Chapter 28 #2
You formed a bond with her, just like you swore you never would. And you just tried to kill her—the only person you’ve ever cared about, and probably the only one who’s ever cared about you.
He couldn’t deny that either. Lucifer’s legions were on their way now, and here he sat, unable to do what he needed to complete the spell. Unable to finish what he had started because of his attachment to one half-human witch, even if it meant facing his own death.
You value her life above your own.
“That can’t be true.” He shook his head. He didn’t possess the ability to care for anything that deeply. His own ambitions had always been his only motivation. He had no care for others; he never had. It was simply not his nature.
You have a soul. You told Suyin what happens to demons who develop souls—they develop consciences as well.
Did you think you were the exception? Did you think you were different?
Hate to break it to you, but you’re not.
You’re just as much of an idiot as Raum and his simpering brothers, desperate to protect their precious females.
“Suyin is special,” he growled. “She is worth protecting.”
Is she special enough to die for? Because that’s what you need to do to complete the spell.
“That’s absurd. There is no way to complete the spell without her. A life must be sacrificed with the blood offerings in order to—”
He broke off suddenly.
A life must be sacrificed.
The spell required a death sacrifice. He had concluded that with certainty. It would never have the strength to push through Lucifer’s defenses without it, and his bond with Suyin had turned her life into an even more powerful offering.
But there were two blood sacrifices in the casting. Suyin, and himself.
And therefore … two potential deaths.
Sacrificing Suyin despite his attachment to her would greatly increase the power of the offering. But he hadn’t considered the other alternative.
Sacrificing himself to save her would be ten times more powerful. One hundred times.
There was nothing more potent than a selfless sacrifice in all of magic. It was so incredibly rare to harness in a ritual that it was almost unheard of. But when circumstances aligned, and a selfless sacrifice could be made, free of duress …
The power was immeasurable.
His spine shot straight as he realized exactly what he had to do. On his knees at the edge of the sigil, the culmination of years of work, the peak of his achievements, he faced the end.
It would work, too. He would summon Belial with one of his favors, forcing him to step into the portal and open the door. Murmur didn’t technically have to be present for the task to be completed.
No, he wasn’t actually contemplating this, was he?
You’ve formed an attachment, that stupid fucking inner voice informed him. A powerful bond. Accept it. Do what must be done.
“No.” He shook his head.
You love her. That’s why you can’t kill her. That’s why you have to do this.
“No.” His heart skipped a beat. “No, I do not. I cannot love—I’m not capable of such a thing.”
You think of her in every spare moment. You enjoy her company, and you wish you could keep her here forever. You feel sick at the thought of hurting her.
“Wrong!” he shouted at the empty room. “You’re wrong—”
You felt sick carving the death mark into her skin because you hated betraying her trust. You wanted to be worthy of her. You despised the idea of hurting her.
“Stop it. Just … stop.”
You went there with the intention of taking her life. Then you enjoyed her body and the sight of her pleasure-drunk eyes. And then you lied to her and left her to die.
“I said stop.”
You betrayed her. And you love her. And now you hate yourself.
He dropped his head in his hands, forgetting the blood still staining his finger. He really was mad, sitting here arguing with himself. Incapable of completing his spell.
That’s not true. You know what you have to do, and you’re more than capable.
“Yes.” He slowly lifted his head, looking around his library. “Yes, I do know.”
Empty. The room was so empty and lightless. Full of knowledge, but what had it amounted to? At the end of the day, he was alone. What was so special about his life anyway? He was driven to survive by nothing but pure selfish ambition. At the end of the day, he meant nothing.
You’re going to do it.
“Yes.” He took a breath. “I am.”
As soon as he spoke it aloud, as soon as he made the decision, the knot in his gut unclenched and the nausea eased. The weight lifted off his chest, and suddenly he could breathe. Everything felt lighter. He was lighter.
He scrambled up, grabbed his knife from the table, and slashed across his forearm, right over the mark. Rendering it useless.
The weight lifted even more. He felt so light, he was surprised he didn’t float off the floor. He smiled at the thought of his own fucking death. Like the lunatic he was.
A fitting way for the Necromancer to go, I believe.
Indeed it was. Surrounded by the most powerful magic he’d ever attempted, his life would be the catalyst to complete his spell and begin the High King’s downfall. It was poetic, in a way.
He leapt to his feet. Before he could die, there were several steps he had to take.
Hurrying to his desk, he rifled through the mess of papers, shoving them off the edge until he found a blank piece. And then he began to write.
When he finished the letter, he folded it in three and then sealed it with melted candle wax, pressing it flat with his own fingerprint.
Crossing the room, he found a clear spot on the floor, withdrew his knife, and slashed his arm open again.
It wasn’t wise for him to waste so much blood before attempting the spell, but since he didn’t plan to survive, he wasn’t particularly concerned about that now.
