Chapter 63 Lose Control of Your Monster
(Both of Them)
Kazimir
The Bone Behemoth’s roar shattered what remained of Auremar’s eastern line, and I felt a surge of dark satisfaction as soldiers scattered like ants under a boot. Each swing of its massive arms sent soldiers flying, their screams cut short by the sickening crunch of bone against bone.
But they regrouped faster than I’d expected.
Golden light erupted from their rear guard, and I watched with narrowed eyes as mages in white robes stepped forward, their hands weaving complex patterns in the air. The light coalesced into barriers, slowing my behemoth’s advance.
“Interesting,” I murmured, shadows coiling around my fingers. “They’ve learned some new tricks.”
The voice in my head hissed its displeasure. Crush them. Break their pathetic defenses.
I was already moving, summoning shadow wings to fly above the battlefield. From this vantage, I could see the full scope of Auremar’s response. The mages weren’t just creating barriers, though. They were channeling something different that made the air taste of copper and old magic.
Then I saw the Hero’s Guild, or what remained of it after our last encounter.
They emerged from concealed positions, their burnished silver armor dulled to gray, their movements too fluid and synchronized to be natural.
The corrupted substance Auremar had been feeding them had changed them, made them faster, stronger.
More dangerous.
“Finally,” I said, a cold smile spreading across my face. “A real challenge.”
I’d prepared for this possibility. The false intelligence we’d fed Evenfall hadn’t just included troop movements—it had contained specific weaknesses in our formation, bait for the Guild to exploit. They thought they were springing a trap.
They had no idea they were walking into mine.
I descended, landing hard enough to crack the earth beneath my feet. The nearest Guild members turned toward me, their eyes glazed with that telltale sheen of addiction. Whatever Auremar had done to them, it had stripped away their humanity, leaving only weapons.
It would make killing them so much easier.
“Shadow Formation Seven,” I commanded, my voice carrying across the battlefield through magical amplification.
My troops responded instantly, shifting their positions with precision. What had appeared to be a standard assault formation revealed itself as something far more complex—a magical array drawn with living soldiers, each one a focal point for the spell I was about to unleash.
The Guild charged, their enhanced speed turning them into blurs of motion. The first one reached me in seconds, his sword wreathed in corrupted golden fire. I caught the blade with my bare hand, shadows hardening around my skin to protect me from the flames.
“Too slow,” I said, and twisted.
The sword shattered, fragments of enchanted steel spinning through the air. Before the knight could react, I drove my other hand through his chest, shadows extending from my fingers to pierce armor and flesh alike.
He died with a gurgle, black blood pouring from the wound.
More, the voice urged. Kill them all.
I obliged.
The battle became a dance of death. Each strike was calculated for maximum carnage, each spell designed to inspire terror. I wasn’t just fighting—I was performing, creating a spectacle that would be seared into the minds of every survivor.
A group of Guild members tried to flank me, moving with that unnatural synchronization. I spun, shadows exploding outward in a wave of cutting darkness. They fell in pieces, their enhanced bodies no match for raw power.
But more kept coming. Dozens of them pouring from hidden positions across the battlefield. Auremar had held them in reserve, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.
They dare challenge us? Show them their folly.
My vision began to blur at the edges, darkness creeping in. Not the darkness of my magic, but something older, hungrier. Memories that weren’t quite mine flickered through my mind—images of battles long past, of armies kneeling before a figure wreathed in shadow.
I shook my head. This wasn’t the time to lose focus. Arabella needed me to maintain the distraction, to keep Auremar’s forces occupied while she completed her mission.
Arabella.
The thought of her anchored me, pushing back the encroaching darkness. I could feel her through our bond, distant but safe, her determination a bright flame against the shadows trying to consume me.
“My lord!” One of my commanders approached, his armor splattered with blood. “The array is ready.”
I nodded, raising my hand. “Activate it.”
The soldiers in position began to chant, their voices rising in unison.
The ground beneath us started to glow with purple light, runes appearing as if burned into the earth itself.
The spell I’d designed was simple in concept but devastating in execution—it would turn the corrupted magic in the Guild members’ blood against them.
The first screams started within seconds. Guild members clutched their heads, falling to their knees as the substance that gave them strength became poison. Some tried to flee, but the array’s influence extended across the entire battlefield.
“Did you think I wouldn’t prepare for you?” I called out, my voice carrying over the sounds of agony. “Did you think Auremar’s pet project would save you?”
The Bone Behemoth continued its rampage, now facing less resistance as the Guild members writhed in pain. It grabbed one of the white-robed mages, crushing him in its massive fist before hurling the body into a cluster of soldiers.
Victory was close. I could taste it.
Then she appeared.
I’d been waiting for her. Of course she would come—Amaryska never could resist watching while other people did her work.
The moment she materialized from a fold in space, every muscle in my body tensed, but this time I was ready.
This time, I wouldn’t freeze like a child counting footsteps on the stairs.
Her gray and red robes remained pristine despite the carnage, the red stitching like veins of blood against storm-cloud fabric.
My mother looked exactly as she had in Kheldvar—sharp cheekbones, dark hair pulled back severely, those gray eyes that had watched impassively as she carved runes into my bones.
The vertebrae in my spine burned. Phantom pain. Memory. I pushed it down.
Not this time.
“Hello, my son,” she said, her voice silk over steel.
The rage I’d been holding back since Kheldvar erupted, but controlled now—channeled into purpose rather than paralysis. The voice in my head roared its approval.
