The Agony Of The Bond

KAELEN.Awakening didn't feel like opening my eyes.It felt like drowning in molten lead.An unbearable, white-hot fire raged behind my sternum, radiating down every nerve ending until my blood felt like boiling, liquid glass scraping through my veins.The rhythmic, heavy snapping of canvas in the wind filtered through the ringing static in my ears, accompanied by the frantic, overlapping chatter of voices hovering directly above my face.“His pulse is tanking again! Clamp that artery, damn it!”“The silver compound is expanding through his brachial line—the standard botanical salves aren't doing shit!”“Force another dose of refined willow bark down his throat! Hold his jaw open! Move!”I gasped—a wet, suffocating rattle tearing out of my windpipe as I tried to drag air into lungs that felt completely calcified.I was flat on my back on a low wooden field cot inside the heavily guarded command medical

The Bastard's March

THORNE.The freezing wind howling through the jagged archways of the Deadlands fortress carried the sweetest aroma on earth: the heavy, metallic reek of fresh blood and panic.Standing on the highest stone rampart, safely elevated above the drifting violet smog and flying steel below, I braced my elbows against the frozen parapet and peered through a heavy brass spyglass.Down in the sulfur-choked canyon, the "invincible" Vanguard frontline was a total slaughterhouse.The proud, disciplined ranks that had terrified this continent for a decade were splintered, scrambling backward over slick slate rocks like ants whose nest had just been crushed under a boot.I watched through the magnified lens as terrified northern soldiers dragged the convulsive, paralyzed bodies of their elite generals out of the fog toward their retreat line.The aerosolized botanical silver hadn't just broken their charge—it had shattered their fucking myth.

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The Agony Of The Bond

The Bastard's March