Chapter 12 - The Price of Loyalty
Elena ran out of ammunition. A zealot charged her with a heavy saber. She ducked beneath the swing, slamming her elbow into his ribs, wrenching the blade from his fingers, and driving it upward through his chin.
She grabbed his falling assault rifle, spinning to cover Dante’s flank.
Three robed riflemen had flanking angles on Dante as he climbed the altar stairs. Elena didn't hesitate. She stepped out into the open line of fire, unleashing a full magazine into the trio. The three men collapsed, but not before one of them swept his muzzle toward her.
Two heavy rounds tore through Elena’s stomach.
The maid gasped, the rifle slipping from her bloody fingers. She slumped against the foot of the altar, coughing up dark blood.
"Elena!" Dante bellowed, turning his head.
"Keep going, Dante!" Elena coughed, her hands pressing against the catastrophic wounds in her abdomen. "Get your daughters... end this!"
Julian sneered, watching from the top of the altar. He raised his heavy revolver, aiming directly at Elena’s head to finish her off. "A disloyal hound deserves to die like one."
Julian pulled the trigger.
The hammer fell, but the bullet never reached Elena.
Grace had thrown herself in front of Elena, holding Dante’s tactical combat knife horizontally. The high-caliber bullet struck the flat of the tempered steel blade with an explosive metallic ring. The force shattered the blade, throwing Grace backward onto the marble steps, her palms shredded and burning from the shrapnel, but alive.
Julian’s eyes widened in disbelief. "What are you?"
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Grace stood up slowly. Her torn hands clenched into tight fists. Her milky eyes were gone—replaced by an eerie, piercing gold that mirrored the ancient frescoes carved into the church roof.
"I am the Ashen Crest," Grace said, her voice devoid of human emotion. "And you are trespassing in my sanctuary."
