Chapter 54

Pyre kicked through the front door of the two-story home as the void giant’s fiery blade crashed down behind him. The impact split timber and stone alike, blue flame pouring outward in a violent arc. Ash flooded the air, thick and bitter on his tongue.

He sprinted through it as a burning beam dropped in his path. Without breaking stride, he charged up the sagging timber, boots slipping on charred wood, then launched himself to the next rooftop while the house collapsed behind him in a roar of splinters and sparks.

The militia training grounds opened before him through drifting curtains of gray.

He jumped to another roof and then dropped onto the cobblestone, ignoring the burst of pain in his knees as he reached the militia yard. He turned just in time to see the void giant trip over the low stone wall.

Pyre did not hesitate. He aimed straight for the center of its head, intent on driving steel and fire into the void giant’s skull.

Before he could reach it, a colossal plume of blue fire erupted from his opponent’s mouth.

Pyre dove right. He smashed through a rack of wooden practice shields and shattered them with his shoulder. He nearly slammed headlong into the outer wall of the barracks but caught himself with one hand, vaulting the stone barrier just as the giant’s hand swept through the space he had occupied.

Stone exploded, and he ducked behind the next wall he could find, breath ragged. The giant’s fingers curled over the top, searching.

He lunged upward and stabbed at the shifting hand, scraping against its plate armor and sending more sparks into the air. Pyre scrambled onto the wall itself and for the briefest instant believed he could meet the next blow head-on.

But then the giant’s fist came down.

He jumped at the last moment and burst into a run, circling wide, where he slid under the giant’s frame and carved at a seam near the ankle.

This time the inner body flashed orange. The void giant stomped, trying a second time to crush him as Pyre dove out of the way.

Abandoning its sword, the giant lowered its antlered head and charged across the field, smashing wooden dummies and racks of spears, scattering ash and debris in a violent wake of sparks and fire.

Pyre tried to pivot but was too slow. The giant’s antlers caught him square in the chest, the world vanishing as he was hurled skyward, where he twisted midair, aimed his descent toward his opponent, and drove his broken blade down, burying it beneath the giant’s shoulder plate.

Pyre felt resistance for just a moment before he was swatted aside.

He flew through the barracks wall in a storm of splintered wood and stone. He crashed into a weapons rack, bringing it down, swords and spears clattering around him.

Blue fire surged through the opening seconds later.

Metal heated instantly, and the blades glowed white. Some burst from the sudden heat, sizzling shards slicing across Pyre’s arms and cheek.

He shoved the rack off and rolled through the rear doorway. Pyre stumbled into the open yard and turned again.

He was winded now, battered. Every breath burned. Large patches of his skin were blistered and raw, hair singed away in uneven clumps. Blood ran down his temple and mixed with soot and ash, turning his vision red at the edges.

Pyre planted his feet and looked up at the giant. Trial or not, dream or not, he would not kneel.

He charged again, right past the barracks.

He darted in and out, blade flashing. Pyre ran through fire that blistered what flesh remained exposed. He leapt from overturned carts and shattered pillars to gain height. He carved at joints and seams, testing, learning, trying to bring the void giant down.

The air grew heavier with ash to the point that it coated his tongue and clung to his lashes. It turned the once-familiar grounds of Farreach into a gray wasteland.

The void giant swung, and Pyre ducked beneath the arc, rolling as it stomped down where he’d stood. It charged. He slipped aside and dragged flame across its flank without breaking stride.

He did not stop, even when his body demanded it. His lungs seared, arms trembling, legs heavy as stone. Still he pressed forward, driven by spite and rage.

The void giant faltered, and a misstep caused it to lose its balance.

Seeing his chance, Pyre lured it toward a half-collapsed staircase that still smoldered along the side of the training hall. He took the steps despite the flames licking at his boots and the wood threatening to give way.

He reached the top and launched himself toward his opponent, Pyre landing on the giant’s shoulder and drove his blade into a wide fracture in its armor. This time he did not strike and retreat.

Flame poured through the opening, Pyre screaming as he forced the blade deeper, ash swirling violently around them. His weapon sank to the hilt.

The giant’s inner body flared from orange to red to blinding white as the monstrous being convulsed, plates cracking, its entire towering form shuddering and then exploding into a cyclone of opalescent seagulls.

The birds tore free in a spiraling storm that scraped across the sky above Farreach.

Pyre hit the ground hard, the impact jarring. Ash rained down in thick sheets, coating him as he struggled to his knees.

He forced himself upright, vision wavering, pain tearing through muscle and bone.

Above him, the seagulls circled tighter, compressing into a glowing sphere until they descended as one. Feathers hardened and light condensed as plates reformed.

