Page 51 of Warlord’s Plaything

51

XYRON

T he battlefield is chaos.

Smoke curls through the air, thick and acrid.

Steel clashes against steel, the ground slick with blood and bodies.

The orcs are like beasts let off their chains, tearing through the dark elves with brutal efficiency.

And yet Kaelith does not fall.

I watch him from the shadows, perched on the remains of an old watchtower, my blade steady in my grip.

The time isn’t right.

Not yet.

Kaelith still has something left to play.

I can see it in the way his eyes scan the battlefield, calculating.

Looking for a weakness.

Looking for the perfect timing to take back control.

Looking for that one moment of chance to fuck us all over.

I see it.

The moment everything turns.

Kaelith raises his hand, his mouth moving, lips curling in a sharp incantation.

Magic erupts from his palm, dark and crackling.

Not a simple spell.

Not an act of desperation.

This was planned.

"Move!"

My voice cuts through the night, but it’s already too late.

The magic races across the battlefield, a wave of violet energy seeping into the air, into the ground, into the bodies lying still among the dead.

Corpses jerk, spasming, eyes burning with unnatural light.

Bodies that should have been dead start moving, shifting, standing.

The battlefield does not get quieter.

It gets worse.

Kaelith has just tipped the scales back in his favor.

"Necromancy."

The word is bitter on my tongue.

Forbidden.

Deadly.

It doesn’t just raise the fallen.

It bends them.

Twists them.

Turns them into weapons that do not stop, do not break, do not fucking feel.

And now?—

The orcs are not just fighting the elves anymore.

They are fighting their own dead.

Kaelith laughs.

Fucking laughs.

His once-broken army is rising again, reforged from the corpses at his feet.

And the orcs?—

The orcs are hesitating.

They know.

They understand.

They just lost their advantage.

"This was always my war," Kaelith calls across the battlefield, his voice carrying through the madness. "Did you really think I would fall so easily?"

His eyes flash with cruel amusement as he watches the orcs hesitate, watches his own soldiers rally behind him again.

And I grit my teeth.

I should have fucking known.

"What do we do?"

Valis is at my side, his face tight with something that almost looks like concern.

But I don’t fucking hesitate.

"We end it."

I leap from the watchtower, landing in the dirt, rolling once before pushing back onto my feet.

The nearest undead lunges for me, mouth twisted, body jerking like a marionette on broken strings.

I slam my blade through its skull.

It doesn’t stop.

It doesn’t die.

Not until I slice through the magic itself, severing the unnatural energy that binds it.

I carve my way through the battlefield, toward the only man that matters.

Kaelith sees me coming.

His smirk widens.

He lifts his hand again, more magic curling at his fingertips.

Hira hits him first.

She comes from the side, a flash of steel and fire and fucking fury.

Her blade slashes toward his throat, but he catches it—barely.

Their swords grind together, sparks flying, their eyes locking in pure, seething hatred.

Kaelith falters.

He was expecting me.

He wasn’t expecting her.

"You think you can stop this?" Kaelith snarls, pushing her back.

Hira spits blood and grins.

"I know I can."

Kaelith is strong.

Fast.

A master of magic and steel.

But he is not invincible.

Not against both of us.

Not when his power is already slipping.

Not when his empire is already falling.

And as we close in, as the fight turns against him?—

I see it.

The end.

The moment before the final strike.

The last piece of this fucking war.

And Kaelith knows it too.

"You think this is over?"

His voice is calm.

Too calm.

My stomach twists.

I know that tone.

I’ve used it myself.

It’s the voice of a man who has a final move left to play.

And then Kaelith disappears.

One second he is there.

The next, gone.

Magic bursts where he stood, smoke curling, a teleportation spell ripping him from the battlefield before we can land the killing blow.

And just like that?—

The fucking coward escapes.

"No—!"

Hira’s growl is pure rage, her body snapping forward as if she can still catch him, still carve her sword into his throat.

But she can’t.

We can’t.

Kaelith is gone.

And we have to prepare for whatever the fuck comes next.