Chapter 10 Svenn #2
The lead elder's hooded head turns toward him with visible irritation. "Gerailt Clayborne, you forget your place. Return to—"
"I forget nothing." Red interrupts. He pulls out a leather satchel bulging with documents and dumps the contents across the arena floor.
Scrolls, ledgers, maps marked with strange symbols, correspondence written in multiple hands.
Under the Mhlaryan lightwork woven into the arena, every page gleams clearly visible to the thousands watching above.
"These documents detail a conspiracy that makes Hrolf's rebellion look like a child's tantrum," Red announces, his voice carrying to every corner of the colosseum.
The fourth elder takes a threatening step forward. "You dare—"
"I dare because I've spent years investigating reports of missing elves, dwarves, and orcs along our borders. Entire villages vanishing overnight. Families disappearing without a trace." Red kicks one of the scrolls, unrolling it to reveal detailed maps. "Want to know where they went?"
A terrible silence falls over the arena. Even the hooded elders seem frozen.
"They went to feed the Aeonians," Red snarls. "These honorable elders have been harvesting lives like grain. Using their corrupted servants to drain the life force from innocent beings to fuel their own power."
Gasps echo through the crowd. Council members lean forward in their seats, straining to see the evidence scattered below.
"The protective barriers around Aelfheim designed by Casimir?
" Red continues, kicking another document into view.
"They claim to maintain them for our safety.
But the truth is they've been siphoning energy directly from our realm's life force.
Weakening our very foundations while growing stronger themselves. "
Lord Ctibor's voice booms across the arena. "These are serious accusations, Knight Garrett. Do you have proof?"
"Proof?" Red's brow lifts. "I have the testimonies of three escaped Valorians who broke free from their conditioning. I have ledgers detailing harvests of life force. I have maps showing the locations of mass graves where they dumped the drained husks of their victims."
He holds up a particular scroll. Even from our viewing box, I can see it's covered in dark stains.
"They have a system. Each Valorian was required to bring them a certain number of offerings per month.
The elderly and children were taken. They didn't discriminate as long as the life force was strong. "
The crowd's murmur grows uglier. But now it's directed at the hooded figures standing in the arena.
Red pulls out another ledger. "The rebel orcs attacking our southern borders? Guess who's been funding them? Supplying them with weapons and Asterdust? These parasites have been deliberately weakening Aelfheim from within while you fools trusted them to protect us!"
The lead elder's composure finally cracks. "Lies! Fabrications! You dare impugn the honor of—"
"Honor?" Red strides forward. "Show them your honor."
He lunges toward the Aeonian closest to him. His hand catches the edge of the lead elder's hood and yanks it back.
Someone in the front tier screams. Then everyone near them does.
The face beneath is distorted, warped by power that was never meant to be contained in flesh. Veins of darkness run beneath the skin like black lightning. When he breathes, those veins pulse with stolen light.
The other Aeonians begin revealing themselves one by one. Each reveals a face transformed by centuries of consuming life force.
"By the gods," someone screams from the stands. "What are they?"
"Abominations," Red declares with distaste. "That's what you've become after feeding on stolen life force for centuries. You're no longer truly elven."
The fourth elder lets out a sound that might have been laughter. "You think exposing us matters? You think your little revelation changes anything?"
Their voice has lost all pretense of dignity. "We are beyond your ability to stop us."
"Yes, we have fed on your realm." The second elder's voice carries multiple tones now, as if several beings speak through one throat. "Yes, we have harvested your people. And we will continue to do so, because we can."
"And you, little elfling queen, will be the sweetest meal of all," the lead elder hisses at Rhianelle. "When we drain you dry, we will become gods."
The arena erupts into chaos. Some elves flee toward the exits while others surge forward, screaming for the elders' blood. But the four abominations merely stand there in their corrupted forms.
"You want the Aethon Mor trial by combat?" the fourth elder asks, their black-veined eyes fixed on our viewing box. "Very well."
Rhianelle stands. "I accept your challenge."
Red, Shade, Darstan, and Aelfric form a protective circle around Rhianelle as she descends to the arena floor.
"Oh, little queen."
The elders' laughter swells, reverberating unnaturally through the stone. Cracks splinter across the marble beneath their feet.
