26. Colton
Chapter 2 6
Colton
The camp outside the castle’s boundaries lies in ruins, a stark testament to the fierce battle that raged here. Everywhere I look, remnants of destruction meet my gaze: small fires flicker in the darkness, casting an eerie glow on the shattered landscape. The smell of death hangs heavily in the air, clinging to my senses as I tread through the debris. Each step is a grim reminder of the cost of this battle, of lives lost.
The war still rages on in the distance. Every so often, an echo of howls from the Lycans reaches my ears, and I find myself hoping for victory at the other camps. I trust Drew has everything under control. Bim and Dorian are nowhere to be seen. We’d all split up when the arrows hit and had to resort to physical combat.
Suddenly, I feel it—my magic returns, the remnants of the spell wearing off. Thank fuck. A few Sorcerers lie groaning on the ground in front of me. Without hesitation, I wave a hand, setting their bodies on fire.
Feeling satisfied that my people here will be triumphant, I channel to where I last saw Nyx through my projection before our magic was cut off. I wish I could channel directly into the castle itself. That would make this a lot easier.
The ground is sodden with water and decay. The once-beautiful gardens are now a flattened wasteland. Commotion echoes from within the castle. It must be nearing morning, and I find myself longing for this wretched night to end. Too many lives have been lost on both sides—a grim testament to the futility of this conflict. Shaking my head at the devastation, I channel to the outskirts of the castle.
Climbing a flight of stairs, I step over bodies strewn across the steps, making my way to one of the side entrances. Inside, the commotion continues from all directions, yet the halls are eerily deserted. I curse myself for not paying more attention to the castle’s layout during my last visit with Lyra.
As I pass, the wall sconces flare to life, lighting my path. I check each room along the corridor. Most are empty, though a few host skirmishes—our forces holding the upper hand. I press on, determined to find Samael.
As I reach the other side of the castle, I pause, noticing a shift. The vibrant flooring is now dull, blanketed with dirt and rot as if abandoned for years. Trailing my gaze up the walls and down the hall, I see cracked sconces and roots piercing the stone—signs of decay mirroring the rot we found in Athalda’s quarters at Euric’s palace in Zomea. It’s clear now that dark spells have been cast here, their corrupt essence seeping into the crevices, decaying the castle from within.
I press forward into this decrepit wing, the air thickening around me, filling with the stench of corruption. It’s a tangible reminder of Samael’s horrors—what creatures might have been harmed here, what souls tormented under his reign. My disgust mounts with each step, fueled by the high-pitched echo of his voice. It’s a sound that grates, a reminder of why I’m here. Tightening my grip on my weapon, I quicken my pace, driven by the urgency to end this for good.
The castle reeks, and I step over at least a dozen corpses as I rush down the hall toward Lyra’s parents’ old bedroom, where the voices seem to be coming from. Surprisingly, I encounter no living guards as I approach the door, which suggests they’ve already been dispatched—Nyx must have been here. Pausing outside, I listen for any signs of what lies ahead. Suddenly, a loud crash from within spurs me into action. I kick down the door and burst in, both blades ready.
Immediately, I’m confronted by two Sorcerers. I thrust my blade into the side of one’s throat without hesitation. As I turn to face the other, he flings a handful of golden dust at me. Godsdamnit. I choke on the golden mist, feeling my magic drain away again.
“I’m getting real tired of this shit,” I grumble, taking a moment to assess the room.
Nyx and Citlali are engaged in a deadly dance near the windows, while Samael sits nonchalantly at a table in the corner, a mask obscuring most of his face.
“He knows he can’t stand a chance against us if we can use our magic,” Nyx calls out, narrowly dodging Citlali as she lunges at him, her jaw agape.
Where are all his other men? How has no one else reached this far? They can’t all be dead.
“Why do you look so confused, dear Colton? Surprised your men didn’t fare as well as you thought they would against my forces?” Samael teases in his unnaturally high-pitched voice. The Sorcerer who threw the dust at me edges backward, and a smirk tugs at my lips—killing him will definitely be a highlight.
“I always knew you were the brawn of the operation, but it seems Nyx snagged all the brains,” he continues, his voice dripping with derision. I shrug off his barbs.
