"Godspeed Grace."
Lyress saw no signs of movement. No streak of light. No sound of air rupturing. Only the cold sense of death gripped her. And for the first time since the battle began, her crazed smile vanished.
As the blade wreathed in crimson flames kissed her neck, her body moved before thought could form.
An unsuspecting undead replaced her in a blink, only to be incinerated to ash before the blade even landed.
The slash tore through the air, carving deep, endless gashes through the pillars behind. Atticus' eyes flickered across the wrecked battlefield, scanning, searching.
She had swapped herself with an undead right as his katana was about to slice her neck. Which meant…
He turned sharply, eyes locking on the scattered remains of the undead army.
'There.'
His gaze found her, Lyress, standing amid a sea of undead.
Her breathing came ragged, hand pressed to her neck where death had nearly touched.
