Chapter 41 #2
I drive the sword deeper, digging deep within myself in the way I’d tried to many times before and failed.
But I know the spark when it ignites; my magic roars to life, burns down my arms, and surges into the blade.
A fleeting rush of relief washes over me as Lrozyn bellows in pain, but it vanishes in an instant.
Talons tear through the armor on my back, each striking like a hundred searing arrows.
An unbearable heat flares from the gashes leaking blood into my clothes.
My mind goes numb, and I’m sure if I could see, this would be the moment where my vision blackens.
I shriek as more copper-tasting liquid shoots from my lips.
It isn’t strength, but adrenaline that keeps my grip on the sword, my body dangling like an ornament from the beast’s body as it thrashes its claws again and again at my back.
Screams rip through my throat, and hot tears streak from my eyes.
I am shredded and sundered, until I lose my grip on the sword at last.
My body cracks against the ground, broken.
I choke and cough on more of my lifeblood.
Ether’s voice howls in pain. The longer I listen, the more I realize I don’t hear it. The absence of all sound fills me with peace.
I’m fading away.
Have you given up? A voice rings in my head. It’s so clear, I jolt from its suddenness.
Who are you?
The voice doesn’t answer my question. Your father wishes you to die here. You have the mighty eluviam of a human king and an immortal elven queen thrumming within you. Unless you pick yourself up, he will consume it. He himself will become immortal.
My body remains still as tears spill endlessly from my eyes. I feel my body convulse every few seconds as blood wets the slate.
You cannot die here , the voice says, intense. I’ve helped you before. Your ring. Remember?
Yes, I do remember. The voice had convinced me to remove the heirloom. But my mind cannot comprehend why.
The ring was charmed to restrict you. To contain your eluviam. To destroy your potential. You have so much more strength than you understand , the voice explains.
Blood pools over my tongue, and I try to swallow it, but it quickly regurgitates along with the lunch I’d nervously eaten with Ronan.
Where is that strength now? How can I save Ether? How can I call upon this strength you speak of when I cannot move?
The voice is silent, as though thinking of a reply.
Are you acquainted with Qor? Are you another elven warrior? I ask, but I feel myself slipping.
The voice remains quiet, and my heart slows.
Finally, he speaks with haste. You will die here if you don’t let me help you. I need you to listen carefully. Don’t die. Not yet.
I breathe in, smelling the acid in my vomit. Tasting it on my tongue. I gag.
My head pounds.
Hurry, then , is all I think.
You must give me access to your body. I have the power to heal you, but I am only a spirit with no vessel. I need your consent to do so.
My heart stops. My eyes drift shut.
Ramiel!
I blink open, and when that familiar darkness welcomes me, a numbness spreads through my limbs. I am…dying. This is death.
I ought to welcome it, but something itches at the back of my mind. Something important.
“Ramiel!” Ether’s piercing cry breaks through. My body convulses to life, revived by a scalding heat in my forearm.
I address the voice in my head. I have to win this . Do what you must.
I may come to regret it, but right now I can’t possibly think of how. If this being can save me, I must at least try.
The voice does not respond. But a new energy slides in next to my sputtering heart.
It is stronger, wiser.
Darker.
My limbs scrape the ground beneath me, and my ears begin to clear enough for me to hear the crowd cheering. Ether is crying. Ronan is shouting something I cannot hear.
My wound begins to close up on my side, sutured together with magic. My hand lifts to my helmet, and the blood dribbles from the bottom, emptying onto the ground.
I still cannot see, but I say nothing.
From this moment, my movements are no longer my own. I observe as my arms spread out, my waist bending forward to pick up my sword from the slick ground.
All it takes is a single thrust forward, and the dragon reels a death cry before collapsing to its final resting place.
The crowd cheers, the king bellows, and Ether roars.
We’re going to eat its eluviam, the voice informs me, unfazed by our win. It will restore your sight.
So Ether had been right , I think to myself. The voice confirms with a grunt.
My hand reaches into the marred flesh of the beast, past organs that squelch with warmth and soak through the fabric part of my gauntlet. Its eluviam is large and round and hot.
I lift the helmet’s visor and shove the mound harshly into my mouth. It goes smoothly down my throat with one gulp. The taste of it is like dirt and water and salt, but it is better than the vomit’s stench stinging my nostrils.
The visor clanks unceremoniously over my mouth.
One blink, and the world fades into view.
Color overwhelms me—the dragon’s shiny, black body lies limp in front of me, a substantial portion of its chest carved open.
The sky is blue, but the horizon is painted with orange and red as the sun makes its descent.
Tears pour from my eyes and roll over my cheeks.
I don’t get to admire the gift of sight for long.
My body turns, jolting abnormally toward the king.
I blink, and a crushing pressure shoves me into the recesses of my mind. Where I once tasted and felt, albeit without control over my body, I am now severed entirely, unable to experience anything firsthand. It’s as though I’ve become a spectator to my own existence, powerless and adrift.
Panic seizes me.
What are you doing? We won. Give me my body back.
The spirit does not respond.
My hand lifts and points at the king, who squints down at me with disapproval.
“It would appear as though the prophecy you so desperately tried to keep from us has been foretold,” words barrel from my mouth, not my own. They’re thicker, infected with a darkness I’m horrifically beginning to understand.
The king’s eyes widen in an expression of terror, one I’ve never seen cross his stoic features.
“Fortunately, it isn’t in the way you imagined it would,” the voice cackles from my lips.
