18 #2
“I said you’ll get answers when you strengthen.
Look at yourself. When you came here, you couldn’t lift a single stone.
After three months, you were throwing Kripot’s spears without much effort.
You hit the target with your daggers. You ran through a room full of demons and survived the path between the door and the throne.
You didn’t collapse like the first time.
You kept going. When the demon grabbed your arm, you resisted. ”
My mouth falls open. Did he see?
Darya nods and strokes my face.
“Lizander spared him a merciful fate.” His gaze darkens. “I would have gutted him. Slowly.”
His gaze travels over my lips, then meets mine again. Darkness evaporates from his gaze.
“Your problem, Kindra, isn’t that you can’t become a champion. Rather, it’s that you’re not capable of seeing how you could become one.”
His words leave me breathless and with no response.
I had no idea he thought this of me. Indeed, in three months, I’ve progressed more than an average person.
I resolved to fight not to be sent back, and to grow stronger.
I fought myself through every task with full force.
I didn’t show myself any mercy during exercises, and the bad moments caught up with me only at night.
But I never sat down and considered what I achieved each day.
Until now. I let every hardship take me deeper into despair.
The absence of medication consumed me, and I just suffered. Maybe I didn’t want to be better.
I look at Darya.
“In that mirror Nárs showed me… the Mirror of Destiny, there are two doors. What’s the other one?”
“The Gates of Heaven.”
I try to store the information, which increases my questions a hundredfold, but Darya interrupts first. His hand glides along my thigh, then up to my hip.
Warmth rises along my spine at his deep gaze.
His smoky breath mixes with the scent of anise.
My lips still remember the taste of crystal and salt.
I become so lost in the sight of his cloud-gray eyes that I lean closer, placing my hand on the Demon King’s neck.
The pressure of his thumb gently strengthens.
The crowd doesn’t bother us; we merge with the rhythm of the music.
I feel the hot longing between us, the air scorching.
My lips meet his, and the moment ceases to exist.
“Am I interrupting something?” Léthé’s voice strikes between us like lightning. I look straight into the killer, coffee-brown eyes.
“The ceremony is about to begin,” she announces. The Demon King smiles.
“Kindra, please take your seat where you were before. The River Goddess is right. It’s time to create demons.”
The ground suddenly moves, and I have to cling to the chair’s back.
Emerging from the cave’s stone, columns grow in the space in front of the throne, forming a circle.
A bright, solid stone table rises in the center.
The monsters’ gaze fixes on it, making clear that most of the show will take place there.
The Kraldem stands up. The mad, murderous look returns to his eyes, sending shivers down my spine.
“Bring the first one!” he commands.
A huge door, almost the length of the wall, opens opposite the stone circle.
Two guards lead in a boy. He can’t be much older than twelve.
His half-naked torso is thin, and he wears only loose brown pants – not even shoes.
Dark circles on his face and his sluggish walk indicate tiredness.
He could use a good sleep. But as he approaches, I see determination flickering in his eyes, as if he’s decided he’ll do whatever lies ahead.
He steps up to the table, trying not to tremble before the Demon King, who’s already waiting.
Darya kneels before the boy, his voice surprisingly calm and reassuring. “What’s your name?”
The child straightens up, his determined gaze piercing the king’s. “Valentin.”
He speaks in demonic tongue; his sun-kissed skin and name suggest he’s from one of the southern counties from my world. This is a human child. And Darya and his people kidnapped him from his family because he has demon blood.
“Valentin,” Darya continues, “you’re not here today by chance. You couldn’t come before me if you weren’t ready. However, as your final task, you must forget your human name. Have you chosen another for yourself?”
The boy nods. “Vikar, Kraldem. That’s what I chose.”
Darya smiles wickedly. “Come, Vikar, and lie on the table so we can begin the ritual.”
The child does as requested. The Demon King takes out a dagger, its handle flashing deep blue in his white hand.
I tense up, but I dare not stand. Is he going to stab the child?
In order to become a demon, you have to lose what makes you human.
Did Darya mean you have to die for this?
You wouldn’t survive the transformation , he said.
But what kind of horror is this ritual? And what did I really expect?
Darya places the knife to the boy’s heart. He holds it there for a moment, then punctures his skin with its tip.
A whimper escapes the victim as Darya chants in an ancient language and carves signs into the child’s body. He moves the blade onto his neck. It then reaches the boy’s face. As the blood begins to burn the table, I grip the chair tighter in horror.
Please, someone to stop this! I want to say, but don’t. I want to run there to knock the knife out of Darya’s hand, but I don’t do that either.
I see the knife sinking deeper into the boy’s skin.
A chill runs down my spine at the sound of flesh being cut.
The scent of human blood fills the room, the taste of iron clinging to my tongue.
The child is now screaming, kicking, but the stone table holds fast, growing like tar over the sacrifice.
The child writhes in agony. He cries for his mother.
He sobs and pleads for it to end. Darya places his claws on the boy’s forehead, reassuring him that it will be over soon.
But it’s far from over. As the boy thrashes around more violently, the stone table seems to come to life, gripping his wrists and ankles.
Each scream of the child cuts deep into my marrow.
Darya chants with closed eyes. He drives the knife even deeper into the fragile little body.
More blood splatters on the slaughter table, spilling over onto the marble floor.
I have to lift my hand to my mouth to hold back the nausea.
The child pleads. He prays, but to whom I don’t know.
And then the screams turn into a hoarse moan. Bubbles burst from the victim’s throat. The boy convulses, then moves no more. Darya stops chanting. Motionless, waiting attentively. And then something happens that is almost impossible to describe in human words.
