Page 156 of Evermore

And then… air.

The weight vanished from my chest. I rolled onto my side, gasping, choking, struggling to focus through the haze of pain.

“Get the fuck away from her!”

That voice. That beautiful, savage voice cut through the ringing in my ears. I forced my eyes open to see Archer standing over me like an avenging angel, twin swords gleaming with blood and moonlight. My godsdamn redemption.

“Archer,” I croaked, the word scraping against my bruised throat.

“We don’t fight battles alone, Paesha. Not now. Not ever. It’s us against the world. Against every evil god, every demon, every army.” He didn’t look at me as he cut down a Guardian who rushed him. Blood streaked his face like war paint, his blue eyes burning with cold fury. “The fight’s already over. They just don’t know it yet. We’ve got you.”

We?

The air around us changed, thickened, electrified. The hair on my arms rose as power surged through the ruined street like a cresting wave. The Guardians faltered, stumbling back as if struck by an invisible force.

And then he was there.

Thorne.

Gone was any pretense of mortality, of restraint. He strode through the battlefield like wrath incarnate, golden light spilling from his eyes and fingertips. The Guardians between him and me crumpled like paper dolls, their bodies flung aside by the sheer force of his power.

“Brother,” he called, his voice thunder and lightning and forgotten fury. “You’ve overplayed your hand.”

Ezra stepped forward to meet him, his own power manifesting as an aura of cold blue light. “I never was a gambler. I knew the odds going in.”

“Then you already know how this ends.” Thorne moved to stand between Ezra and me, his broad shoulders a shield against the chaos. “You cannot have her. Not this time. Not ever again.”

Archer hauled me to my feet, keeping his arm around my waist as I swayed. “Can you fight?” he asked, his eyes never stopping their scan of the destroyed streets.

I nodded, though every muscle in my body screamed in agony. “I’ll manage.”

The brothers clashed, their power colliding in a cataclysm of light and shadow. The ground shook, the sky grew impossibly darker, and the air turned so heavy with the weight of their power, it hurt to breathe. Though that could have been the half-crushed windpipe.

Across the street, or what used to be one, the Guardians continued their attack, focusing on Archer and I. He moved like something feral and beautiful, his blades extensions of his arms as he cut through them with deadly precision. The Treeis mark on his arm glowed like a brand through his torn sleeve, pulsing in time with the one on my shoulder.

I fought at his side, my Remnants working in tandem with his blades, creating a dance of death that felt as natural as breathing. Once upon a time, I’d condemned a woman for murder, and now I’d delivered it as if I were the Maiden of Death. We’d never fought together like this, and yet our movements flowed into each other’s as if we’d been training for this moment since the beginning of time. The bond between Archer and I had never felt so strong, yet there was a clear piece missing. Thank the gods, Quill was still safe at home.

Through the chaos of battle, I caught glimpses of the brothers’ duel. They were evenly matched, power for power, blow for blow. But it was erratic. Flickering out completely and coming back full force. As if a stubborn candle battled the wind for respite. Every bit of Silbath I could see had become a wasteland, streets torn from the ground, buildings partially collapsed. I could feel the sweat trailing down my back, the weakening of my power, the lack of fight in my muscles.

A Guardian broke through our defenses, charging straight for me with a blade that hissed through the air. Before I could react, Archer was there, throwing himself between us. The Guardian’s blade sliced across his chest, drawing a line of crimson that bloomed against his shirt.

“Archer!” My scream tore from my throat as he staggered but didn’t fall.

He turned to me, and in that moment, our bond flared to life. I felt his pain as if it were my own, but also his strength, his determination, his absolute refusal to yield.

“I’m fine.” His voice was steady despite the pain echoing through our connection. “Keep fighting but don’t deplete your magic.”

A cry of pain cut through the chaos. I whipped around to see Thorne on the ground, Ezra standing over him with triumph gleaming in his eyes.

“It’s over, brother,” he roared, his voice carrying across the ruined street. “Accept it.”

But Thorne wasn’t finished. As Ezra moved to deliver what would have been a tragic blow, Thorne surged upward, catching his brother’s arm and using his own momentum against him. They crashed into the side of a building, the impact sending cracks spider webbing across the facade.

The Guardians faltered as their master struggled, their movements becoming less synchronized, more individual. Archer seized the opportunity, cutting down three in quick succession while my Remnants dispatched two more.

“We need to end this,” Archer panted, back-to-back with me as we faced the remaining Guardians. “We can’t keep this up much longer.”

He was right. Despite the power flowing through me, my mortal body was failing. Blood from a cut above my eye half-blinded me, and each breath sent shards of pain through mybroken ribs. The voices in my head had reached a fever pitch, desperate and frantic as they sensed my weakening grip on consciousness.