Chapter 45 #2
The scales along his face and neck flare like armor catching firelight. His corrupted eye burns with a rage I’ve never seen, and frost spirals outward from his feet, crackling across the sand in jagged patterns.
“Don’t touch her,” Falcen growls, his voice layered with something other, something … older.
Davrin presses my back against his chest, one arm snaking around my throat. He says to Falcen, “Make me stop, beastie.”
The glow from Davrin’s veins burns against my skin, searing like acid and preventing my escape. I struggle, kicking back at his knees, but he only tightens his stranglehold.
Falcen rises fully, no longer hunched or staggering. He’s somehow taller than he ever was before.
“Last chance,” Falcen says, each word pushed through a throat changing shape. “Release her.”
Davrin laughs and squeezes tighter, making me choke and cough.
My fists clench, the ache of searching for my weapon, of summoning my power, almost more painful than Davrin’s strangling.
Give me my magick! I scream internally.
I cannot. I am sorry. I was created to protect you at all costs. Not him.
Hot tears soak through my agony. Then I shall hate you. From here on, I will do whatever is necessary to get you out of my head and quiet you permanently, and I will not mourn you.
My silent statement is so visceral, so laden with anger, that I barely recognize it.
But I agree with it.
Ember sinks inside me, her resistance faltering as my hatred floods through us both.
Her hesitation is like a crack in a dam wall, and I push through it, screaming as light erupts from my palms, scalding Davrin’s arm. He hisses and loosens his hold just enough for me to wrench away, stumbling forward.
Falcen explodes forward with such speed that one moment, he’s in front of me, and the next, his scaled fist slams into Davrin’s torso.
“I said don’t touch her,” Falcen snarls, voice splitting between human and not.
Davrin skids across the sand, leaving a furrow twenty feet long. He rises, purple light pulsing around a split lip.
“Now we’re talking.” He laughs, wiping black blood from his mouth.
Falcen moves to stand between Davrin and me.
I watch with dread as scales ripple across his spine and then form two points, bursting through what remains of his shirt.
His shoulder blades contort, bones cracking as they reform, membranes growing between the joints with wet pops and grinding cartilage.
His back arches at an impossible angle as two massive protrusions burst through his skin, spraying black fluid across the sand.
The crowd shrieks and presses back against their seats.
Wings unfold from Falcen’s back in grotesque, bat-like structures stretching fifteen feet each. Membranes thin as parchment span between skeletal vines, black and blue veins pulsing through the translucent skin.
Davrin’s confidence falters. He takes one step back, then another.
“Gods,” I whisper, my hand flying to my mouth.
“I told you. Run,” Falcen growls over his shoulder at me.
“I won’t leave you to die,” I rasp.
Falcen’s wings beat once, sending a gust of freezing air. Sand swirls around his bare feet, and I gasp at the talons his toenails have become.
When he speaks, his voice resonates from somewhere beyond our human realm.
“You wanted a monster,” Falcen says, but it’s not to Davrin. It’s past Davrin’s shoulder, to the safety of the dugout where initiates once stood as Falcen taught us how to fight Void creatures, and then above to the balcony where Malakai now crouches behind the banister. “Now you have one.”
Malakai’s face contorts with rage at being spotted cowering.
“Control him!” he shouts at Davrin, who seems frozen in place as Falcen’s growing shadow engulfs him.
Finally collecting himself, Davrin darts forward, but Falcen’s wing sweeps out, catching him midair and sending him crashing into the arena wall. The impact cracks stone, and Davrin slides to the ground, momentarily stunned.
The crowd is a blur of screaming faces above us, nobles trampling each other to reach the exits. I don’t care. My focus narrows to Falcen’s transformed body, to the wings spreading wider as he advances on Keeper Malakai.
Malakai straightens from his crouch, his face pale, his hands weaving complex patterns. Blue soul-magick gathers between his palms, condensing into his soul-weapon, a sphere of crackling power.
“Falcen, look out!” I cry.
Blue-white energy erupts from Malakai’s palms. Soul-fire, pure and concentrated, blasts toward Falcen in a torrent. Falcen crosses his wings before him, and the energy splashes against them, scattering in crackling arcs.
When the wings unfold, Falcen stands unharmed, scales now covering every visible inch of his body. His mouth splits in a horrific smile, revealing two rows of sharp fangs.
