The blade sank deep, and Lucien screamed, a sound that was half fury, half agony, the scream of something that had forgotten what pain felt like. Black ichor poured from the wound, hissing and smoking where it touched the ground.
Lucien backhanded Kael away, sending him sprawling. But Valen was there, pressing the attack, giving Kael time to rise.
"The throne!" Doran shouted from somewhere behind them. "We have to break the throne!"
Kael looked past Lucien, at the bone-and-steel chair pulsing with black light, at the blood still flowing toward it, at the ritual still building despite everything—
"Go!" Valen shouted. "I'll hold him!"
Kael ran.
He heard the clash behind him—Valen's blade meeting Lucien's fists, the grunts and impacts of a fight he couldn't afford to watch. He heard Braka's axe ring against the platform stones, heard Doran's sword singing through the air.
He heard Lucien's roar of fury, and the sound of something breaking.
But he didn't stop.
