Chapter 82 Danica #2
I gasp, drawing my first full breath since the attack, no longer drowning in my own blood. The world snaps back into terrible focus—every detail crystalline in its horror.
But the emptiness where Rhyland should be remains an absolute void that no amount of healing blood can touch.
That fucking bitch carved out what should have been untouchable. Our bond—violently shredded from our souls like she reached in and gutted us both. The emptiness howls inside me, a raw, bleeding chasm.
I want to scream until my vocal cords shred.
Sob until I vomit.
I want to hunt that soul-stealing bitch to the darkest corner of every goddamn realm and rip her apart piece by bloody piece with my bare hands.
What kind of twisted, unholy shit has she tapped into? What abomination of magic lets someone tear apart what the universe has bound together?
Strength surges through newly-healed limbs as I lurch to my feet, blood still smeared across my Christmas pajamas.
"Help the others," I command Sable, already moving.
My bare feet leave bloody prints across marble as I sprint after my mate, the engagement ring on my finger catching winter light with each desperate stride.
The mansion's grand entrance hangs in splinters. Outside, horror unfolds across our pristine front lawn.
The dead claw their way through frost-hardened earth—rotting hands punching through snow-covered ground, decayed bodies dragging themselves from shallow graves.
Morgan stands at the center of this nightmare, one hand extended toward my vacant-eyed mate, the other conducting her macabre orchestra of corpses.
Her elegant black coat billows around her despite the lack of wind, power radiating from her in visible waves of darkness that wither everything they touch.
Emily fights a losing battle against the horde.
Fire erupts from her in roaring columns, incinerating three corpses at once.
Their flesh blackens and crackles, but still they come.
She stomps her foot, and the earth responds—a fissure opens to swallow two more walking dead.
Sweat pours down her face despite the freezing temperature, her rainbow hair plastered to her forehead as she summons a whirlwind that tosses rotting bodies like rag dolls.
"You think you can over power me?" Morgan's voice carries across the front yard, rich with contempt. "I've consumed more black magic than you could ever imagine."
To demonstrate, she flicks one manicured finger.
The huge oak that's stood sentinel over our driveway shrivels instantly—bark blackening, branches contorting as if in agony.
With another casual gesture, she sends Emily flying backward, her body slamming into our stone fountain with bone-crushing force.
"Yeah, well..." Emily spits blood onto pristine snow, staggering to her feet with a savage grin.
"That's cute. But guess what? I've got a hundred crispy witch souls riding shotgun in my veins.
And unlike your bargain-bin black magic bullshit, mine came with a side of righteous fucking fury.
" She wipes her split lip with the back of her hand, eyes blazing.
"So why don't you take your necromantic horse shit, and shove them both straight up your ass! "
Emily's hands slash through the air, "Ignis!" Flames erupt in a perfect circle around Morgan. The fire roars twenty feet high, trapping the witch in a blazing prison. Through the fire, I see Morgan's face contort with fury—but even her power can't breach Emily's inferno.
But the dead keep coming. Dozens of corpses claw their way from frozen earth, moving with unnatural speed across our snow-covered lawn—their rotting flesh and exposed bone—a grotesque contrast to the pristine winter morning.
Rhyland stands motionless between us, his vacant eyes reflecting the dancing flames. Blood drips in ruby trails down his temple, his powerful frame unnaturally still under Morgan's control.
I reach for my power, expecting the familiar surge of winter's might, but nothing happens.
The snowflakes continue their lazy descent, deaf to my call.
I scream in frustration, clawing desperately at that well of power that should be there—that needs to be there.
But where I should feel the icy rush of strength, there's only emptiness.
My connection to the Aquanite stone feels severed, leaving me helpless as I watch the undead advance.
The blast hits without warning—raw arcane energy that feels like liquid lightning.
One moment I'm standing, the next I'm airborne, the world spinning in a kaleidoscope of snow and fire.
My body slams into frozen ground fifteen feet away, my back screaming as air explodes from my lungs.
The impact rattles through every bone, leaving me gasping like a landed fish on ice-crusted snow.
Through blurred vision, I see him. Adrian—the brother who betrayed us, now another puppet in Lilith's collection.
Dark power rolls off him in visible waves, his eyes obsidian pools of emptiness.
The gentle scholar who helped me understand ancient texts now stands ready to annihilate us all with devastating magic.
My heart twists as I force painful limbs to move. I have to reach him, have to break Lilith's hold before his power—always so carefully controlled—reduces everyone I love to ashes. But first, I need to remember how to breathe.
