Chapter 32
THIRTY-TWO
CADEN
Before returning to Crown, Emma and I portaled out to the borders of Slava, crossing into the Human World. The air was colder here, the landscape stark and desolate, with little to suggest life except the faint rustle of wind through the barren trees.
Rumor had it there was a Radical camp nearby, and given the recent threats against Slava, I wanted to see if they’d left any trace behind.
It might not have been the smartest plan to go with just the two of us—especially given how quiet the area seemed, a little too quiet for comfort—but I did have the most powerful maga in the world by my side.
Though, to be fair, her reputation was based mostly on hearsay. I had yet to see her translation in action. There was a part of me that wanted to witness it firsthand, to see her unleash the kind of power everyone whispered about. Careful what you wish for, right?
“Want to portal us back?” I asked, after we had thoroughly searched the campsite and found absolutely nothing.
“Sure,” she replied, translating her Nexus into her hand. But before she could complete her projection, a piercing shrill cut through the air, startling us both.
“What the hell was that?” she hissed. Her body tensed, and a flicker of realization tightened her features.
I was at her side in less than a second. “Stay alert,” I commanded, scanning the surroundings as far as I could see, searching for the source of the sound.
Without warning, the air shimmered, and dozens of green portals tore open around us. Radicals poured through in a coordinated wave, their dark forms emerging one after another, a horde of at least twenty against our two.
“Fuck,” I muttered, dropping into a fighting stance and manifesting my Chela—just as Emma’s Skindo shot out, its deadly prongs glowing with dark red energy, pulsing and thrumming with impatience.
“We’re surrounded.”
“Yes, thank you, Captain Obvious,” she snapped, pressing her back against mine. I could feel her muscles tensing up, coiled like a spring, every fiber of her body bracing for impact.
And then, like a strike of lightning—
The battle erupted.
Adrenaline slammed into my bloodstream, my pulse hammering so hard it nearly drowned out the chaos around me.
Hostiles kept portaling in, their faces masks of bloodlust and fury.
Five came at me first, moving fast, their magic flaring in flickering bursts, creepy and unfamiliar instruments of death morphing mid-strike as they lunged.
There was no time to think. Only instinct. Only survival.
My pitch-black haze lashed out, dark tendrils slicing through the air as Emma’s own red one shot out beside it, her Skindo shadowing the deadly rhythm of my own weapon.
The enemy struck without hesitation, pouring their energy into attacks designed to overwhelm, a full-blown onslaught meant to obliterate us.
Too bad for them.
Emma and I moved as one, a torrent of blades and power, effortless, synchronized. She was fire and fury, her Skindo an extension of her wrath, her crimson arc slicing through the air like a living curse.
They came for us. They died for it.
The battlefield turned into a maelstrom of scarlet and shadow, our strengths crashing together in something dark and volatile, a shockwave that devoured the light and left only destruction.
A flicker of movement—low, fast—one of them shifting to strike. I barely pivoted in time, but Emma was already there. Her Skindo flashed in a lethal curve, intercepting the attack before she spun and buried her blade into the next bastard.
“Thanks,” I managed, breath tight, catching her gaze for the briefest of moments. A heartbeat of clarity in the midst of all this chaos.
“Don’t mention it,” she shot back, voice rough, adrenaline lighting up her eyes. And then—the barest flicker of a grin before she turned back to the fight.
Next?
She unleashed hell.
Her movements were a savage, surgical dance, each strike calculated, merciless in its precision. We cut through them like seasoned killers—no hesitation, no wasted movement, no mercy.
A sharp cry to my left. Another Radical, lunging—his weapon glowing with the sickly orange light of translation. I reacted in an instant, my haze snapping out to intercept, blade twisting upward, slamming past his guard.
Steel met flesh.
A wet, strangled gurgle.
I yanked my Chela free, his body collapsing as his magic flickered violently, then vanished.
Too close. Way too close.
I turned, scanning—Emma.
Her knives blurred, cutting through her enemies with a ruthless precision. She didn’t waste movement. She didn’t second-guess. She was a predator, a force of nature—
And for a split second, I watched her.
A mistake. A fucking mistake.
I didn’t see the ochre glow until it was too late.
