Chapter 66
Alora
Alora woke to cold stone beneath her back.
The air was thick with ash and the stench of blood, smoke curling in the wind as though the mountain itself wept. When she opened her eyes, the sky above was torn and bleeding. The Blood Moon hung vast and swollen, casting the land in an ominous crimson glow.
She was bound to an altar at the hill’s crest, her wrists shackled with webbing. Every time she strained against it, agony lanced her arms as if knives were driven into her veins. Shadows whispered over her skin, not her own, but Sal’vathar’s, crawling and cold.
Around her, a sea of demons spread across the valley floor. They stood in ranks, weapons clashing, wings shivering, their eyes burning faintly like embers in the red-dark. Behind her, the Dominions sat in individual thrones. Only Nexia’s remained empty.
Ira leaned back, one leg crossed on his knee.
Morvenna lounged with a feline smile, petting Rihan’s head.
He sat trembling at her feet. Theia hid his face against her chest tightly so he wouldn’t see the ghastly things around him, though it didn’t spare him the sounds of Balgor gnawing on a human leg.
Alora’s stomach churned.
She looked to the camp, finding the tents of her people torn and trampled, bodies torn apart in the mud. Her eyes burned tears.
And at the foot of the altar, Sal’vathar stood, his webs spilling from his hands like spun glass, glinting in the crimson moonlight as he chanted a spell in Hellspeech.
“My queen,” he purred when noticing she was awake. “How generous of you to bleed for us beneath such a sky.”
Alora’s heart hammered when she realized her wrists were bleeding.
Whenever her skin healed, his webs would merely cut another slit.
Below the altar, a siphon array pulsated, the glyphs gleaming where her blood had fallen.
Spider lilies had spread from it, spilling like a sea of glowing blooms over the ground.
She tried to summon her power, but the shards seared through her veins, weighing down on her with a terrible weight. Tears of desperation and helplessness welled in her eyes, reminding her of the horrid moment she had lived through before.
But Alora pushed past it, holding on to her composure. “Do you recall what happened to the last person who attempted to siphon my magic? There was nothing left of him.” She sneered. “And there will be nothing left of you.”
Sal’vathar only smiled. “Your naivety was always amusing. Bear witness, Alora, to the potential you never reached.”
He rose his arms to the blood-red sky. The demon army roared in answer, a sound that shook the earth beneath the altar.
From the clouds, the Blood Moon rose like a bloodied sphere in the sky.
Sal’vathar continued chanting, the words echoing over the hills. The air rose on her arms as she realized with dread—this was not merely a ritual. He was using the occurrence of the Blood Moon to enhance the array.
On the one day when the veil thinned between the Realms.
And her blood had soaked into the earth.
Alora’s eyes widened. “Sal’vathar, wait!”
If he didn’t stop, the force of the spell would tear open another Rift.
But Sal’vathar snapped his fists closed and the webs tightened with his chant. The shards dug deeper, threading into her veins and Alora arched against the stone with a strangled cry as her magic was ripped free in slivers of light.
The edges of her soul was beginning to peel away, unspooled thread by thread. Shadows bled from her mouth with her breath, her song dying in her throat.
The world swam red, her vision dimming.
Her lips shook. “Stop…”
Sal’vathar levitated as he absorbed her magic, pathways of darkness and light bleeding off him.
“Yes,” he groaned, eyes half-lidded, drinking in her pain.
“So much delicious power.” His fingers twisted and her body convulsed, the magic dragging upward like skin flayed from bone.
Memories began to peel from her mind. The shards bit deeper.
She screamed, body convulsing, as her magic tore free in burning strands of light and shadow.
He licked his lips as if tasting it on the air. “All of it will be mine.”
Alora fought with every strand of her will. The altar cracked beneath her from the force, stone splintering.
Sal’vathar’s joyous cackle rang in her ears. “This is what it means to be remade.”
She tried to scream, but only smoke spilled past her lips. Her heart thundered, her chest crushed beneath the weight of his spell. The taste of iron filled her mouth, sound dulling.
Then horns blared over the Hydell Hills.
From the tree line, shapes tore free: towering Minotaurs clad in blackened bronze, stampeded across the valley. At their lead, Zuma roared, swinging massive black axes that sent demons flying in showers of ash.
Lady Zinnia arrived on elk back, her army of paladins galloping over the hills from the other end.
The ranks broke into chaos.
Roars clashed with screams as the first line of Sal’vathar’s army met with hooves and Nightstone. And behind her came shouts of men. Banners snapped in evergreen and white in the wind as Calla led what remained of the Argyle soldiers in a desperate charge.
