Chapter 53 Lucian
Lucian
This isn't happening. This can't be fucking happening.
The sight hits me like a fatal blow to hope, shattering my world into bloody pieces.
My angel—my beautiful, radiant Seraphina—hangs crucified against some dark makeshift massive cross, like some fucked up sacrifice. Runed chains wrap around her body, pulsing with sickly black magic that makes my heart race. But her wings... fuck, her wings...
"Holy shit," Emily's voice cracks through my frozen horror. "We need to get her down. Right fucking now!"
I stumble forward, crushing broken feathers beneath my feet. Each step leaves crimson footprints, like I'm walking through some demented fairy tale gone wrong. The air smells of Seraphina's sweet blood, and dark magic—Morgan's unique brand of necromantic bullshit.
"Ph-phina?" My voice breaks. "Baby, can you hear me?"
Her golden eyes flutter, glazed with pain. "Lucian." her weak voice fucking undoes me.
Black corruption spreads through her once-pristine wings like poison, stemming from iron spikes that look like they were stolen from Satan's toolbox. Each nail pulses with the same sick magic as the chains.
Through our bond, I feel nothing but static and agony—like someone's replaced our connection with barbed wire.
"The nails," Emily hisses, her hands shaking. "They're warded. I can't—" She swears viciously. "The magic's fighting me."
I reach for the nearest spike, and holy fuck—white-hot pain sears through my palm. The metal burns like sacred fire, forcing a snarl from my throat. "What the hell is this?"
"Blessed iron mixed with my own special brew. Like it?" Morgan's voice slices through the room like a serrated knife, making us whirl to face her.
She emerges from the shadows like a goth-whore nightmare, all black leather and too much eyeliner. Dark energy rolls off her in waves, the power that makes my hair stand on end.
"Turn it off, Elvira," I growl, putting myself between her and Phina. "Before I show you a whole new use for that pentagram choker."
Morgan's laugh is sharp. "That's cute, Fangface. You really thought I wouldn't clock your little ambush upstairs?" Her eyes, rimmed with kohl and something darker, lock onto Emily. "Color me impressed, though. Your discount Sabrina packs a bigger punch than I thought."
"Bitch, please," Emily's magic crackles like a live wire. "last time was a fucking warm-up. You really wanna see me go full Scarlet Witch on your bony ass?"
Morgan prowls the room's edges, her black-painted fingernails trailing along the stone. Her movements are pure predatory grace—like a jaguar toying with its food.
I tune out her evil overlord TED Talk, zeroing in on my angel. "Phina, baby." My voice cracks as I brush blood-matted hair from her face. "Just focus on me, okay? We're busting you out of this shithole."
Seraphina's tears cut through the blood spattered on her cheeks. "Lu-Lucian," she whimpers, each word shredded by pain. "It hurts. Gods, it hurts. Make it stop, please... please..."
Her pain hits me like a fucking semi-truck, our bond screaming with phantom agony. I swallow hard against the rising tide of rage and bile.
I'm going to destroy Morgan. Viciously. Creatively. With her own fucking curse.
I try again—my hands wrap around the first nail, and holy motherfucking hell—the blessed iron sears through my charred flesh like the devil's kiss. I rip away with a roar that rattles the stones, leaving strips of skin behind.
Rage drowns my vision. Enough of this bullshit. I blur toward Morgan, fangs bared and ready to paint the walls with her blood—
Agony nukes my skull. I crash to the ground, convulsing as phantom knives fillet my brain. Morgan's boots fill my view, her hand outstretched like the Grim Reaper's bony finger.
"Let's make a trade, hmm?" Her voice slices through the mind-melting pain. Blood drips from my nose and ears as she cranks up the cerebral pressure. "Soul Stone for your feathered fuck-toy. Going once..."
Emily lunges like an avenging witch on a rampage, but Morgan just flicks her other hand with the casual disdain of swatting a fly. Emily crashes to her knees, face contorting in the same brain-melting agony that's turning my skull into a blender party.
"YES!" The word shreds my throat, tasting of desperation and bile. "Fucking... deal... just... STOP!"
"And where's the real Rhyland? That cheap knockoff upstairs might fool the queen bee, but honey, I wrote the book on dark energy." She twists her mental knife deeper with the casual ease of adjusting her lipstick, and my gray matter feels like dollar store jello.
"Fuck... I don't know!"
"Lying makes me cranky. Going twice..."
"Fine! Shit... he's in ásgard—Zephyria... wherever the fuck!" The pain's got me tap-dancing on consciousness's edge.
"Hmm..." Her voice carries all the warmth of a glacier. "Time to summon myself a God."
The pressure vanishes, abandoning me on cold stone. My head jackhammers like I tongue-fucked a light socket.
