eyes. I start running through the ruined camp, calling out his name. I’m frantically searching for any sign of life until I stumble upon the Krel’s severed head a few feet from its body.

Xakiras lies face down on the ground with his torn wings spread out behind him, and his body is rigid like stone. His sword is still tightly gripped in his hand.

“Xakiras!” I cry, sliding into the grass beside him. My hands scramble over his body, searching for any injury. There’s nothing on his back, and there’s no blood.

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