When next he blinked, carnage surrounded him. An ocean of blood soaked the ground, body parts scattered here, there, everywhere. Bits of skin and muscle dangled from tree limbs. Pieces of Malaki’s indestructible armor lay on the mossy grass. Damn it! The sword...where was Valor’s sword? There! The hilt had sustained some damage, but the blade itself remained intact.

Heaving a sigh of relief, Bane labored to his feet. A sharp ache drew his attention to his shoulder, near the tree of life tattoo on his chest. A tattoo every combatant possessed. The mystical ink infiltrated their blood, allowing an Enforcer to track their every move.

The wound caused by The Blood Drinker hadn’t healed, the cut just as raw and red as before. He massaged his nape. There had to be a way to reverse the damage.

Think! A combatant carried a sword with healing properties. Another owned a magic wand able to manipulate energy. Perhaps one of the two could mend the unmendable.

Very well. Bane had his next targets. Once he’d completed his tasks, he would end Aveline’s tyranny at long last...

Then, I will join you, my darling Meredith. We will be together again.

103rd All War, Month 5
Somewhere in the Arctic Circle
Assembly of Combatants

FOR THE PAST three months, Bane had kept his mind on his goals, burying his grief beneath layers of seething hatred for Aveline. Somehow, he’d held the beast at bay without the aid of a lover. He hadn’t killed anyone else, or destroyed any more weapons. Of course, that meant he hadn’t won the healing sword or magic wand, either.

Another mistake on Bane’s part.

Minutes ago, the Assembly of Combatants kicked off. A mandatory roll call. Soon after, an army of vikings had attacked the combatants in droves.

Now, the remaining twenty-five combatants worked together. Immortals against humans, the immortals trapped inside an icy mountain valley, unable to leave until the conclusion of the meeting. Yet, their assailants could move in and out at will.

Metal clashed against metal, the scent of blood permeating the frigid breeze. Grunts, groans and bellows echoed, the battle as savage as the terrain. Above, streaks of green and purple lit up the night sky.

Ignoring the throbbing pain in his stitched shoulder, Bane swiped up a discarded sword and lopped off a mortal’s head. Since battling Valor, the wound in his shoulder had only worsened. Blood loss winded him far too easily, and slowed his reflexes.

Footsteps. Challengers approached at a clipped pace. The beast roared, enraged, thirsty for blood and hungry for flesh. As usual.

Calm, steady. If Bane transformed, he would slaughter the vikings, yes, but also the combatants, winning the war before he’d found the Terran princess. If that happened, he would remain bound to Aveline.

Unacceptable! Her downfall trumped everything. Right now, the vikings were obstacles in his path. Obstacles got mowed down.