“S-sorry.” Tasos picked up his pace as Arden, in his wolven form, nudged him. “It’s just that there should be guards here.” He swallowed. “At least ten of them.”
I glanced at Kieran. That was odd. “Could they have joined the fight outside?”
“No. They were given orders to block the stairwell,” Tasos told us. “It’s the only way into the underground chambers from the inside.”
Is it possible they moved to the section we snuck through? Delano’s question whispered through my thoughts as we rounded a bend in the stairwell.
And then the stench hit us.
The sickly-sweet scent of death.
“What is…？” Tasos trailed off as we stepped into the narrow, torch-lit hall.
“Hell,” Kieran muttered as I reached for the wolven dagger on my thigh out of habit instead of going for the swords.
Red. So much red. It streaked across the stone floor, splattered the walls, and pooled under the bodies.
“Well,” Emil drawled as he looked down at a fallen bloodstone sword. Several of them were scattered about. “I’m assuming these are the guards.”
“Yeah,” Tasos croaked as he stood there, arms stiff at his sides.
“Would the Ascended have done this?” Emil asked, glancing back at me.
Tasos’ head cut sharply in his direction, his surprise an icy burst in the back of my throat. It was clear that he had no idea what the Ascended were.
“I don’t see why they would’ve done this.” I walked forward, not even trying to avoid the blood. It would be impossible. Emil, as always, followed closely behind.
Kieran knelt by one of the fallen guards. “I don’t think this was the work of a vampry.”
“Vampry?” Tasos whispered.
There wasn’t enough time in the realm to explain what the Ascended were. None of us bothered.
“Look at this.” Kieran picked up a limp arm as Delano joined them. The black uniform was torn and ripped, revealing skin that hadn’t fared much better.
I stiffened. Even in the flickering torchlight, I recognized the wounds. I saw them on my body. Jagged bite marks. Four sets of fangs. I turned, scanning another body. My stomach roiled, and I swallowed hard. The man’s chest had been clawed into, revealing ropey pink muscle and tissue.
Tiny hairs rose all over my body as I unsheathed the wolven dagger.
Arden’s ears flattened and he let out a snarl that reverberated through the hall as he prowled forward, one step and then two. At the same moment, Kieran’s head snapped in the direction of where the hallway split. Delano’s lips peeled back as he growled low in his throat.
They sensed it before we saw it—wispy tendrils creeping out from the corridor ahead and spilling into the hall.
The mist.
And only one thing could be within it. The same thing responsible for these wounds.
The Craven.
Chapter 15
Vikter once told me that he believed the mist was more than just a shield that cloaked the Craven. It was what filled their lungs since no breath did. It was what seeped from their pores since they did not sweat.
It never made sense to me then, but now, after seeing the Primal mist in the Skotos Mountains and again in Iliseeum, I had to wonder if Vikter had been onto something. If this Primal mist was somehow related to what surrounded the Craven.
I would have to think about that later, when the mist wasn’t filling the end of the hall, rising halfway up the walls. Inside it, dark shapes could be seen. Many dark shapes—
Arden lunged forward, taking off for the mist.
“No!” I shouted.
But it was too late. The mist swallowed him, his snarling growls lost in the skin-chilling shrieks.
“Shit!” Kieran grabbed a fallen bloodstone sword as he kicked one over to Emil. He rose.
I grabbed hold of Tasos’ collar, pushing the weaponless guard back as Emil snatched up a spear with a bloodstone blade. “Stay back,” I ordered, not trusting the guard to pick up a weapon and use it on a Craven versus one of us.
A Craven shot forward—incredibly fast, and incredibly fresh. Under the blood-smeared face, the male’s skin carried the gray pallor of death, and shadows had already formed under its crimson eyes. But the black tunic and trousers weren’t ragged. Another broke free of the mist, letting out a shrill howl. This one was a woman, dressed the same as the man. Then another and another. None were missing clumps of hair or had patches of skin missing or hanging.
All had gaping, terrible wounds at the throats.
“Mother—” Emil changed up his grip on the spear. “—fucker.” He threw it, striking the male Craven in the chest.