Dark energy spirals upward in violent columns, tornadoes of shadow twisting toward the sky.
The crowd screams.
I leap from the viewing box without hesitation. The instant my boots hit stone, the nearest vortex detonates outward. Wind slams into my face.
"Rhianelle!"
I reach for her—
Invisible pressure seizes me. The darkness coils around my limbs, dragging me backward into a sphere of writhing shadow.
The last thing I see—
Rhianelle's silver hair caught in a storm of crimson light.
And two of those damned Aeonians vanishing with her into the whirlwind.
The disorientation clears quickly.
I stand in a circular chamber made of shadow. The walls pulse like a heartbeat. There's no sky above. The fourth elder stands before me.
Her hood is gone. The veins beneath her skin glow faintly.
"I am Samara," she says.
Her voice is layered with multiple tones speaking in unison. It's as though the dead themselves murmur through her throat. "I have worn many names. I have consumed many lives."
I ignore her.
I turn, testing the boundary. The wall resists like hardened smoke when I strike it. Shadow ripples outward but does not break.
"Rhianelle!" My voice crashes against the dome and dies. "I'm coming for you!"
Nothing answers.
No echo.
I can't hear anything from the other vortexes. This realm is completely sealed off. Every instinct screams at me to break through these walls and reach Rhianelle. But Samara steps forward, and I know I'll have to go through her first.
"Your wife faces Leafhdraich and Siullan," Samara taunts, extending fingers that end in claws of pure shadow. "The strongest among us. By now, her pretty silver hair is probably scattered across—"
My fist connects with her face. But it's like punching smoke. My hand passes through her head, and she reforms behind me. "The little queen's pet monster. How fitting that you should die here, in a realm that mirrors your own darkness."
Her laughter echoes from every direction. "Did you think I was like poor, weak Kafren? The one you killed in the tunnels?"
She materializes behind me. Her shadowy claws rake across my back, tearing through my coat and drawing blood. The wounds burn with corrupted magic.
"I have fed on the life force of thousands."
I spin and grab for her throat. She dissolves again and reforms on the opposite side of the chamber. "Your wife probably screamed so sweetly when they—"
I call upon Coinneach.
His shadow has been my companion since the day Lilith cursed me. Black tendrils explode from my body, seeking not her flesh but the stolen energy that animates her.
They find it.
Hook into it.
Samara's scream fractures the chamber.
The shadows wrap around her essence. But she's right about her strength. The energy she's absorbed from countless victims makes her far more powerful than Kafren ever was. She breaks free from my shadow-bonds and retaliates with a wave of corrupted magic. It sends me crashing into the pulsing wall.
"Is that all you have?" she hisses. "Let me show you what real power looks like."
The chamber fills with the screams of her victims. Every elf, dwarf, fae, and orc she's drained over the centuries. Their anguish becomes a force that crushes down on me, making it hard to breathe. I see flashes of their final moments.
Rage builds in my chest. These creatures have been feeding on innocents for centuries while hiding behind the facade of wisdom. I call upon the beasts that live within my cursed blood.
The Noble Wolf that hunts in moonlight and behind him, something darker. The thing that Lilith's curse awakened but could never fully control.
"Behold your ruin." The shadows swallow my form, pulling it into something the chamber wasn't built to contain.
I grow larger and more terrible until I tower over Samara's corrupted form.
The full might of the Strigon's true nature focused on a single goal—ending this creature so I can save my wife.
Samara tries to dissolve again. Coinneach follows her into whatever realm she retreats to. She tries to assault my mind with the screams of the dead. But I've heard worse in my own nightmares.
The Aeonian tries to drain my life force. All she finds is an endless well of darkness that burns her essence.
"What are you?" she gasps as my claws, now wreathed in shadow-fire, tear through her stolen power.
"Your end."
I drive my hand through her chest.
Samara has centuries of stolen life force to draw upon. She uses every drop in her desperation to survive. But eventually, inevitably, her stolen power runs out. I tear the last of her essence away. She crumbles like ancient parchment, leaving only ash and the fading echoes of her victims' screams.
The chamber of shadows dissolves around me. I'm back in the arena just as another vortex bursts open. Rainer, Shade, Red, Darstan, Eyepatch, and the wolf tumble out of their vortex. Barely alive.