I nodded quickly, then broke away from Izgath. I’d learned to lead over this past month, and I could do this. Morrt hovered nearby, offering me an encouraging half-grin as I raised my fingers to my lips and whistled through them. “Soldiers, to me!” I shouted. A dozen feet away, Izgath repeated the action, and beyond, Uzadaan did the same.

The river of males split into four smaller streams, three to us and the larger one beyond, where Dromak, Gnim, and Grex organized their units. A quick glance over my shoulder told me Jaku watched us all intently.

Morrt was the first in formation, followed quickly by the others who had belonged to Zurronar. The recruits from Stryi settled behind them. “Listen up, our Parancsok is coming to assess us. Appearances are important, and you need to look sharp. No fucking around. Eyes and backs straight, attention focused on your task. Puff up those chests and think about who you are. Soldiers of the Demon army!”

In unison, they beat their chests and shouted, the sound carrying with it a charged, excited air. Without waiting, I spun on my heel and led us in the direction of the gathering, trying to channel the energy and attitude ricocheting between us into my self confidence. The footsteps behind me sounded more like a death knell than the formidable force they were supposed to be—but that was only my interpretation. Compared to some of the other units, mine was sharp and precise, and I was grateful for the guidance of the others in making them this way.

Females weren’t given much in this world. It was only because I was pretending to be a male that I had anything at all. And no matter what happened next, I would remember the power flowing through my veins in that moment, how good it felt to lead, to command, and that it was possible for someone like me to do it.

As we lined up for inspection, whispers were absent, as if the seriousness of our situation bled into the pores of every new recruit. The only sound was the rhythmic marching of boots against the rocky earth, shaking loose stones beneath our feet. Yet we couldn’t look down at them to ensure our footing. We were soldiers now, and we had to act like it. Every gaze was straight forward, every weapon fastened in its place, and every oiled piece of armor shone in the late afternoon light.

Situated on the rolling hills, the Demon army appeared like an ocean of rage, ready to crash against the shores of the Angel Realm and capture what was ours. With the angle, perfectly straight lines were impossible, and yet the fervor, the organization, the dedication was unmistakable. It hung in the air like the salty spray of the waves after they collided with massive, immovable rocks.

These males were prepared and willing to die for one another and the rest of our realm.

In front of all the Százados, a break in the sea of bodies would allow the Parancsok to walk through and examine each squad. I locked eyes with another Vezető across the way. A subtle dip of his chin acknowledged me, and I returned the gesture before peeking over my shoulder at the males under my command. They stood dutifully at attention, waiting for what was to come.

A breeze swept across us, nearly yanking a shiver from my body. But it wasn’t the sudden gust that caused my lungs to constrict. No, it was the sight of twelve horses cresting a hill in the distance.

And at the front, a lone black beast surged forward, foam frothing around his bit. Two red-eyed hounds raced alongside him.

And atop his back was the most monstrous male I’d ever seen.

An ebony carved skull hid most of his face, with wicked horns spearing into the air behind him. Burgundy eyes ignited as he ensnared all present in his wicked aura. Time slowed to a crawl, each thud of his horse’s hooves against the ground sounding more like a death knell.

No one needed to speak the male’s name aloud, for there was no denying who it was.

The Halálhívó.

The Fates-given hero of the Demons with the power to raise the dead.

A cold sweat dripped down my spine as I remained fixated on him. He was every bit as intimidating as the others had painted him to be.

The Halálhívó came to a stop. So too did the world.

The army held a collective breath as he dismounted, unearthly in how fluidly he moved and with a lethality that only came with cold-blooded killing. I had to dig my fingers into my palms to prevent the tremor that wanted to wrack my frame as he approached.

With the barest of slits revealing his violent burgundy eyes, it was impossible to discern what he thought of his new army. The fear that settled deep in my gut told me nothing pleased him except blood.

At his heels, the two dogs matched his long stride, both their gazes trained straight ahead. Long, sleek black fur coated their bodies, and as one pulled back his lips to lick them, he flashed rows of sharp fangs meant for ripping flesh.

As he entered the line of soldiers, each fell to one knee, lowering their foreheads to their forearms in an offer of deference to the Halálhívó. Terror held me so firmly in its grasp that I nearly missed kneeling with my squad. As he passed, the army breathed, and my knees wobbled as I straightened. Like he was the center of the world, I couldn’t look anywhere else as a rippling wave of bodies continued to kneel and rise.

“Vagach,” Izgath hissed beside me, and I snapped my attention forward once again as a male I assumed was Jaku’s superior officer approached. He took his time examining each squad around us, stopping to speak with the other Százados.

Finally, he reached us. We offered him a salute, then resettled into our attentive stances. “Százados Jaku,” he greeted our leader. “I trust that your journey was uneventful?”

“Aye, Parancsok Olet. I bring to you two thousand new recruits,” he replied.

“And how many will be slotted for enhanced training?” Parancsok Olet asked. That was the euphemism they had been using around the war camp for those of us with more useful powers on the battlefield. A day’s worth of overheard conversations was enough to learn that those with cardinal and crimson eyes were considered disposable.

“Roughly one hundred and eighty, sir,” Jaku said, chest puffing.

If Parancsok Olet was pleased or displeased with the number, he didn’t show it. His armor was different from the Halálhívó’s, and even the others who walked past him and spoke with other Százados. The metal matched his maroon eyes, and other than the black armor that adorned the Halálhívó, every high ranking officer’s attire mirrored the orbs in their skulls. None boasted a helmet like his either. If they wore one, it had a visor to reveal their face, or it remained tucked under their arm as they spoke to their subordinates.

Filing that information away for later, I returned my attention to their conversation.

“Tomorrow, separate out those under your command. We must make haste with the Angel army now past Lutsk,” Parancsok Olet ordered, letting his gaze drift past Jaku to examine each of us individually. I straightened ever so slightly under his heavy regard, hoping to remain unremarkable and missable. At my back, I sensed the males in my unit do the same.

“Yes, sir,” Jaku replied, offering him another salute.

Parancsok Olet dipped his chin, then strolled on to the next Százados. I couldn’t help but return my attention to the terrifying Halálhívó, now on the verge of cresting a nearby hill. He stopped suddenly and spun to face one of the males teetering on the hillside. In one long stride, he towered over the male, and I gulped, fear licking its way up my spine and gripping my lungs for him.

The male nearly bent backward in an attempt to put space between them, his face devoid of all color. One of the dogs growled, then feinted a lunge toward him. To his credit, he didn’t jump backward or fall apart, as I most certainly would have under the intense scrutiny the Halálhívó offered. As soon as it had begun, it was over, and he strode away, his powerful footsteps shaking the ground beneath him.