Morgan snaps her fingers. "Stone. Now."
I drag myself up, muscles twitching. "Her first, bitch."
Eye roll. Wrist flick. The chains dissolve into greasy mist, their malevolent magic evaporating.
I blur to Phina, gripping the first nail, slick with her blood.
Please don't let this hurt, please...
I wrench it free with a wet, tearing sound that will haunt me for the rest of my life. Phina screams, raw and broken, her wing spasming. Blood gushes from the gaping hole, staining white feathers.
"I'm sorry, I'm so fucking sorry," I choke out, reaching for the next spike. It comes free with a sickening squelch, and Phina convulses, a wail of pure agony ripping from her throat. Her pain slams into me like a battering ram, our bond throbbing with echoes of torture.
The last nail is buried in the delicate joint where wing meets shoulder blade.
Forgive me, Cupcake.
I clench my jaw and pull, feeling tendon and muscle tear. Phina's shriek will be seared into my memory for eternity. She collapses against me, and I catch her, holding her tight as her mangled wings drape across the floor, painting abstract horrors in scarlet.
"I've got you, baby girl." I press my forehead to hers, our tears mingling with her blood. "I'm here. I'm here." Her whimpers vibrate through my chest, dark magic poisoning her light.
Morgan's going to die for this. Screaming. Pleading. Choking on her own fucking hubris.
"Deals a deal." Morgan's voice cracks like a whip. "Cough it up."
I clutch Seraphina to my chest, the need to heal her clawing at my insides. I raise my wrist to my fangs, ready to tear into my own flesh, to give her my blood, my strength—
Invisible chains lock me in place, freezing me mid-motion. "Ah, ah, ah. Not so fast, lover boy." Morgan's finger wags like a metronome of mockery. "Payment first. Then you can play doctor with your angel."
A snarl of pure frustration rips from my throat. I cut my eyes to Emily, desperation a living thing in my gut.
Emily's hands flash out, magic missiles flying from her fingertips. Morgan bats them away with a contemptuous flick of her wrist, retaliating with hellfire that encircles my favorite witch in a ring of brimstone and agony.
"I'm losing my patience, leech." Morgan's voice drips with venom. "Hand. It. The. Fuck. Over."
Fuck. Fuck. Fuckity fuck fuck.
"Upstairs!" The word explodes from me in a roar of frustration. Sable has the fake stone, but this whole shit-show has spiraled so far off script, it might as well be a fucking improv night.
Phina trembles in my arms, each whimper a dagger to my chest. Her skin burns with unholy fever, wings dripping blood onto stone. The need to heal her, to give her my blood, screams through every cell in my body. But with Morgan's death grip on me...
Morgan's lips curl into a razor smile. "Fetch, witch." She drops her hand, and the ring of hellfire imprisoning Emily vanishes.
Emily staggers, magic flickering like a dying light. But then—holy shit—she hurls a tsunami of pure power at Morgan. "Like hell I will." Morgan flies backward, hitting the cavern wall with a satisfying crunch.
I don't waste the opening. My fangs slash into my wrist, and I press it to Phina's lips. "Drink, Cupcake. Come on."
She manages two weak swallows before her body revolts. Blood sprays from her lips as she convulses, each spasm driving another stake through my heart. "Phina! Baby, what—"
"It's the dark magic," Emily grits out, heading toward the stairs. "We need to delta the fuck out of here. Now."
I scoop up my angel, but Morgan's voice freezes us in our tracks.
"One more step," she purrs, darkness dancing in her eyes, "and I'll show you exactly what a necromancer can do with angel essence."
I clutch Phina tighter, her mangled wings painting gore across my legs. "Get fucked, Wednesday Addams."
The air suddenly becomes Arctic-level cold, like Hell decided to host a winter festival. Morgan raises her hands, and the floor splits—rotting fingers burst through stone, grabbing for our ankles. The stench of decay fills the air.
Emily hurls a bolt of pure magic, but Morgan deflects it. "Really, witch? You think your parlor tricks can match my power? I've been collecting death magic since before your grandmother was born."
The undead hands catch my ankles. I kick free, but more replace them, trying to drag us down. Emily's magic blazes like a star, keeping the worst at bay, but sweat pours down her face from the effort.
"Running out of juice?" Morgan taunts. "Let me help with that."
She gestures sharply, and Emily doubles over, gasping. The color drains from her face as Morgan starts pulling her life force.
Shit. Shit. SHIT.
"Stop!" I roar, desperately searching for options. Seraphina's dead weight in my arms, Emily being drained, and undead fuckers trying to drag us under. "I'll get the stone."
Morgan's smile is all razor blades. "Now we're talking." She eases her grip on Emily, who collapses to her knees. "Was that so hard?"
I snarl. "Let's all go, and—"