Blade and Soul: A Dark Fantasy (Kindred Souls Book 2)

by C. M. Estopare

  In the hallway outside, floorboards creaked.

  Springing from the bed, she landed upon the rug in silence. Careful not to wake Remy, she tiptoed from bed to door in a heartbeat. Slid her back against the wall and listened.

  More creaking floorboards. A quiet tiptoe. A shuffle.

  Marceline knew when her life was on the minds of others.

  She flung open the door. Stepped outside. Came face to face with a low hanging black cowl attached to a faceless man. One cloaked.

  The cowl came off with a slither of rain treated fabric.

  The knight from before winked at her. Smiled, “Have you changed your tune, tigress?”

  Silver brushed against her throat. She stiffened.

  Am I losing my edge?

  “You don't have much of a choice, do you?”

  Marceline swallowed against the icy steel, “You're here for Ludovic, aren't you, Champion?”

  The knight flashed her another smile, cruelty dripping from his lips, “He's a bad one, tigress,” he breathed, moving closer. Bringing her to him, “and I'm assuming you are as well...Agent.”

  How did he...?

  Marceline gasped. Raised her knee. Shoved it into his balls.

  TWENTY-TWO

  Marceline

  The knight sneered. Keeled over. Shot up with an uppercut, clocking Marceline in the jaw.

  She hit the ground with an oof, her hands to her face. Her jaw throbbing. Burning.

  Remy shrieked, screaming like a banshee as she charged from Marceline's room. Sword extended, tip pointing squarely at Rand's chest.

  The knight hit the ground opposite. Rolled away before a steel tip slammed into the ground.

  An unfamiliar boot placed its heel upon Marceline's windpipe. It applied pressure. Dug its way into her throat.

  She looked up as Remy and Rand continued to tussle. The knight rolling into the wooden balustrade of the two-story balcony.

  A face hidden by a low black cowl looked down. She saw a sneer. A scowl.

  The stranger raised a hand. Showed her his palm as smoke curled from its center.

  Fire spewed after. Churning from his palm like blood.

  Marceline turned her cheek. Choked. Red hot heat seared her. Burnt her hair. She coughed. Shut her eyes tight.

  And the man above her screamed. Doubled back. Lifted his pant leg to reveal a metal shin guard.

  The fire from his palm melded the metal with his skin. Bright red welts melted into cold gray steel.

  He screamed uncontrollably. Howled as the cowl fell from his face and Marceline scrambled to standing. Brought her palms up to defend her face and tumbled away as fire swirled from his palm once more. The flame licking the floorboards of the balcony—spewing aimlessly. As if the stranger had lost control.

  Marceline rolled away from the wooden balustrade as wild flame caught and swirled, eating away at the balcony's floorboards as Remy danced with the other knight. Piercing her sword through the air as he kneeled. Tumbled away within an inch of her broad steel sword. Knocked his forehead against the charred balustrade.

  Charred wood lit the air. Sailed on a breath of wind.

  The stranger still howled. Still sent spurts of maddening fire Marceline's way.

  The balustrade broke. Blackened wood falling to the ground floor below.

  Remy howled—screeched like a bird of pray—and planted her foot onto Rand's chest. With a huff, she sent him careening over.

  With hands outstretched, he fell. Perfect blue eyes pools of fear. Sorrow.

  The knight hit the ground below with a sickening crack. Bones splintering. Failing. He wheezed a sucking breath. Died.

  Remy approached the edge of the burnt balcony. Stared down at her kill. Readied to follow him.

  Marceline grabbed her wrist, “He's gone. He's dead.” You've broken your rule.

  Remy's eyes were glazed. Frightening.

  It was nothing new to Marceline.

  “Leave him. Help me finish this one.” and she pointed at the other stranger, his hands smoking now as he attempted to pry the melted shin guard from his burnt leg.

  The metal stuck. Fused with skin and bone.

  “His chest is rising—look—he's not—,”

  “Remember your rule.” Marceline hissed.

  Remy met her eyes. Blinked. Light returned. A sense of selflessness, “Right.”

  Both turned. Broke into a sprint and charged at the other man.

