Chapter 33 Lore
THIRTY-THREE
Lore
I WATCHED, STRANGELY emotionless, as my shadows tore into the Fae.
They easily dismantled the vault surrounding his mind, and at my next command, they would wrench out his darkest fears and bring them to life for me.
I granted them a few uninterrupted moments to play that would feel much longer to War.
To him, it would seem as though weeks had slipped by in the span of a few heartbeats.
In the realm of nightmares, time held no meaning; each second could stretch into infinity if I chose to make it so.
Something sparked this… retribution, but the longer my magic toyed with his mind, holding it captive, the less control I seemed to have over my own thoughts. Intrinsically, I understood that I needed to let go or I’d lose myself entirely. But for some reason, I couldn’t.
This was my final test, and I was prepared to fail.
I wanted him to suffer even if that meant I sacrificed a piece of my own soul.
There was a reason, one that eluded me, but I was certain I could hold on to my essence long enough to see him pay.
It was a dangerous game I was playing.
And for a fleeting moment, I had a sense that I wasn’t really winning.
It felt like I was losing something vital, something I’d needed to guard against…
I was becoming and unraveling all at once.
My heartbeat remained even, unbothered by the notion of beginning and ending in an endless loop.
This story was one I’d lived before, in different manners, but in the scenes, the emotions or lack thereof, I’d been the orchestrator. Others had stood where I did now, bowed by my own will. And here I was, experiencing it all.
It was a strange thought, but somehow, I understood.
This was destiny in a way. Or perhaps it was hell.
To live out the punishment inflicted on others, to intimately understand how it felt for them in those final moments.
A flash of worry broke through the darkness enveloping me, and I swore it wasn’t my own, but it vanished as quickly as it had come, snuffed out by the menacing power streaming from me.
I exhaled.
My focus needed to remain on the task at hand.
I gathered my shadows and flung them harder at the Fae before me.
I felt nothing except for a slight hunger to inflict more pain as my magic thrust itself upon War again, turning his fears into grotesque, humanoid forms that lurched out from the darkest recesses of his mind.
No one outside the swarming shadow storm would see the physical manifestation of his nightmares, but I saw them clearly. I knew this wasn’t the real horseman, it was some character brought to life, but that didn’t stop me from delving deeper into his psyche.
I cocked my head, a flicker of amusement breaking through my indifference. The great harbinger of war was afraid of faceless monsters with red-glowing eyes.
They haunted his dreams.
Which made them mine for the taking.
I slipped deeper into his mind, where his fears lay exposed like ripe fruit in an orchard. I reached out and plucked them one by one, savoring the power they offered as I worked my shadows up into a ravenous frenzy.
His hoarse shouts grew louder as those faceless souls surrounded him, his pupils blown wide with terror.
With half a thought, I directed my magic to drag out their torment.
They shifted their attack at once, now creeping with a torturous sort of slowness, their razor-sharp claws lightly grazing across the lush bounty of his mind instead of tearing into it.
I wanted each moment of his fear to linger like an eternal night.
The strange sense of retribution came over me again. He’d hurt someone important or had tried to. And now I would hurt him back tenfold.
Something tugged at me, at that reminder, some sensation I had no name for. I had an urge to turn to it, to shake off my shadow magic.
I shook my head to clear it instead.
Whatever that was, it almost broke through my mental shield before I slammed it back in place. Still, a slight fissure remained.
I ignored it.
I turned my attention back on War, my desire for vengeance returning.
I made sure every scratch of my shadow talons felt like a thousand daggers of ice against his mind. The mental assault wouldn’t stop until his psyche lay in complete ruin at my feet.
But not yet. Now was the time to stoke his fear until he prayed for death.
Every scrape of my magical talons peeled back another layer of War’s mind, a new fear or a new memory of the terror he’d inflicted on others.
I realized what those red-eyed faceless monsters were to him: They were the souls of his victims, haunting him, his own personal demons.
These were the specters, and now I understood why they’d also given Conquest a wide berth on the island.
Each of the horsemen was haunted by these creatures, the souls of those they’d doomed.
I delved even deeper into his memories, wanting to know who this male truly was at his core. The visions quickly unraveled for me like a dark, twisted scroll, with scenes from a life lived in utter brutality taking shape.
