Through Flame and Blade

Ch. 45 Chiara, Light Bearer

*Chiara

At Logan's order, Chiara dashed forward, running straight for the bright opening. Demons lunged for her. She slashed, not slowing. Logan's roar bounced off the marble walls. It changed to a cry of pain, then deepened into something horrible.

He was shifting...

She sprinted, passing under the arch. This was the balcony hall. Its ceiling and sides were nearly lost in shadows despite the almost blinding white light from the massive, half-circle opening to the world outside. She inhaled. Fresh air, pure and clean, filled her lungs, spurred her feet faster. She spread her wings, ready to fly.

Doubts flooded her, though. Logan hadn't said how he would find her—and there was nowhere they would be safe together in the Midlands...

She closed her eyes for a second. Then, clapped her wings together hard.

She lifted.

A bola—heavy weights connected by a cord—spun from out of the darkness. She tried to veer. It hit the base of her wings, wrapping around them and breaking feathers. She faltered and fell, wings tangled in the cord.

More demons surged from the sides of the balcony hall. There were legions in there. They poured from their hiding places as she rolled to her feet and ran. A line of columns were on the far wall, six on either side of the wide, arched opening. More demons spilled from behind them.

She lowered her head and pumped her legs, sword half-up and ready.

She rounded the huge fire pit in the middle of the room. A demon swung for her legs. She jumped and kept running. She mounted the dais that led to the balcony, still running.

Then her world came crashing to a halt.

Zeigfel rounded the column closest to the opening, striding towards her, silhouetted by the bright sky behind him. As he approached, his black robes flowed from his sides, and the steel of his armor glinted red with fire light of the pit.

She stumbled. Half-feral, she struck out, swinging her sword. He blocked, drove it down, and forced it from her hand. The blade landed with an ear-piercing clatter.

She was turning to run.

He was there. Right in front of her. She fell back, twisted, trying to escape, but no matter where she looked, he was somehow blocking the way to freedom.

She choked on a scream, refusing to let it out, powerless to stop it.

"My angel, take my hand, it is time," he said.

His gloved hand reached out to her.

Her chest constricted, blocking the air to her lungs. Her heart pounded, thundering in her ears.

She was Chiara, Light Bearer, she was the winter's frost, she was—

"My own," he whispered.

She swung her fist—the only weapon she had. He caught her hand and in one smooth pull had her pinned to his chest.

He glanced down at her, taking a moment to brush a lock of hair from her face. She was frozen, unable to fight back, even to bite his fingers.

He had her. He had promised she would never leave.

She would never leave. He opened his mouth to say something, but a heavy step rang out behind them. His eyes lifted.

She twisted out of his grasp. Metal chains clanked. Several demons surged from the side—too many to fight off empty handed, wings bound. Iron cuffs clamped over her wrists and the weight of chains held her down.