Whisper of Blade | ✓ (Crimson #1)

Chapter 10: Glass Cannon

She was a raging wildfire. She was the cold cut of a flawless sword.

She was justice.

Minerva knew the beauty and ugliness of killing. Her blades sliced through flesh like butter, aiming for the softness between the shells of metal embedded in the Terrons' skins like armor. For every life she took, a rush of adrenaline and power surged through her. The energy acted as a buffer between her and the hollow place, so that it leeched the foreign life instead of her own.

The ugliness would hit her after, she knew. When her blood cooled, she'd look at the mess of littered bodies and wonder what girl had lost her lover, what child she'd left without parents. And in that brief moment, she'd wish she'd left just one alive to put metal to her neck and send her to Nemesis' deadly embrace.

So that's why she always screamed as she killed. They gave their lives, but she gave her sanity, her humanity. She hated how she enjoyed becoming one with her weapons, the effortless dance of death. Someone had created her to be the perfect soldier and she cursed them with every breath she didn't need to continue living.

The Terrons had crammed into the small corridor for a chance to rip into the Hydro. Though skilled, he wouldn't have been able to hold against all of them forever. The cramped space only allowed for two or three warriors to come against him at once, but it also hindered his use of the long, luminous spear whirling around his hands and fingers.

The two of them held the cluster of Terrons in pincer fangs. Minerva could only hope the spearman would hold out. If Hydro blood stained the Pyro palace's floors today, there'd be nothing preventing all-out war. Letting honored guests die under your roof was a breach of everything sacred. The Hydros could not be blamed one whit for considering their trust with the Pyros broken, even if it was Terrons who committed the murder.

Where are all the guards? A deluge of connections between this event and the entrance of the Hydros to the city the morning before assailed Minerva. She hadn't learned. As soon as she'd arrived home, action should have been taken to mobilize a plan of defense. Ashes, I could have asked Matsudo to arrange a strike of soldiers under my authority.

Distracted by regrets, she sloppily blocked and received a gash along her bicep when she curved her body to avoid being cut across the chest. The muscle protested. Her body had begun to tire. The Terron she faced recognized her battle fatigue and pressed his advantage. He called to the others behind him to shift fronts.

Minerva desperately fended off attacks. The intuitive knowledge was still hers, but not the ability to counter. Sweat dripped into her eyes.

A shadow appeared at the edge of her failing vision.

Wait—no. It couldn't have been that many yet. Minerva risked a quick glance behind her. A trail of bodies led away, over a dozen.

The shadow neared her, a thick tendril of darkness forming to touch her.

Minerva wanted to scream at the Terrons to get away from her before she snapped. To run until they couldn't run anymore. If she could, she would've have crawled out of her skin and left herself behind.

They had her pinned with her back pressed against the wall now. Her long sword clashed with an axe. With his superior strength, the Terron pinned her weapon. Minerva's sword quivered inches from her neck, kept at bay only by her will to live and the short sword she'd locked at its hilt. Even with the force of both her arms, she couldn't push back.

She wondered if she even should.

A whisper entered her ear, seeming to come from her blade. They deserve death. No one deserves mercy.