Smoke rises from the dead boy’s eyes. The blood on the table turns black, then begins moving on its own like tar.
It comes to life. The boy’s splattered blood climbs the marble table’s edge, mixing into clumps and stopping before the Kraldem.
The demon looks at the black sludge, placing his hand over it.
Without touching it, he guides it back into the dead boy’s body. And then the real hell begins.
The black blood draws dark purple veins under the boy’s thin skin.
The child’s scream breaks into something inhuman.
His body tenses, his head thrown back. With superhuman strength, he frees himself from the chains of the stone table.
The poison hasn’t finished with him yet.
It reaches his throat, and he screams in suffocation.
A bluish-black skull emerges from beneath the stripped flesh, then builds back with black muscles.
The boy’s spine breaks, the crack sending shivers down my neck, and my mouth dries up.
From the bent-over body, the dark blood finds its way out under his shoulder blades, bursting from his back muscles, forming two smaller wings.
I can’t bear to watch the boy’s agony any longer, but I can’t turn my face away either. I close my eyes, the sound of cracking is telling enough.
The noise slowly fades away. I look back at the stone table.
The demon in the boy’s place is just as dark as his comrades, only smaller. The membranes of his brown wings reflect the crimson lights colorlessly. Darya gestures with his hand.
“Léthé!”
The mermaid gracefully lifts herself, clasping her hands together, and I hear the sound of a waterfall. From both sides of the throne, two rivers of different colors appear, both crawling towards the boy.
The darker water stops in front of him, curling like a snake.
“The River of Forgetfulness,” says Darya, his voice filling the chamber. “It makes you forget why you had to suffer.” The dark water embraces the boy like a noose, then crashes down, and the earth absorbs the moisture. The light blue river then creeps up the little monster’s legs.
“And the River of Remembrance,” chants the Demon King. “To remember why you chose this path.” The water seeps into the boy’s cells, turning into foam on his body. The monster closes his eyelids, lets out a thin cry, then disintegrates with a snap of the water.
At this, Darya waves off Léthé with a careless gesture, causing the mermaid to clench her fist but not protest. She takes her seat.
The Demon King leans closer to his newfound subject. “Show your human form!”
Agonizing seconds pass as the boy’s black veins turn to flesh.
His colorless mouth forms, and hazel hair comes to life.
I gaze into the child’s eyes, but they’re different to those belonging to the boy brought into the throne room.
I expect to find emptiness in his shattered eyes.
Instead, hunger, confidence, and determination mingle behind the dark gaze.
His brighter skin and charismatic features make him older, more beautiful than he was in his human form.
He remains the same boy, yet every fiber of him seems perfect.
I realize this hadn’t even occurred to me before, but now I look around the room.
Some in the crowd have already changed their demonic forms. I’m used to the fact that I’ve never seen a man as beautiful as Darya, that you can get lost in Lizander’s gaze, and that Léthé is stunning.
I’ve never noticed how beautiful the guards, or the demons showing their human forms, are.
Darya raises his voice, pulling me from my reverie. He looks toward the crowd. “émías nosoik! Welcome your new brethren, Vikar!”
The demons cheer, their roar rupturing my eardrums, and the little demon grins from ear to ear at his new people. Happy. The boy is happy.
Two guards join him, helping him off the platform, where not a drop of blood remains after the ritual.
He’s about to descend the stairs when the child looks towards me, and our eyes meet.
Before anyone can grasp the significance of this, his hungry eyes flicker, and using his newfound wings, he lunges at me from below.
I have no time to respond to the attack.
The boy already plunges his sharp claws into my shoulder.
The burning pain from the tiny needle points pulls me from the shock.
I scream as strong hands wrench him off me.
Nárs stands beside me, holding the demon child by his neck.
With a mighty throw, he tosses him down the stairs, right at the feet of the Kraldem.
The little creature doesn’t understand what he did wrong.
At least, not until he looks up into Darya’s flashing gaze.
I’ve never seen Darya so furious. The Kraldem towers over his subject, grasping his neck and lifting him from the ground.
“You know the rule,” he hisses, and a silent hush spreads through the room. “Attacking the throne means death. Attacking the girl means agony. I’m sorry your life among us turned out to be so short.”
But before his claws can move towards the boy’s heart, I cry out, “No! Wait!”
Everyone in the room stares at me. Even the Kraldem turns to me in surprise.
“What did you say, Kindra?” he asks, his gaze skimming over my shoulder. I hadn’t noticed that I’m holding the wound torn by the demon’s claws. Blood drips onto my white dress.
I try to suppress my fear and remind myself why I intervened in Darya’s killing spree. I can’t let a boy who has suffered so much die because of me. I owe it to his mother, no matter what monster he may become in the future.
“He didn’t mean to,” I begin, but my voice is uncertain. “He’s still new, he didn’t know… Let him live, Kraldem!”
Darya raises his eyebrows, amused by the formal address. I’ve never called him that before. He evidently appreciates my effort, releasing the young demon. His people gasp as if the Demon King had never shown mercy before. Darya turns to them with a smile.
“You see, émías nosoik,” he exclaims triumphantly, “only the champion has such power. At her request, Vikar can live. Lucky for him, she wasn’t hurt more. Otherwise, there would be no one to stop me from personally executing him, his mentor, and those close to him.”
It’s so typical of the Demon King, I almost laugh. Besides showing mercy, only he can look even more threatening.
“Now then,” Darya begins, turning to me, “before the next ritual, dinner.”
I’m sure he is looking at my shoulder as he says this.