"I can take them on myself! You all stay back!" Joseph's voice thundered from the front of their camp and across the scorching desert, his silver armor catching the sun's glare as he raised his sword toward the approaching horde of beasts.
Then, without warning, his body crumpled to the sand. Violent convulsions wracked him, and a raw, tortured scream tore from his throat, like the cry of a trapped spirit.
"Fuck, I take it back!" he gasped, agony etched deep into every word as the searing pain of his shackle finally eased.
To Damien's right, Blythe buried her face in her palm, muttering under her breath, "Every time…"
Well, it wasn't hard to guess this fool's sin, Damien thought, a wry smile tugging at his lips.
Joseph pushed himself up, brushing sand off the long, black sleeves beneath his armor; his tone regained its sharp edge.
"Everyone, get ready."