“Good thing killing you is a no-brainer.” I step closer to the table, my gaze flicking between Samael and the clash between Nyx and Citlali. Part of me wants to see her fall by Nyx’s hand, but we made a promise to Drew—I’ll let her deal with her daughter.
I’m sure that’s the only reason she still stands now. “Where are all your followers now, Samael? And what the hell is that on your face? I mean, it’s a relief not having to see your usual scowl...” I watch as he bristles under his mask.
Nyx and I lock eyes for a split second, but his nod is all the confirmation I need. I lunge at the Sorcerer to my left, driving my blade through his armor and deep into his chest. He coughs up a torrent of blood as his body hits the ground.
Simultaneously, Nyx grabs Citlali, slamming her head against the wall with enough force to crack it. She slides to the ground, unconscious, leaving her for Drew to deal with later. I kick the fallen Sorcerer onto his back and yank my sword from his chest, wiping the blood on his garments. Samael laughs from where he sits, a cackle that makes my skin crawl, clearly thinking he’s beyond our reach.
“Easy to laugh when you still have all your magic. Why don’t you stand and fight us like a man?” I challenge him, stepping beside Nyx.
“Because he isn’t a man. He’s a sick freak, in love with his sister and abusing his power,” Nyx adds with disgust.
Samael stands, clapping his hands mockingly. “I guess we all have something in common then, don’t we?” he taunts.
I scoff, shaking my head. “More like sick infatuation, and last I checked, I wasn’t in love with my sister. Hell, I don’t even have a sister, and I could never be that sick.”
Samael continues clapping, laughing maniacally, and Nyx and I exchange a look that says it all—this guy has lost his fucking mind.
“Stop checking the door, my dear King Onyx. No one’s coming for you. Did you really think I wouldn’t cast spells to ensure we have some privacy?” Samael taunts, his gaze flickering between us.
“I don’t need help to finish you,” Nyx retorts, his temper flaring visibly.
“Enough chatter. Shall we?” I throw a wink at Samael, who mutters under his breath, his arms undergoing a grotesque transformation. Flesh and bone contort in a vile display as his limbs morph into blackened blades. Clearly, he’s not planning to fight us without his magic. And I didn’t think he could look more ghastly, but apparently I was wrong.
I glance at Nyx. We both know what we have to do next. We need to get that mask off him. It might be enhancing his powers. We start circling him slowly. It’s two against one, but no one’s playing fair in this fight.
We both charge simultaneously, and as my blade clashes with his, a jolt of electricity courses through the metal, shocking me so intensely that I’m hurled back into a bookcase. I clutch my chest as my heart skips a beat. Nyx fares no better, thrown across the room and tumbling over the bed.
Recovering quickly, I lunge again, managing to nick his thigh. His smug smile vanishes, replaced by a tight press of his lips as he charges toward me. His arms revert to hands, conjuring an orb of dark power that he hurls in my direction. I dive out of the way in time, the orb colliding with the wall and sending debris flying as it obliterates the adjacent bathing chamber.
“I hope you’ve got more of that gold dust because you won’t be so tough once our magic returns,” Nyx growls, charging Samael. He grabs him by the waist, tackling him to the ground. Seizing the moment, I grip my sword and rush to join the fray. If Nyx can pin him down, I could end this—cut his throat. But Samael’s not done yet. He casts another spell that blasts us backward, shattering the windows around us.
I wipe blood from my face, my jaw clenched, as we circle him again. Nyx and I alternate attacks, and I manage to drive my blade deep into Samael’s calf. He staggers, yanking the sword free, and to my horror, the wound heals instantly.
“Do you see now? You cannot defeat me. Bend the knee, and perhaps I’ll let you live,” Samael taunts. “Maybe I’ll even let you watch as I take my new bride to bed.”
His words ignite a seething rage within me, a disgust for what he’s threatened against Lyra. I lunge at him again, but Nyx, driven by his own fury, beats me to it. He screams, tackling Samael to the ground with such force that it seems to catch him off guard.
A flicker of motion in the corner of my eye pulls my attention to the balcony door, which stands eerily open—had it been that way before? My focus snaps back as I see Nyx grappling with Samael, his fingers clawing at the mask, desperate to rip it free.
