The King of the Night Throne, ruler of an ancient undead empire, feared across ten millennia, was tangled in a net in front of his subjects.

His arms went through holes meant for his torso. His legs caught in loops meant for his arms. Every correction made the geometry worse.

A new section of mesh wrapped around his skull. His muffled commands came out garbled, half-vowel, the specific audio output of a predator whose jaw had been gift-wrapped by a girl who was still lying on the goddamn ground.

“GET— OFF— THIS— I WILL— WHEN I—”

The threats were unintelligible. The thrashing was producing a visual that was going to live in Gavriel Sterling’s memory forever, rent-free, framed and mounted.

“He looks like a fish,” Gavriel observed from his knees, blade still at his throat. “The ugliest, deadest fish I’ve ever seen.”

A vampire in the back row made a sound. The sound was suppressed immediately. But the sound had been a laugh, and the laugh had been heard, and the hearing was going to have consequences in vampire society later.

The King writhed just far enough that his attention left Serena for one second.

One second was all she needed.

Serena ripped an arrow from her quiver and drove it straight into his foot next to her.

The arrow sank through obsidian boot, through grey flesh, through ancient bone, and into the dirt beneath him. The gold metal hummed. Once. Bright. Final.

He didn’t have a chance to scream.

He exploded into ash. The detonation was instantaneous, his body converting from solid matter to grey powder in a single frame, the net collapsing into empty air, the ash billowing outward in a cloud that covered everyone in a ten-foot radius, including Serena.

A third of the vampires in the clearing exploded into ash with him. Simultaneous. Synchronized. Dozens of grey bodies detonating at the same moment, the chain reaction ripping through the horde like a fuse burning in every direction at once.

Ash blanketed the jungle floor.

It was disgusting.

The clearing went dead silent.

One hundred undead creatures processed the fact that their King had just been turned to ash after being caught in a net.

Serena was already on her feet, coated head to boots in royal vampire ash, an arrow drawn and aimed at the vampire holding a blade to Dexmon’s throat.

She didn’t give the vampire time to process. She moved at Alpha speed, shoving the arrow into the vampire’s chest.

The vampire exploded, taking another third with it.

Ash scattered. The vampire pinning down Gavriel exploded with it.

Gavriel spat. “I have VAMPIRE in my MOUTH. This is the worst day of my goddamn life and yesterday I was in a coma.”

Serena loaded another arrow instantly.

The last vampires, the ones with blades still pressed against Aeron, Hyran, and Maelor, all froze.

She drew the bowstring back. The threat was absolute. A woman drenched in ash, green eyes blazing, stance locked. The visual was unmistakable: the next arrow was loaded and the loaded was aimed and the aimed was fatal and the fatal was non-negotiable.

“Drop. Them.”

They obeyed immediately, blades clattering to the jungle floor.

Serena’s eyes flared molten gold. Her voice changed, her wolf pushing to the surface.

“Follow us and I will kill every last one of you. Disgusting. Vile creatures. How dare your kind touch my mates.”

The remaining vampires retreated. They had just watched their King get netted, stabbed in the foot, and atomized, and did not want to join.

The mages, Dexmon, and Gavriel were already moving.

Dexmon hooked Serena around the waist, Aurelia’s gold still blazing in her irises. Two gold shields snapped up at the same time and a green one went on top, triple layer. All three mages absolutely zero fucks given.

Serena’s legs were shaking. Her hands were shaking. Everything between her scalp and her boots was shaking, and the shaking was a vibration Dex could feel through his arm and whose feeling was converting his relief into fury and his fury into the quiet, lethal promise that nothing was touching her again. Ever.

Dexmon’s voice cut through their minds.

Dexmon: Tighten ranks. On me. Diamond formation. Move.

They moved instantly, closing around Serena at the center.

Then, to everyone’s surprise, Tiberon Drakenfell’s voice cut into the mindlink.

Tiberon: Status report.

The voice was cold, precise, carrying the authority of a King who was wearing a cuff and could hear the mindlinks on the other side for once. He was going to take advantage of it.

Dexmon: Primary threat neutralized by the arrows that kill Dark Fae. Proceeding towards artifact site.

Tiberon: There is a very upset Alpha placing holes into my library rug. Status of Serena’s injuries?

Dexmon: Shoulder wound. Bleeding but superficial. No major compromise. Serena, confirm.

Serena: Yes. No injuries.

A lie. She was bleeding from her scalp, covered in ash, and absolutely terrified. But the lie was going to her grave, and the grave was going to keep it, because adding her actual condition to the briefing would convert Finnick Shadowclaw’s furniture destruction into full architectural demolition and the demolition would be Tiberon’s problem and Tiberon had enough problems.

Tiberon: I have a team of mage-librarians researching vampires as we speak. Don’t get bitten.

“Helpful,” Gavriel muttered. “Really breaking new ground with that intelligence.”

Dex gave Serena’s hand a squeeze. Then moved into the front of the formation. Jaw locked. Eyes gold. His breathing was controlled in the way that breathing is controlled when the alternative is a scream, and the scream would be unproductive, and the unproductive was being shelved for later, and later was going to be very, very loud.

They moved through the jungle. Formation tight. Shields humming. Five people carrying the weight of a sixth who was thousands of miles away punching stone floors, and a seventh who had just killed a king with an arrow to the foot while covered in exploding fruit residue and vampire ash.

The volcano glowed amber in the distance.

The artifact was still out there.

The mission was still active.

And Finnick Shadowclaw was still in Drakenfell, waiting, bleeding, and ready to burn the world down.

Tiberon: Can you make a portal for Shadowclaw to return?

Hyran: Yes, have him standby. We will make one as soon as we are in a secure location.