4. Matilda
4
MATILDA
The tremors stop.
All at once, like someone flipped a switch. The sudden silence is deafening. Even our heavy breathing seems too loud in the absolute stillness that follows.
“That can’t be good,” Luc mutters, already reaching for his clothes.
I’m about to agree when pain rips through me, flinging me off the bed. It feels like my blood is boiling, like something inside me is trying to claw its way out. Through my tears, I see my skin glowing with rainbow light, but where the purple is more vibrant.
“Matilda!” Draven reaches for me, but Vex pulls him back.
“Don’t touch her,” he warns. “Look.”
The air around me is crackling with energy, small arcs of purple lightning dancing across my skin. The power that’s been building since we weakened the curse further is suddenly overwhelming, like a dam about to burst.
Chaos bursts through the door, his form shifting rapidly between his usual Araxi shape and something darker, more primordial. He leaps onto the bed, his eyes fixed on something through the window.
The silence shatters as a horrendous screech echoes through MistHallow.
“We need to move,” Vex says. “Can you get up?”
“Yeah, it’s passed. For now.” I struggle to dress as another wave of power courses through me. My hands are shaking so badly I can barely manage the buttons. Luc takes over and clothes me instantly, the clothes sticking to my skin with static. Everything feels amplified. More so than usual around us. I can sense the magick running through MistHallow’s walls, feel the protective wards straining against something massive. I can see the runes that protect this place, the ancient magick, blood and sweat that was poured into this place.
“The curse is weakening faster than we anticipated. My power is trying to break free.”
Another screech, closer this time. Chaos growls, a sound I’ve never heard him make before.
“Something’s coming,” Luc says, moving to the window. “Something not good.”
“You don’t fucking say,” I grit out as Chaos leaps at me and clings to my top.
The temperature in the room plummets. Frost spreads across the windows in intricate patterns, forming faces that disappear before I can focus on them.
“We need to get to Blackthorn,” Vex starts, but before he can finish, the windows explode inward.
The thing that enters isn’t solid. It’s like looking at smoke given consciousness, darkness given form. It moves like oil on water, exquisite but ghastly. Where it touches the floor, reality ripples and distorts.
“Well, well. The Praxian lives again. We felt you calling, little sister.” The voice, like multiple voices layered over each other, is deep and resonant. Chaos hisses and snarls, eager to eat face, but there is no face for him to chomp on.
“I wasn’t calling anything,” I croak, every word feeling like glass in my throat.
The being laughs, the sound making my head ache. “Oh, but you were. Your very existence is a song to us. Chaos recognises chaos, after all.”
“What are you?” Vex demands, positioning himself between me and the entity, dark magick already bounding at his fingertips.
The smoke-like form swirls, condensing slightly into something vaguely humanoid. “We are what was before order. Before Hell and Heaven drew their neat little lines across reality. We are Chaos Incarnate.”
Okay, that was easy. Too easy. Usually it’s a drawn out process to figure out what these arseholes are. Is it good or bad that they admit it so freely?
Another wave of power crashes through me, and this time, I can’t contain the scream. Purple lightning arcs from my skin, shattering every light in the room.
The entity swirls nauseatingly. “Yes. Feel it. The power you were meant to wield. Why do you fight it?”
“I’m not fighting it!” I gasp, struggling to my feet. Chaos leaps to my shoulder, baring his teeth at this thing.
That gives it pause, as if it doesn’t understand.
It drifts closer, and Draven lets out a low rumble. “Get the fuck back.”
The entity’s attention shifts to him, and the temperature drops further. “The Hell spawn shouldn’t be involved. We were ancient when your kind first crawled from the pit.”
More screeching sounds from outside. Through the broken window, I see other dark forms circling MistHallow like vultures.
“Your siblings?” I ask, trying to keep it talking while I try to figure out what the fuck is happening with this power inside me. It’s like yearning and recoiling from this thing at the same time. Make your fucking mind up! Friend or foe?
“We are all siblings of chaos,” it replies. “And we have come to welcome you home.”
“This is my home,” I snap, and something in my voice makes the entity pause again.
It ripples, its form stretching and contracting. “I’m not talking to you , filth,” it spits out, to my shock. “The Praxian force inside you belongs to us. We were born from its impact, its first children, and now some abomination holds our creator’s power.”
“Abomination?” I roar, insulted. Call me a bitch, an arsehole, fine. But abomination rankles me hard. “I’ll give you a fucking abomination!” The magick rocks through me, but this time it feels defensive, protective, almost. The power inside me recoils from these beings, even as it recognises them.
It has chosen me.
With this realisation, I smile coldly. “Oh, you fuckers are going down.”
The entity’s form thrashes violently, and more of them seep through the windows, their dark forms making the room feel like it’s being crushed in a void. The temperature plummets further, with black ice covering every surface.
“That power is ours. It doesn’t belong to you.”
“Yeah, well, tell that to it. And Anu, and the Druids, and…” I count them off on my fingers. “…Bronwen, and Eldora?—”
“Silence!”
The Praxian thumps inside my head, trying to tell me something. Understanding floods my consciousness almost as if the Praxian has laid it there. These things might have been born from the Praxian force, but they don’t control it. They never did. They’re just its aftermath, its echoes.
“If this power belongs to you,” I say, drawing my rainbow lightning to my fingertips, “then come and fucking take it. ”
“Uhm, Tilly,” Vex snaps, backing up as the entities swirl violently, their forms becoming more erratic.
“You’re not its children,” I shout over Vex’s protests. “You’re its leftovers. The scraps it didn’t want.”
Their screech of rage is deafening, but I’m beyond caring.
“Matilda,” Vex warns, but I can hear the smile in his voice.
“You going to dance with me, or stand there with your dick in your hand?” I ask, earning a snort of amusement from Luc.
“It’s party time,” Luc says and shifts to his Devilish form, nearly knocking me over with his enormous wings.