39. Chapter Thirty Nine
Chapter Thirty Nine
Evandra
“Are we ready?” I whispered, my voice steady despite the tension coiled in my chest. Fen was crouched near the bars of her cell, her eyes gleaming with determination.
“As ready as we’ll ever be,” she muttered, her knuckles white around the crude bone shard in her hand.
Felix knelt beside her, his hands glowing faintly as he whispered a quiet prayer under his breath.
A door creaked open down the hall. My breath caught as the sound echoed through the oppressive silence.
A Vyrmin sauntered into view, its hulking, twisted frame illuminated by the faint torchlight.
Its horns coiled grotesquely from its forehead, remnants of whatever Hellwrought it had once been.
Now, though, it looked ill, its skin sallow and stretched tightly over sharp bones.
Dead, almost. Yet its glowing red eyes betrayed a flicker of life, malicious and unwavering.
Its guard was down, not knowing I’d been honing my magic for months.
“This is it.” I whispered as we all sank back, feigning sleep as the creature’s uneven footsteps approached. My heart hammered in my chest, but I forced my breathing to slow, my body stilling. The metallic rattle of the keys at its hip made every nerve in my body scream.
It stopped just outside my cell, its breath ragged and wet.
Now. This was my chance. I willed myself into its mind.
The effort was immediate and draining; the creature’s corrupted thoughts were like tar —thick and resistant.
My temples throbbed, but I pushed harder, letting the urgency of the moment drive me through the resistance.
Keys.
The command lashed out like a whip. The Vyrmin froze mid-step, its claws twitching as its mind grappled with my intrusion.
It fumbled awkwardly at its waistband, the jangling sound of keys rattling through the corridor.
I pressed harder, visualizing my thoughts clamping down on it like a vice.
Sweat dripped down my temple as I forced the creature to pluck the ring of keys from its belt.
Give them to me.
My voice echoed through its mind, sharp and unrelenting.
The Vyrmin’s movements were jerky, mechanical, as it shuffled to the bars of my cell.
Its claws scraped against the floor as it tossed the keys inside.
The moment they hit the stone floor, the creature clutched its head and let out a screeching howl of pain.
Black blood began to pour from its nose, thick and viscous, but I couldn’t stop. I wouldn’t stop.
Rage boiled within me—rage at my captivity, at Vyper, at the lies and betrayals that had led me here. I channeled it all into my grip on the creature’s mind, squeezing tighter, harder. Its shrieks grew more desperate, echoing down the corridor, until finally, its body convulsed.
With a sickening thud, it collapsed to the floor, its lifeless form sprawled grotesquely in the flickering light. Silence filled the corridor, heavy and oppressive. I hadn’t meant to kill it. But I didn’t stop, either. I wondered for a moment if this would haunt me. But I don’t have time for guilt.
I turned to Fen and Felix, panting from the strain of what I’d just done. Their wide eyes met mine, a mixture of fear and disbelief etched across their faces.
“Good Gods,” Fen muttered, her voice barely audible. Awe lingered there, though unease flickered sharp beneath it. “Remind me never to piss you off.”
I ignored her, swallowing hard as I grabbed the keys. My hands trembled slightly, but I forced them steady. The metallic clicks of the locks shattered the silence, and then we were free.
Stepping into the corridor was surreal, the freedom of movement almost foreign after days of confinement.
The hallway stretched ahead in uneven stone, its walls slick with mildew and gouged deep where Vyrmin claws had dragged along the surface.
Torches sputtered weakly in their sconces, shadows twisting into grotesque shapes that slithered with each flicker of Riftlight.
The air was thick—heavy with rust, rot, and the metallic tang of old blood baked into the mortar.
We picked our way past the felled Vyrmin’s corpse, its body already stinking of rot and sulfur, the silence pressing close as though the dungeon itself resented our escape.
As we neared the end of the hallway, Fen raised a hand, halting us mid-step. Her gaze fixed on a heavy, iron-banded door to the left. “Wait. This is where they put my blades.”
Nodding, I hurried forward and fumbled with the ring of keys. Each scrape of iron against iron echoed like a scream in the suffocating quiet, my urgency making the metal clatter louder than it should. At last, one turned, and the lock gave way with a reluctant click.
The door groaned open to reveal a cramped evidence room choked with confiscated weapons and belongings.
