Page 138 of Skalterra By Nightmare
“Look what they’ve turned you into, Blue,” Ciarán growled. Bits of black hair hung loose from his collapsing bun, and his lips pressed together. He was putting on a brave face, but his orange eyes widened, and the sharp stench of fear that rolled off him was nauseatingly satisfying.
“I’m stronger than I’ve ever been!” I lunged at him, and he tried to parry with his staff, but I batted it away with a kevlar-armored arm.
“They’ve made you into a weapon.” He danced out of reach of my outstretched claws. “If you could see yourself—”
Something hot broke across my back, and I spun around to find the woman Grimguard. Her eyes glowed a more neon orange than Ciarán’s, but she had the same dark sclera. Curly hair hung down from under her fur-lined hood, and the cowl that covered the bottom half of her face only did so much to hide the freckles that covered her cheeks.
An orange bludgeon formed in her hands, but I drew more Skal from Galahad’s stores and caught the weapon in my claws. It burned against my palms, but I reinforced the skin of my hands and squeezed.
The weapon exploded in a burst of sparks, and I reached through shattered light to grab the woman by her face and throw her backwards.
“Wren!” Orla staggered over broken ice, trying to get closer. “Wren, be careful!”
“Get out of here!” I yelled back, but there was something new and harsh in my voice. "I’ve got it handled!”
“No, you don’t!”
The fear on the Grimguards’ faces had fueled me, but the stricken look on Orla’s made me falter. Her jaw dropped, and she shook her head, but I turned back to Ciarán to launch at him yet again.
My claws left shimmering gashes in the orange shield he held between us, but I couldn’t reach him. I pulled more magick from Galahad.
It was intoxicating, and I needed more.
“Wren Warrender,” Galahad gasped in my mind, “would you really kill me?”
I wasn’tkillinghim. I was just taking his magick to hold off the Grimguards.
“To save both our realms?” I snarled back, parroting what he had said to me my first day in Skalterra. “Gladly.”
The woman attacked again, having regained her bearings, this time with a broadsword. It was just as easy to stop as her bludgeon, and it hurt less this time. The sword evaporated into neon steam in my hands, and I breathed deep, inhaling the remnant of the Skal that had formed it.
I needed more.
Panic nudged at the back of my head, but it was dulled by the hunger that roiled in my gut.
“Wren!” Orla shrieked. She sounded far away, and I tried to find her, but the snow flurried harder around me. Silver sparks illuminated my claws, and my stomach churned at the sight of dead gray skin creeping up my fingers.
“Orla?” I called back. Ciarán and his friend were gone, lost in the storm of snow and Skal, but Orla was in danger. My panic screamed now, but the hunger was still louder. “Orla, run! I can’t—”
I cut off in a guttural cry as more Skal ricocheted through my body. I was splitting apart. The Skal was stripping me away, but I couldn’t stop myself from siphoning more.
Galahad was supposed to stop me.
Why wasn’t he stopping me?
I pulled at the connection, and Galahad pulled back, trying to stopper the flow of magick, but it was too late. I’d overpowered him. His Skal was mine, and it was burning me up.
I needed more.
I would become a rotsbane, but I needed more. I would die if I didn’t get more, and every bit of Skal filled me with terrible elation and insatiable hunger.
“Blue!” Ciarán’s voice split the storm of ice and Skal. “Wren Warrender!”
Tattered cloaks and shoulder-length dark hair whipped around him as he fought his way into my vortex. I should kill him. I was supposed to kill him. But I was fraying. Every molecule inside me was unraveling. If I moved, I was sure to fall apart.
“Wren, you need to stop!” Ciarán called.
“I can’t!” I couldn’t tell if the outlines of my arms were blurred by the snow or if they were dissolving into something amorphous and shadowy.