My hand flicks to one side, and a crack of lightning—bright and blue—shoots toward my father. It slices violently through his neck, shredding skin and bone. The strike is so swift, he doesn’t even have time to scream.
The crowd erupts into chaos as their king’s severed head tumbles from his body, then topples from the platform and drops down the steps until it finally comes to rest several yards before me.
A finger of terror scratches a line down my spine.
You’re going to have to be tougher than this if we’re going to work together , the voice warns me.
This wasn’t a part of the deal! I scream at him.
What, did you think I’d pass up the opportunity to possess the body of the most powerful halfling in all of Arioch? After waiting for so long?
My body shakes violently, responding to my very real fear, the panic that shoots through my veins.
And here I thought you were smarter. Of course I took the chance as soon as you offered it to me.
The mark on my arm burns. My head twitches toward it, and a growl rumbles in my throat.
To all who can hear me, come out. The noble gallery is yours to take. The voice is not addressing me.
All at once, mages appear from nothingness and glide across the arena. With quick movements, the mages slaughter the entire crowd. Those running don’t make it far. Some are sliced in half, some strangled under the grasp of shadows thrust at them.
A mixture of horror and triumph battle within me—one my emotion, the other belonging to the demon controlling me.
I approach the king’s head. His eyes are open, glossy. His mouth hangs open. Blood pools beneath the jagged flesh at his neck.
Bending down with a smile that warps my face, I pluck the crown from his head and place it on my own. It’s heavy and cold, but it feels good. It feels right .
The Feast meant to announce an heir has become a far more intriguing coronation, the voice laughs.
What was that prophecy you spoke of? I ask as a coldness fills me. I’m not sure I want to know the answer.
A pity you never heard of it. You see, the voice says with boredom, when your mother died, she took the secret with her.
A prediction that one of us would kill our father and take the kingdom for ourselves.
There was no oversight, not until the king discovered you had more value than I.
That he could kill you quickly and receive immortality, seizing power for eternity.
My mind races.
He’d said our father.
You’re… You’re ?—
He laughs aloud, using my mouth to do so. The resulting sound is soul-numbing.
So you’ve finally figured it out?
But, why ?—
He uses my hand to wave away my question. That’s enough. There’s no time.
I glance at my right arm again, then tear through the armor with inhuman strength. Fabric and metal fall to the ground, revealing the glowing mark.
This is quite an inconvenience, the voice ripples, amused.
My body twists to the side and centers on Ether.
Her hair is undone, long and silvery. Have I ever seen it in its full glory? The shade of it is nearly blinding. She’d mentioned it briefly before, the mystery behind its glamor. The way she’s had to hide it so the obvious target on her back doesn’t grow. Seeing it now, I?—
Her eyes are black. She grips her arm with such force, her glowing mark bleeds. Her legs are bent, prepared to run. But something keeps her here.
Ronan stands next to her, his sword raised. At me.
A mage whisks in front of me and latches onto Ether, pulling her to the ground.
I begin to walk toward her. For a moment, I’m convinced I have control over my body once again. Then my hand lifts, fingers extending outward as power snaps around my fingers.
“We can’t have you holding me back,” Xavelor snarls, voice low and venomous.
No!
But it’s too late. With a quick flourish, the magic blasts from my hand, hurtling directly at Ether.
To my horror, Ronan drops his sword and dives forward before the death blow hits her. He takes the brunt of the damage in his shoulder, his body shuddering to the ground. His eyes squeeze shut, and he groans in pain.
I stagger backward.
Ether trembles.
My mouth falls open.
“G-go!” I scream.
My eyes widen when I realize the sound comes out. Do I have control again?
My mind is silent. Has he left me?
No, I’m just getting used to you. This body. How much of my power you can take.
I hiccup.
My eyes lock with Ether’s.
“It’s Xavelor. He—” My eyes squeeze shut, and my hands scramble to tear off the helmet. My head throbs, fighting for control. It feels as though every muscle in my body is being yanked by an invisible force, and if I don’t give in, I’ll be stretched until I snap.
I’ll damn myself to the seven hells before I let my brother hurt her.
I cry out, my lungs heaving for air. “Go! He wants to kill you, and I can’t…” My mouth goes dry as I blink away tears, struggling against the pull at my consciousness. Phantom hands claw at my throat, threatening to drown me in Xavelor’s oppressive grasp. “I can’t hold him much longer.”
Ether glances at Ronan, her eyes glassy as she nods. She pulls her knife from where she’s sheathed it and easily drills it into the mage holding her. The being crumples to the ground, moaning.
I keep my body completely still, afraid that any movement may trigger a lapse in my control.
Her arm goes under Ronan, who winces when she lifts him.
One last look over her shoulder as she says with a strained voice, “Fight him. With everything you have.”
Her eyes remain black as she carries him away.
I use all my strength to keep Xavelor at bay. Until I no longer see her. Until everyone around me is dead. Until the mages surround me, silent. Patiently awaiting orders. Orders that will never come, if I can help it.
I hold on until my vision blackens, the wound reopening at my side. Death flashing before my eyes once more.
It’s all a part of his plan. He lost his body so he could make use of mine, and he waited until the moment I couldn’t afford to refuse.
Now he waits again, like a coward, afraid to fight whatever power he believes sleeps within me.
Instead, he waits for me to surrender it all to him, because in the end… he knows I will.
My blood continues to spill, control slipping from my grasp.
No , I plead. Not yet.
Seconds scrape by. My wound throbs, sending impulses along my arms.
Tears stain my cheeks, and my head tilts toward the gray sky.
Then I collapse.