  The other stranger ignored the running women—his hands tight to his melted shin guard. He screamed as Remy drove a muscular shoulder into his belly. Marceline rammed a knee into his chest.

  He went down with a thump. Blubbered to the Fates for mercy, though knew he would get none.

  Remy ripped away his cloak, “A Champion.”

  “Another Champion.” Marceline corrected, “The one you sent flying? He's one too.”

  “Get rid of him.” Remy hissed, the bloodlust returning to her eyes, “I hate them. I hate them all.”

  “Control yourself.”

  Remy sighed. Shook her head and placed both hands on the Champion's broad shoulders, “Sorry.”

  Ripping her dagger from her belt, Marceline placed the cold steel against the Champions' bobbing Adam's apple. She met the man's yellowed eyes.

  “Remember our rule.” Remy hissed.

  Marceline snorted, “I'm not one of you yet.”

  And she applied pressure. Watched the man's eyes wobble, yellowed irises ready to give up—

  “Lift the weapon, girl, or your comrade won't leave here alive.”

  Remy sprung to standing. Raced to the edge of the balcony, “Ludovic!”

  Marceline met the stranger's eyes again. Watched him choke beneath the weight of her steel, “...merde...” she sighed, flinging the dagger to the ground.

  Downstairs, the third Champion watched them with eagle-like eyes. Salt and pepper hair was spattered with scarlet. Blood that was not his own.

  Ludovic stood opposite him. Lurched forward, arm to his shoulder. Holding in his lifeblood with a hand. Disheveled. Misshapen. Thoroughly injured.

  Across the vestibule, stood the vineyard keep, Florent. The elder wrung his hands. Hunched, “I'm—I apologize Ludovic! B-but if I hadn't—if I hadn't turned you in, they would have burned my entire crop! My life—my estate—everything! I—I apologize...”

  “I'm not going back.” Ludovic growled, “You'll have to kill me first.”

  The Champion snorted. Smirked and shook his head, “You were always a hardheaded one, Ludovic.” He stepped forward. Brought a hand to the ceiling and air began to howl around it. Began to warp and grow into a stormy funnel. A miniature hurricane, “The Monarchy wanted you back alive...or dead.”

  And air shrieked. Whipped hair from Marceline's face as she stood and watched the scene below unfurl.

  He won't make it. Whatever these Champions have—some sort of elemental power—Ludovic can't fight against it. Not alone...

  She looked to Remy, who froze, fists clenched.

  We have to help.

  Snatching her dagger from the floorboards, she raced towards the staircase. Remy took the hint. Dashed after her, sword in hand.

  The entire estate shook, the quake splitting the walls. Forcing the white-gold chandelier above to shiver and crash into the walls at its sides.

  A roar pierced the sudden influx of wind. The Champion reared his raised hand back, and the surging air became a translucent whip.

  Ludovic braced himself. Hands balled into useless fists.

  The wind slapped Florent. Forced him back.

  Air surged. Batting Remy and Marceline as they made their descent to the ground floor. It forced them backward, rolling them up the stairs. Kicking them to the ground.

  As the estate shook—an inhuman snarl riding the wind as a massive black figure barreled through the open doors of the vestibule and slammed into the man commanding air. The creature took the brunt of the Champion's air whip.

  The creature crie
d. Howled as the air whip ripped through its body, sawing it in two. Blood and entrails burst from its body like a wet paper sack. Raging air spewed the sliced corpse two ways; one side flying through the estate's entrance, the other slapping into the balcony above the vestibule before it hit the marble floor. Scarlet raining. Pink intestines and bloodied bones pummeling the marble floor of the vestibule like bird droppings.

  Scarlet splashed upon the walls. The floor. It smacked their faces, bloodying them as if they had dived headfirst into a vat of sacrificial pig's blood. Entrails rolled upon the floor. Bones littering the vestibule in ghoulish patterns.

  The corpse's brute force smashed the Champion into the adjacent wall. He lolled there. Broken. His body strung at odd angles. White bones ripping through his thighs and arms. Only his eyes moved. Slid back and forth.

  The wind died down. Left through the estate's exit.

  “...Al...Aldric...” Remy stood. Slipped. Dropped to her knees, eyes scanning the blood. Lips moving, her voice silent. Tears trailing down her bloodied face.

