Chapter 46
Chapter Forty-Six
Malakai
Another wall had collapsed moments ago, only a few blocks over.
The dust in the air was so thick, everything blurred. Screams were nothing more than ghostly echoes.
How the fuck are they doing this? I charged down a side street, following Cyph away from the latest explosion, through dueling warriors and toward the plaza.
Cyph swiped his scythe through the air. An Engrossian’s masked head tumbled across the stone.
I hopped over the body, boots sticking in puddles of blood, and tightened my hand on my sword. We rounded the corner into the plaza and—
It became harder to breathe.
The Engrossian army moved like wraiths across the wide-open space. Charging from alleys and banging down shop doors. Cries rang from upstairs windows as they ransacked homes.
And in the square…blood. Flashing steel and bodies. My lungs tightened with every weapon I saw, my throat closing.
Mystiques were strong fighters—once the most powerful across the continent—but they were falling to the unpredictable strikes.
A scream pulled our attention. An Engrossian towered over a Mystique woman, an ax swinging down. Cyph threw himself at the warrior, grabbed the back of his neck, and chucked him to the stone.
The ax went flying as Cyph swiped a dagger from his belt and sliced it across the man’s throat.
Then, a small, black-armored figure swiveled below the fray. Darting around two warriors, she charged. A dagger aimed at Cyph’s back.
I tried to yell for him, but it was drowned out.
Instead, I ran. Held my breath and swung.
The grind of metal through flesh and bone was gratifying. Her arm severed above her metal vambrace. I blocked out her agonized scream and indulged in the satisfaction warming my blood.
Maybe I could do this. I could fight.
She fell at my feet, and that tortured side of myself took over. “That’s nothing compared to what you did to me.” She continued to scream, not hearing me.
I lifted my sword, prepared to silence her for good. But a scar on the side of her neck froze me.
An ax.
Purple against pale skin, her commitment to the cause of the Engrossian Warriors—so fucking similar to the white scar on my own chest.
The echo of the constellation heated as I stared at her, and everything slammed into me. Every minute in that cell. Every drop of blood. Everything, all of it and all at once, a cascade.
Fuck, I couldn’t—this—
Axes flashed through the square, suddenly all I could see.
My arm fell, sword scraping the ground as I stumbled back. My muscles weakened, my knees buckling. Harsh screeches of blades on stone, on bone, were all I heard.
I stumbled to a halt on the outskirts of the battle, slamming up against a brick wall to catch my breath.
But I forced my eyes open. I may be a mess, but I wouldn’t be that stupid.
One breath in—count to four—hold seven—release eight.
Watching the massacre before me, I repeated the meditation. My hand shook, sweaty on the grip of my sword.
This is ridiculous, I scolded myself, still panting. You’re being a fucking child.
All I could smell was blood and terror. All I could feel was the sting of blades carving my flesh.
Warrior Prince, the taunting voice echoed. You’re not even a real fucking warrior. You don’t deserve to be.
Fear gripped the bars of my heart, rattling until the organ shrank away like a lashed creature, my chest hollow and empty. Dark shame unfurled before my eyes. It slid into that void space, becoming my master, and I its vessel.
I hadn’t completed the Undertaking. Couldn’t even find it within myself to attempt it, overridden with disgrace and the secret fear that I may not be worthy of true ascension.
After all, I’d been sired by the Spirits-damned man whose despicable, selfish actions caused the horrors now playing out before my eyes.
Maybe it would be best if I let fear take me—
Then, a young warrior took an ax to the gut only feet away, and I shouted out with him—desperate and pained.
Blood bloomed across his white shirt, my stomach contracting as it spread.
I stumbled forward.
As his last hope, he swung out with a dagger.
It landed in the enemy’s neck just before the boy’s arm dropped. The Engrossian’s ax hit the stones, and both warriors fell.
The Mystique couldn’t even have been eighteen; there was no chance he’d completed the Undertaking either.
Yet, as blood bubbled through his lips, and his eyes found mine, there was no fear in his stare.
That boy died with nothing but a fortified strength, taking out one last threat as he went.
The heart of a true warrior burned through his gaze, searing my ravaged soul.
He was braver than I.
As his life drained unjustly, I didn’t move from my position on the outskirts of the battle.
But something raw—something jagged—stirred in my chest. Anger.
Hot and vivid, it soared through me, not alleviating my fear, not shrouding it, but igniting it.
Melting it. Instilling the durability and immortality of volcanic fire that could only be a strength.
Gripping my sword tighter, I summoned every ounce of my dying strength and convinced one foot to step forward.
Then, the other.
Until I was shoving through crowds, dodging blows and debris, the only place I looked was at the ax that ended that young boy’s life.
That Spirits-damned weapon, it’s curved blade stained crimson.
Through the clouds, moonlight hit the edge. My muscles locked, remembering precisely how that thick, sharpened edge tore through flesh.
But I am no longer captive. Chains and secrets didn’t dictate my life.
I wasn’t a fucking animal to be caged, a toy to be used as they desired.
I swiped that ax up and flipped it in my hand, ignoring the twisting of my gut. They’d tried to wreck me with this weapon—instead, I’d become its master, using it to slay the shadows around my heart.
With that promise sealing itself in my mind, I rejoined the battle and lost count of the Engrossians I took down. My sword settled into my hand as if it had always been there, waiting for me to realize it, and the ax warmed in the other.
I transformed in that battle, ripping through enemies. No compassion broke through the iron bars around my heart, no guilt plagued me. They wanted to torture me? Fine. I’d turn that pain into a weapon, desensitized and thirsty for blood.
Death rose around me, the endless swirl rivaling my blackened heart.
I fought back-to-back with Cypherion, my brother before all else, and smiled as the black-armored warriors piled up around us.
The fight lulled, allowing us a moment to catch our breath. Cyph and I looked at each other. Blood trickled from his lip, a cut of my own stinging at my collarbone, but we exchanged devious grins.
“Good to have you back,” he panted.
“I’m not—”
A hand closed around my wrist. I whirled, ready to strike, but instead of the dark, inhuman eyes of the enemy, I met Vale’s harsh stare.
“What the fuck?” I started, trying to throw off her grip.
A fresh flood of Engrossians charged in across the square, weapons raised and cries echoing. But Vale tightened her fingers, digging into my skin.
“I need to speak with you,” she said over the din of battle, her usual chiming tone higher than the bloodshed. She was bruised, ash coating her hair, but her tight expression was determined. Her other hand latched on to the fabric of Cyph’s shredded shirt.
“What are you doing here?” Cyph growled, no doubt having told her to shelter in the palace. But he was a fool if he was trying to protect her. She was no safer there, not with the way the Engrossians were driving through the city.
Cyph opened his mouth, most likely to insist she retreat, but without an explanation, she dragged us both from the square.