Page 42 of Warlord’s Plaything

42

XYRON

E verything is fire.

Everything is blood.

Everything is fucking falling apart.

I move like a beast unleashed, hacking, slashing, tearing through the sea of bodies that try to cut me down before I can reach her.

Hira is somewhere in the chaos, somewhere beyond the crush of warriors, somewhere still fighting, still breathing, still fucking alive.

She has to be.

If she isn’t?—

I will burn this entire goddamn clan territory to the ground.

Pain shreds through my ribs as a blade finds its way past my guard.

I barely register it.

A deep gash, more blood soaking into my already-drenched tunic, but I don’t stop.

I can’t.

I see Dagen and Sella holding the line near the collapsed barricades, surrounded, fighting like hell but—fuck, there are too many.

Too many bodies. Too many weapons.

We are drowning in this battle.

And Kaelith knew we would.

"Warlord, behind you!"

Varian’s voice. Too late.

I spin, but not fast enough.

The hilt of a sword slams into my gut, stealing my breath, driving me to one knee.

A boot collides with my ribs next, hard, brutal—then another, and another.

I taste iron.

I see the sky spinning above me.

My limbs feel heavier, my body too slow, too weak, too fucking drained.

I’ve fought through worse.

But not like this.

Not with my power still suppressed by whatever sorcery Kaelith used against me.

Not with my body barely holding together from days in chains and dungeons.

I am Xyron, warlord of Herox.

I am not supposed to fucking fall like this.

But right now, on this battlefield, I am not enough.

The enemy moves in.

I see the blade before I feel it.

The executioner’s sword—long, curved, glistening in the torchlight.

A weapon meant to sever a warlord’s head from his shoulders.

And I am kneeling.

Defenseless.

Bleeding.

I see the swing begin.

I brace.

But instead, a blast of energy rips through the battlefield.

Not fire.

Not steel.

Something else.

Something ancient, raw, monstrous in its intensity.

Something that makes the very earth tremble beneath us.

Something that turns the air thick with power, with fury, with something unnatural and unstoppable.

And then I hear her.

"NO!"

My breath catches.

It’s not just a scream.

It’s a war cry.

A declaration.

A command from the fucking gods themselves.

Hira stands at the heart of the carnage, her body a living storm, her eyes burning like molten gold.

The air around her crackles with something that shouldn’t exist—something no orc, no human, no dark elf should wield.

Magic surges from her skin, raw, untamed, enough to make even the most battle-hardened soldiers hesitate.

I see Kaelith’s men falter, stepping back.

I see fear in their eyes.

Because Hira is no longer just a fighter.

She is something else.

Something terrifying.

Something unstoppable.

She raises her hands.

And the battlefield bends to her will.

The earth cracks apart, deep fissures splitting the ground beneath us.

Wind whips around her, swirling like a goddamn hurricane.

Blades of golden energy manifest in the air, spiraling outward?—

And then they fly.

Striking. Piercing. Cutting through the enemy ranks like divine fucking retribution.

Kaelith’s warriors scream.

Some fall. Some run.

The tide of battle shifts.

But it is not enough.

There are still too many.

Even with Hira burning through them like a god of war, even with magic on our side?—

We are still outnumbered.

"We have to leave!" Varian is beside me now, hauling me up, shoving a weapon into my hands. "We can’t hold this ground!"

I know he’s right.

I know staying here means death.

But my gaze is locked on her.

On Hira, still fighting, still bleeding, still refusing to run.

And I see it in her eyes?—

She’s ready to die for this.

"Hira!" I shout, pushing through the chaos.

She doesn’t hear me.

She is too far gone, lost in the storm of her own power.

She is letting it consume her.

Because she thinks she has nothing left.

Because she thinks she has already lost.

I grab her before she can charge back into the massacre.

Her body is scorching hot against mine, magic still rippling off her skin like wildfire.

"We go. NOW." I snarl into her ear.

"No," she fights me, voice hoarse, shaking. "Dagen—Sella ? —"

"They’re GONE." My grip tightens, dragging her back from the edge. "We are NOT dying here!"

She collapses against me.

The fight leaves her, just for a moment.

A shuddering breath.

A whisper against my chest.

"I love you."

The words tear through me.

Not soft.

Not romantic.

Raw. Destroyed. Like she hates herself for saying it, but she knows it’s the truth.

And fuck?—

Fuck.

I feel my own walls crack.

I love her too.

And I will not watch her die.

"We leave NOW!"

My voice roars across the battlefield.

Our warriors hear me.

They start falling back, retreating toward the tunnels.

The last of our strength is spent getting there, fighting through the final line of enemies, pushing, bleeding, surviving.

We make it.

Barely.

And as we disappear into the underground, as the flames of Herox burn above us?—

I know this is not the end.

This is just the beginning.