Chapter 36 #2
A deafening snap rings out to my right, and I dare a glance. Kaelzar is locked in his own battle. His shadows form a swarm of dog-sized spiders, flinging thick webs that pin the dragon’s limbs to the ground.
The dragon roars, and in its fury turns the second part of Zyrel’s magic—Beast magic—against them.
It rips scales from its body with its teeth and lets them fall. As each scale strikes the ground, it twists and lengthens into a writhing silver serpent that slithers toward me, tongue flicking, hissing warnings.
It’s grotesque magic—the counterpart to his Transformation magic. It seems that to make it work, Zyrel would have to use parts of himself to turn into beasts—a self-wounding price he hasn’t yet been willing to pay.
Kaelzar pivots, his shadow blades slicing through the snakes faster than my eyes can follow. Heads roll, and the clash of beasts continues.
I push myself upright, breathing hard, careful not to jerk my trapped leg. Maybe if I move slowly, the wire won’t pull so hard. For a moment, it works. One step. Two. Six.
But then the barbs tighten, digging deeper, tugging me back. Not enough to stop me, just enough to slow me, to cause me more pain.
I do my best to ignore it, just as I ignore the crowd’s shouts—cheers, screams, and boos alike.
Five more steps, and another wire shoots up from the ground. Before I can react, it lashes around my upper arm, the barbs biting into bare skin. I grit my teeth, wishing I’d worn sleeves, any fabric might’ve dulled the sting.
Ahead, Zyrel strains against five wires now. They drag at him with brutal force, but I notice something: mine aren’t pulling nearly as hard. So I keep moving just as slowly as I have been, eyes scanning for the next trap.
It comes without warning. A third wire bursts upward and wraps around my thigh, tearing through my pants. The barbs rake my skin, drawing more blood. I can’t stop the cry that rips from my throat.
Instantly, black fires spark across the ground and leap toward me. My Godbeast’s shadows ignite at the base of every wire holding me down.
I twist toward Kaelzar. His focus is locked on me, one arm outstretched, shadows still flickering at his fingertips.
Then panic hits. My scream must have drawn his attention, just long enough to give the dragon an opening.
Zyrel’s Godbeast roars and spits three of its scales into the air.
They hit the ground with a metallic crack, instantly transforming into rabid, snarling dogs that hurl themselves at Kaelzar.
At the same time, the dragon snaps the spider webs holding him down, turns its massive head toward me and lunges.
“Behind you!” I shout, hurling myself forward on instinct. I reach for Decay and find only silence, like the arena has swallowed that part of me too.
The wires yank me backward with brutal force, tearing at my skin and slamming me to the ground again.
I gasp, vision spinning, the world tilting around me. Through the haze, I find Kaelzar again. He’s still standing, still fighting. His shadow blades flash in quick, vicious arcs while black tendrils rise from the earth at his command, tangling around the dragon’s thrashing limbs.
Then the dragon changes. More heads burst from its body, scales splitting and peeling as they multiply in a nightmarish bloom of flesh.
The sheer power of the Beast’s magic is horrifying. And in that moment, I’m grateful that Zyrel never called upon it.
You don’t have to get up. The melodic voice slips into my mind. Too thin, too ethereal to belong to this world. I blink hard, searching for its source.
We don’t want to hurt you. Another voice adds, lower, winding around the first. Don’t make us do it. Stay. Rest. Don’t force us to harm you.
The wires? My gaze drops to them, coiling around my limbs.
We’re not your enemies. The voices whisper. We want what’s best for you. We’re here to stop you from making the worst mistake of your life. To keep you from sacrificing yourself for a cause that will destroy you. That has already begun to destroy you.
“I can’t stop,” I whisper back, my throat tight, their pleas threading into my thoughts.
You can.
You should.
You will.
I shake my head. No. These aren’t warnings, they’re traps. A weak attempt to slow me down. It’s almost insulting that the Sphere believes whispers like these could undo me after everything.
I force myself upright, ignoring the pull of their words. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Zyrel stagger, shaking his head as if trying to shake off the same voices.
I push forward.
More wires erupt from the earth, lightning-fast, striking like lashes. They coil around my calf, my wrist, the hollow behind my knee. This time there’s no gentle tug—they bite. Barbs tear through fabric and skin with a sound like paper ripping, the serrated edges cinch tight.
Stop. They say. You will die.
They shape themselves into voices of people I know—my father, Eva, Ryker—each one speaking with that sly, aching tenderness that sounds like love. You’re too small. What waits on those thrones is ruin.
For a heartbeat, my knees buckle. The instinct to listen, to believe them, pulls at my mind like an undertow.
Kaelzar’s shadow blades flick at the edge of my vision.
I know he’s still fighting, but I force myself not to look.
The throne waits. The magic waits. The women of Rust Hollow wait.
My mother’s memory waits. Peonica’s future waits with them.
All of it rests on me moving forward. I shove that thought forward and press my feet into the grit.
With every step, the wires answer. They multiply. They braid across my forearms, down my calves, loop once, twice, three times.
A barb rakes across my inner thigh. Its teeth drag sideways and I hear my own gasp. Tiny, bright red beads bloom where metal sinks into flesh.
