Chapter 30 #2
The time between barrages had slowed just a fraction.
Hyllus was weakening. Slowing down. Now was the time to strike.
Theron called upon his new divine magic, fashioning it into a spear.
The barrage came pelting down on him. This time, instead of healing himself, he focused all his energy into throwing his divine spear at the avatar.
A savage grin split his bloodied lips as Hyllus’ eyes went wide.
Didn’t expect that, did you, dog?
The spear sailed straight to its target, piercing Hyllus through the gut.
The avatar went limp and fell, tumbling down the black steps of the temple.
Exhausted and nearing the end of his rope, Theron used a wisp of his magic to get himself back on his feet.
He trudged back up the steps, wrenching his spear from Epicasta’s heart as he made the climb to Orithyia.
One last enemy to slay.
Just one.
And then Aurora would be safe.
Her eyes were red, her cheeks stained by tears. Sobs wracked her little body.
Soon, my love. Soon, I will hold you close and dry those tears.
“Look around, Theron. You have lost,” Orithyia declared, sweeping her arm out at the temple district.
He couldn’t stop himself. Theron turned his head to witness a scene of ash and gore.
Drakon lay dying, pierced through by a dozen swords and spears, blocking an entrance to the district with his scaled body.
Survivors slipped in puddles of ankle-deep blood, their clothes stained with soot.
Batea limped to the temple of Passion, one of her arms hanging twisted at her side, her armour soaked with crimson.
His city was ablaze, his palace in ruins, his aunt on her knees, her arms outstretched, the light of her divine magic waning fast. Despair choked him.
Even if they survived, there was nothing left.
Then Orithyia laughed.
“Of course! How could I have failed to see the obvious solution?”
Theron whipped his head around to Orithyia. It didn’t matter if they’d lost. If Aurora still breathed, then everything around him could crumble to dust and he would still want to live. She was all he needed to have hope—to find purpose.
And Orithyia was weakening too. Sweat soaked her robes, her hair limp, her arms shaking with her divine shield in tatters before his eyes. She hadn’t even managed to curse him.
One last charge.
Spear in hand, shield raised, Theron advanced on the old woman.
And was stopped cold. A shard of ice lodged in his heart, then another along his spine, then another in his head.
Yet there was no blood, no visible wound.
Pieces of him broke, snapping like frayed twine.
Then he was floating above his own body—a body which was disintegrating as though he’d been made of sand.
He'd seen this before. It was how Batea combined her beasts.
“What a wondrous chimera you’ll make, Your Majesty. My compliments to Batea.”
Orithyia was an avatar, and she possessed the same magic as his cousin—only she’d crossed the line from chimera maker to soul swapper.
Now he began to understand her terrible power. How many lives had she lived to become so strong? To be able to curse a multitude, to fend off a high priestess, two avatars, and still be standing, she must be the most powerful being in all of Trisia.
They’d never stood a chance.
Aurora screamed her denial, begging him to return to her.
Theron was dragged away, down the steps of the temple, past Hyllus, through corpses and debris.
He reached out to her, desperate to fight his way back to her side, but he was as insubstantial as the mist. His body vanished, the sand he’d become swirling in an invisible current before following his soul’s path across the plaza.
Where was she dragging him? He turned his head.
No, anything but that!
But fight as he might, he was no match for Orithyia’s wild magic.
The remains of his form fused with Drakon first. The beast grew, a new array of horns sprouting from his head as Theron watched with helpless dread.
He turned his ghostly gaze back to the temple, where Aurora struggled in the acolyte’s unyielding grasp.
He held on to the sight of her as his soul was pulled and frayed, violated by Orithyia’s soul-swapping magic and combined with Drakon’s shell.
Please, run.
They were his last thoughts as a man.
When next he opened his eyes, he was a dying beast covered in scales, crowned with horns, and surrounded by the maddening, mouthwatering scent of blood.
Theron had…disintegrated in front of her, as if he’d never been more than a dream. The screams that erupted from her were instinctual. Primal. Theron was gone. Her heart had been rendered to ash.
“What a wondrous chimera you’ll make, Your Majesty. My compliments to Batea.”
