The air was thick with the scent of burning incense and buffed stone. The two-year-old temple loomed over the courtyard like proof of the self-declared divinity of the empire. Wall torches threw their dancing light on the marble pillars, casting long, undulating shadows. Golden sculptures of the empire's deity loomed above, their vacant eyes staring down at the guests with silent disapproval.
Zero took cover behind a section of the destroyed outer wall, his own breathing steady even amidst the chaos around him. The rebels had struck quickly, catching the too-confident imperial knights stationed here off guard. Their confidence had caused them to lose the edge—no elite soldiers, no war mages, just knights who had never imagined being attacked. Even with surprise on their side, however, the rebels were struggling.
Zero had a clear view from where he was of Sienna and Lyra guiding an escort of traumatized otherworlders through the wrecked gate. Five. The best they could rescue of those twenty who'd been summoned. The rest were paralyzed by fear. A few outright refused, clutching the imperial-handed weapons they'd just been given. And then there were the others—the hard-faced men, the type who moved like thieves—standing defiantly among the knights. The empire had made a wise decision.
There was a hard clank as Holt jammed his spear into a knight's chest, breaking steel and flesh alike. Blood sprayed onto the white stone, and the knight fell over. He pulled the weapon free and turned to meet another foe without hesitation.
Zero didn't have time to notice. A knight galloped toward him, sword raised. He had seconds to react before reaction took control. His body acted before his mind—his feet moving, his crouch sinking. God's Eye.
His concentration narrowed. The actions of the knight slowed, traced in threads of information his mind was unable to understand. Agony in his joints, off-balance weight, hesitation in his attack. Zero dodged to the side, the sword of the knight barely touching him, and rammed the hilt of his stolen dagger into the gap of his opponent's helmet. The knight stumbled, and Zero eliminated him with a swift kill to the throat.
More kept coming. His gaze jumped to the other otherworlders that remained in position, split between the empire and the rebels.
Cowards.
Or maybe they were not? Would he have rebelled if he were they, having just been dumped in a foreign world? Doubt seeped into his head. Who am I to condemn them? I don't even know who I am.
Before he could ponder the notion, a powerful presence invaded his domain.
Air shifted. A knight in heavier armor, his emblem a mark of higher rank, stepped forward with measured, trained step. An elite, by the empire's arrogance in sending only standard knights. This one was not—perhaps posted here as a safeguard. His tough eyes locked onto Zero, measuring him as if he were just an obstacle to be overcome.
Zero's hand gripped harder on his dagger. He had already spent most of this fight dodging and counterattacking—he did not know how much longer he could continue to fight against a skilled fighter of this caliber.
The knight attacked first. His sword slashed out, faster than the others. Zero ducked, avoiding the blow by mere inches, but the strength of the blow sent a blast of air across his cheek. He struck back, seeking an opening—only to have the knight bat his sword aside with ruthless efficiency.
Zero was off balance. I need armor.
It was an inspiration like a bolt of lightning, and before he quite realized what had happened, black muck on his arm burst into a boil. It oozed outward on its own, stretching beyond his skin, thickening to a dark metal something—a shield, rough-hewn and purposeful.
The second blow the knight struck encountered it. An electric shock rippled through Zero's body but failed to cleave him.
The knight hesitated for a moment. Long enough.
Zero rushed in, stabbing his dagger into the knight's exposed side. The man groaned but did not fall—he was still too strong. He shunted Zero back, his sword coming down in a killing blow—
And then Holt's spear plunged him in the chest from behind.
The knight was coughing, blood spilling from his lips. Holt drew out his sword, letting the body drop to the ground. His sharp eyes were drawn to Zero's arm, where the black gunk still clung in its hardened state.
"What the hell is that?" he gasped.
Zero eyed his arm, flexing his fingers. The black material rippled before retracting, returning to its original shape as if nothing had happened.
"I don't know," he admitted.
Holt glanced at him for a moment but didn't push the subject. "We're pulling out. Sienna and Lyra grabbed as many as we could. This was a damn failure."
Zero's eyes swept the field. The knights had regrouped, and more were coming. They had lingered too long.
The rebels took flight into the woods, the massive trees closing in around them. The five otherworlders they had managed to rescue followed after, dazed by the sudden change of fortune.
Zero's mind was reeling as they ran. The empire, the calling, the others who would not follow them—he could not blame them. He did not even know if he should have come.
And his arm.
Holt hadn't been the only one who had observed it. Sienna had, her eyes going narrow in a manner that caused a creepy sensation to run through him.
Someone was taking extra notice of him.
But he didn't know whether that was good or not.
Survival for the time being was all that mattered