The altar shook as demons and mortals collided below, the battlefield lit with fire, shadow, and blood.
Ira grinned, standing with his hammer as Hadeon approached.
“You wish to challenge me, lad?”
Hadeon gripped his hammer with grim resolve, blood leaking from where he had ruptured his own ears. “I denounce my fealty to one with no honor.”
Their fight collided, tumbling down the hill.
Deimos appeared from the shadows, barely having time to snatch Theia and Rihan away from Morvenna’s grasp before Nexia attacked her.
“I am no coward, bitch!” Nexia shrieked, her golden trident nearly impaling Morvenna’s head to her throne. Their hisses and screeches rang out in a feral crash.
Balgor grinned, his stomach slipping into a hungry maw and he followed down the hill, licking his bloodied lips.
Sal’vathar stood there dumbfounded as the courts of Greed, Pride, and Sloth clashed into Wrath, Gluttony, Lust and Envy. “What is this? Cease! I command you to obey me!”
But the battle continued, his words drowned out in the clatter of steel and roars.
“You mistook control for authority, Sal’vathar,” Segrith mused, appearing beside Alora. “The Court of Sin and Ruin will not bow to one who must steal power to claim it.”
He whipped around with a snarl, realizing too late Segrith had drifted up to the altar unnoticed. The Lady of Sloth slashed the webbing off Alora’s wrist, scattering the Hellstones.
Alora finally broke free in a scream, her hands flinging outward. A violent force of white light struck his chest. He shouted, arcing away to land in the center of the battlefield.
She rose to her feet shakily, power humming in her veins as she looked at Lady of Sloth. “Whose side are you on, Segrith?”
The small Dominion bowed her head with a slight smile. “I serve the scales, my queen.”
“Then do you not believe Rune also stole the throne?”
“When Vorak was imprisoned, the Netherworld was unruled and unstable. Balance demanded a sovereign and the shadows chose one. How could he steal what was given?”
Alora’s heart swelled as the threads of understanding took root. “I thought you would resent him for taking your eyes.”
The Lady of Sloth gave her a cunning smile. “Sometimes, sacrifice is needed to truly see.”
Then Segrith strode away for the trees, dissolving to sand on the wind. Deimos resurfaced from where he had hidden Theia and Rihan. Alora stumbled forward, holding out her arms.
Both ran to her, embracing her with a soft cry. She stumbled down to her knees with them.
“Are you all right?” Theia asked, supporting her upright.
“I will be.” Alora smiled shakily, and cupped Rihan’s cheek. “We will be.”
His lip wobbled. “Nexus…”
She looked down at the bundle he held. Nexus lay still in his arms, fur soaked with blood. She searched for a pulse, relieved when she found a faint one. His feathers came away in her fingers, and she realized with horror that they had torn off his wings.
If the Vareth were anything like the Seraphs…
Alora shut her eyes, drawing out a drop of white light from her veins and let it fall on him. May that be enough.
She found the strength to stand as Lord Zuma charged up the hill with some of his Horde. “Your Majesty.”
“Lord Zuma,” she said, meeting his gaze with a tired smile.
“Argyle will remember what you have done tonight.” She guided Theia and Rihan forward.
“I place my family in your care. Take them somewhere safe. Seal the doors with Night Ash and do not open them again until the Blood Moon has waned. Do not answer any voice that may call out. Not even mine.”
Zuma bowed his head, crossing his Nightstone axe over his heart. “I will protect them with my life. My Horde will defend the city.”
He held out his hand to Theia, and she gripped his arm as he hoisted her up onto his back with practiced ease. “Come, Your Highness.” Then he gently picked up Rihan. Her brother choked on a sob as he was carried toward Argyle’s castle, followed by a guard of Minotaurs.
Alora turned away, swallowing down the emotion in her throat.
He would be safe.
Below the hill, the battlefield had descended into carnage.
Power answered her without hesitation. Black armor stitched itself over her body in seamless plates veined with molten red, settling like a second skin forged in war. The air shuddered as a glaive formed in her hand, its edge humming.
Alora turned to Deimos. “Rune?”
His tail lashed with agitation. “Sire is bound by divine chains. If not the Heavens, then only you can break them.”
She looked up at Karag D?r in the distance. Storm clouds spiraled over the peaks, flashing with lightning.
Alora moved to go to him, but screams rang across the battlefield as more of their court died. She couldn’t leave yet.