You’ll be the reason your loved ones die. The voices hiss. You will be their end.
I let them slide through me like oil. Every lie they throw, I answer with a step. Every caress of fear, I answer with another push.
The throne looms larger now. I can make out the curve of a cheek, the tilt of a horn, until Calista’s catlike eyes are finally clear. They are not cold. They are patient. Finish what you began, they seem to say.
A new wire wraps around my shoulder and draws tight, scoring a ragged line across my collarbone. The whispers rise into a chorus, chanting, coaxing me into stillness.
Instead of giving in, my fingers curl and I drag myself further.
Pain becomes a map. It shows me where to shift my weight, where to bend. I learn quickly, adjusting my gait so the barbs slide a little instead of catching right away. Two more leap up and sting like wasps, their barbs scraping and peeling, but I keep moving.
I glance toward Zyrel, just in time to see him yanked off his feet. Too many wires have coiled around him, dragging him down hard. I brace for the sound of his body hitting the bed of shattered glass, but it never comes.
A dozen serpents, slick and black, move in front of him—his dragon’s spawns. They slither ahead in a writhing shield, sweeping the shards aside as they go. Their scales split and bleed against the glass, but they keep moving, relentless, clearing a safe path for their master.
I drag my gaze back to the throne, only twenty feet away. The statue’s eyes hold me. An ancient, familiar magic that remembers every promise I’ve made: to myself, to every cursed woman before me, to my mother.
They flare as I lunge forward. The wires around me answer with fury, snapping tight in one final pull.
My body shakes with the effort to resist. Muscles lock, but soon my knees hit the dirt hard, and grit grinds under my nails as I claw forward. Pain climbs my spine, but I refuse to lie still.
Then I see it. A pool of liquid silver glimmering ahead, the same molten color as Zyrel’s god. His magic.
I glance to the side. Zyrel, bleeding and shaking, facing his own pool— a red twin of mine. My Blood magic.
An offering. A temptation.
He doesn’t hesitate. A mad grin splits his face as he plunges his hands into the red pool. The magic absorbs him whole. Every drop of red that vanished into Zyrel feels like theft. His wounds close, his skin flushes.
He rises unbroken, renewed, energy blazing through him.
The sight guts me. My magic— my other half— ripped from me and poured into someone else. Rage churns in my stomach.
The soft, silver pool before me gleams. If I take his Transformation magic, I could end this. Change wire to water and cross the distance in a single breath.
But even through the exhaustion, another voice rises inside me. The voice that has carried me this far. Would I truly prove my worthiness to my magic by taking this? Or would I be trading it for convenience?
The thought curdles. And the taste of almost surrendering burns bitter on my tongue.
I push to my feet. The wires tighten in answer, sensing my resolve. Pain follows every motion.
On my right, Zyrel, bloodied but unbroken, is a single step ahead.
I scream and surge forward, pouring everything I have left into that sound. For a heartbeat, Zyrel falters, startled, and I feel the fragile hope of that hesitation.
Behind us, the arena convulses. I glance back instinctively, just in time to see Kaelzar turn toward me again, palms pressed to the stone. Shadows coil around him, and from that darkness, massive roots erupt, cracking the ground like during the Spectra Judicium.
But this time, they don’t rise to lift me. They tear toward Zyrel, heaving the earth beneath his feet. The tremors make him stumble.
The dragon seizes its chance. It lunges, jaws snapping around Kaelzar’s shoulder, and hurls him through the air. For a dreadful second, our eyes meet, and his hold not a trace of regret.
He slams against the stone rim of the arena, and my heart stutters.
Cold clarity cuts through me. If I fail—if I don’t reach my Blood magic—there will be nothing left in me to heal him.
I refuse that future.
Teeth clenched, I force one foot ahead, then another. Agony sharpens into fuel.
Zyrel finds his footing quickly once the ground steadies. He steps onto a broad sweep of smooth stone where the twin thrones stand. The platform stretches wide and empty around them, at least a dozen paces across.
And when all of his body crosses over, the wires around him fall away. He exhales with a grunt of satisfaction and strides toward Thul’Barak’s throne.
I push forward with a desperate growl. Because the image of Kaelzar’s broken body burns in my mind. This will not be how our story ends.
Zyrel hears me. He pauses and turns, his dark eyes slick with malice. A cruel smile twists his face.
“Well,” he says, voice thick with mockery, “I don’t think I’m ready to finish this challenge just yet. Not when the real fun is about to begin.”
My foot hits the stone platform’s edge. Nothing happens. I have to cross it completely, it seems.
So I push. Every move feels like tearing through invisible walls. Zyrel watches, cracking his knuckles in lazy anticipation.
And then, all at once, the wires give way and fall. The sudden freedom makes me stumble, lightheaded, unbound for the first time in what feels like an eternity.
Before I can find my footing, Zyrel’s fist slams into my stomach. Blinding pain erupts through my ribs as I crash to the ground.
I blink, dazed and disoriented, only slowly realizing I’ve slid away from my own throne.
Horror rises as I take in where I’ve landed—sprawled in the looming shadow of Zyrel’s god, with him standing over me, a manic grin splitting his face.