Orithyia’s words sucked the air from her lungs. She hadn’t used divine magic, but wild. Orithyia was an avatar, not a high priestess. Aurora’s gaze darted to the body of Drakon, changing and growing before her eyes. No, that was worse than death, worse than any torture she’d ever conceived.
“Run all you like. I will always find you.”
“Surrender yourself to me, and I will make your last moments worth dying for.”
“He, little mouse. Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten all the lifetimes we’ve shared.”
“You grow more beautiful with every rebirth. I can’t wait to sink my teeth into you.”
Aurora’s next breath shuddered out of her. The Drakon she’d known, the beast who had hunted her across lifetimes, the one tied to her with a thread dyed deep red, was none other than Theron, trapped in the body of a beast. There could be no other explanation.
Divine magic, heavy as a boulder and thick as mud, sent Aurora and the acolyte holding her to their hands and knees. Released from the woman’s grip, Aurora tried to crawl away, but the weight of the divine magic intensified, trapping her.
“You are Drakon!” Orithyia’s voice rang out, laden with indescribable power.
It reverberated against Aurora’s shield, testing its limits.
If her lies before had been enough to overpower any who heard her and Orithyia considered that feat a mere drop of her power, Aurora feared what the avatar of Lies’ voice could do now.
“The source of all your misery is here. The avatar of Lies blighted your kingdom, summoned monstrosities to your capital, left your city in ruins, and convinced you she was your fated! She has poisoned everything you hold dear, and there she is.” Orithyia pointed her finger at Aurora.
Dread pierced her gut. “Only her death will end your suffering!”
Drakon raised his scaled head, his movements sluggish, but his gaze burned with an unholy hatred.
“YOU!” Theron’s voice, roughened and altered, thundered through Aurora’s head. “BETRAYER! TEMPTRESS! LIAR!”
“People of Altanus, Her Majesty has betrayed Aureum! She deserves to be fed to the beast!” Orithyia called out. Survivors turned their gazes on her, and where once there was despair, now there was bloodlust. Orithyia turned a smile on Aurora. “I suggest you run.”
Terror galvanized her. She got to her feet, racing back inside the temple of Knowledge. If she could find a room, bolt the door, would that give her the time she needed to draw on the magic of Aureum and pour it into the artefact? She had to try. There was no other choice.
Aurora dropped her shield and felt for the magic of the land.
People screaming for her head poured into the temple of Knowledge, fists and weapons raised.
The magic was there, under her feet, in the ash-choked air she breathed.
The cries for her head drowned out the drumbeat of her racing heart.
Every step, every breath, connected her to Aureum.
She took the staircase two steps at a time, flying upwards.
Aurora pulled on the magic, drawing deep, again and again until the ragged edges of her battered soul threatened to split apart.
The mob was at the stairs now, just as she reached the second-floor landing.
Aurora poured her magic into the artefact.
The doors she tried were barred, the mob on her heels.
Someone snatched at her dress, tearing the fabric.
Gossamer thin, just as Theron had liked it.
Enthralled survivors surrounded her. Aurora was pressed against the balustrade.
There was nowhere to go but down. More and more of her magic poured into the artefact, and still it wasn’t enough.
A quick flick of her eyes below. People swarmed the temple, their arms raised and reaching for her, calls for her blood echoing off the black stone walls. Grasping hands reached for her, and Aurora slipped through the posts of the balustrade. Better to fall to her death than be torn apart.
Someone grabbed a fistful of her dress. It jostled her, knocking the artefact from her hand. Aurora surged forward and dove, tearing her dress once more, reaching for the artefact as she fell.
Her fall slowed. The artefact had activated. Aurora looked around in horror. There, blocking the temple entrance, was Theron in the form of the beast, his jaws opened wide as white fire bloomed in the back of his throat. The first cycle of calamity had been born.
As his fire spilled into the temple in slow motion, Aurora was struck with the most inane realisation.
This was the temple she’d excavated. These were the people whose scorched bones she’d carefully prized from the earth and catalogued.
And the artefact now glowing as bright as the sun was the very one whose discovery had earned her the title of scholar.
Her journey ended where it had first begun.
Light enveloped her as heat stung her skin.