Chapter 45
Forty-Five
Chains bind his wrists and ankles, glowing with soul-glyphs designed to suppress our rendering magick. His head hangs low, dark hair obscuring his face. He stumbles forward, barely able to support his own weight as the Hollows force him toward the center, where Davrin gleams like a chosen son.
No. Nononono please….
Falcen.
Yet the crowd doesn’t recoil from the bloody, dirtied sight of a fallen Elite. They lean forward.
“Behold the weakness of resisting our methods,” Malakai shouts, spittle flying from his lips and his hands gesturing more wildly than before. “One son of Vehloria thriving, another rotting in chains.”
Malakai turns in my direction. “Which will you become, students? Elite Reaves was once our most promising candidate, but he resisted the process. He fled rather than embrace his purpose.” Malakai peels his lips back from his teeth. “He. Is. A. Coward.”
Falcen’s head lifts, and even from this distance, I’m aghast at the amount of scales that have claimed most of his face.
Through strands of dark hair, one eye gleams black, while the other struggles to retain its human blue, ringed in desperate gold.
His gaze sweeps the crowd, unseeing, until it locks on Davrin.
I bite back a scream. My nails dig crescents into my palms. My chest burns.
Ember writhes inside the fire behind my ribs. He is beyond salvation. Look how far gone he is. The scales claim most of him now.
I hiss between my teeth, “I don’t care.” My body grows hotter.
Davrin’s lips curl into a smile as he circles Falcen. My mind screams for me to move, to run toward him, until Ember locks my muscles in place.
If you move now, you will fail him, she warns, her voice burning through my skull. If you reveal yourself trying to save him, he’ll die anyway, and you’ll die worse. Falcen Reaves told you to forget him. To live.
I want to scream back, to argue, but my eyes remain fixed on Falcen. His chains drag in the gold-silver sand, leaving black trails where they touch. Frost creeps from his bare feet, crackling across the ground in thin, desperate lines.
Malakai gestures toward Falcen like he’s displaying a particularly disappointing specimen. “Look at this man, born with exceptional Soulren abilities that he squandered through stubbornness and resistance.”
“What have they done to him?”
The sheer horror in the question makes me look away from Falcen and up into Rook’s eyes. A few initiates around us shift, finally noticing me.
“They’ve been mixing Void souls with ours,” I say to Rook, though anyone paying attention can hear me now. “And creating…”
I trail off, unable to keep Falcen out of sight. The direction of my gaze is all Rook needs to understand.
“Lux above,” she says, tears building in her eyes as she shifts with me.
Davrin lunges without warning. His fist connects with Falcen’s jaw, snapping his head back. Bone against bone, a sickening crack, echoes through the arena. Falcen staggers but doesn’t fall. Blood trickles from his split lip, black and viscous.
“That is what our best warrior has been reduced to?” someone asks beside me. “To think I wanted to be just like him. Look at Reaves now.”
“Pathetic,” their neighbor agrees. “What a traitor to our kind.”
“Falcen didn’t do this to himself!” I snap, startling both of them with both my appearance and my tone.
Ember relents enough to let me rise to my feet so I can defend myself.
“Keeper Malakai did this to him, and the academy did this to him. The Master Keeper approves of the mutation of Elites, our best warriors, and reduces them to endless starvation and suffering.”
I recall the name of the one closest to me, Erick, at the same time as he recovers from his surprise and smirks.
“Do you mean turn us into magickal gods like Initiate Koll?” He points at the center of the arena where Davrin prowls around Falcen, the veins in his forearms pulsing with that powerful, unique purple light.
“Because if so,” his friend Sarra chimes in, “sign me up. He’s not even an Elite, and he received cool new powers, not just a soul-weapon.”
“You don’t understand,” I say, disgusted with them both. “Go down to the academy’s basement and see what you will become—”
“Fight back!” Davrin shouts, and I stop paying attention to the idiots surrounding me.
Falcen spits blood onto the sand. “Go fuck yourself.”
At the sound of his voice, the entire arena gasps, because it’s barely human, so full of grit, stone, and darkness.
Davrin strikes like a viper, his knuckles connecting with Falcen’s temple. Falcen reels back, chains jangling as he tries to block the next blow, but he’s too slow. Davrin’s boot drives into his stomach, doubling him over.
“Someone free him from these chains!” Davrin roars, circling Falcen as he struggles to rise. “I want this to be a fair fight.” He grins. “Well, as fair as it can be, considering the pathetic mess I’m up against.”
I lunge forward, but Rook grabs my arm.
“Don’t be a fool,” she says.