The air inside was stale, thick with dust and the sour scent of despair—as though the grief of every Riftborn stripped of their steel still lingered here.
Blades dulled with neglect hung on the walls beside battered shields, and crates overflowed with trinkets and tools robbed from prisoners long dead.
In one corner, a half-collapsed rack leaned drunkenly under the weight of confiscated swords, their edges kissed with rust. The place felt more like a tomb than an armory—a graveyard of forgotten battles waiting to be claimed by desperate hands.
Fen moved quickly, her eyes scanning the shelves.
After a moment, she let out a triumphant huff, pulling out her gem-encrusted daggers.
Without hesitation, she dropped to her knees, drawing precise runes on the blades with her finger.
As soon as the symbols were complete, the daggers lifted into the air, hovering like sentinels at her side.
With a flick of her wrist, they slashed and twisted through the air, their sharp edges gleaming.
I couldn’t tear my eyes away. “That’s... incredible.”
Fen smirked, the faintest glimmer of pride flickering across her face. I turned back to the shelves. Among the clutter, I found a pair of daggers that felt right in my hands—balanced, sharp, deadly. Felix rummaged through another corner, pocketing a few small vials and tools.
Once we were armed, we slipped out of the evidence room and into an adjoining chamber. The walls here seemed to close in, the air growing heavier with the unmistakable scent of damp stone and rot.
“Where’s the pit?” I whispered, my voice barely audible.
“Under the tower.” Fen’s tone was grim. “This way.”
We pressed forward, reaching a spiraling staircase at the far end of the hall.
The sound of chains clinking in the distance made my heart skip a beat, followed by low, guttural growls that sent shivers racing down my spine.
Fen crouched low and held up her hand, signaling us to stop.
She peered around the corner before quickly retreating.
“Guards,” she hissed.
My pulse quickened as adrenaline surged through me. Fen and I exchanged a glance, unspoken understanding passing between us. We crouched behind the doorway, readying ourselves. As soon as the guards lumbered closer, Fen launched into action.
Her gemmed daggers became a blur of lethal precision, spinning and slicing through the air. The first Vyrmin let out a choked roar as the blades punctured its chest, dark ichor spilling onto the floor. Fen controlled the weapons with an effortless grace, each movement calculated and deadly.
The second guard lunged toward her, but I sprang forward.
I drew on the techniques Drake had taught me; I sidestepped its attack and drove my dagger deep into its side.
The creature howled, swinging its grotesque claws at me.
I ducked and twisted, slashing upward and severing its arm.
It fell to the ground with a final, guttural cry.
As the chaos subsided, I straightened, panting and clutching my daggers.
My thoughts drifted to Drake, his voice echoing in my mind, guiding me through every movement.
His face flashed before me, and warmth flooded my chest despite the carnage around me.
I couldn’t wait to see him again—to apologize and tell him how I really felt.
Fen’s voice snapped me back to reality. “Nice work, Seer,” she gave me a curt nod, wiping the blood off one of her floating blades.
I glanced down at the bodies, a chill creeping into my spine. I hadn’t ever wanted to take a life, no matter how evil the life was, but there was no choice now. Every step forward took us closer to the pit, to the Riftborn prisoners that needed freeing. I hated that I almost liked it.
We moved cautiously down the dimly lit hallway toward the descending staircase when a sharp, metallic scent hit me, the same one that always preceded a vision. My stomach twisted, and I froze mid-step.
“Not now. Damn it!” I hissed through clenched teeth as a familiar tug pulled behind my eyes. Panic surged—I gripped the wall, bracing myself—but this time, the Rift didn’t drag me under. It opened.
Images surged forward, blinding and sharp—but unlike before, I could shape it. I’d trained for this. I focused. I took what Ness had showed me and really tried.
The vision stabilized. Chains. Darkness. The faint, flickering glow of a cracked lantern.
Avod hung from the stone wall like a discarded weapon, head slumped forward, blood crusted at his temple. His breathing was shallow. His wrists were torn raw from the shackles. Every inch of him screamed pain and exhaustion, but he was still alive. Still fighting.
And then— The perspective shifted.
I looked down through eyes—not mine—though they were—and saw Drake’s body. My body? His. Muscles straining. Legs limp. Arms yanked over his head, cuffed in iron. His mouth was bloodied—one eye swollen shut. The chains groaned as he shifted slightly, instinctively testing his restraints.