Echo Soul Seekers

Valentina, Esperanto, Piann, Mayra, Diego, Gabriella, Paloma, Alejandro, and Django—all of the Seekers who’ve made great sacrifices so I could be here. Having braved the face of evil so that others could live their lives in relative peace.
    With so many counting on me, I can’t let them down.
    When the largest among them comes at me, it’s clear he’s fueled on nothing more than anger and rage—reminding me of the way I used to operate until Chay drew my attention to the absolute foolishness of it. Warning me that raw emotion without the strength to back it is a sure way to find yourself dead.
    Luckily for me, I listened. I’m no longer that girl.
    Unluckily for the undead Richter, he never had a chance to know Chay.
    He comes at me with gleaming eyes and a warrior’s cry—his hands curled to fists that swing about wildly. And though it’s an impressive display at first glance, it’s only a second later when I grab hold of his arm and twist until it snaps. Barely allowing a second to pass, before I rend my athame clean across his neck, watching as his body falls separate from his head.
    I gaze down at my feet, waiting for him to deteriorate. But when he bleeds out in a thick, black, viscous crud that seeps from his stump of a neck, I figure he must’ve been dead a much shorter time than the last one.
    I kick him aside, wait for the next wave to come. Sure there will be one. Surrender is the last thing on their minds.
    This group is smarter, taking a moment to gather axes and picks to use against me. Not getting very far before I relieve them of their weapons. Using my talent for telekinesis, with a little help from my element Wind, to disarm them—I take them down one by one. Indulging the occasional glimpse at the mine, relieved to see it still untended. The captives continuing to escape, as I continue slaying Richters.
    As soon as that group is eliminated, the remaining Richters fall on me in a swarm of undead stench, fetid breath, gnashing teeth, and kicking feet. And, to their surprise, I refuse to fight back.
    I refuse to deflect.
    I stand loosely before them, head raised, arms held out to either side, accepting whatever they give me.
    Allowing them to push me to my knees. Shove my face into the dirt. My nose jammed with bits of scorched earth as they bite me, punch me, savagely assault me—while I tell myself I deserve it.
    That it’s what I get for the long list of failures that resulted in so much misery and destruction.
    That fist in my gut is for all those who needlessly died in the mine.
    Those claws piercing my scalp is for those who suffered because of my inability to sacrifice Paloma’s soul.
    While the foot that repeatedly slams into my back is for my failure to stop loving Dace.
    My skin splits, allowing rivers of blood to seep from my wounds, as my insides rattle and crunch, and my eyes stream with tears—though the tears aren’t for me. They’re for everyone I failed by allowing love to rule me.
    Problem is—the pain and punishment I seek never comes.
    The relief I expected to feel with each blow eludes me as well.
    Despite the barrage of fists raining on me, I don’t feel much of anything.
    You can never be sick enough, poor enough, or beaten enough to help those less fortunate than you. The only way to empower others is by empowering yourself. Never apologize for the gifts that were bestowed upon you. Never punish yourself for your ability to love. Love is never a mistake—it is the epitome of grace—the highest power of all. It is the only thing that will lead us out of the darkness and into the light …
    The voice belongs to Valentina. And though I’d planned to let them beat me just a little bit longer before I got back to the business of removing their heads and ripping them to shreds, I realize she’s right.
    Redemption can never be won in this way.
    The best way to atone for my failures is by ridding the world of these foul-smelling, hate-filled, malevolent Richters.
    I’m up like a shot.
    My athame swaying before me as though conducting a glorious symphony heard only by me. Removing one head after another, knuckles repeatedly pounding into dead rancid flesh, as bodies fall all around me. So caught up in the melody, I hardly notice when the music has stopped and there’s not a single dance partner left.
    I just keep pounding bodies, snapping skeletons into small useless bits. Rendering them incapable of ever resurrecting again—ensuring the remains return to a