Page 168 of Warlord's Plaything

Slaughtering the last of the undead surrounding him.

And when it’s over, when the battlefield is still again, we stand there, staring at each other.

Breathing heavy.

Waiting.

Daring the other to speak first.

"Why?"

The word is sharp. Rough. Suspicious.

I wipe blood from my face, letting my lips curl into a smirk.

"I want something."

His eyes darken.

"Of course you do."

I nod toward the battlefield.

"This war isn’t between us anymore. Kaelith isn’t just trying to kill us—he’s trying to control death itself. If we don’t stop him?—"

"We’ll all be his fucking puppets before the end of it."Menias exhales, rolling his shoulders like he’s shaking off an old wound.

His warriors are waiting, watching, tense.

If Kaelith wins there will be nothing left to rule.

"We fight together."

The words taste bitter.

But they’re necessary.

And Menias?

He grins.

"Then let’s go kill the bastard."

53

XYRON

"We strike at dawn."

Menias’ voice is rough, his tone all sharp edges and war-hardened certainty.

"We take him before he finishes whatever unholy ritual he’s planning."

His warriors nod, their faces hard, their tusked mouths set in grim resolve.

They are killers. Warmongers.

They know what it means to fight a battle you might not walk away from.

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