"Adrian!" His name tears from my oxygen-starved lungs. "Stop! This isn't you—fight it!"
He advances with mechanical precision, each footstep crushing snow beneath expensive leather shoes.
His hands—once gentle with ancient scrolls—now crackle with death magic.
His eyes reflect nothing, twin voids where kindness once lived.
Whatever command Lilith embedded runs deep—kill me or drag me back for her entertainment.
"Adrian..." My voice cracks with warning as I struggle upright. "Don't make me do this."
One blast will kill him.
Then realization hits like a thunderbolt—daylight, and Adrian's not burning. Seraphina's blood still flows in his veins.
I don't hesitate—I reach deep for that golden power, my birthright from Elysium, but where there should be warmth and radiance, I find only a void.
Nothing. Not even a spark. Panic claws at my throat as I try again, desperately searching for that familiar glow, but there's… nothing. My power is gone.
Adrian advances closer, dark magic crackling around his fingers, and I can't access the one thing that could stop him.
A flash of gold streaks to my side. Seraphina's wings flare out protectively as pure celestial light erupts from her hands, slamming into Adrian's chest. The impact lifts him off his feet, his body arcing through the frigid air like a broken doll before crashing into the snow thirty yards away.
He lies motionless, smoke rising from his chest where her divine light burned through his expensive fabric to the flesh beneath.
Holy shit. "Sera—"
Brax explodes through the doorway as Chris Hemsworth Thor, complete with flowing locks and Mjolnir.
"AVENGERS ASSEMBLE!" he bellows.
Lucian staggers out behind him, blood soaking his shirt. "You absolute thunder-stealing asshole!" he seethes. "We specifically discussed this—that was MY line!"
Erik and Bryn spill onto the battlefield next, moving in perfect sync despite their injuries. Erik's silver hair is matted with blood, Bryn's wings drag slightly in the snow, but her eyes burn with determination.
They launch into battle with lethal efficiency.
Erik's sword, Grave Warden, slices through rotting limbs, leaving silver light in its wake.
Beside him, Bryn's Valkyrie blade dances in lethal arcs, decapitating three corpses with a single sweep.
Where Erik is precision, Bryn is fluid grace—together forming a whirlwind of destruction.
Seraphina takes to the air, wings fully unfurled. Divine radiance pulses from her palms in concentrated beams. Where her celestial light touches the undead, they disintegrate, the snow beneath them glittering with ash.
Relief floods through me at seeing them alive—though I swear I'm going to shove that Iron Man helmet down Lucian's throat when this is over. Only these idiots could turn an apocalyptic battle into a Marvel moment.
Across the battlefield, Brax abandons his Thor cosplay. The handsome facade melts away, revealing the nightmare beneath—obsidian skin cracked with pulsing ember lines, massive horns curving like a crown of darkness. Against the pristine snow, he stands as a monument to primal terror.
His chest expands impossibly before he unleashes apocalyptic fury. Blood-red flame erupts from his blackened lips, cutting through the morning frost like a laser. The temperature spikes as his hellfire carves a smoldering trench through the advancing horde.
My jaw drops as Brax sweeps dragon-like breath in devastating arcs, each blast melting perfect semicircles in the snow. The heat blisters my face from twenty feet away as another wave reduces Morgan's puppets to cinders.
I've never imagined this sarcastic, Marvel-obsessed demon possessed such devastating force. This creature commands elemental destruction, moving with terrifying purpose as blackened bones crumble to the earth.
I sprint toward Rhyland, heart pounding. My fingers almost brush his arm—
Then the world tilts violently. His hand shoots out, familiar strength now turned against me. My body hurdles backward, snow and sky spinning until impact, shooting pain straight to my ribs.
What the fuck? The man who'd held me so tenderly this morning just threw me like garbage.
Morgan's laughter carries across the lawn, a reminder that the man I love is trapped behind those vacant eyes.
"He's not going anywhere," Morgan's says with satisfaction, each word a poisoned dagger.
Before anyone can react, darkness coalesces beside Rhyland—a writhing mass of shadow and smoke solidifying into Lilith's elegant form. Her red lips curve triumphantly as she wraps possessive fingers around his arm. Morgan materializes next to her, stepping into Lilith's expanding shadow.
Lilith's gaze finds mine across the devastation, eyes glittering with malice.
"Merry Christmas, darling," she purrs. "I do hope you like my gift of loneliness. It suits you."
Then they dissolve together—Lilith, Morgan, and the love of my life—swallowed by a void of swirling darkness that dissipates like ink in water, leaving nothing but empty space where my world stood seconds before.
No.
Gone.
She's taken him.