“My turn,” he says, voice like pebbles on broken glass.
“Stop this!” Malakai shouts, panic edging into his voice. “Guards, restrain him!”
Six guards materialize from the shadows, soul-weapons glowing blue-white in their hands. They advance on Falcen, surrounding him in a tight circle.
I refuse to stand by helplessly. My soul-light threads under my skin, and for once, Ember doesn’t fight me. Perhaps my threat worked, or maybe she recognizes what I already know, that Falcen isn’t fighting to save himself. He’s fighting to save me.
One of the guards lunges at me, mistaking me for another threat. I dodge, summoning my halberd with a burst of resonance. It materializes in my hands, warm, familiar, and true.
I swing it in a wide arc, cutting down the guard before he can attack again. He collapses, but I barely notice as my focus shifts to Falcen.
The remaining guards converge on him. Falcen roars, a sound so elemental it slices through my heart.
His wings beat downward, the force throwing three guards back.
The fourth lunges, his blade slicing across Falcen’s scaled chest. Black blood wells, but Falcen doesn’t flinch.
He grabs the guard by his throat and crushes it with one squeeze.
“Falcen!” I cry out, rushing toward him as two Hollows materialize from the arena entrance.
His head snaps around, and his expression shows his struggle, the monster and the man fighting for control. His human eye finds mine, a mournful flash of blue.
“Stay back, Verily,” he growls, voice splitting between registers.
I ignore him, slashing through a Hollow as it reaches for me. My weapon feels like an extension of myself, cobalt light bleeding from my skin into the blade. Another Hollow rushes me, and I pivot, driving my halberd through her center. She dissolves with a shriek.
Malakai’s face contorts as he watches his Hollows and guards fall. The soul-sphere in his hands burns brighter. When he hurls it toward Falcen, the air warps around it, distorting everything in its path.
I scream, rushing forward as the sphere splits into a dozen smaller projectiles, each one aimed at Falcen.
Falcen twists impossibly fast, wings folding tight against his back before snapping open with such force that the ground beneath him cracks. It pushes the spheres back before they can make contact and head for Malakai instead, who ducks and weaves just in time to avoid their explosions.
I slash through another Hollow and another guard, light streaming from my blade as I fight my way closer to him. My muscles burn with each swing, but I refuse to falter.
More Keepers funnel up the balcony and form a protective circle around Malakai. Their soul-weapons flare to life—swords, axes, bows—all pointed at Falcen. One fires an arrow of pure soul-magick. It strikes Falcen’s wing membrane and sizzles through, leaving a smoking hole.
Falcen doesn’t flinch.
Davrin staggers to his feet, purple veins weaving across his face.
“He’s mine! Don’t kill him!” he shouts, charging forward.
I whirl as a Hollow materializes behind me. His blank face reveals nothing as he swings a soul-forged blade at my throat. I duck, then drive my halberd up through his chest. Resonance more black than blue blazes along the weapon’s edge, and the Hollow dissolves into ash.
“Shit,” I whisper, staring at my weapon as the Veilrot grows.
“Get out of here, Verily!” Falcen roars.
I ignore him, cutting down another Hollow as he suddenly lunges for my legs. “Not without you!”
Malakai gestures sharply at the dugout, and the initiates, adepts, visiting Elites, all of the academy’s student population, leap into the arena, their soul-weapons blazing, Rook included.
“He’s not the enemy!” I shout at them, but I might as well be shouting into the Void.
One hurls a net of crackling blue energy toward Falcen. He catches it, frost crystallizing along the mesh until it shatters.
Another Keeper launches forward, too close to me. I swing wildly, barely missing as Davrin grabs my arm and twists it behind my back, forcing me to lose my weapon.
I thrash and kick through the shooting pain up my shoulder. “Let me go!”
Davrin’s rotten breath hits my cheek. “Stop squirming, or you’ll miss what’s about to happen to your precious Elite. What you helped create.”
I slam my free elbow backward, connecting with his ribs. He grunts but doesn’t release me.
Falcen notices us struggling. His wings beat once, creating a gust that knocks several approaching initiates off their feet. His transformation accelerates, his fingers elongating into scaled knuckles and long black talons.
Falcen’s becoming less human with each passing second, yet his focus remains unerringly on me.
“Oh, you’ve made a big mistake,” I say to Davrin.