  Ludovic froze. Uncertain. Eyes glazed as he stared out the estate's wide open doors. The vineyard danced in a midnight wind. Vines swirled.

  From some ways away, Florent vomited.

  Marceline swallowed. Stood. The Champion still laid in Aldric's entrails. Unable to move as his bowels emptied.

  It would be Marceline's job to show mercy.

  Holding her breath, she climbed down the stairs. Made her way across the blood-soaked vestibule and stood before the broken Champion.

  His eyes searched hers. They were gray. Brittle.

  Her hand was fluid, swift, as she cut him.

  He bled out with a gasp.

  Quick feet raced down the stairs. A man's voice chanted. Blubbered. Spoke to itself.

  The final Champion fled. Dashing through the entrance to the estate like a specter. A creature that doesn't belong—stuck between this realm and the next. Marceline let him go. Her stomach wobbled.

  She hated death.

  Ludovic still stood at the heart of the vestibule. Frozen.

  Flame. Smoke. It curled through the estate's entrance.

  Marceline turned.

  The sky was alight. The vineyard burned. The final Champion set his flame upon everything—the element still uncontrollable as it sprung haphazardly from his outstretched hands. He howled. Screamed as it left him.

  Ludovic's gaze snapped to the man outside. He ran. Charged. Forced the Champion to the ground and straddled him. Raised his fists and crashed his knuckles into the man's face over and over. Again and again.

  Marceline watched. Her mouth open.

  Catching his breath, Ludovic brought his fists back. Prepared the smash the man's face once more.

  But fire burned to life in the Champion's hands. The man grasped Ludovic's bloodied hands and set them alight. Burned him. Seared skin and bone. Burning flesh littered the night. Ludovic shrieked. Rolled backward. The Champion stood.

  Before she could even think to do it—she was running. Sprinting.

  Marceline caught the Champion on his back and wrapped her arms around his neck. Brought her dagger up and ripped it across his throat.

  She unwrapped her arms. Let him drop to the ground.

  The final Champion bled out, scarlet bubbling from his throat. He opened his mouth. Gurgled. Spat up. Gazed into her face before light left his eyes. Vanished.

  Far behind them, in the destroyed estate, watching his entire vineyard burn—orange and scarlet lighting up the sky, Florent sobbed.

  Florent dropped to his knees and sobbed.

  TWENTY-THREE

  Marceline

  The sobbing ceased. Replaced by the callous roar of hungry flame.

  Marceline set foot in the vestibule, following after Ludovic who froze in the doorway. Sliding her way past him, she coughed. Her throat raked by the acrid scent of smoke pouring in from the outside.

  The entire vineyard quickly caught flame, the growing blaze's orange tongue swallowing up purple grapes and swirling vines.

  Everything, everything was lost.

  Failure shriveled Marceline's tongue. She was getting used to the taste.

  Trudging into the vestibule, she tried hard to ignore the dried coat of blood painting the walls. The floor. Entrails dotted her path, and she kicked slimy pink parts away. Made her way towards Florent who sat at the very back of the vestibule beneath the balcony two stories above.

  From some ways away, slowly marching soles moaned against the ground. Remy walked. Stooped to pick something up and continued.

  Marceline listened to Ludovic sigh.

  “Keeper,” Marceline called, coming to stand over the vineyard keep's hunched body, “where are your back doors?”

  The man cocked his head. Looked at her with his jaw slightly hanging. Blood peppered his face like flour. His eyes were dead. Glazed.

  Marceline tapped her foot against the floorboards. Clenched her fists and watched the vineyard keep stare at her dumbly.

  “An alternative exit—show us—now.”

  He simply stared. Cocked his head again and swam in her eyes. His every breath shallow. Light.

  She was quick in her anger. Unrestrained as she yanked him by the sturdy collar of his garments and forced him to stand. Pulled him to herself and choked him with his own clothing, “Answer me.”

  Silence. He would say nothing, do nothing, but stare.

  Gritting her teeth, she thought of hitting him. Thought of pummeling the answer out of him as the smoke in the vestibule grew thicker. As the fire grew brighter and the world dimmed all around her.

