The Immortal (Rise of the Warlords 2)

He dropped the bow and quiver and changed course. Running across the field, he swept low to grab three of the bars that once graced the entrance.

As expected and hoped, the bundle of rage followed him. The creature closed in, approaching from behind. A roar signaled her next strike. Halo twisted with blurring speed and rammed each of the poles into her mouth. She stumbled as she struggled, shaking her head, attempting to work her jaw, but the metal held.

Enraged now, she batted at Halo with those razored paws. He darted this way and that, dodging every blow. But so did she. He tried and failed to spear her open throat.

“Encourage our champion,” Erebus called from the dais. “Tell our lioness she can win this.”

With their awful voices, the phantoms chanted, “You can win this. You can win this. You can win this.”

Halo disregarded the noise, keeping his focus honed. The beast possessed only three vulnerabilities—open throat, open eyes, and her ear canals. The canals couldn’t be closed or guarded as well as the others. Better odds of success.

Creaking sounds testified to a break in the bars... Crunch! His opponent spit the trio at Halo’s feet. Dropping her chin, baring those savage teeth, she shot forward, slinging dirt from her paws.

Protect her. The urge jolted him. Protect...who? Ophelia? But she was dead. Unless he’d miscalculated and she lived? What if she needed him? What if—the lioness sliced into his chest with her claws, sending him flying.

Concentrate! Halo popped to his feet, already healing. He swiped up his spear and charged the beast. Rather than attack, he grappled for dominance and climbed onto her back. Though she fought to buck him off, he shoved the metal into her ear, and her next roar ended in a mewl of pain.

He jumped down and rolled, collecting two more spears. She teetered, off balance. He wasted no time, throwing one weapon, then the other, nailing each of her eye sockets. She crashed into the ground, and she didn’t rise. Didn’t move.

A trumpet declared the labor’s end.

Panting, bleeding, Halo wiped the sweat from his face and pivoted toward the royal dais. He’d won, but he felt as if he’d lost the battle. He wanted to vomit, not celebrate.

“Where is the harpy?” he demanded of Erebus.

“Dead.” The god showed no remorse. “You know this. Sense it.”

Yes. Despite Halo’s earlier hope, he sensed the truth deep down. Gone. So even though he’d won, he’d lost. He’d failed to protect her. Again.

He opened and closed his fists. “Better luck with your next champion.” How he longed to flash to the dais and shred the god.

Erebus laughed, gleeful. “Perhaps I wanted this one to die, eh?”

6:00 a.m.

Day 3

“Get your lazy butt out of bed. Operation Lady O Be Good commences in thirty.”

Ophelia awoke with a pained cry as her friend ripped away the bedcovers. But she felt no pain. Only rage. Already it kindled in her bones, boiling over the fresh cauldron of memories that simmered in the forefront of her mind. Erebus had turned her into a monstrous lioness and pitted her against Halo.

The god hadn’t lied, after all. The Astra had indeed killed her. Brutally. Pitilessly. But in Halo’s defense, the transformation had cursed her with an uncontrollable bloodthirst; she had existed only to tear into him. But still! The male hadn’t recognized her. Unless he had, and he just hadn’t cared?

Either way, he’d slain her as effortlessly as he’d once slain Succubia. Ophelia despised him with the heat of a thousand suns for it. But she also might not despise him. She might not even blame him. Argh! How was she supposed to feel right now?

He’d fought to protect himself. As he should have. If their situations had been reversed, she would have done the same thing. But oh! She was still so...so...livid. She’d died and now someone needed to pay for it!

“Um. Phel?” Vivi asked.

“I just need a minute more. I’m in the middle of a cataclysmic decision about my current mood and the one to blame.”

“Oh. Well. Carry on. If you’re taking suggestions, I have a list of mortal enemies I’d love to see suffer.”

Why was Ophelia flip-flopping between crazed ire and total understanding, anyway? Halo had murdered her. And what had she gotten out of the deal? Nothing. Except. Hmm. She wasn’t hungover. She kind of felt, well, good. Better than good, actually. Amazing. Different parts of her hummed with power, as if she’d plugged into an outlet.

The more we do this, the stronger you’ll grow. We’ll charge you like a battery and you’ll overflow with every creature. You’ll be unstoppable. Yes. Soon, you’ll be ready, and we’ll do what’s needed. You and me. Together.

Intrigue blossomed. Had Erebus told the truth about that, too? Would Ophelia continue to strengthen if she allowed him to transform her? Better question: Exactly how strong could she get?