Page 24

ORION

The crumbling church loomed against the night sky, its silhouette jagged and broken like something ripped out of a bad dream. Ragnar and I had been watching it for hours, scouting every angle, every shadow, waiting for something to give.

Sol’s tip had been vague at best, but it had been enough to narrow down the search to this forgotten slice of nowhere.

Foxgrove wasn’t even a dot on most maps anymore, a tiny town just outside of Lewisburg.

The setting sun painted the scene in muted golds and oranges, but the light did little to soften the oppressive air that clung to the street.

Every building on the block seemed condemned, overrun with weeds and graffiti, but this church was the worst of the lot.

“This is it,” Ragnar muttered. “It’s the only place in this shithole that fits.”

I squinted at the boarded-up windows, their crude wooden patches barely holding back the faint flicker of light inside.

“‘Fits’ is a strong word. Sol couldn’t have sent us somewhere less… apocalyptic?”

Ragnar didn’t rise to the bait, his focus fixed on the building like he could intimidate it into revealing its secrets. Despite his perpetual scowl, I could tell he wasn’t as wound up as yesterday. Small mercies.

I was in a great mood thanks to my little ray of sunshine. Dammit, I’d only dropped her at work this morning, but I didn’t like this distance. Like something might happen to her if I so much as blink.

“How many do you reckon are in there?”

“At least four,” he said, his tone sharper though not sharp enough to mask his doubt.

I froze, my brows lifting. “Four? You’re sure.”

“I’m sure,” he repeated, his jaw tightening. “There’s no reason for that many of them to be here unless they’re fucking planning something.”

“Since when have you ever known daema to plan anything?” I said as a half-joke, but the thought unsettled me.

We’d seen firsthand the devastating effects when they had someone to spearhead them.

But, we hadn’t seen the daema group up like this since before the Divide was sealed.

They weren’t pack animals. They were predators—territorial and solitary by nature.

The idea of four in one place was bad enough, but planning something?

I glanced at Ragnar, who was still muttering to himself as he poked at the barricades like he was distracted.

Interesting .

“You’re quiet,” I said, crossing my arms. “Is the door giving you trouble, or are you trying to puzzle out why you can’t stop thinking about her either?”

That got his attention. Ragnar’s glare snapped to me, his jaw tightening. “Fuck off, Orion.”

I smirked, satisfied I’d hit the mark. “What a foul mouth you have. Just thought we could multitask, you know? Break down this door and your mental walls at the same time.”

“Shut it,” he growled, rolling his shoulders like he was gearing up for a fight. I kinda hoped it was me he was preparing to go up against. I’d been itching for a reason to kick his ass on Eve’s behalf.

I sighed again, shaking my head as I tried to clear my thoughts. As much as I’d happily spend all day thinking about her, we had a job to do. The last traces of sunlight were bleeding out of the sky, and we’d need to act fast under the cover of darkness.

“You good to melt that thing while I go around back?” I asked, gesturing at the door.

Ragnar stood, shooting me a glare that could’ve peeled paint.

With a two-finger salute, I stepped off the cracked stone walkway and melted into the shadows along the church’s side. Something in the air made the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. There was an undercurrent here, a hum in the silence that felt wrong.

The fire escape groaned under my boots, the rusted metal felt like it might give way at any second, but I ignored the creaking and began climbing.

The smell hit me first—damp and metallic, sharp enough to make my nose wrinkle. It wasn’t just the decay of an old building. This was something deeper, something fouler, clinging to the ruined walls of this former holy place.

I reached the top window, the wood warped and rotting, barely holding together. With a careful push, the frame splintered, the boards giving way with a dull crack.

So much for subtlety.

I slipped through the opening and crouched on the beam overlooking the nave.

The church had been gutted long ago, its grandeur reduced to a wreck of shattered pews, clawed walls, and debris.

Dust hung in the air like a fog, catching the faint glow of light spilling through the boarded-up stained windows.

Then I saw the bodies. Dozens of hunters, by the looks of it, their weapons discarded near their lifeless hands. The broken remains of their fight were scattered across the floor—shattered bottles, splintered stakes, a crumpled crossbow bent beyond repair.

“Sol really downplayed this place,” I muttered, my voice barely more than a ghost in the silence.

Splitting my soul was second nature by now, a familiar rush of energy as smooth as breathing. The moment I stepped free of my body, the world sharpened. My physical body stayed crouched in the shadows, frozen and unassuming, while my astral self drifted below.

The closer I got, the worse it was.

