Page 77 of The Ascended
The knife took him in the chest with a wet, searing thud.
His scream cut off as starlight erupted inside him, burning from the inside out. The smell of charred meat filled the clearing. He looked at me, surprise and fear swirling in his eyes before they went glassy.
And then he fell.
I'd killed someone. Not something, someone.
But there was no time for the horror of it, because the other man’s shadow was already turning. His darkness abandoned Marx, flowing across the ground toward us like spilled oil.
"Shit," I breathed, scrambling to form another blade.
Thatcher descended. No hesitation, no doubt—just terrible purpose. Through our bond, I felt him reach out with that Primordial gift.
The shadow-wielder made it three steps before his own blood turned traitor.
I watched vessels burst beneath his skin in spiderweb patterns, watched his eyes go wide with shock as his body betrayed him from within. He dropped to his knees, hands clawing at his throat as if he could hold his life inside by will alone.
He couldn't. His body hit the ground hard.
The liquid woman backed away, her form wavering between states as panic finally showed on her shifting features. "This wasn't supposed to—you weren't supposed to?—"
Marx struck.
I still don't know exactly what she did. Her fingers danced in subtle patterns, her lips moving but no sound coming out. Suddenly the woman's constant flux accelerated.
She screamed—or tried to. Hard to scream when your throat keeps melting and reforming. Her flesh flowed faster and faster, unable to hold any shape at all. In seconds, she dissolved into a steaming puddle.
Silence crashed over the clearing.
Three bodies. Three lives ended in heartbeats. The metallic stench of blood mixed with char and whatever foul essence the liquid woman had become.
"Well," Marx said, examining the blood on her arms. "That was efficient."
She kicked the acidic puddle that had,moments ago, been a person. Her boot left ripples on the surface. "Thanks for the assist. I'll try not to make a habit of needing rescue."
But beneath her casual tone, I caught the slight tremor in her hands. The way she kept glancing at the bodies like she expected them to get back up. She looked at Thatcher. Then at me.
“The brother, I presume?” She drawled, any lingering nerves abandoned.
“Thatcher.” He nodded in her direction.
“Pleasure. I’m Marx. I heard you killed a god.” She smiled, sizing him up with a playful smile.
"We need to move," I interrupted. "That was loud."
"Fine." Marx sheathed her blades. "Lead the way, heroes."
We pushed deeper into the brush, putting distance between us and the carnage. The forest changed as we climbed the gradual slope—thick undergrowth giving way to older trees with little ground cover. The temperature dropped, and our breath began to fog. We were heading toward the mountains, the terrain growing rockier with each step.
My mind kept replaying that moment—the knife leaving my hand, the surprise in his eyes, the wet sound of impact.
Is this what you wanted, Xül?I thought bitterly. Your perfect little killer, forged and ready?
We found another clearing. My nerves were shot, every sound making me reach for weapons, every shadow potentially hiding another ambush.
That's when I saw him again. The same contestant from the trees, bow drawn on a golden stag that grazed peacefully in the meadow beyond. Its crystal antlers caught the light, throwing rainbow patterns across the grass. But it was too far to shoot. He was waiting for it to get closer.
There,I sent to Thatcher, pointing.
