Chapter 18
Fury blazed in the Hunter’s eyes as he snarled.
Embers scattered across the forest floor flared to life, drawn to his rage, their orange glow licking at the shadows around him.
Yoni moved first—blurring aside as a searing orb tore from the Hunter’s palm, scorching the earth where Yoni had lain seconds before.
“Elara, move!” Dario bellowed, yanking a dagger from his bandolier.
The acrid scent of smoke and burning pine choked the air, the flames coming off the Hunter licking dangerously close. Elara sprang back, but every direction she turned, the searing heat and roar of the fire blocked her way.
She gasped as her gaze locked onto Dario. He moved with deadly precision, launching dagger after dagger at the Hunter, showcasing years of rigorous training. The blades sliced through the air, swift and true, as he sprinted toward her. But the Hunter was faster.
With a flick of his wrist, fire erupted—a scorching barrier that swallowed the daggers mid-flight, spitting molten drops across the forest floor.
Elara’s stomach knotted as Dario charged straight through the flames, weapon raised, fury carved into his face. Her heart clenched, torn between running to him and cursing his name.
Betrayer.
Defender.
Fool.
He’d lied to her—again and again—yet here he was, fighting as if she were his to save.
Part of her wanted to believe there was a reason behind every broken promise.
But even if he survived this, Osin would never forgive him.
He was gambling everything for her—his life, his loyalty, his station—and she didn’t know whether to scream at him, run, or collapse into his arms and weep over the ruin of it all.
Amid the fray, Yoni moved like a wraith.
His dagger flashed cold in one hand while an unnatural glow pulsed in the other.
His voice threaded through the noise, words older than the forest. The ground beneath the Hunter shifted, almost imperceptibly at first—a tremor he barely noticed.
But then it came alive. The earth lurched and split open, hurling stones and leaves into a screaming spiral, a storm of dirt that howled as if the land had finally chosen sides—and it wasn’t his.
Elara’s heart pounded so fiercely she could feel it in her throat as she lunged for the nearest tree, fingers digging into the rough bark.
The ground beneath them writhed, hungry and wild, pulling everything within reach toward its gaping maw.
Trees groaned, boulders tilted, all drawn toward the chasm that that clawed at the Hunter’s feet.
She couldn’t move. Could barely breathe as the earth consumed him inch by inch, relentless, unstoppable. Until it wasn’t.
A sound tore from him—half roar, half something primal and broken—and with a burst of power, his fist slammed into the earth.
A bone-deep shudder rippled out, a violent quake that cracked the ground, split the silence, and ripped the spell to shreds.
The Hunter rose with a snarl, raw power rippling through him as flames erupted in his hands, curling like living serpents eager to strike.
A whip cracked through the air so fiercely Elara flinched.
It was a sound that stole the breath from her lungs, the sharp tang of smoke filling her nose as he lashed the fiery arc toward Yoni.
She hit the ground instinctively, the blistering heat licking just over her head as Yoni twisted away, rolling.
She barely had a moment to think before Dario blurred into motion, faster than she could track.
His blade gleamed—a single, merciless arc—and plunged into the gap beneath the Hunter’s arm where steel met flesh.
A harsh grunt of pain escaped him.
It was the sound of opportunity, and Elara did not hesitate.
Her heart thundered in her chest as she ran, each beat a frantic rhythm that drove her forward.
Dario loomed to her left, Yoni closing in on her right, both like wolves circling their kill.
But she didn’t slow, didn’t hesitate. Her body moved before her mind could catch up, veering swiftly toward Yoni.
There was no time for second-guessing, no space for a glance over her shoulder to gauge Dario’s reaction. The choice was made the moment her feet left the ground.
Yoni’s hand flashed to his belt, a blur of motion as he drew another weapon, his expression fierce and laser-focused. "Faster, faster," his eyes seemed to scream.
But the Hunter was running too.
With a sweep of his hand, flames erupted, slithering across the earth like vipers. The fire spread, tendrils snaking outward until one found her, coiling around her ankle with a scorching grip that burned through her boot and into her skin.
Elara barely had time to scream before the whip ripped her off her feet, snapping her connection with Yoni. She flew, the world spinning, wind tearing at her face—then the ground slammed into her with a bone-rattling thud.