Then I see Athalda. My vision blurs momentarily, and as she raises a magically sparking spear over Nyx’s back, my body reacts before my mind can catch up, hurling myself over to shield him from the blow.
Nyx shoves me off, leaping to his feet, and as I stagger to my knees, the taste of blood in my mouth makes me cough. Nyx’s gaze meets mine, wide with a fear I’ve never seen in him before. “What were you thinking?” he bellows, his eyes darting from my face to my chest.
I force myself to look down where searing pain radiates from my core. The tip of the spear protrudes from my armor, having pierced me from back to front. “I was thinking...I was saving your ass,” I choke out as I spit blood onto the floor.
Samael’s laughter fills the room, his claps sarcastic. I turn my head slowly to face my attacker, her marred face and dark, soulless eyes boring into me. “So we meet again, boy,” Athalda says, her voice dripping with venom as she surveys the damage she’s inflicted.
“You old fucking bitch,” I spit out, blood pooling at my lips. “Lyra took pity on you, and this is how you repay her?” My voice is ragged, edged with betrayal and pain.
“This is precisely how I repay her, all I’ve ever wanted is for her to reach her true potential,” Athalda cackles, a sound so vile I wince. “That girl was a fool to think banishing me was enough. Then you thought leaving a mortal boy guarding the bridge was a good idea.”
Soren is usually tasked with guarding the bridge. Fuck, I hope he’s okay. The cold metal of the spear shifts inside me as I attempt to breathe. “Maybe once you and King Onyx here are dead, she’ll finally unleash her full potential,” she muses with a twisted smirk.
I clench the spear with both hands, steeling myself to yank it out, but Nyx drops beside me, grabbing my wrist. “Don’t,” he hisses. “Without your magic to heal, pulling it out will make you bleed out in seconds.” He’s right, and as this sinks in, I realize how dire my situation is. Thoughts of Lyra flash through my mind—leaving her alone, not getting to say goodbye.
Samael’s mocking voice cuts through. “Are you going to tell me where my little bird is now? Should we wait for her to arrive before we finish this?” His words ignite a fury in me, but it’s Nyx who responds, voice thick with anger.
“Lyra’s not here, she’s not coming, and you’re never going to touch her again.” His glare shifts to Athalda, his expression one of betrayal and rage. “Why?” he chokes out, barely able to articulate his shock as he stares at her.
“Please, don’t act like you haven’t wanted to do it yourself. You should be thanking me for eliminating the competition, not questioning why,” Athalda sneers, and I grit my teeth, feeling the life drain out of me, but I’m not ready to give up—not yet.
The world blurs around the edges, but I force myself to stand, each breath a battle against the spear impaling me. “If I’m going out, I’m not going alone,” I growl through clenched teeth, seizing Athalda’s throat before she can react.
Her smirk only ignites my rage further. I quickly scan the room for Samael, ensuring he isn’t positioning to strike from behind, and catch sight of him cornering Nyx.
Turning back to Athalda, I see her face growing paler under my grip. Despite this, she reaches out, her bony fingers cruelly twisting the spear inside me. A searing pain shoots through my entire body. I stagger, nearly collapsing, the spear’s metal grating agonizingly close to my heart.
In this moment of sheer agony, I lower my shields, searching for the tether that binds Lyra and me. Even diminished as I am, the connection pulses, a faint beacon between us. For a fleeting second, I’m surrounded by the essence of Lyra—the subtle sweetness of young roses and honeysuckle, so vivid that for a moment I forget the blood and the pain.
“You know, killing you is far easier than I thought it would be,” Athalda taunts, her voice echoing as if from afar.
I shut her out, focusing solely on that ethereal link to Lyra, clinging to the sensation of her presence. But reality bends around me, walls seemingly warping, as if the castle itself is collapsing—or perhaps it’s just my failing senses from the blood loss.
“It’s working. Get ready,” Athalda shouts over me. I lack the strength to turn back to see Samael or Nyx, but they must be around behind me.
“Colton, no, keep your shields up!” Nyx yells urgently, but it’s already too late.
I feel it—the rage, pure and unfiltered, radiating through me as if it were my own. It steals my breath away. The entire castle starts to vibrate, a hum of energy that raises the hairs on my neck. Deep down, I recognize this power—it’s her, my shadow, my mate, and she is consumed with fury. As if summoned by my thoughts, the corner of the castle is ripped apart.
