Azrael's body was a map of pain. The potion Isolde had given him was a cheap fix, a small candle fighting a great darkness.
Every single step sent a sharp jolt through his bruised ribs. He walked with his head down, focused on the agonizing task of moving.
Isolde led them with a calm grace that didn't belong in a death game. She looked like a princess taking a stroll in her royal garden.
'We're in a good position,' she thought, her mind a cold machine of strategy. 'Orion's team is out. That just leaves Kaelen's as the other major threat.'
'We need to build an untouchable point lead, and find a superior position for the final conflict.' She glanced back at her team, her eyes lingering on Azrael.
'And I need to see what my new toy can really do.'
Selvara walked near her, her face a cold, unreadable mask. But her mind was miles away, replaying her quiet conversation with Azrael.
I'd rather be the broken author of my own story, than the perfect star of someone else's.
