Ash pushed himself up, shoulders trembling. His back screamed from the impact, but he steadied his stance. The earth beneath his boots felt colder now. He didn't know if it was the pain, or the way the two Black Knights were walking toward him again—slow, steady, no rush.
Their blades dragged through the dirt, scraping as they moved.
Ash raised his sword.
A flash lit the sky.
Shots rained down from above—Ironhold's guard post had come alive, torrents of energy lighting the battlefield.
The blasts struck the knights head-on.
But nothing happened.
The beams bounced off their armor like water off stone.
Ash's eyes narrowed. The knight didn't even glance up. It simply raised its arm—and flung its blade.
The sword whistled through the air and slammed into one of the gun emplacements with a heavy clang. Sparks flew. Metal split open.
The guard behind the weapon froze, eyes wide as the dark blade stayed embedded in the turret beside him. He reached for a rifle.
Too late.