Six lower-level daema were scattered across the space, their grotesque forms warped beyond their original humanoid form.

Their blackened claws scraped against the stone floor, their guttural voices echoing in the cavernous room.

They were pacing and snarling at one another, their eyes glowing faintly in the dim light.

It wasn’t chaos. It wasn’t mindless destruction.

It was strategy.

One of them slammed its claws into a nearby wall, growling something in a guttural tongue. Another laughed—a low, twisted sound that reverberated through the air like a warning.

Six of them, I thought, sending the image to Ragnar’s mind. Dead hunters everywhere. Looks like they’ve been waiting for something—or someone.

Ragnar’s response came back sharp and cold. Let’s ruin their fucking day, then.

The heavy metal doors exploded inward, the sound ripping through the nave like thunder. Splinters of wood and rusted iron clattered to the stone floor as the daema turned, snarling at the sudden intrusion.

This wasn’t the first ambush we’d pulled off, but six daema in one place? That wasn’t routine.

We moved as one.

I plunged into the well of my magic, the familiar burn of energy searing through me as I made my spirit body corporeal. My hand twisted, summoning my blade with a practiced motion. The weight of it grounded me as the signet ring on my finger flared, transforming the magic into solid steel.

To my left, Ragnar wasted no time. His hands were already aglow, molten cracks racing along his forearms as if the earth itself was bleeding through his skin. He slammed his palms into the stone floor, and the ground beneath him buckled, rippling outward like a living thing.

The first daema leapt for him, its claws aimed at his throat, but it never made it.

A jagged pillar of molten rock erupted from the ground, spearing the creature mid-air.

It screamed, body writhing as black ichor hissed and bubbled against the glowing stone.

Ragnar yanked his hand upward, and the pillar twisted, flinging the daema’s corpse across the room like discarded trash.

“Big guy’s got his hands full,” I muttered, darting for the second.

It was fast, its spindly limbs moving with a speed that made the air crackle. It lunged, claws outstretched, but I twisted just out of reach, my blade arcing in a clean, fluid motion. The steel bit into its neck, severing its head in one effortless swing.

Not fast enough.

I didn’t break stride, stepping over the corpse towards the next daema.

A screech cut through the air, sharp enough to make my teeth ache.

I turned just in time to see the largest daema I’d seen in centuries rise from the shadows, molten cracks glowing along its blackened skin.

It looked almost like it had been sculpted from the same volcanic rock Ragnar controlled.

The irony wasn’t lost on me.

“Behind you!” I shouted, even though I knew the hulking brute didn’t need the warning.

Ragnar spun, his movements measured but brutal. A low growl rumbled from his chest as he slammed his fist into the ground again, sending a molten fissure snaking toward the creature. It jumped, narrowly avoiding the eruption, but Ragnar was faster.

A jagged boulder shot upward, colliding with the daema’s chest and sending it crashing into the wall.

Ragnar didn’t give it a chance to recover, molten tendrils spiraling from his hands to wrap around the creature’s limbs.

The stone burned as it coiled tighter, crushing the daema with a sickening crunch.

Two of the remaining daema had turned their attention to me, their movements unnervingly synchronized as they approached.

“Oh, you’re working together now? That’s adorable.”

The one on my left lunged first, its claws swiping through the air as I sidestepped and drove my blade into its chest.

The other didn’t hesitate, darting in while I was distracted. Its claws raked across my arm, the sharp sting of pain igniting a flare of adrenaline.

“Son of a—” I hissed, spinning to face it.

Before it could strike again, the ground beneath it erupted in molten shards, Ragnar’s magic ripping through the stone, heat pouring from the cracks left behind. The daema howled as the earth swallowed its legs before the rock solidified around it. I drove the blade clean through its throat.

The final daema—a winged beast with glowing eyes and smoke curling from its blackened body—charged at Ragnar with a roar. But Ragnar didn’t flinch. He stepped forward, his hands blazing, and slammed his fist into the creature’s chest.

The impact was deafening, a shock wave rippling through the nave as the daema’s body cracked and splintered under the force, blood pouring from its wounds as it hit the ground.

The sanctuary fell silent, the air thick with the stench of blood and sulfur.

I planted my blade tip-down on the stone floor, smirking at Ragnar.

“Feel like a barbecue?”

He glared at me, unamused as always.

“Get the fucking chains,” he muttered, his voice low and grim.

I wiped blood off my cheek with the back of my hand, the silence pressing in like a held breath. We’d won. For now.