She fought with tears in her eyes.

As the cackling, snapping creatures flew toward her, she burned them. She ripped out rotted flesh with her claws. She snapped their bones between her jaws. She slammed her tail against them. Their black blood rained upon the ruins.

Around her, the other dragons of Requiem fought with fang and fire. They bellowed as they fought, torching enemies, clawing nephilim apart. Even the old, the young, the weak fought under the setting sun, their fire bright. They slew many . . . but their blood too spilled.

Three nephilim landed on a young green dragon. The half-demons cackled as they disemboweled the beast, tugging their claws along the dragon's belly. With a scream, the Vir Requis returned to human form and tumbled down, a gutted woman. Several other nephilim landed on an old gray dragon, tore off cracked scales, and drove claws into flesh. The dragon lost his magic and fell, a screaming graybeard. The body thumped down onto the ruins, shattering against the piles of bricks. More bodies rained—men, women, children, their magic gone, their human forms shattering across the ruins.

"To the pit!" Tanin cried. He blasted forward a path of fire. "Dragons of Requiem, cut through them! Into the Abyss!"

The red dragon roared, scattered dragonfire every which way, and slashed with his claws. The dragons rallied behind him, driving through the enemy, making way toward the pit on the hill. Bodies fell before them. Issari flew at Tanin's side, burning nephilim, moving closer to the pit. She could see it gaping open ahead between shattered columns, a mouth with broken teeth, a chasm leading into the underworld.

"Fly, dragons of Requiem!" she cried. "Into the darkness! Into—"

Her words died.

He rose before her from the ruins, large as a dragon, a rotting man with black wings, a toothy jaw, and piercing green eyes. He had grown to monstrous size, but Issari knew him. Her son.

The creature rose in the sky, wings outstretched, ringed with fire. His long, serrated jaw opened wide, revealing rows of fangs. His flesh was so rotted it hung loosely, revealing ribs and a beating heart. A halo of unholy fire crackled to life around its brow. The nephil cackled.

"I am son of Sharael the Deceiver, rightful King of the Abyss!" he cried. "I was born from the womb of Issari Seran, a Queen of Eteer, the Priestess in White. I will lead you, nephilim. I am Legion! Slay the dragons for my glory."

The dragons roared and blasted fire.

"Kill it!" Tanin shouted. "Kill the creature!"

Blasting out their dragonfire, the dragons flew toward the nephil.

Issari hovered in midair, staring at Legion. He met her gaze. His eyes seemed so human to her; they were her own eyes.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, then raised her voice to a shout. "Tanin, no! Dragons, to me! Leave him!"