Page 68 of A Rising Hope

Near him, Broderick raised his sword up, loudly proclaimed,

“For truth!” The soldiers shouted repeatedly after him. “For freedom! And for those who have perished! May their spirits be with us and their blood and ash christen our way!”

Three . . . two . . .

A single breath.

One . . .

Metal, fire and blood all mixed into one. Lines clashed, calvary ran forward.

My ears rang, and I forced myself to focus. The fighting had always been so loud.

The men’s loud screams, grunts, and shouts filled the meadow as our armies struck at last.

My muscles burned. My chain flew like a viper, striking and searing every bit of skin it could find.

My horse reared—a fatal mistake. I jumped off the horse, rolling to the ground before it fell to the side, a spear probing it through its neck. Bright red blood stained its perfect white fur.

“Who let a little mouse on the battlefield!?” A large soldier roared with laughter, wiping away splattered blood on his face as he circled me with his sword, content to find an easy target.

“It’s not the mouse you should be afraid of but the snakes that follow it,” I snapped and before he could summon a lick of flames, my chain already flew and so did the crescent blades on them. I moved like lightning, not hesitating for even a thought.

“You’ll regret that,” he rumbled when my blade curved around his kneecap, ripping the ligament behind it. His large stature buckled under the weight, and he dropped to one knee.

I wanted to reply, sayingI highly doubt that. But instead, I jumped, my chains flying ahead of me as I leaped over him, catching my blades just after the chain wrapped around his thickneck, choking him. Another split-second movement, I ripped his helm off, sinking my knife deep into his ear, twisting hard before his arms could reach me. His giant figure tumbled down, giving me a moment of reprieve as he died.

Like a wildcat on the hunt, I moved with precision and agility, careful of each step, only using my weak heat shields when absolutely necessary. There was no need to let the enemy know I had no fire. I was a fraud on the battlefield, masquerading as a soldier.

“That was a time to shield, Zora!” Orest hissed, sending his own shield towards me as I ducked from a large arrow flying directly at my back. I didn’t dare more than a momentary glance in his direction, but each time I looked, I always found his eyes meeting mine as he fought through the gruesome lines.

But even brief glances had a cost when more enemy soldiers marched from the forest down to the bloodied meadows.

Line by line, we tore through them all. Frayed and burned bodies piled in our wake.

So much carnage. So much blood. Lives and souls forever lost.

I jumped over a fallen soldier, ignoring the Bellator’s,Gideon’s,insignia on his armor. My heart dropped low in my stomach, but I forced myself to look away. He was dead. There was no help I could provide. The only path forward was to win this battle so his life, and the lives of so many others weren’t wasted.

Our armies pushed forward, carving each inch of the muddied ground. And so did I, praying and hoping that the next body that fell near me wouldn’t be of Orest, or the Ten.

My chains swung high, finding another target before he could realize what was upon him. He twisted, but I was already sending a kick to his knee, shattering the weak bone, using the heavy armor that the soldier wore to my advantage.

I was faster.

I was better.

I was deadlier.

He dropped to his knee once more and my blade found its mark as I carved his face. My strategy was simple, perhaps the only one that would work for someone like me—powerless and small. Surprise them, make them drop to my height, use everything I had to my advantage. Otherwise, I knew I wouldn’t survive. Attack first before they could send fire, move fast, blend in, go unnoticed, be untraceable. Only chains, no swords. Swords made me slow. Curved blades matched my every stroke, every twist and pull of my chains, moving in unison with my body.

I attacked again and again, only focusing on the next enemy to kill. I didn’t care that my palms were shredded by the chain, that blood slithered down my face from the deep and stinging cut on my cheekbone.

Kill them and then kill them some more—the only thoughts I allowed to linger in my mind.

The enemy horns sounded once, then twice, then thrice.

I jerked my blades out from the eyes of the enemy I just mauled. Orest, who refused to leave my sight, kicked a lunging soldier, piercing his armor with his sword.

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