41. Flames of the Wicked
Flames of the Wicked
Rumor Malefic
After their battle in the throne room left the gray wither limping towards the town—I’d implored the Blackthornes to help Willowspire.
“Help my sister,” I panted, still dizzy from the crackles of dark magic still lingering in the air. “Help the people of the town.”
The three lords regarded me from the dais, a hierarchy of evil embodying them.
Immortal personifications of power I could scarcely wrap my mind around.
It took the three of them, and my occasional clumsy Requiem spell, just to injure the gray wither into retreating.
Yet now, he fumbled towards the very town I fought to protect—while the other had stolen my sister—again.
I’d about had it with these fucking monsters—the Blackthorne Boys included.
I’d begged them to come to my aid. I’d hexed them. I’d used my feminine and dark prowess to manipulate and persuade them to my cause.
Help, please.
Yet it dawned on me, having just watched them delight in the bloodshed of their dark magic, help wasn’t what they were interested in at all, was it?
“Curious, isn’t it,” Spade drawled, shadows weaving between his fingers as he took his seat on his dark throne. “You and your sister, both sacrificed to monsters, propelled toward your marriage rites.”
“I wasn’t sacrificed,” I argued weakly, standing in a puddle of wither blood.
Riot leaned on his fist while on his ivory throne. “Are you so sure? Did your coven not send you to us?”
Horror at the parallels between my sister and me rose to the surface of my soul.
My magic unfurled in response, teasing the words in its ethers.
Had I likewise been a monster sacrifice?
Had my coven sought to… get rid of me? Twenty crossed his arms, not taking his place on his silver throne, only leveling me with his gaze.
I sucked in a breath, knowing I’d likely soon meet my end as I made my way toward the throne room’s exit.
The door I leaned against didn’t require a key dagger, it didn’t ask for a whispered truth, yet with one of my final moments, I offered it to the men, the daimons, behind me.
“I believe, somehow, I’ve come to love you.
All three of you. With time… I’m not sure which of you I’d choose…
though I fear that time will no longer be afforded to me.
Not with what I’m about to do.” Knowing my sister was back in the claws of a wretched wither, I regarded their shocked expressions.
I spoke with finality to the daimons, the midnight nightmares thrashing in chains, waiting for someone like me to break their spell.
“If you won’t help… will you help me burn it all down, instead?
Because that’s what I intend to do now.”
I didn’t wait for their answer.
I left my truth and my confession in the pool of monster blood at their feet. My own bloody offering.
They didn’t follow.
Never once in my time at the Blackthorne Castle had they bent to my pleas for help.
Yet that night, in the square in Willowspire, the daimons showed up to burn it down for me. I’d lured them out with the promises of ruin… and I couldn’t have been more thankful for unleashing their darkness. Somehow, I’d done it… I’d unchained the Blackthorne Daimons.
In my affections, hexes, or magic—they were finally on my side.
They clashed in fang, horn, and fury with the withers. Magic mingled with the tormented and demented sounds of skin ripping and blood spilling.
My sister screamed as Vore took a beating—even so, even with the daimons devilish power, the withers were brutal warriors, attacking swiftly and stealthily. The daimons were an inch from winning, I was sure of it, when to my horror, several more roars tore across Willowspire.
Six more withers stalked into the square from all sides of us. Twenty was next to me in a flash. “We’re fucked,” he breathed, panting. “I’ve held them off as long as I could, holding up the wards.”
The daimons backed up, taking in their opponents, when across the way I spotted my crone. Desperately, I ran to her as she tried to hide, ducking into a shop. “Empath! Empath, the coven has to help. Where are the witches?”
My crone shook her head, eyes wide. “You are no coven member of mine. I sent you away, Rumor, to rid Willowspire of your darkness—yet you have brought it to our front door.”
Anger roiled inside me. “You’re really going to sit by and do nothing? I guess I shouldn’t be too surprised, it’s what the witches here have always done.”
“You have brought evil straight to us, child.”
Shoving me back, she slammed the door, and I heard the click of a heavy lock.
My coven—my old coven—were cowards. I was glad to not be a part of their love and light bullshit any longer. Roars and flashes of black and white zipped behind me. The ground trembled and stones cracked as withers and daimons fought.
I searched the commotion for my sister, coming up short.
