As the sword fell toward her, Corabelle’s body moved of its own accord.

  Seeing that weapon once again in its ungodly glory, their last encounter lunged forward to the forefront of her mind, etching every excruciating moment into her brain like a dull blade being forced to carve. Over her body she felt nothing but a deep and sudden rage exploded through her spirit, jerking her limbs, taking over her until she was gone. Only her Spark remained, blazing white hot like a falling star.

  All she could see was every spell he’d cast to torture Zaramir slowly. He had planned to kill them both, meticulously, painfully, because he was bored. This man, this creature, was the reason she’d become this.

  Flying out from beneath the sword's path, large yellowed talons morphed her fingers, avian scales coating her hands, replacing the soft skin. Sparse brown feathers sprouted up her forearms.

  She was only vaguely aware of how easily the claws sliced through his flesh, as easily as her hand would run through water. Only provide brief resistance, upon hitting the bone in the Faedemon’s leg. Muscle, tendons, and the thin bone at the back of his calf all gave way, staining the lawn a deep crimson as he was brought down to his knees. His concentration on the dark weapon snapped with a violent howl.

  From there she saw nothing but red as slash after slash of her deadly claws spilled litres of blood across the grass. She was only vaguely aware of the viscera splattering her face and hands. Everything else completely vanished.

  Only when there was nothing but bloody pulp did the rage begin to fade and sense returned to her.

  Head aching, dizzy, she found herself to be wrapped in arms, her own arms crossed and pinned to her chest as the bloody talons slowly retracted. Her skin stung where she was being touched. She vaguely smelled metal and acid and burnt flesh

  Slowly she realized she was being spoken to. A frantically urgent voice she eventually realized was Zaramir. Though the exact words were muddled, her brain was unable to sort meaning from them, as she finally recognized what she’d done.

  She didn’t notice how long she stared at the mutilated remains in front of her, until those same arms forced her to feet, legs wobbling under her like a newborn foal. Hands gently pulled her face gaze away from the body, turning her away and forcing to look elsewhere.

  Zaramir’s face came into bleary view in front of her and she only just realized they were his arms that were holding her. One arm was holding her upright while the other forced her head no not to look at the act she’d committed.

  Words became clear, “We have to go.” Though the meaning was only slowly sinking into her. “We have to go. Vengürd got away. I couldn't stop him. They’ll be here soon.”

  He’d changed. Whatever he’d been doing to suppress his emotions had been abandoned. His face was panic, pain, horror as he held her to him. Though, it was more than a fear of a House of low raked Alchemists and conman of a Master. There was something much graver plaguing his expression, though her brain wouldn’t allow her mind to settle enough to figure out what.

  Zaramir’s face and body was stained in a purple liquid that seemed to be burning his flesh, the skin sizzling lightly where the thickest patches stuck, and a vast amount of blood she hoped wasn’t his own.

  His urgent words finally nestled their way into the recesses of her brain as she heard voices, so many voices, far away but approaching rapidly.

  Zaramir clearly heard them too because he was no longer asking, he instead forced her to her feet and up into his arms as her legs refused to support themselves.

  One final look at the bloody mess and suddenly they were elsewhere.

  Inside. Somewhere inside.

  The sounds of loud angry voices had vanished, but she realized she recognized where they were. They were back in the administrative building.

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  He lowered her to the ground, glancing around, scouring the room for possible threats. He was impossibly more exhausted than he had been after the fight with the elemental.

  “I couldn’t get us far,” He muttered in a hushed voice. “Hopefully this is the last place they’ll expect us to be.”

  He rummaged around his travel pack, pulling out an envelope, like the one he’d offered her before to return home. From within he pulled out a small cube of soft pasty ivory material, like animal fat and taupe powder that looked like grain flour. He didn’t bother with the sheet of paper with the incantation, he surely knew it well enough by this point. Crushing the component in his palm, mashing it together with the powder, he began to mutter the incantation in the Fae language.

  Though, just as a light glow began to emanate from his hand, a light squeak echoed through the near silent room. The ritual went dark as they both jolted to attention, turning their gaze on the origin of the noise.

