Chapter Twenty-Five
S hit!
Who gave the marching band in my head permission to whip out the heavy metal ballads?
I try to open my eyes, but only one of them is cooperating. The other one is completely swollen shut. Oh, that’s just wonderful.
Looking around with my limited vision, I realize that I’m inside some sort of cave. I’m also bound to a large rock by a very thick rope that is clearly spelled to dampen my magicks. My clothes are hanging from me in tatters. My shirt is nearly completely gone, and what is left of my pants is covered in scorch marks.
And to make matters worse, I’m pretty sure the fuckers stole my boots. I blink hard and manage to bring my feet into focus for a minute.
Yep, no boots. Those pricks are going to pay.
It’s one thing to beat a man and take him hostage. It’s another to steal his favorite fucking boots.
Those are my ass-kicking boots.
I check over my body, taking stock of the damage. My abdomen is full of scratches with a larger gash in the center, but it looks like the bleeding there has slowed to a tiny trickle. My left hand has clear signs of 3rd-degree burns. I push my magick out… and feel absolutely nothing in response.
Dammit, why did I have to be right about the fucking rope? It’s definitely dampening my magick. That would explain the lack of healing. The injuries don’t explain the pain that woke me, though. It was almost as if someone sucked all of the oxygen out of the room, and kicked me in the heart at the same time. No doubt from some internal injuries that are not able to heal right now.
The stupid macho words replay in my head, mocking me. ‘ If you want the village you have to go through me.’ Oh, they did alright. I managed to take one of those fuckstains down, but I was far outnumbered and they worked together like a damn hive-mind. And now I am at their mercy while they do the Gods know what to the village.
Well isn’t this just fan- fucking -tastic.
I wait in silence for someone to come and torture me or whatever else they have planned, and I don’t have to wait long for my captors to make an appearance. It’s the dickwads from the forest. The ones that were after Forsythia. The thought of her sends another sharp pain through my chest.
“I thought you couldn’t wait to end me? Losing your touch?” I manage to croak out as they stop in front of me.
The one in the middle pulls down his hood, although with how ugly he has let himself become, I wish he would just push the hood back up. Unfortunately for him, one of the more drastic punishments the Gods can dole out includes transforming your appearance to match the blackness within your soul. He closely resembles a creature from a human movie I watched once. That thing had a serious obsession with jewelry.
And yet... why does something seem so fucking familiar about him? There’s something I’m missing.
He speaks to me, and for the first time since I ran into these douches, he uses his actual voice. “I regret that the intentions of one of my men could not be carried out to completion. Our intended target suffered an unfortunate accident, and we were forced to change our plans.”
Intended target? Was he talking about…
“What have you done to her?” I growl.
“The Princess got in the way of a rather nasty curse. While Orobas won’t be pleased to hear of the untimely demise of his offspring, he won’t be an issue for much longer.”
The untimely demise of Orobas’s offspring?
No. That’s not true. He’s just trying to fuck with me. Right?
He was saying that Forsythia was…
I can’t even bring myself to think the word.
Our souls just found each other. Well, I suppose they did that days ago now, it just took us some time to catch on. Still... she can’t be gone. She can’t take my heart and leave without me.
But I know the truth. Her death was the pain that woke me. It was the soul-bond breaking. Although, it felt as if my heart were shattering instead.
And in some ways, I suppose it did.
The dipshit drones on, but I no longer hear him. I don’t even feel the pain of my injuries anymore. I just feel… nothing. Nothing at all. I am empty of everything.
Except pure hatred.
These assholes may have me captive now, but they will make a mistake. And when they do, I will be their slow and agonizing death. I will make them suffer.
Every. Last. One.
When they are all dead, and the Creatori has been put down, I will go after Orobas Blackwell. He failed to protect his daughter. He failed to protect his people. He failed to protect my mother from herself.
And when the last one has fallen, I will watch the world burn around me.
Forsythia’s gone, and she took the parts of me that matter most with her. The parts that love, and feel, and care.
I am a shell of my former self, existing only to cause havoc on the blight in this world.
In the end, I won’t be another one of their victims.
The world is full of things that go bump in the night.
It’s the land of beasts and monsters.
And mine has just been unleashed.