  Remy's moaning boots did not cease.

  Quickly stomping boots came closer. Approached her at a hastily limping pace.

  “You're...you're going to be okay buddy...I'll just...get every part of you...” Remy’s voice.

  Grunting, Marceline flung the vineyard keep to the floor. Eyed him with a pointed gaze, raised her hands and threw them to her sides.

  The stomping stopped. Ludovic approached her.

  “There's probably another door in the kitchens here on the ground floor. We'll find it.”

  “Before the smoke smothers us?”

  Ludovic winced. His fingers splayed by his sides, blackened. Welted. Red skin shone like flame upon his blistered hands. His face blanched, the color leaving him as he turned on his heel. Ignored Marceline's question for Remy's attention, “Drop it, Rem. All of it. Let it go.”

  Marceline gasped at the state of his hands. They trembled near his sides, trembling uncontrollably.

  He'll never be able to use them again...

  She swallowed. Scanned the room for Remy.

  Remy stood like an animal hunted. A doe in the cross-hairs of a crossbow. In her bloodied arms she cradled Aldric's remains. Marceline forced herself to watch as Remy stooped to snatch up what Marceline could only describe as Aldric's lungs. Purpled and twisted. Scarred from being ripped from his body.

  She had never seen entrails outside of a body—only in pictures had she seen anything like this. And now that she was face to face with it...

  How could Remy touch that?

  Remy's eyes were crazed. Glassy and wide. Bugging from her head as she met Ludovic's gaze, “I can't—he needs...he needs to be buried...properly. We can't...I can't...just—just leave him...”

  “Drop it, Remy.”

  Remy set her mouth, “No.”

  “We don't have—,” Marceline brought her hand to her face—regretted it as she smeared blood over her eyelids, “we will die if we don't leave now.”

  Remy met her gaze. Stole a look into her eyes and turned away. Kept walking through the vestibule. Picked up something that could have been Aldric's liver and continued her search.

  Behind them, Florent began to chuckle.

  Marceline huffed. Straightened her lips into a sharp line and marched towards Remy. Planted a hand onto the bigger woman's shoulder and whirled her around. With an agile flick of her wrist, she slappe
d the entrails from Remy's arms.

  They hit the ground with a wet slap. Scattered everywhere. Something landed on Marceline's boot.

  She kicked it off. Slammed her heel into it. Blood splashed her breeches like water.

  Marceline raised her chin. Got in Remy's face, “He is gone, Remy.” she hissed, words spewing from her mouth like poison, “And the Fates have taken him away from you—if they even exist.”

  Marceline ventured closer, glared into Remy's softened eyes, “Get a hold of yourself.”

  Tears. They welled up at the pink corners of Remy's almond shaped eyes. Trailed down her face over the grime. The blood.

  She took a step back, “You—you take that back! The Fates...they exist...and if he's not buried properly...”

  Florent continued to chuckle. His laughter growing into a rumbling roar.

  “...he'll come back...you...you know the tales. He'll be...he'll be one of them—and I—,” her voice broke. Her eyes squinted, “—I can't let that happen.”

  Regret welled up in Marceline like a knot twisting up her stomach. Remy's tears made her spiteful. Made her hate everything about the larger woman—but made her hate herself even more.

  Remy was grieving—how could she hate someone for that?

  Yet, she did.

  “I was never given time to grieve.” Marceline spat, clenching her fists, “I pulled myself together! I never got this chance!”

  Smoke clouded her lungs. Messed with her vision.

  From beneath the balcony, Ludovic cleared his throat.

  “Remy,” he began, struggling to be heard over the roar of the growing fire outside, “we'll pray for his soul on the road. The fire will do away with what remains—but if we do not leave, we will join him. His sacrifice will have been in vain.”

  Remy cut her gaze from Marceline's. Slouched her shoulders and shook her head, “Right.”

  “Then, the two of you, come on.”

  Marceline's chest heaved. Sweat ran down her back as she gritted her teeth.

  Remy slunk away, following Ludovic's lead as he disappeared beneath a high oval passageway.

  Florent still laughed. Still slouched. Marceline made her way to the oval entrance and stopped. Locked eyes with Florent.