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The Sanctifier barely managed to deflect. Every impact against his wards sent up a cascade of sparks.

Skye didn’t wait. Didn’t hesitate. Didn’t give them time to regroup.

Muscles shifted beneath his skin. Bones flexed, and tendons realigned.

Bloodcrafting had shown him how to break a body down to its base elements—how to unmake and remake. He’d practicedon himself for hours, reshaping around the metals in his blood, until morphing became as natural as breath.

Skye lunged, the shift already carrying him forward. His fingers lengthened, sharpening into claws.

One strike to the throat—flesh tore, bone cracked.

Skye was moving again before the body hit the ground. A breath of frost warned him—the ice-caster was preparing another volley.

Shadows coiled around his feet, slinging him across the battlefield like a blade loosed from a bow.

A single strike split the mage from shoulder to sternum.

Kill.

He was wrath embodied, vengeance given form, cutting through the ranks with a singular purpose.

KILL.

When a mage came at him with a blade, Skye let go—he let his body unravel, each particle and piece of him dispersing into the air in a controlled cascade. Another perk of shadow essence. It formed a stable enough network to keep his molecules intact, even when he broke himself apart.

Shadows clung to the edges of his dispersal, guiding his reformation. In a snap of movement, he coalesced behind the Sanctifier—solid, whole, exact.

Skye’s lips curled back in a predatory snarl. His fist, wreathed in shadows, punched through the mage’s back. The blade clattered to the ground as his heart exploded out of his chest.

“Form a perimeter—don’t let him slip away!”

The rest of the Sanctifiers—fewer of them now—moved swiftly. They encircled Skye with coordinated precision, weaving barriers of light and energy.

Skye darted forward. His form was a blur, shifting with the grace of smoke.

A sudden, jarring force slammed into him—like crashing into a wall of solid energy.

“Keep the barriers strong! Shadows can’t escape the light!”

Pain ripped through him, but it only stoked the fire burning in his gut.

He staggered back, snarling.

He’d rip them apart with his hands—tear their flesh with his teeth!

Every drop of pain they’d inflicted on what was his, he’d repay in brutal, bloody kind.

“That’s it! Focus on containment! We have to—”

Flames erupted along the line of Sanctifiers, a searing wave that tore through their ranks. The explosion sent mages tumbling, fleeing. The roar of fire and the crackle of magic filled the air.

And through the inferno, Sarina appeared, stepping out of the blaze like the goddess of Fire herself. Blazing horns crowned her head, and her hair whipped wildly in a halo of flame-touched strands that danced in the heat. Fiery tendrils licked at her skin. Each step scorched the ground beneath her bare feet as her dress hung in singed, still-flaming tatters.

Hell hath no fury like a Fey female whose child had just been tortured and mutilated, and the scream that ripped out of her when her eyes landed on Taly shook the heavens.

She paused, flames flickering around her as she met Skye’s gaze. Her eyes burned with molten fury. In them, he could see a single command.

Kill.