Chapter 18 #4
His mouth twisted into a sneer. “Do it,” he rasped. “Kill me, Salvatore. Like you’ve killed everything else. My mother. Orin. Rian. Helena. Even your own father. Everything you touch dies. You’re a monster. So, finish it.”
“I never killed my father,” I spat. “No matter how much I wanted to. No matter how many nights I dreamed of crushing his skull. I let him live, and instead another bastard did the job for me, maybe that was my greatest mistake.”
Above us, Severen’s voice spilled through the pit like poison, thick and suffocating.
“Kill him, Salvatore,” he whispered, every word slick with delight. “Spill his blood and you will be crowned the next Shadow Lord.”
My jaw clenched. My teeth ground until I tasted iron. I glared up into the dark where his laughter coiled like smoke.
“You want me to kill your own son?”
Severen’s laugh cracked through the chamber, the chains overhead rattling like bones on hooks.
“Son,” he hissed. “Blood is nothing. Power is everything. Drive your blade in and end him, Salvatore. Show me you can be ruthless.”
I looked down.
Lazarus’ chest rose and fell in ragged jerks. Every breath looked painful. His eyes met mine—daring me to do it, daring me to prove him right.
The sword felt heavy. The venom burned through me, whispering “Kill him, kill him, kill him.”
And then the truth ripped itself out of me, broken.
“I could never kill you, Lazarus,” I said. My voice was barely human. “Because I have always loved you.”
The words hit the pit like a curse.
For one heartbeat, the whole world stopped breathing.
Even the shadows recoiled, as if disgusted.
Then Lazarus’ voice split the silence—ragged, sharp enough to tear the air.
“Don’t you dare say that.”
The blade hovered above his chest, shaking. My throat burned as I forced the words out anyway.
“I love you, Lazarus. More than a brother. More than anything. I thought… maybe one day, you’d see me.”
His face twisted. Something feral and terrible flashed behind his eyes. Hatred carved itself into every line of his face. His voice, when it came, was low and venomous—each word shaped to wound.
“You don’t love me, Salvatore. You never fucking did. You fed on me. You bled me dry. You chained me to your misery and called it brotherhood. You dragged me into this pit because you couldn’t suffer alone. That’s not love—it’s a prison.”
He rose, slow, shaking, his breath ragged.
“You wanted me broken, just like you—a dog on your leash. You didn’t just ruin my life—you fucking enjoyed it.
“You’re filth, Salvatore. Worthless. Every lash, every bruise, every betrayal—you earned them. You deserve hatred. You will never be wanted. That is your fate.”
The words didn’t cut—they gutted. They peeled me open, left me hollow, raw, shaking. My chest caved in around the sound of his voice.
I shook my head, the blade rattling in my hands. “No! No, you’re wrong! I always loved you. I cared for you. You were the only one who ever stayed. The only one who—”
“Enough!”
His roar crashed into me like a breaking wave. His eyes burned like forge-fire, his voice as cold as the stones underfoot.
“I stayed because I thought you were my brother. My friend. But you’re nothing but a liar, Salvatore—a coward too weak to face the emptiness inside him.”
The words tore through me deeper than any strike. Deeper than my father’s whip, deeper than Severen’s trials.
And for the first time, I knew—he meant every fucking word.
With shaking hands, I reached for him, desperate, my voice breaking. “Lazarus, please—”
“Get away from me!” he roared, shoving me back. His eyes were pure hate. “You’re a monster. I despise you!”
The world tilted. My chest hollowed.
Then came the sound of sandals scraping over stone. The guards entered—bare-armed, faces blank, their spears dragging grooves through the blood-slick floor. The iron tips clicked and rang, sharp against the silence. The air reeked of serpent flesh and burnt pitch.
They dragged us further apart, chains clattering, the sound echoing through the pit like a funeral drum.
And then he came.
Severen.
He strode into the pit, sandals crushing serpent flesh underfoot. Black blood burst beneath his steps. The stench of venom and decay rose thick and choking. Shadows writhed at his heels, hungry and trembling, slithering up the walls as though worshiping him.
His eyes burned like twin furnaces, his grin sharp and glistening with madness.
“Hatred and pain are what bind you,” he hissed, his words sinking into my skin like barbed hooks.
He spread his arms, and the chains bolted to the walls answered in thunder, clanging like applause from the dead.
“You have earned your place,” he said. “You will both ascend.” His grin widened, splitting his face. “And ascension will be the final trial—your most brutal yet.”
He leaned closer, his breath hot. The shadows quivered, hissing, alive with anticipation.
“We’ll see,” he whispered, “who crawls out alive.”
The shadows erupted—screaming, raking the walls, clawing at the air until even the firelight seemed to bleed. Their fury rolled through the chamber like a storm made of teeth and flame.
And in that moment, I understood.
Everything before this had been Severen’s game.
Every trial, every wound, every betrayal—only a prelude.
The real trial was coming.
And this time, it would not test our strength.
It would test what was left of our souls.