Devouring Hollow Hearts || ONC'24

》Chapter Eleven《

Hooking her elbow down and back swiftly, the heir of steel felt bone meet bone against Anryth's rib cage. The sickening crack startled her long enough for him to dislodge from her hair and stumble away.

Chyrie couldn't feel anything as she lunged at him, her lengthy nails slashing through his intricate tunic and leaving emerald threads in their wake.

For half a second, she felt skin.

Anryth reeled, attempting to dig his heels into the loose gravel and anchor his next blow. A large, open-handed swing slapped against her cheek before she could defend herself.

"You wretched little thing..." he seethed.

Chyrie swallowed roughly, panting past her sore muscles and the already creeping exhaustion. She searched the ground for tools or weapons, analyzing their enclosed terrain as quickly as she dared before crouching lower.

About five inches to her left was a piece of jagged scrap metal.

Anryth stood in front of her latest craft, completely unaware of how easy it might be to strike her down. She knew he'd notice soon, soon enough to even kill her.

"What was the point?" Chyrie hissed back. "What was the point of this game? To bind me to Niukka's Forge and bid me to create something out of nothing?"

"Rymedör was founded on justice—"

"You know nothing of justice!" She screamed, sweeping up the brittle shard of metal and staring him down. "So our people made weapons to be stolen and instead of enacting a Rite, you slaughtered my family! You imprisoned me, tortured me, starved me! We are not the people who destroyed your lands. We are not those who bathed in your blood and asked you to suffer. Yet here you are. You know nothing of justice..."

Anryth's eyes widened, first with shock and then with rage.

Chyrie didn't see the blow that knocked her to her knees. The paranormal strength sent her gasping for breath as her voice broke over the air.

The King of Rymedör wound his hand through the dreaded braids greased to her scalp and ripped her chin upward to face him.

Watery vision broke over the elf, revealing the madness writhing within those bloodshot eyes.

"You know nothing," he said.

Anryths knee collided with her stomach, deathly close to her sternum.

Her vision blackened.

"Nothing!"

Chyrie prayed to Niukka, to Setryr, to the land and the ocean as her body crumbled against the floor. Her arms burned, legs trembling like a newborn fawn. All her concentration now offered to those gods who smiled upon her parents.

She could almost laugh at the absurdity of it all, feeling her spirit giving way to dust.

A man off his head and for nothing.

Then her mind flickered to Dailes, lurking somewhere in the shadows. The drakeling was under strict orders not to mess with the king, but perhaps if she crept closer to death he might forsake those orders.

Burn Anryth alive, perhaps.

Yet, nothing would stop his men from sacking Emberlin and murdering its people. Her people. Without Anryth, she saw no victory.

Chyrie struggled to inhale again, sliding her fingers over the dirty rocks and feeling the warmth flow around them. She had to play this right.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, her voice stripped of all its power. "I-I'm sorry..."