Chapter 15 #3
Withdrawing almost completely, then driving back in with a force that makes my vision whiten at the edges.
Each thrust is a pulse of power channeled directly into the spinning mirror.
The shards glow brighter, humming. His shadows wrap around my wrists, my ankles, pinning me gently to the stone in a lover’s embrace made of darkness.
I don’t fight it. I give in to it. My hips rise to meet his, taking him deeper, accepting every punishing, perfect stroke.
The transformation in me accelerates. I feel it in the marrow of my bones—a burning, a rewriting.
My human frailty is being consumed, replaced by something resilient, something touched by shadow and starlight.
It should terrify me. Instead, it makes me cling to him harder, my nails scoring down his back.
His rhythm falters, his control fraying. His forehead drops to mine, our breaths mingling in ragged, shared gasps.
“I love you,” I manage, the confession torn from me as the pleasure builds, a crescendo matching the magic’s rising scream. “Whatever I become?—”
“You will still be mine.” His voice is rough and broken.
He shifts his hips, changing the angle, and the new friction is exquisite, unbearable.
His hand slips between our sweat-slicked bodies, his thumb finding the swollen, sensitive peak of my sex.
He circles it once, twice—a gentle, devastating counterpoint to his driving pace. “And I’ll still be yours.”
Sensation detonates.
It starts as a tight coil low in my belly, then erupts outward in waves of molten gold. My back bows, a silent scream on my lips as the climax rips through me, convulsing around him. The release isn’t a letting go; it’s a becoming.
He follows instantly. His own release is a shuddering, guttural groan against my neck, his body locking as he pours himself into me. Our combined pleasure is the final key.
Power detonates outward from our joined bodies.
A silent, world-remaking shockwave of shadow and light. The mirror pieces slam together with a sound like a universe sighing, fusing into one flawless, whole surface. The runes on the floor blaze like captured suns before dimming to a gentle, permanent glow.
The mirror is remade. Whole. Perfect. Complete.
Azrael collapses atop me, his weight a warm, welcome heaviness. We are both breathing in shattered, uneven gasps. Inside me, the aftermath of the magic and him thrums, a sweet, lingering ache.
Around us, the sounds of battle warp.
Not gone.
Distant. Muffled. Like the world itself has taken a step back from the ritual circle and left us standing in something separate. Something held.
Beyond the edges of the circle, the fight is still happening. I can hear it if I reach for it—steel striking, magic cracking, something inhuman screaming as it tears through what remains of the museum.
But here?—
Here, there is only the scent of us and the new, quiet power humming in the air.
The creatures have been driven back from the circle itself.
Not destroyed.
Pushed away. Repelled. Like the completed mirror has rewritten the rules of the space we stand in.
There is no sign of Malik.
No body. No blood.
Only a smear of dark residue across the marble where he stood, like the shadow of a man burned out of existence.
The Voidbringer is still here.
But something about it is different.
Weaker. Thinner. Like the ritual has stripped away its hold on this place and left it reaching instead of rooted.
Azrael lifts his head. His eyes, dark as ever, hold a new, profound warmth. A thumb brushes my cheekbone, wiping away a tear I had not realized I’d shed.
“Morgana,” he whispers, my name like a prayer.
Through our connection, I feel it happening.
The rifts.
Across both worlds, they are shifting. Not all at once. Not cleanly. But responding. Every tear. Every wound. Every opening I created months ago when I was just a thief who didn’t know better?—
They are beginning to close.
Seal.
Lock.
The world isn’t saved yet, but at least it’s been given the chance to survive.
And still?—
Something is unfinished.
The ritual is not done.
My humanity ignites. Not a slow burn like before, but instantaneous combustion. Every cell in my body catches fire with shadow magic, rewriting itself from the inside out. I am dying and being reborn at the same time, and the agony is beyond anything I’ve ever felt.
I scream.
Azrael holds me as the transformation rips through me. His power wraps around mine, trying to stabilize me, but this is bigger than both of us now. The ritual has momentum. It won’t stop until the sacrifice is complete.
My skin glows with inner light, shadow and silver warring beneath the surface. My bones feel like they are breaking and reforming. My blood burns like liquid fire.
I can’t think. Can’t breathe. Can’t do anything except scream as my humanity tears away piece by piece.
“Stay with me!” Azrael’s voice cuts through the agony. “Morgana, stay with me!”
I’m trying. God, I’m trying.
But the power keeps building. The transformation keeps accelerating.
And I don’t know if I’ll survive what comes next.