Chapter Thirty-one #2
He doesn’t need to answer. His grim expression says it all.
Whatever this monstrosity is, anyone can see it, not just an Emo. Which means it’s something far worse than anything I’ve encountered before.
“We need to get inside the temple! Now, before it attacks!” he shouts over his shoulder at me.
“But … we need a crystal star,” I argue.
“We’ll deal with it.” He breaks into a sprint, his long strides cutting across the uneven graveyard, aiming for the entrance.
I can’t keep up. My legs feel like they’re filled with lead. My muscles scream, and my chest burns. It’s the darkness. It’s leeching something from me, draining the energy from my body as if it’s feeding off my very essence.
I trip on a jagged grave, and Taron is there to catch me. His hand clamps around my arm, pulling me upright with desperate strength.
“Come on,” he says, glancing over his shoulder, first at Kara and Savannah storming from the left, then at the remainder of the teams closing in on the right.
But I can barely hear him over the rush of blood in my ears. What is this dark entity doing to me?
I glance up, eyes barely focusing through the haze clouding my vision. The entity unfurls further, now in front of the temple, halting everyone in their tracks.
A monstrous silhouette takes form, a grotesque body twisting and contorting as it slithers through the air with unearthly speed.
It traces wide circles around the edge of the graveyard, like a predator surrounding us.
Jagged limbs scrape against the trees, shredding bark and leaving deep gouges in the trunks.
Its eyes – four glowing embers – burn with a malevolent hunger, and its gaping mouth is a pitch-black void.
The sight of it stirs something in my mind. Ancient legends, tales told in taverns as a means of entertainment. Of a creature spawned from the death of a dragon. A Nightshade. An ancient terror, a Soul Wraith born from darkness, death and pain so immense, its form is visible to anyone.
I gasp when the Nightshade streaks through the trees behind us, and Taron pulls me closer, his grip around my arm tightening.
His breathing is ragged, his face ashen. I recognize the throbbing veins spreading on the inside of his neck to frame the sides of his face. He’s overexerted himself. Of course he has. He nearly died back there in the river, before we kissed.
“We need to move,” he says.
But I can’t. My strength is gone. The Nightshade’s presence wraps around me, a suffocating cold that sinks into my bones, rooting me to the spot.
“Taron,” I whisper, “I can’t—”
He reaches for me. There’s a desperation in his gaze I’ve never seen before. He doesn’t say anything. He just pulls me against him, arm wrapped around my waist, holding me upright as we stagger forward together.
Behind us, the Nightshade lets out a bone-chilling shriek. It’s a sound that vibrates through the ground and rattles in my skull. The beast swoops along the edge of the graveyard to our right – it’s getting closer.
“What the hell is that thing?” Gunther shouts.
“Less talking, more running!” Gigi replies.
Everyone is fleeing now, sprinting to the temple as fast as their legs will carry them. I spot Cyrus and Gideon behind us, their faces washed of colour as they dash through the labyrinth of gravestones.
Kara and Savannah race near them. They’re catching up, and they’re all faster than me, especially now that I struggle to breathe.
But even faster than Kara and Savannah is the Nightshade. From the corner of my eye, I see limbs like tendrils of pure shadow, writhing and stretching, extending towards the group. A hissing sound cuts through the air, and my blood runs cold.
I heave in panic, but the air is too thick to fill my lungs. It presses against my skin, squeezing whatever breath I have left right out of me.
Taron weaves his fingers through mine, squeezing tightly as he urges me on. But the weight of the Nightshade presses against me. I can feel its pull, its insatiable hunger. It’s draining me, sapping my energy with every passing second. Then I hear a piercing scream.
My neck swivels. Gigi and Gunther are caught in the Nightshade’s grasp, its shadowy tendrils wrapping tightly around their bodies. Gigi thrashes. Their fiery-red hair is wild as they struggle against the creature. It’s no use.
The darkness is feeding on them, draining their energy entirely. Their skin pales, face contorting in agony.
“Gigi!” Gunther’s shout is hoarse, and the Nightshade pulls him in, too. Its grasp tightens until both of them are swallowed whole by the darkness.