  There, being supported only by the wall, was Bryla, looking like a mouse cornered by a hungry cat.

  Silent horrified tears streamed down her face, that drew Corabelle painfully and suddenly from her stupor. What had happened crashed down around her like the wall that ended her human life, crushing her, suffocating her.

  Zaramir was quick to react, swooping over to the trembling receptionist and covering her mouth with his one free hand.

  She didn’t even try to move, her eyes just widening in terror.

  “Don’t scream, please.” He said softly. “We don’t intend to hurt you. ” He glanced back briefly at Corabelle, “Take the ritual components so I can put Bryla to sleep.”

  Corabelle couldn’t move, could barely think. The image of the other Faedemon’s shredded remains burrowing deeper and deeper into her mind, consuming all other thoughts.

  “Miss Cora?” He questioned gently, but she hardly heard him, each tear of those talons playing slowly through her mind.

  She hadn’t noticed if there was a sound as she killed him, but now she realized there was one, an awful, though quiet tearing sound like kitchen blade through meat. A nauseating scrape of keratin on bone and cartilage. Oddly though, going through the organs was near silent, the material too soft to put up any sort of resistance against her unnaturally sharp talons, only the light sound of an object being passed through fluid. She had been too fast for him to scream after the first gash that brought him to the ground.

  Her hands were still covered in his blood, drying blood turning a rich flaking brick color. She itched where it dried, the peeling running up her arms, spreading to her neck and face. There was a hint of a metallic taste on her lips.

  “Miss Cora!” This time his voice was sharp, yanking her focus back to the room around her.

  Her burning eyes, suppressed tears beginning to heat her bloody face, returned to Zaramir.

  His own eyes were locked on her, the ritual components clenched in his fist that he extended as far toward her as he could, urging her to take it so he could ensure Bryla wouldn’t call the House.

  Unfortunately Bryla seemed to notice this momentary distraction. She broke her paralysis, foot railing and coming swiftly down on Zaramir’s as her arms flew forward, knocking him off balance for a fraction of a moment.

  But that moment was all she needed. She took off in a dead sprint for the door, her scream resonating so loudly Corabelle expected the whole campus could hear. She fled through the door so quickly Zaramir didn’t try to chase her.

  Cursing tinder his breath, Zaramir flew back to Corbelle dropping to his knees and quickly began the ritual once again. The words were frantic, rushed, sloppy. The mixture glowed from between his fingers, but the light fluctuated. It was working, but it was wrong.

  For a second Corabelle thought she should say something, but that’s when the door flew open. A small cluster of students burst in with the ferocity of a pack of wolves. They were all so young, perhaps fresh enrollees. A few were a bit older, wearing leather work aprons and gloves, having come from a more advanced class. The younger students wielded a variety of simple and makeshift weapons, kitchen utensils and farm tools. While their elders had proper weaponry, bows, hunting blade, and vials of unknown potions

  Upon seeing the two Faedemons in front of them, the youngest wavered, their righteousness crumbling, grips faltering on their weapons, unsure what to do when confronted with the creatures before them.

  Zaramir continued the clumsy ritual as he seized Corabelle’s wrist, snapping a bone in forearm in a frenzied motion.

  Unfortunately, the elder students had no similar trepidations. A woman shoved past her peers, a dark wooden crossbow gripped tightly in white knuckled hands. Her tight dark curls, coiled around old burn scars, pale pink against her dark skin. An old rage flared deep inside her umber eyes.

  As she raised the crossbow, taking aim, Corabelle noticed a dark fluid oozing from the tip of the bolt.

  The soft thwack as she squeezed the trigger, the arrow being released, whistling through the sky was the last sound she heard over the completion of the ritual.

  There was a brief moment of dizzy lightheadedness, swirling, mist enveloping them as the brilliant light of the ritual competitions burned bright as the sun.

  The next second she found herself tumbling through the air, crashing down hard on something unyielding. Her ribs snapped as they made contact with the cold surface, before she fell to the ground, her head colliding with stone.