Rubble falls all around us as part of the roof is torn clean off, revealing the moon overhead. Athalda curses under her breath, and despite my wounds, a wave of satisfaction washes over me. I will live to see her end at the hands of my fierce mate.
Lyra lands on the balcony, her presence immediately sending Athalda crashing against the wall, held there by an unseen force. As Lyra approaches me, her movements are slow, deliberate. Her head tilts slightly, her eyes—now swirling pools of black shadow that vein out and stretch across her face and neck—scan over me intensely. Streaks of black bleed into her hair from the tips, tracing lines back toward her roots.
I struggle to rise, but my strength fails, and I remain kneeling. Lyra’s expression softens, a rare vulnerability crossing her features despite the dark power radiating from her. She sinks to her knees in front of me and gently cups my face. Dark tears stream down her cheeks as she takes in my wounded state. I reach up to wipe them away, my thumbs brushing her skin.
“My shadow,” I choke out, my voice rough. “I’m grateful...to see you, to touch you one last time.” Each word is a battle as my lungs fill with blood.
She shakes her head, fiercely determined, standing swiftly. “You’re not dying,” she asserts, her voice gaining an otherworldly resonance, the one she gets when her dark magic has completely taken hold of her.
“You’ll be better off without him,” Athalda hisses from her pinned position against the wall. Without breaking her fierce gaze from mine, Lyra’s tendrils of shadow tighten around Athalda’s neck, eliciting a guttural choke. “I’ll deal with you in a moment,” Lyra mutters, her voice cold as the shadows themselves. I want to turn to see what happened to Nyx and Samael, but I can’t look away from her. She brushes her hands against her pants—those familiar black leather tights and bodice we used in our training sessions in Zomea. What has she been up to?
She kneels beside me once more, and suddenly Chepi is there, nuzzling against my cheek with a concerned whine. I’d pat him if I could, but my body is rapidly weakening, each breath more laborious than the last. If only I could summon my healing magic.
“Hold on,” she commands me, her voice slicing through the haze of my pain. With a dramatic flourish, she thrusts her arm skyward, unleashing a maelstrom of darkness from her palm. It swirls around us, cocooning us in a globe of shadow more solid than stone.
Inside this dark sanctum, the chaos of the outside world is silenced, as if we’re wrapped in the eye of a storm. The shadows churn violently around us, yet within this sphere, there’s an eerie silence. All I can focus on is Lyra, her hair whipped up by an unseen wind, her eyes—dark pools of infinite depth—locked onto the spear in my chest.
Her lips move in a silent incantation, a whisper to the dark powers she commands so effortlessly. I feel a chill emanating from the core of my being, a creeping frost that spreads from the spear’s entry point, seeping deep into my veins .
As the shadows tighten their grip around the spear, they begin to infiltrate the wound, intertwining with my very essence. Pain and cold intermingle, a paradoxical sensation that’s both terrifying and mesmerizing. Lyra’s shadows, alive with a dark energy, weave through my flesh, beginning a battle against the brink of death itself.
I’ve seen Lyra wield her shadows to heal herself, but never another. Doubt had me questioning whether it was even possible. Yet as her shadows twist beneath my skin, her dark magic begins stitching my flesh back together. I inhale sharp as the spear shatters under the force of her inky wisps, falling to the floor in shards.
I expect my next breath to be clear and strong, free from the pain of the weapon that once impaled me. But as I look up, I see Lyra’s eyes widen in shock. I follow her gaze to her abdomen, where my blood has spattered across her. A wet, crackling cough escapes me as the last bit of life seems to drain away.
“It’s okay,” I manage, my voice barely a whisper as I collapse back onto the floor. The cold stone feels oddly comforting under me.
My body and mind succumb to an overwhelming tiredness, a pull toward sleep I can’t resist. Lyra leans over me, her face etched with panic, her words lost to me. I reach up, my hand trembling, to touch her face—her beautiful face, the last thing I’ll see, and I’m grateful for that.
“Find your light and live,” I whisper with my last ounce of strength. Then, slowly, her face begins to blur and fade from my vision.