The void giant did not return to its full size. This time it stood only a few heads taller than Pyre—the same antlers, the same layered armor, and the same blue-flamed sword.

Pyre tightened his grip on his blade. His flames guttered, then flared brighter, reflecting off the gray coating that now blanketed the ground and his own shoulders.

Pyre’s opponent stepped forward, silent, measured.

“Then bring it,” Pyre spat, the fire increasing around him. “Big or small, you will not break me.”

The void swordsman charged.

Pyre braced for the blade, but the void swordsman went for his antlers instead.

They swept sideways in a violent arc, releasing a crackling bolt of concentrated force that slammed into Pyre’s chest. The impact lifted him off his feet and hurled him backward across the ash-coated stone.

The void swordsman followed through immediately, blue-flamed blade descending in a killing arc.

Pyre dove.

His opponent’s sword cleaved into the ground beside him, sending a fissure of blue fire racing outward. The flame spread unnaturally fast, racing across ash and timber alike. It crawled up his boots as he scrambled upright.

Pyre fought through it as the next strike came. He brought his broken blade up and met it. The void swordsman leaned in close, helm inches from his face, antlers sparking with restrained power.

Pyre slipped sideways just as the antlers dipped.

He rammed his shoulder into the swordsman’s back and twisted his hips, throwing his full weight behind the motion.

The void swordsman hit the ground, planted both palms against the cobblestone, and exploded upward in a violent push-up, legs snapping beneath it as if spring-loaded.

The burst of force knocked Pyre backward.

He smacked against the edge of the old stone well, pain flaring up his spine, and was just pushing off it when the void swordsman closed the distance.

It grabbed Pyre by the throat and slammed him against the well’s rim. The void swordsman thrust the blue-flamed sword forward in one smooth, brutal motion,, and the blade punched through his armor, the blade driving deep into Pyre’s abdomen.

For a moment there was no sensation. Only pressure. Heat. Then the agony came in a white-hot surge. The void swordsman held him there by the neck against the lip of the well, blue flames swelling around his body.

Pyre’s vision narrowed, a single thought pushing through to the surface. I will not die here!

He brought his own blade around in a trembling arc and jammed it into the exposed seam along his opponent’s side. Flame burst outward at the point of contact.

The void swordsman lost his grip and fell sideways, its blade still lodged in Pyre’s gut.

Pyre’s Sigil flickered and vanished as his strength buckled. He grabbed the hilt of the void sword with both hands and pulled.

The weapon tore free, the pain blinding. And for a moment, he thought he’d be able to wield it despite his injury. Yet the swordsman’s blue blade dissolved into nothing the moment it left his body.

Reeling, Pyre stumbled away from the well, one hand clamped over the wound in his abdomen as the void swordsman stood again, a new sword formed in its grip, igniting with blue fire.

Coughing blood, vision swimming, Pyre forced himself upright and raised his broken blade once more.

The swordsman charged.

For a heartbeat, Pyre thought the swordsman had split. Two figures stood before him. Yet one moved a fraction of a second before the other, and he went for the one that moved first.

Pyre blocked, parried, twisted.

Every motion cost him. His free hand remained pressed to his abdomen, the wound warm under his palm. He gave ground only when absolutely necessary, boots skidding across ash.

The void swordsman pressed him relentlessly.

Blade high. Blade low. Antlers flashing with bursts of force.

Pyre staggered back into a wall, breath hitching.

He pushed off and drove forward again, refusing to fall. Each time his knees threatened to buckle, he locked them. Each time his vision narrowed, he fixed his focus on the blade ahead.

He would not fall. He would not lose.

The void swordsman lifted its blade overhead with both hands for a final crushing strike, and Pyre moved inside the arc. He sidestepped the descending blade and slashed an exposed portion of the void swordsman’s back. The figure dropped to one knee.

Pyre pivoted with everything he had left and spun, his blade cutting in a swift, full-bodied arc and severing the void swordsman’s head clean from its shoulders.

The head tumbled across the ground and split apart into two opalescent seagulls that fluttered weakly before dissolving.

The void swordsman’s body followed, unraveling into a swirl of birds that coiled upward.

Pyre staggered to the wall and leaned against it as the seagulls circled high above, reformed, and descended.

“No,” Pyre said through bloodied teeth.

The void swordsman took shape again, whole once more.

“Damn you!” Pyre lifted his Sigil, breath ragged, vision dimming at the edges.

As he took a step forward, his opponent shuddered, cracks racing across its armor. The shell burst apart, and for a heartbeat Pyre could not understand what he was seeing.

Then it moved.

Hundreds of miniature void swordsmen poured toward Pyre, each no taller than a few inches, a living tide of fire and steel all converging on him at once.