Chapter 9 #2
"I can't have it, though, Queenie. It wouldn't be fair."
"Finn, I don't—"
"Stop saying my name like that."
Arden looks at me beneath her pink lashes.
She shivers, and I'm not sure it's from the chill but rather the rough tone of my voice. Our bodies drift closer. The silk of her dress brushes against my chest.
"I can't lose control with you, Queenie. Not now, not ever."
"Why?"
Such an innocent question from her perfect lips.
"Because then I may never leave."
"And you can't stay," she says.
It's not a question, but I nod anyway.
"But that doesn't mean I don't want to. If things were different."
"Different," she breathes. "But they aren't."
I shake my head, allowing a small smile to curl my lips.
My fingers grasp a strand of pink hair. I gently pull it and watch it reform. Grazing my thumb along the inside of her palm, I savor her warmth before reluctantly letting her go. Her body sways towards mine, her lips parted in a silent invitation.
A battle between my heart and the creature inside me rages.
I prevail by the skin of my teeth and take a few agonizing steps back. Arden's chest rises and falls as she stares up at me. Her eyes shine like stars. My mouth waters at the breathy note in her voice.
"Are all humans as honorable as you?"
I laugh, shaking my head as I walk forward.
"Believe me, Queenie. My thoughts are far from honorable."
A sharp gasp echoes from behind me. I whip around and take in the Queen's pale face.
All levity from our conversation is gone. Icy fear makes her muscles rigid as her round eyes stare dead ahead. I stomp over to her side, standing partially in front of her as I follow her gaze.
Between the thicket of trees, there is a dark obsidian box glimmering in the dim light.
Oily black slime slips down the side. The liquid hits the brown grass with a sickening hiss. Rancid steam curls around the base of the structure. Dark trees sprout from atop it, completely blanketing it in darkness.
The towering rock pulses. Magic radiates from it, far more ancient than Arden's tender power she used to heal me.
The creature inside me paces back and forth, baring its fangs at the abhorrent tower.
"Is that one of the Void's?" I ask.
Arden nods. The tremble in her hands makes my heart ache.
She bares her sharp teeth at the horrific structure. Its foul magic washes over us in a disgusting wave. Its oppressive nature feels like an anchor wrapping around my ankle.
The Queen's magic gathers at her palms. Like a flame in the wind, it is quickly snuffed out.
Despite its insidious appearance, there is a mesmerizing quality about the stone. It is square in shape. There are no ledges or tiers. The walls that make it up stretch high into the surrounding foliage.
The slick ooze glitters like diamonds. The rhythmic pulsing of its power lures me closer. Nearby branches curl inwards away from the tower. Their bark is pale. Leaves are in piles of dust collecting on the singed grass below.
The deadtrees bursting from the top sway in the cold breeze. Their leaves leak with the same oily slime that covers the tower.
I approach slowly, gripping my sword. The blunt handle sears into my palm as I stare up at the colossal stone. Dark tendrils of power reach towards me, slashing at my face.
"Be careful!" Arden calls.
I glance over my shoulder.
"You sent me here to find answers." I unsheath my blade. "What my Queen wants, she'll get."
Leveling the silver tip of my sword at the structure, I take a steadying breath.
The rhythmic pounding of the obsidian stone echoes my heartbeat. It writhes and expands. Rippling like a stream. The goo weeps from internal cracks and spears like fingers through the surface.
It is a risky assumption, but with nothing better to go on…
"Here goes nothing," I whisper.
My blade presses into the stone. The towering structure grumbles at the intrusion. I expect resistance. Expect my trusty blade to snap in half and the Queen and I to be well and truly fucked. What I don't anticipate is for the black, oily substance to splatter up the sword.
It screams as I press it further into the stone. Boiling goo falls to the ground with shrieks. The whisper of Arden's wings echoes in my ears as she floats behind me. The deeper my blade goes, the more dark sludge seeps from the tower as if it were bleeding.
This is no stone—no rock formation. This tower is alive.
And anything alive can be killed.
I sink my blade fully into the structure. With my hilt only partly visible, I stare at the quivering mass. The black goo encasing it snaps at my face and splatters onto my clothes. It hisses at me, taunting me to do more than just slice into it. The pulsing surface of the tower sparks an idea.
A reckless, horrifically bad idea. Which, in my experience, tend to yield the best results.
Wrapping my fingers tightly into a fist, I roll my shoulders back. If I've miscalculated and shatter my fingers, at least I'll have the pleasure of Arden's healing to look forward to. A worthy reward for the risk I'm about to take.
Cocking my fist back, I slam it into the tower.
The goo screams. As does Arden, who jumps back from my side. Out of the corner of my eye, I watch her jaw slacken as I pound the surface again.
My fingers do not break, nor do they throb. The tower's surface absorbs the impact, causing more goo to wriggle and fall to the ground. It is like punching a slab of meat instead of a stone.
If punching it yields such a result—
I slam my body into the side of the tower.
Oil soaks into my clothes and covers my boots as I lash out. I throw punches and kick at its side. I deliver a swift beatdown of the structure that shakes and screams with each blow. The goo sprouts up around the areas I hit as if taunting me to strike again.