A blinding streak of energy slammed into my core, right above my heart. Fire. Agony. Bone-deep torment. It tore through me like molten steel, ripping breath from my lungs. The impact hit so hard, I staggered, vision blurring, every nerve screaming in raw, unfiltered agony.
“Shit!” I gasped, stumbling back as I clutched my chest. My legs threatened to give out, and I could feel the warmth of poison flowing through my veins. The scent of singed flesh invaded my nose, mixing with the metallic tang of my own blood.
“You think you can stand against us?” One of the hostiles sneered. His haze flared, an intense orange ugly ass color. “You’re outnumbered, outmatched. Just give up already.”
“Fuck… you,” I spat through clenched teeth, struggling to stay upright. My power pulsed, the blackness around me churning in response to my anger and suffering. I could feel it growing denser, darker, as if feeding off my emotions. It was alive, and it was hungry.
The asshole laughed, a harsh, grating sound setting my nerves on edge. “Your translation is powerful,” he said, his weirdly shaped sword raised high. “But it won’t save you. Not today.”
He stared down at me, his face twisted in a feral snarl.
Time seemed to slow, the world narrowing down to him and the cold steel aimed at my throat.
My pulse thundered in my ears, but my obsidian tendrils surged to life, reacting to the raw, primal need for survival.
They coiled around my arm, slithering up the length of my Chela like living shadows, thick and suffocating.
I barely had time to brace myself. When I swung my blade to meet his, the current pulsed violently—and the impact was harsher than expected.
Steel met steel, and a shockwave exploded from the point of contact, but instead of overpowering him, I heard it—crack. A deep, shattering crack.
My weapon splintered down the center.
The violence of the blow knocked me sideways, and the blade—what was left of it—tumbled from my hand, the dark essence flickering and breaking apart. I stared in disbelief at the fractured sword on the ground, useless. Broken.
No.
All that stolen magic, gone in an instant. Years of work, erased like it was nothing. But I didn’t have time to mourn it. The Radical moved, lunging to strike while I was disarmed.
Big mistake.
The Chela had been a tool. Not the source. My true power was my third-cycle haze.
Born of darkness. Tempered in revenge. And now, burning with the most vital instinct of all: survival.
I unleashed it.
My obsidian charge exploded outward, slamming into him like a living storm. He flew back, his body crashing to the ground like he’d been hit by a freight train.
The blackness didn’t stop. It seeped into him—a sick, inky strand winding through his core, corrupting him from within. He screamed, a guttural, bone-rattling sound that split the air. His ochre translation flickered, then convulsed, fighting to hold on.
But it was no use.
His light snuffed out like a candle in the wind, leaving behind nothing but a lifeless shell.
Before I could process the death in front of me, another vicious, searing jolt of pain tore through me. My torso caved in with the shock of it, and I staggered back, and I felt it—the shadows sinking in, digging deep.
Agony ripped through me, every nerve in my body screaming in protest. My vision blurred, the world spinning out of control as I fought to stay on my feet.
The ground felt like it was tilting beneath me, and I dropped to one knee, gasping for air.
My heart was pounding erratically, and something foul was burning through my veins.
I tried to fight it off, but the onslaught flared again, more intense this time, threatening to tear me apart from the inside out.
“Caden!” Emma’s voice cut through the fog, sharp and urgent. I forced my focus to snap in place, finding her standing a few feet away, her gaze locked on me. Her face was pale, her expression pulled tight with…worry? No, there was no way.
“Stay back,” I grounded out, struggling to keep myself steady. “I’m…fine.”
“Like hell you are!” she snapped—and then, without warning or hesitation, she unleashed her all.
The air around her seemed to sputter as she drew on her full power, the blades of her Skindo flaring to life with a dark red, ominous glow.
Her entire form shifted, dangerous and absolute, as the ground trembled beneath her.
“Get out of my way!” she yelled, her threat carrying over the din of battle.
The remaining Radicals froze, unease rippling through them as they registered the shift—something ancient and untouchable rising in her presence.
They had underestimated us—underestimated her—and now they would die for their mistake.
Her scarlet smoke rose from her like a dragon unfurling from its nest, coiling and twisting through the air. The first one it touched choked instantly, his body seizing as her energy enveloped him, choking out his life before he even had a chance to scream. A fucking poisonous mist.
Exactly like the deadly Layers around Caerleon Manor. Why did that please me?