I flipped through the memories like pages in a book, searching for the worst of his deeds to reflect back at him.
Each memory was more corrupt than the last.
He’d been a nasty, violent thing. Seeking pleasure in mortals’ pain for centuries. Stoking war and violence and bloodshed just for his amusement.
It was a familiar sentiment, one I did not like to acknowledge.
The long, immortal life he lived was not merely marked by cruelty; it was drenched in it.
He’d razed cities, turned villages against one another, created never-ending skirmishes and battles for land.
Tavern brawls, religious strife, he even stoked embers of discord in married couples.
War was a creature of pure aggression, relishing the agony he inflicted on mortals for hundreds of years.
His legendary “hunts” only scratched the surface of how deep his depravity went.
While in his mind, I felt how much he gloried in his identity as War, relishing that menacing title every time he overpowered someone weaker.
He delighted in the suffering he caused.
He thrived on the chaos of battle and got off on it.
But his battles weren’t limited to physical assaults; he was well versed in mental wars. Toying with his victims until they went mad.
War wasn’t simply a wicked bastard in this story realm; he was a monster—a true blight upon other Fae and mortals alike. I had known that hunger for power, for fear. Once, long ago, I’d been that monster. But I was no longer bound to those mistakes.
The scales of divine justice had righted themselves.
And I was merely the harbinger of his doom now.
His agonized screams only fueled my rage.
I didn’t want his nightmare to end too soon.
I wanted him to suffer, to beg.
I wanted him on his knees, tears streaming down his face, blood splattered across the earth from where he bashed his head against it, hoping to silence the images. Only to realize he was no longer in control of this battle.
I wanted him to intimately know what it was like to gaze upon the monster bringing his death. The same way he’d stared down, cold and unfeeling, into the eyes of those who’d begged him for that same mercy he never granted.
Too soon, his cries stopped, replaced by a strange, insistent tug in my center. At first, I thought I imagined it. Then it grew stronger, more demanding.
I rubbed at my sternum, then flicked my attention up.
An angel of death suddenly emerged from the darkness I’d wrapped myself in, parting my shadow magic like it was a simple curtain being drawn aside.
No one had ever invaded my power while I was creating a nightmare before. They’d never been strong enough or foolish enough to try.
I couldn’t decide if I was impressed or contemplating retribution.
I glared at his bare chest, finding myself inexplicably drawn to what was inked onto it despite the annoyance I felt at his bold interruption.
His whole upper body was almost entirely covered with a tattoo of a phoenix. Its feathers glistened like molten gold as they spread across his skin.
It called to me.
Each subtle movement of his muscles set the mythical bird into motion, as if it were poised to take flight at any moment.
The level of detail was astounding; every plume and talon had been rendered to perfection. I hated to admit it, but his body was the true masterpiece, a living canvas that came alive with each breath he took.
My gaze traveled higher, finally resting on his chiseled face.
Ice-blue eyes ensnared me.
They weren’t the sort of tranquil blue pools that begged to be drowned in; they were the blue of an unforgiving sky.
Beautiful, terrifying. Powerful.
One moment passed, then two.
His pale gaze was spellbinding, all-consuming, and locked on mine as if in challenge. Some ancient, slumbering thing deep inside me woke, intrigued by the idea of meeting this male on a battlefield.
He would make an interesting opponent.
My thoughts suddenly flashed with different battle scenes—ones fought between silken sheets.
Vivid images of him lying back on a massive plush bed filled my mind, his toned arms casually tucked behind his head as he watched me drink him in.
I could easily picture his golden skin on full display in the soft, ambient bedchamber lighting. Every muscle and curve highlighted by the slight sheen of sweat.
The mere idea of him lying there, naked and fully aroused, cool eyes burning with desire, made my core tighten with need.
I banished my thoughts before they turned any more erotic.
It was a very peculiar reaction to a stranger I should be thinking of killing.
I forced my attention to remain locked on his, not giving any quarter.
He had a cold, ruthless sort of male beauty, but if he made one wrong move, I would just as easily slit his throat as I’d climb into his bed.
Though I couldn’t deny the latter was slightly more appealing.
It wouldn’t be the worst thing to take my pleasure from him and then tear out his throat.