Chapter Forty-nine: Hungry Shadow Spirits

The malevolent woods teemed with dangerous creatures I hadn't seen before. Most of them had sharp fangs with deadly venom, and it seemed as if they were working together to hinder our progress. Their tiny bodies were nimble and swift, which made fighting them that much more frustrating.

Chichi slashed her greatsword at them. Thorn blasted them to the ground with winds strong enough to crush flat. Hekin fired bolts with his crossbow, while Sketta sliced heads off with her new shortswords. Mayzel and Noforl used their swords in tandem, and it reminded me of an ancient martial dance that was forgotten. It was angel warrior techniques that I had only witnessed when I was a young child, before my uncle banished me and cut off my wings because of what I was.

I tightened my fists so hard that my palms bled green. I glared at the first shadow spirit that revealed itself, and I could see myself in its place, just as hungry and deadly. If I had to become a demon again to destroy them all, I wouldn't give it a second thought.

It wasn't the same shadow spirit that had attacked Tark, and that only made me furious.

The shadow spirit was faster than I thought it could be, and it seemed to vanish before a shock of pain ran through my left shoulder. Green blood splashed on the dead leaves before it turned black. There was no turning back. I didn't want anyone to suffer like Tark, gnawed on while still alive. I wanted a world wonderful enough for us to enjoy life that was oftentimes cut too short.

Chichi and Mayzel slashed at the shadow spirit, their blades glowing green with powerful magic. Its familiar hum brought memories that I had buried deeply.

A scream pierced the air, startling the shadow spirit. It dashed through the thick forest, out of sight in the numb darkness.

"What the hell was that?!" Chichi started. "It didn't feel like a demon, but it sure cut you bad, boss."

"A doubtling," I mumbled. "Doubtling, darling. Devout dear. Meskyroth has fallen near. Fleshling, fleeting. Faith not fear. Bring him to his knees, my dear. Scritchling, sealing. Cast away. There will be no more realms to stay."

"Are you a damn poet, now?" Hekin queried.

"It's a prophetic chant," Mayzel informed as she pointed at a golden portal. "Something's coming through."

Fianna's voice seemed far away as the starry night sky came into view. "Is that another Jopp?"

"Leave him to me."

That firm voice was unmistakable, but my mind couldn't keep functioning. Darkness took over as my senses failed me.