Until finally, I spotted a dark mass moving away from the fight, blonde hair spilling over his arm.
“Oh, no you don’t,” I said lowly, sprinting past a bloodied, red wither with horns.
Goddess, those monsters were hideous and horrifying in every way.
The daimons fought valiantly, and I was sure all the monsters would soon be dead as more flashes of dark and light struck the beasts.
I ran, catching up to my sister and Vore in the field. “Stop!” I yelled.
Prism looked over the monster’s shoulder and said something. Reluctantly, Vore halted and sat her down. There we stood under the moonlight, feet away from the willow stump.
“We’re back where you were taken,” I whispered as my sister ambled towards me in the grass. “I promised I wouldn’t let anything bad happen to you.”
“I’m leaving now, Rumor.” Prism swallowed, her face red and puffy.
She turned to go back to her wither when I spoke out. “Wait… can I have at least one last hug goodbye?”
My sweet, innocent sister’s shoulders dropped as she took a deep breath, her eyes glassy with fresh tears as she nodded. “I love you, Rumor.” Her arms wrapped around me.
I squeezed her in return. “I love you, Prism.”
My gaze shot to Vore as he lingered a few yards ahead, right by the stump, right by the place he took her, right by the spot I should have killed him the first time.
This time… I would not fail.
I opened my palms, having already practiced the Requiem spell several times. Only now, here, the feeling of that day of the wedding rite flowed through me.
My pain.
My helplessness.
My mothers missing from the crowd.
My sister’s screams.
My loss.
My shame.
My failure.
It all raged and bubbled inside me as the Requiem spell drew its force like never before. Bright purple light ignited from my palms. Prism turned in my arms, glancing at my magic, and then at Vore. “No!” she screeched, but it was too late.
My magic reaped from my body, taking everything I had, every ounce of power and malice, every tear I’d cried, every night I’d stayed awake in regret.
It all came crashing upon me and flames of a purple bonfire shot into the sky and darted towards the monster.
My magic speared through him—over and over again—piercing his massive form.
My sister screamed, running to the wither as he groaned and fell to the ground.
I dropped to my knees, feeling my head begin to pound as the spider wrapped its legs around my forehead.
Through the blur and blasts of purple, I witnessed Vore’s chest rise and fall in slow, ragged breaths as my sister collapsed on top of him, sobbing.
The monster breathed in, cupping her face in his hand, his long claws tangling through her golden hair as he looked into her gaze as she screamed and cried.
My sister pressed her forehead to his, sorrow racking through her body as she begged that his life be spared.
The wither breathed out… and his eyes closed.
He didn’t breathe back in.
I’d killed the monster.
Prism’s scream of agony pierced the night.
My sister was finally safe—I’d done it. At last, I’d protected and avenged her.
I felt a presence behind me but didn’t have the strength to turn around. Through my witch’s instinct, I felt Blackthorne eyes upon my back, taking in the scene.
As my vision faded and my head threatened to pull me under, blue smoke crept into the town from the forest.
Blue smoke?
Blue smoke.
The rapture.
Oh, my goddess, the rapture was here.
Prism stomped forward through the smoke, still shaking and convulsing in grief.
Her dress torn and wet, her blonde hair pressed to her face, she pointed at me as I knelt on the ground, clutching my arms. “You,” she said in a low, shaky voice.
“I will never forgive you for this. I will never forgive you for taking away the one thing I loved in this world,” she screamed.
Prism had never screamed at anyone before—her anger and pain so palpable it pricked my skin like thorns.
Her anger pricked my skin?
Deranged and ragged breaths shook her shoulders as she continued standing over me. “For that, sister , I curse you to never find love, and love shall never find you. May you always lose the thing most precious to you for all of your days.”
Her words ignited into a golden shimmer, exploding from her palms and hitting me in the chest like an arrow shot from a magical bow. Disbelief and sorrow pushed me onto my back as tears jabbed my eyes. My own sister… did my own sister just… curse me? My sister… my sister was magical?
How could she? I’d saved her. I’d just saved her.
As my vision faltered, I rolled onto my side, watching her march decidedly into the blue smoke… into the blue smoke? Prism was—I cried out with my last bit of energy. “No!”
The spider clutched its legs around my head, and the indescribable pain of torment and loss pulled me under… under…