No, no, no.
Gasping, she clawed at the dirt, nails scraping as she tried to drag herself free. It was useless. The Hunter hauled her back, her body skidding over the scorched ground until she lay trembling and breathless at his feet.
Ash burned her throat, every breath brittle as she stared up at him.
He was a shadow against the blaze, his black armor catching the firelight, every flicker painting him in molten gold.
He didn’t move. Didn’t need to. He stood there like something dragged straight from the nightmares of old.
A Seraph ripped from the Otherworld, cloaked in flame and shadow—a harbinger of death, here to collect his due.
Elara could hear Dario shouting—could see Yoni weaving spells into the air—but it all felt muffled, like she was underwater. The Hunter had sealed them in, a barrier crackling with power that felt eerily familiar.
Even through the mask, she felt the tension radiating off him. He reached up, grip steady, and yanked Dario’s dagger free from his armor. A brief grimace slipped beneath the mask—a crack in his composure—before he tossed the blade aside and drew a slow breath.
“Hallowed,” the Hunter murmured, his hand outstretched once more.
The word struck like a curse. Dread coiled low and cold in her gut, tightening until her breath stuttered.
Her shoulders sagged as the truth settled—brutal and inescapable.
There was no way out. He would deliver her to Osin, and the life she knew would end.
Osin wouldn’t kill her; she was too valuable for that.
And the thought of what he would do—of the pain he could inflict—
Death would be a mercy.
So, Elara snatched the dagger at his heel.
Blade flashing, she struck. A swift, harsh slice across his waiting, open palm.
He froze, eyes blinking in brief confusion, as if her boldness hadn’t fully registered. Then his gaze dropped to the blood welling in his hand, dark red stark against bronze skin, and reality crashed back in.
With a snarl, he seized the knife by the blade, uncaring of the blood spilling from his grip, and hauled her up. “Stubborn, impossible woman,” he growled, smearing blood across her skin.
Elara thrashed wildly, every kick and punch a plea for him to lose patience and end it. Better to die fighting than face whatever Osin had planned. In the struggle her hand brushed his ring.
Like flint striking steel, a spark caught.
Power tore through her, ripping down her veins in a violent surge. The world emptied to white noise, her ears ringing as everything blurred into nothing.
Elara clawed at her chest, her head tipping forward until her gaze landed on the Hunter. The first thing she saw was his eyes—wide with a horror that mirrored her own. Within them, a flicker of amber pulsed, alive, syncing with the wild hammer of her heart.
He’d collapsed opposite her, one hand pressed to his chest as if he could feel the pain tearing through her. The air between them crackled with the residue of their clash, each breath a labor, mirroring the others, as if they were both drawing from the same strained lung.
The Hunter drew in a rough breath, shedding the disorientation like a discarded cloak, and rose with the fluidity of a seasoned warrior.
This time, when he reached for her, there was no pause—no silent question. In the space of a breath, he seized her arm and hauled her upright, yanking her hard against his solid frame.
Elara dug her heels into the earth, muscles burning as she fought to hold her ground. It was useless. Resisting him was like bracing against a gale; her efforts vanished beneath his strength.
Beyond the shimmering barrier, Dario’s face was flushed, eyes frantic as he watched helplessly. Yoni never stopped, spells slamming again and again into the invisible wall, desperation etched into every strike as sweat slicked his brow and his strength bled away.
Elara knew it then—deep in her bones. It was already over.
She should’ve taken that dagger to her own throat when she had the chance.
As the Hunter dragged her toward the rift, it felt as though she were being torn between two worlds. Behind her, the Void screamed, its icy winds clawing at her hair and clothes. Ahead, the forest beckoned with the promise of safety.
But she would never be safe. That was a fairy tale—a sweet lie she’d told herself. She’d been a fool to believe it could ever be real for someone like her.
A numbing detachment settled over her. Even through the haze, Dario’s eyes never left hers, filled with a devastation she didn’t know how to carry.
He will hang for this.
The thought echoed bleakly as the Hunter dragged her through the rift. Elara almost felt the warmth of Dario’s hand as the barrier finally fell, just a hair’s breadth from her own—
before she was gone.