Page 109 of Emylia

Jumping into action, I swung my blade, blocking the blows of an armed warrior. He was good. But I was better.

This was nothing more than training with my uncle and Sebastian or with my father. Muscle memory took over.

I parried the blows, easily weaving in and out of his assaults as though he was standing still. As lethally as Noctharis, I struck out at my prey. Blood sprayed my body as I sliced through his exposed throat before he fell, writhing in the bloodied dirt.

Another man had taken his fallen comrade’s place before his body fully hit the ground. I whirled around, my blade glinting recklessly as I found another weak spot, spilling the guts of a warrior before he had a chance to defend himself.

Sweat dripped off me, salty beads running down my face, stinging my eyes and blurring my vision. Like a novice, I took a second to wipe them, a second I didn’t have.

Pain seared through my left arm like white-hot agony.

Gods fucking dammit.

Anger and disbelief flared through me.

He struck me.

He had actually friggin’ struck me with a blade.

Bastard.

I ignored the blood gushing from my arm, the warm liquid coating me in sticky acrid fluid.

“You’re dead!” I hardly recognized my piercing cry. I didn’t care; my arm still screamed with pain. I was furious.

No, it was more than that.

I wasmurderous.

Out of nowhere, a burst of energy tore through me. With inhuman speed, I launched myself at him, parrying his blows like I wasn’t just a descendant of Elessandria but Elessandria herself; or at least a version of her before she had forsaken weapons. All wrath with no room for mercy.

But it felt justified—just as the Goddess had been. Not a corruption of good but fueled by a righteous anger.

A look of surprise flashed over the warrior’s face for only a split second before he rose to my challenge. Energy pulsed through me, my vision blurring in blind rage as I continued to attack, my lips curling into a vicious snarl.

I must protect them.

His body hit the ground with a satisfying thud; I stepped over it, attacking another warrior before he had a chance to reach me.

Power crackled at my fingertips, my blade glowing a sickly red as I swung it over and over again, slaughtering the men who threatened the existence of the people I loved.

Blood sprayed my face as my blade sliced through muscle and bone, piercing vital organs as I pushed the sword through the chest cavity of another warrior. I tried to dislodge the blade, but it refused to come loose.

Protect them.

My eyes met the eyes of a warrior that was half a decade older than me, blonde glossy hair, sticking to the sweat on his forehead. His chiseled shoulders remained bare, his jaw all sharp angles, dusted in dark stubble. His eyes flashed a deadly crimson; he thought he was at an advantage because I was weaponless and wounded.

But I knew the throwing knives he held were no match for me. He was underestimating the strength of my wrath.

It was all-consuming.

My bloodlust ravenous.

Sprinting forward, I ran at him like I had nothing to lose. I veered to the left, narrowly missing a blade as it whistled past my ear; cold air blasted my face, the only remnants of the close call. His eyes widened with fear as he watched me descend.

Before he had time to throw his second blade, my feet left the ground, flying weightlessly through the air, the soles of my boots hit the center of his chest, sending him off balance and hurtling toward the ground. The blade came loose on impact, the weight of the blade a reassurance in my palm as I snatched it out of midair.

Pain shot through my hip as I fell to the ground, frustratingly trying to move around the billows of my damn dress. In a heartbeat, I’d straddled his body, his fist finding my cheek before I had a chance to act.

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