I watch their bodies fall limp, drained – extinguished like flickering flames.
“They’re gone,” I whisper, but my voice is far away. My knees buckle, and Taron yanks me forward.
“We need to keep moving,” he says.
But the Nightshade isn’t done. It surges towards us, closing the gap on our group faster than we can run.
Kara and Savannah are stumbling, tripping, throwing themselves forward by any means necessary. Cyrus is nimble, dodging through the graves. Gideon follows his every footstep, and the pair manage to pull ahead of us.
I clench my jaw as panic curls around my throat. It’s desperation, terror and something else – something darker.
It’s like the Nightshade is seeping into me, not just draining my strength but leaving something behind, something I can almost touch. Its presence isn’t just a force; it’s a taste, a sensation that clings to my skin, my throat, my mind. Anger. Power. A taste for blood.
Then it hits me. What I’ve been feeling all along, and why its presence has been affecting me this way.
It’s the Nightshade itself. Its emotions. The lingering vision of a breathless dragon meeting a cruel and violent end at the hands of ruthless elementals.
The Nightshade was never feeding on me. I’ve been feeding on it – the way I do with any Soul Wraith. Taking in its pain, its hunger. It’s connected to me, somehow. And maybe that means … I can control it.
“Wait!” I stop him. “I think … I want to try something.”
“What are you doing?” His voice is strained, but there’s no time to explain.
The Nightshade roars behind us. It’s a blur. A storm of its tendrils sweep through the air like wild snakes. I sharpen my focus. I reach deep until I find the pull of darkness inside of me. Then I reach even deeper.
Beneath the panic and fear twisting in my chest, something else blooms, far more insidious. It oozes into my bones. I can taste it in my mouth.
Bitter, acrid, metallic, like I’ve bitten into a mouthful of iron and ash. I try to swallow, but it’s cloying. And the sensation only spreads deeper. It feels ancient and malevolent. It’s a dragon’s soul, burrowed deep within the Nightshade.
I don’t know how I’m doing it – until now, I didn’t even know I could – but instead of drinking in the Nightshade’s energy and using it to conjure something physical like a weapon, I’m allowing it to interweave with my mind.
I accept the Nightshade’s pain as my own and, with it, its thoughts.
Its will.
My hands tremble, but the energy responds. Slowly, the swirling mass of shadows shifts, bending to my silent command.
I grit my teeth. My body strains. I redirect the Nightshade away from Taron and me, and towards the other teams.
Cyrus and Gideon barely have time to react.
The Nightshade curls its wispy tendrils around them and flings them through the air.
They land with a sickening crunch among the gravestones.
Kara is next. She backs up, but the Nightshade is upon her, dark limbs reaching for her.
Savannah screams. She summons darts of sand from the earth and fires them at the beast. But the Nightshade easily absorbs the spikes.
Its hazy form shrinks briefly, as though it’s taking a deep inhale. Then an exhale comes in the form of a bone-chilling roar that reverberates through the graveyard.
As the beast’s form expands again, Savannah’s spikes are fired back at twice the speed. She stamps her foot on the ground, and a feeble wall of dirt shoots up in defence. It deflects the spikes, but she’s overexerted herself.
Savannah falls forward on her knees, and I silently order the Nightshade to ensnare her. Then Kara, then Cyrus, then Gideon. They’re all lifted off the ground, held captive in the air by the withering tendrils of darkness.
My head throbs. “Crystal stars,” I mutter. “Grab their crystals…”
I try to cling to my connection with the Nightshade, but the effort of controlling it is too much. My vision blurs, my knees weakening.
Taron coaxes two halves of a crystal star from Cyrus’s utility belt and guides them through the air into his hand. He tightens his hold on my waist to keep me upright. “Are you controlling it? How are you doing this?” he asks, and his voice is filled with awe. But there’s fear in his eyes, too.
“I don’t know,” I breathe, barely able to get the words out. “But I don’t think I can hold on much longer…”
Taron lifts me off the ground and cradles me in his arms. He places the united halves of the crystal into the gleaming slot at the temple’s entrance and, as he carries me inside, my head rolls back. Everything goes dark.