Bai Zhi Injured, Chen Wuya Enraged

The tattered flag atop the broken cliff still fluttered in the wind. Chen Wuya pressed his palm against the rock, his fingertips trembling faintly. His Misaligned Force was spent; fluid seeped from the bloody gash in his palm, slipping through his fingers and splattering several dark-red spots across the sand. He drew a breath and swept his gaze over the battlefield—the three-man group on the right flank was moving sluggishly, while two men on the left were struggling to their feet, supporting injured legs.

"Switch positions." He shouted hoarsely, raising his right hand in a slashing diagonal gesture.

The defenders moved at once. In groups of three, they retreated and interwove along predetermined routes. Though the formation was chaotic, it carried a bizarre rhythm. The enemy drums sounded again. Spearmen formed ranks and pressed forward, their advancing shield wall stirring up a cloud of yellow dust.

Bai Zhi stood at the breach on the right flank, her flexible sword held across her chest, her eyes locked on the front. One enemy soldier lunged too hard. With a flick of her wrist, her sword tip struck his wrist pulse, and his spear flew from his grasp. A second man pounced at once. She sidestepped, then drove her sword hilt into his ribs, forcing him to stagger back.

Chen Wuya watched her back. He had only just let out half a breath of relief when his eyelid suddenly twitched.

A black shadow skimmed out through the dust, so fast its outline was nearly impossible to make out. The man's steps were unnaturally light, each landing utterly soundless, as if he were treading on cotton. He lunged straight at Bai Zhi's back, the edge of his open right hand tinged blue-gray.

"Zhi! Fall back!" Chen Wuya roared as he leaped from the broken