“No,” hissed Naomi. “More to to the left.”
“More? We’ll miss it.”
“Trust me. More. There. Now set it.”
Scorio grimaced. They were way out wide. But he trusted Naomi, so he swept as much quality mana as he could into the rod.
It activated and froze in place, fifty or so yards ahead of the island’s path.
Beating his wings, Scorio fought for altitude. On the great octagonal roof, four Great Souls stood, each at the point of a square, as far apart from each other as possible within the battlement’s confines.
“Damn,” hissed Naomi. “Four? That’s excessive.”
“Just have to time it right. Hold on.”
Scorio poured his frustration into his steady climb and began sweeping back over the castle.
The darkness grew total but for the torch and lantern light below. They were a hundred yards above the castle. Flecks of amber fire moved about steadily, cook fires were lit, the whole castle was alive.
Caution urged Scorio to call this off. To allow Dameon to travel to the Fiery Shoals, to follow him deeper into Hell and await a better opportunity. To play it slow, play it smart, to wait months if need be for revenge, even years.
“We strike now,” hissed Naomi.
It suited his fury, his lust for vengeance. It wasn’t the smartest play, but it felt like the right one.
The island drifted into the rod. The donjon swung smoothly toward it. The rod was out too wide. Scorio could barely make it out below with his dark vision, locked in place by power and magic, but he was sure it was going to miss by inches.
The great blocky tower floated into the rod which hit its corner.
The result was incredible.
The rod remained perfectly set in space which meant the first block of stone exploded into fragments and splinters of rock as the entire tower rumbled on its foundations, its structural integrity growing increasingly compromised as the rod began to cut through its outer wall like a knife through cake.
The roar was magnificent, stone exploding, the huge wall buckling, the rod’s progress remarkable.
“Now!” hissed Scorio and furled his wings into a dive.
The tower top came rushing toward them. The sentries had all raced to the same side, there to peer down at the sound of shattering rock and chaos. The tower rumbled, the rooftop shivered and shook, shouts arose from within.
The wind shrieked about Scorio’s ears. Naomi clung to his back, light and strong. He aimed for the wooden trapdoor set flush in the tower’s center. At the last second, he crossed his arms before him and then the boards exploded before him as they dove through.
And into the uppermost floor, which was a ruin. Scorio had no time to react; the stone floor had mostly fallen away to reveal timbered rafters and ancient crates pressed against the wall. Desperate, he twisted violently aside to avoid the remaining flagstones and smashed into a second gap, pain flaring through his shoulder as he shattered a rafter and burst out into the main chamber below.
The rod had already shattered half the far wall and was still going, tearing the wall apart as mortar crumbled, blocks exploded into fragments and the lines of the huge room grew warped. The sound was tremendous, its effect mesmerizing, as attested by the gaping Great Souls who simply stood there, seeming unable to reconcile what they were seeing with their understanding of reality.
Scorio snapped open his wings to arrest his fall and sank into a crouch. Naomi leaped off his back, already twisting into her Nightmare Lady form.
Dameon wheeled about to gape at him. Jova was there, equally shocked, along with four other Great Souls, men and women Scorio didn’t recognize.
“Scorio?” Dameon laughed. “It is you!”
Hatred so virulent swept through Scorio that he nearly choked. Hatred born of two years trapped in the Crucible, watered at Leonis and Lianshi’s grave, nurtured by endless reviews of every lie, every moment of shining hypocrisy, every fake smile, the sweet, easy way he’d lulled Scorio into shattering rocks like a fool and then sent him to undo the White Queen’s work and cause the slaughter of the brave men and women of Bastion.
Dameon.
“The tower’s going to fall!” barked Jova.
Inky black mist was rising up from the floor, thick and cloying. Skeletal tails sprouted like weeds, blade-tipped and growing longer by the second.
A forcefield snapped up around Dameon, gleaming like a bubble. “You look upset, Scorio. Want to talk about it?”
Scorio roared and hurled himself at the Dread Blaze, white-hot talons outstretched, but one of the other Great Souls gave a shout, and bands of light formed around his ankles and wrists, trapping him in place.
For a second Scorio struggled, his rage blanketing his mind in a white inferno, but then one of the skeletal tails lashed out and cut the Great Soul’s stomach open.
The bands disappeared. Scorio dropped to the ground. The rod continued shearing its way through the wall and now burst out the far side to disappear from sight.
The tower groaned and began to spiral around upon itself, rafters exploding above, blocks blasting out from the walls, squeezed out by tremendous pressure, veils of dust falling down from above.
Jova snapped her fingers and a block the size of a wheelbarrow flew at Scorio, who summoned his Shroud at an angle. It was so broad and thick that the block bounced off it without leaving a crack; he sprinted at Dameon just as the Nightmare Lady leaped out of the ever growing shadows and fell upon his forcefield, her tail scything down to slam into its curvature.
The other Great Souls shouted in fear, gazing all about them, and fought to reach the exit. Scorio slashed his talons across Dameon’s bubble.
“Die!” he screamed, almost incoherent, his grief and rage seizing him by the throat. His talons left streaming trails across the forcefield but failed to penetrate.
“That a request?” asked Dameon, backpedaling toward the donjon’s main door.
A flurry of rocks flew at the Nightmare Lady, slamming into her much smaller Shroud, and she was knocked off the bubble by the sheer force of their assault.
The tower’s groaning rose to a roar and the whole donjon fell upon them.
Scorio had but a brief moment to glance up, to see formerly massive walls turn to an avalanche of blocks and broken beams, and realize he’d never reach the door in time.
He flung up his Shroud, but that’s when Jova raised both hands and screamed.
The whole donjon slowed, the massive stone squares seeming to lose all volition, then they began to sweep to the side.
The amount of power baking off Jova was terrifying.
Scorio remained down on one knee and stared, amazed, as she wrestled with the entire edifice. Her eyes blazed with white fire as she strained and the hundreds upon hundreds of stone blocks obeyed her will.
To form a slowly churning vortex of stone, huge blocks cracking against each other as they rotated ever faster, wooden rafters and shattered planks falling down through the chaos.
“Scorio!” Naomi’s cry was panicked. “Outside!”
Scorio snapped out of his daze and bounded after her. But the front door, the windows, every exit was gone. All was the cyclone of stone, Jova at its center, and she turned her burning eyes upon them both.
“You should have stayed dead,” she growled, and he sensed her killing intent.
Dameon simply ran at the curtain of revolving blocks that parted for him. Grimacing, Scorio ran past Naomi, grabbed her gaunt arm as he passed, and dove into the maelstrom.
He flung up his Shroud to his right into the path of the oncoming blocks. They thundered into its great curvature but it opened a gap; together they dove into the forecourt and came up on their feet.
To turn as the entire donjon collapsed behind them, Jova’s control over them finally faltering. Heaving for breath, Scorio and everyone else just stared.
Was she dead?
Entombed?
The rocks rumbled, shook, shifted apart.
Revealed Jova, eyes still burning white, as she strode slowly from the center of the ruin, blocks rolling aside and opening a path for her.