He drew a demonic summoning seal on the ground.
A demon could only summon another demon when there was a debt sworn between them.
Twice, Belial had agreed to owe Murmur an unspecified favor.
He had stipulated several conditions—Belial was no novice at negotiating—but Murmur knew how to work around them.
Now, however, instead of summoning the demon he wanted to speak to, he added a few tweaks to the sigil and then tossed the letter into the center. He activated the spell, and flames shot up around the outside of the sigil. When they died down, the letter was gone.
He hurried back to his desk. Now that the letter was sent, he needed to get the spell done before the recipient had time to show up demanding answers. The last thing he needed was a flaming, raging interruption at this crucial moment.
But there was one more thing he had to do.
He ran around the library like a madman, collecting books from various locations. Then, he penned a second letter and set it atop the stack. His gaze caught on one of the books in the stack, and he froze as something occurred to him. A tiny spark of hope lit in his chest.
Then he shook himself. The sacrifice would not be selfless unless he was fully committed. This was the only way. He had lived long enough.
Still, he couldn’t stop himself from ripping a tiny piece of paper and putting it between the pages as a bookmark. So subtle it was basically invisible. It could be years before it was discovered, and by then, it would be far too late.
He stashed the books in a secret place, left a discreet trail he was sure his witch’s discerning eyes could find, and then repaired the outside line of the hellgate so it could be reactivated.
He knew Suyin well enough to guess she would come to confront him with a vengeance once she learned what the mark did.
He needed to leave an open gate for her to do that.
When that was done, he hurried back to the sigil and readied his supplies to pick up where he’d left off. He looked down at his bare chest and swallowed. What he was planning … It wasn’t a particularly pleasant way to die.
Then he thought of the trusting look in Suyin’s eyes, her soft smile when he’d scooped her into his arms and carried her.
Guilt and self-hatred felt like a sword in his chest. On the other side of his denial, he couldn’t believe he’d even considered trying to kill her, let alone taken it as far as he had.
He was doing this for his vision of the future. For himself and his life’s work.
But he was also doing it for her. Not only so she would live, but so she could rest easy knowing her father’s soul would be freed.
He turned the knife toward his own chest and began to carve a necromancy sigil into his skin.
A demon could only be killed by decapitation and then complete incineration by hellfire. Any remaining piece would regenerate if it was not burned to ash.
But a demon with a soul …
Besides Gamigin, no one had studied this phenomenon. All rules and understandings of demons applied only to soulless demons. Once a demon evolved, the rules changed. The life force of a being with a soul was tied to their soul.
And without it, they would die.
Necromancy was the art of animating soulless bodies … and controlling souls who had already left their bodies. Which meant Murmur knew exactly how to make the perfect sacrifice.
When he finished the sigil, the cuts covered his entire torso, from his collarbone all the way down to his navel. He was weak from blood loss now, lightheaded, his skin clammy with a thin layer of cold sweat. The world spun around him as he dropped to his knees.
He was bleeding out, but that alone wouldn’t kill him. But what he was about to do next would.
The knife fell from his fingers, his grip too weak to hold it. He swayed but forced himself to remain upright as blood poured from his chest, pooling on the floor.
And then he began the incantation. He spoke the syllables of his precious spell and watched his blood being drawn down the lines of the sigil toward the center.
The hellfire ignited. His voice rose in volume though he couldn’t find the strength to raise it himself.
The magic amplified it. It built higher and higher the longer he spoke.
The winds began, gusting around the room as it was plunged into smoky darkness.
And then, at the very center of the sigil, the portal began to solidify.
It’s going to work.
The sacrifice was working. He could feel the magic pulsing out around him in great waves. It was powerful, so powerful that there was plenty more to spare. He could feel it drawing his soul from his body, using his sacrifice to push through the final barrier.
Somewhere far away, Lucifer’s seal weakened and then broke completely. Murmur felt it happen right before he lost the strength to remain upright, toppling to the ground.
Tired. He was suddenly so tired.
His consciousness slipped from his blood-soaked body.
And then, suddenly … he was living the death vision.
The very fate he’d fought so hard to prevent came regardless. He hadn’t altered his destiny after all. No matter what he did, he was always meant to die burning alive.
Flames surrounded him, scorching his essence. But they weren’t hellfire, as he’d always assumed. They were not physical at all. They were white. Purifying. They seared to the core of his being, and he screamed in terrible agony.
And then … nothing. Blissful nothing.
He forgot who he was or what his mission was. He felt … release. He felt freedom. He felt—
Trapped. Suddenly, a powerful force was drawing him back, a dark tether sinking hooks into his essence and sucking him down, down …
Blackness surrounded him. Haunted cries echoed around him. He reached out to test the boundaries of his prison, but he had no form to utilize. He could sense the confinement, but it was as though he was paralyzed, trapped in a formless body encapsulated in ice.
All around, he heard screams.