Page 272 of Vasmora

A shrill screech echoed through the cavern as the flame devoured two of the humanoids, while others wisped into black smoke.

The chime of steel had me glancing back to where Verena pulled her sword free.

Beside her, Fennyx stood with daggers drawn.

Zevander only managed a couple steps forward before another humanoid slid into his path, its oversized maw unhinged around a torrent of milky-white fluids that resembled liquid ice. The fluids clashed against the black flames in a steaming hiss, freezing the fire midair.

Before Zevander could draw back his hand, Kazhimyr launched toward the humanoid, hurtling an icy spear, but it smashed against whatever invisible boundary of power surrounded the mutation and fell to the floor in a watery trickle.

“Ready your swords!” Zevander shouted, and the chime of drawn steel filled the room. “Some are resistant!”

To the right of me, Torryn strode up with a still unconscious Rykaia in his arms. After laying her onto the floor, against the wall behind me, he gripped my arm. “Please stay with her.”

Nodding, I backed myself closer to her and turned to find Gavroche had also curled up against the wall.

As the humanoid Kazhimyr had attempted to impale with ice turned her attention toward me, Zevander charged forward, sword first. In one smooth cleave, her head tumbled from her shoulders, rolling onto the ground until it came to a stop at my feet.

Without catching his breath, Zevander pivoted with another slash of his sword, carving a deep canyon into the chest of the next humanoid that lunged toward him.

A thunderous boom erupted, as dozens more humanoids descended at once, raining dust from the ceiling, the frantic scuttling of limbs reminding me of rustling trees during a violent storm.

Mutations poured over our group in vicious waves, a dozen, or more, of them for every one of us.

Daelan was dragged away first, his weakened outcry silenced by a gut-wrenching scream.

Horror gripped my throat at his torn limbs flying upward as they ravaged him. My muscles screamed with the urge to help them, and teeth clenched, I glanced back at Rykaia and Gavroche. Protecting them didn’t mean being relegated to a nursemaid.

I am a vessel of death, I reminded myself.

I held up my palm, heat flashing across my skin with the unfurling of the whip. A quick scan of the mayhem showed another cluster of humanoids dropping from the ceiling to a crouch, and I struck fast, the tapered end of the whip slamming against one creature’s chest.

Ribs exploded sending gore and chunks of meat across the floor.

I lashed again, and with a flick of my wrist, the whip tore across two more mutations, bone tearing through throats and soft flesh.

More humanoids fell.

I thrashed the whip, nailing as many as I could, leaving a pile of ravaged meat, bone and blood. An ache tore through my muscles and down to my bones, as I kept my arm moving, swinging at whatever moved toward us.

For every humanoid we killed, more spawned from the ceiling.

The creatures swarmed one of the wolves, the hum of their frenzied feeding turning my stomach, as the wolf yelped and cried. I couldn’t keep up with where everyone stood and who’d gotten hauled away. Bodies jerked and thrashed in a chaotic swarm of limbs. Rho brushed past my ankle, barking and growling, and I lifted him, clutching him to my chest.

Beneath the frenetic thudding, the occasional clash of steel against stone, and the shouts of the others, rose a quiet clacking. How I’d heard it was a mystery I didn’t bother to ponder as I turned to see the aged, scattered bones rattling.

Frowning, I bent down to lift one of them.

The room spun, blurring around me as I stared down at the relic captured in my palm.

When I lifted my gaze, I was no longer standing amongst my group.

The crumbling, moss-covered statues from moments ago stood white and pristine, the air thick with coppery blood and rot. The ruined paintings from before showed bright images of figures dancing beneath the moon.

That clacking sound I’d heard had me turning toward the bones piled on the floor, where they jumped and rattled against each other, and as an object pitched toward my face, I turned just in time to see the business end of a sword swinging out at me.

Before I could so much as flinch, it slashed right through me, the other end clutched by a man who wore an unconcerned expression, before he pivoted around for another wide swing.

A choked breath flew out of me as I jerked back and palpated my face for any sign of injury. Only smooth skin passed beneath my fingertips. The blade hadn’t so much as touched me.