The Last Sin

Beams of moonlight pierced the tree canopy, lighting the edge of Isla's blue cloak.

I stalked to her side, kneeling beside her.

She gasped.

“You scared me!" Isla whispered.

"Sorry. Where’s Dugan?"

"Just ahead." I strained my eyes and made out Dugan crouched behind a tree; the combination of low light and natural camouflage made him difficult to spot.

"What are we waiting for?" I whispered.

Loud oinking and rustling underbrush answered my question.

Thor burst through a shrub with five beastkin hot on his tail. He was covered in tree bark like Dugan, protecting him as beastkin's spear thrusts bounced off his hide.

Isla summoned another ball of water. I tightened my grip on my dagger. Dugan leaned to the side, pressing his hand on the ground.

The underbrush writhed, wrapping around the legs of the two leading beastkin. They slammed face first onto the ground, tripping the three beastkin that trailed after them. Dugan stood up and went to work, severing flesh and bone as casually as one chopped wood.

I think Castille undersold Dugan’s skills.

Rustling from the left announced three more beastkin charging our flank. Dugan met the first beastkin with his shield, using his smaller stature to duck low. The shield cracked into the beastkin's shins. Dugan lifted his shield, sending the beastkin cartwheeling over him. Ignoring the thrown beastkin, he ran forward to meet the other two.

Isla and I turned to each other, understanding passing between our eyes.

It was now or never.

I bounded toward the beastkin getting to its feet. Isla stood up, crystalizing the ball of water into ice and breaking off shards to pummel the approaching beastkin. Dugan used the distraction to swing his axe low, hacking off the legs of one of the beastkin just below the knee.

I threw my dagger at the beastkin Dugan tossed. He shrugged his shoulder, letting the dagger sink into the meat of his deltoid. I willed the dagger back to me. It materialized in my left hand a second before I tackled the beastkin to the ground.

We rolled in a mass of limbs, coming to a stop with me on top. I held the knife over him and stabbed down. He caught my wrist, holding the weapon just above his face. With a scream of desperation, I slammed my forehead into the pommel of my dagger. The momentum carried through the weapon, biting into the beastkin's face. I repeated the motion again and again until the hand around my wrist slackened and fell away.

The beastkin’s bloody, ruined face stared up at me, long canines bared in a rigid smile.

My stomach lurched.

There, I was a weapon. Why didn’t I feel any better?

A strong hand grasped my shoulder. I turned, dagger raised, as my eyes met Dugan’s measured stare. Whatever magic he used was wearing off—the bark peeling off his face and leather armour. He patted my shoulder and walked back to camp, Thor waddling up to his side.

A moment later, Isla approached.

"Was that all of them?" I asked, panting between words.

"Thor seems to think so. Can you walk?"

"Yeah."

A different kind of exhaustion washed over me when I got to my feet. I had been warned about the sudden drop after an adrenaline rush. My mind was unfocused, and my limbs were heavy as we walked back to camp, bloodier and wearier than when we left.

As Dugan dragged away the dead bodies, I walked to my tent.

Finally, some sleep.

“Wait…” Isla said.

She looked around, her eyes wide with worry.

"Where’s Castille?"