Davrin’s hand wraps around Falcen’s throat, lifting him off his feet. Violet light races from Davrin’s arm into Falcen’s skin, making him convulse. The crowd gasps as Davrin hurls him across the arena. Falcen crashes into the sand, rolling to a stop in a heap of chains.
“Boring, is it not?” Davrin asks the hushed arena. “Did you not come all this way for a bit more excitement?”
Falcen drags himself to his knees, blood streaming from his nose, his mouth. The chains at his wrists flare with blue light as he tries to call his soul-weapon. Nothing happens.
Falcen’s head hangs, scales rippling across his exposed skin with each labored breath. A low growl escapes him.
“Remove his restraints,” Malakai finally commands from his perch.
Two Hollows step forward, undeterred by the monster they must approach and unchain. Keys glint in their hands.
But as the last shackle falls away, Falcen stays motionless, with only a slight sway to his knees.
“This was your champion?” Davrin mocks with arms spread wide. “No. This is what happens when you resist your purpose.”
The glyphs on Falcen’s arms flare, desperate blue fighting through layers of black corruption. He lunges at Davrin, but his movements are jerky and uncoordinated, those of a man fighting against his own body as much as his opponent.
Davrin sidesteps with little effort. His palm strikes Falcen’s sternum, and violet energy ripples outward from the impact point. Falcen flies backward, skidding across the sand.
“I can’t watch this,” Rook whispers beside me. “They’re killing an honored Elite for entertainment.”
And I can’t look away.
Davrin moves like water, each attack flowing into the next as he hammers Falcen’s body. A boot to the ribs sends Falcen sprawling, and when he tries to rise, Davrin’s fist connects with his jaw, and black blood sprays across the sand, not red.
“Stop!” I scream, breaking free from the line of initiates. Several turn to stare at me, but I don’t care anymore. “Falcen!”
His head jerks up, and when he spots me, all remaining blood leaches from his face as his one human eye flares when our eyes lock.
“Verily,” he rasps. “No—”
Davrin’s fist crashes into the side of Falcen’s face.
More blood splashes as Falcen crumples to the sand. Davrin stands over him, purple light rippling from underneath his forearms, neck, and cheeks. He raises his foot to stomp on Falcen’s head.
I scream, my voice splitting the air as I break into a run. Cobalt erupts under my skin, racing through my veins like wildfire.
Ember flares inside me. You mustn’t show yourself!
I am well past caring.
I fight her hold, muscles burning as I vault over the arena barrier. My feet hit the sand, and I’m running before I can think, before any Keeper or Hollow can catch me.
A sound rips from my throat, raw and animal. I tear at Ember’s restraints from the inside, clawing for control of my own power.
Let me SAVE HIM!
You cannot! Ember wraps around my core like iron bands. His soul is corrupted beyond repair! You will only prolong his suffering. Why do you think he’s not fighting back? He is a beast now. He could shred the boy in seconds, yet he does not.
Davrin notices me incoming and lowers his foot to the ground instead of on Falcen’s skull. If my sudden presence throws him off, he doesn’t show it, likely overconfident with his new, shiny purple powers.
“Care to join, Verily?” he asks. “Or are you coming to save your fuckboy?”
I will suck every inch of his soul into my body—
You will NOT, Verily, Ember snaps.
Falcen’s hands dig into the sand. He rises, staggering, blood running from his nose, his mouth, his ears. One eye gleams black, empty as the Void itself. His tattoos flicker weakly, guttering like dying stars.
Instead of defending himself, he tilts his head, finding me.
“Run,” he croaks. “Please.”
Davrin laughs, a sound so perfect and terrible it freezes me mid-step.
With a new idea brightening his face, Davrin stalks toward me. “Do you think he’ll find it in him to fight back if I hurt you first?”
Davrin charges at me, but I’m ready. I sidestep, my body reacting on instinct, blue light flaring across my skin. My palm strikes his chest, and for a moment, his malevolent energy wavers, surprise flashing across his face.
“You’re not the only one with tricks,” I spit.
Davrin recovers quickly, grabbing my wrist and twisting until pain shoots up my arm. “I wondered when you’d show where your true loyalty lies. The Master Keeper will be pleased. Two souls for the price of one.”
I wrench away, stumbling backward. “I’m not corrupted.”
“No?” Davrin’s smile widens. “Then what are you?”
Before I can answer, a roar splits the air, so primal, ancient, and utterly inhuman that even Davrin hesitates. The sound vibrates through the arena, silencing every murmur, every exhale.
I spin to find Falcen on his feet, his mutilated body trembling.