Kill her. Make her suffer as she made us suffer.
My hands weren’t shaking. I’d made sure of that, practicing the encounter in my mind a hundred times since that rooftop.
I’d prepared words, strategies, contingencies.
But seeing her again still made something foul curl in my chest—not fear this time, but a darker cocktail of fury and old pain that the Shadow King’s whispers eagerly fed upon.
“Mother.” The word tasted sour on my tongue. I kept my voice steady, the Dark Lord’s mask firmly in place even as that seven-year-old child inside me wanted to scream. “Come to watch your creation in action?”
She tilted her head, studying me with that clinical detachment I remembered so well. “You’ve grown strong.”
“No thanks to you.” I stalked toward her, shadows writhing around me. “Tell me, was selling me to that demon part of your grand plan? Or just a happy accident?”
“Everything I did was necessary,” she replied, not moving as I approached. “You needed to be forged in darkness to fulfill your purpose.”
I barked a laugh. “The only purpose I have is the one I chose. And right now, that purpose involves removing your head from your shoulders.”
I struck without warning, shadows lashing out with lethal intent. But Amaryska was already moving, her form blurring as she dodged. She reappeared twenty feet away, a small smile playing at her lips.
“Still so direct,” she said. “I taught you better than that.”
“You taught me pain,” I snarled, pursuing her. “Let me return the lesson.”
We clashed in a fury of magic and malice. She was skilled, I’d give her that—her spells were elegant, efficient, designed to kill with minimal effort. But I was stronger, had been for years. Each of her attacks I batted aside, each defense I shattered with raw power.
The battlefield around us became collateral damage. Soldiers from both armies fled our vicinity as spells meant to kill missed their targets and devastated the landscape instead. The ground cracked and split, reality groaning under the strain of our conflict.
“Your wife should be meeting Auremar about now,” Amaryska said as she narrowly avoided a spear of shadow. “Such a lovely girl. It would be a shame if something happened to her.”
The voice in my head screamed for blood, but I forced myself to remain calm. Through the bond, I could feel Arabella—tense but unharmed, focused on her mission. If she were in real danger, I would know.
I sent a wave of dominion magic at my mother. “Did you really think such an obvious ploy would work?”
She twisted away, but not quite fast enough. The magic clipped her shoulder, sending her spinning. When she regained her footing, blood stained her robes.
“First blood to me,” I observed coldly.
Amaryska’s eyes narrowed. “You always were an ungrateful child.”
The words shattered something inside me.
“I was your weapon! You carved me into shape, pointed me at your enemies, and I delivered. I killed Vargus for you—gave you the revenge you couldn’t take yourself.
And the moment I succeeded, you sold me to a demon because I’d grown too powerful for your comfort! ”
The admission burned coming out—that I’d known all along I was nothing more than her tool for revenge.
But saying it aloud, here on this battlefield, made the old wound fresh again.
My connection with Arabella slipped. And the voice in my head seized on that old pain, twisted it, fed it back to me amplified.
Amaryska used you. Discarded you. Make her pay.
I attacked with renewed fury. The voice in my head merged with my own thoughts until I couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began. All that mattered was making her suffer as I had suffered.
But Amaryska was nothing if not a survivor. Every time I thought I had her, she slipped away—a teleportation here, an illusion there. She didn’t fight to win; she fought to frustrate, to delay, to escape.
And it was working. Each near miss, each failed killing blow, fed the rage building inside me. The careful control I maintained over my power began to crack, darkness seeping through the fissures.
Let go, the voice whispered. Embrace what you are. Show her true power.
“Stand and fight!” I roared, shadows exploding outward in all directions.
Amaryska appeared atop a pile of corpses, looking down at me with those cold gray eyes. “You’re losing control, Kazimir. Just as you always do when emotions run high.”
“Shut up!”
I reached for more power, pulling from reserves I didn’t know I had. The Bone Behemoth responded to my rage, its attacks becoming wilder, less discriminating. It no longer distinguished between friend and foe, crushing anyone in its path.
Screams rose from my own troops as the behemoth’s massive fists came down on their formations. I heard them, distantly, but couldn’t bring myself to care. All that mattered was catching Amaryska, making her pay.
Yes, the voice purred. This is who you are. Who you’ve always been.
Ancient memories flooded my mind—not my own, but familiar nonetheless. Images of battles that spanned centuries, of kingdoms rising and falling at my command. Of a name that echoed through history: Shadow King.
I stumbled under the weight of the memories. Amaryska used the distraction to put more distance between us, her form flickering as she prepared another spell.
“No!” I snarled, reaching out with dominion magic to hold her in place.
But the spell went wide, my control shattered by the chaos in my mind. She vanished, reappearing at the edge of the battlefield.
“Until next time, my son,” she called, already fading into another portal.
She was gone, leaving me standing among the carnage, rage and ancient memories warring for control of my mind. The Bone Behemoth continued its rampage, no longer responding to my commands. It attacked indiscriminately, a monument to my loss of control.
Why do you fight it? the voice asked, no longer whispering but speaking with terrible clarity. You know who you are. Who you’ve always been.
More memories crashed over me—the confrontation with Soriven, the Golden Roses that bound me, centuries of imprisonment. Not metaphorical imprisonment, but literal, my consciousness doomed to roam in pieces, looking for hosts while my power remained sealed.
I was the Shadow King.
I had always been the Shadow King.
Welcome back, the voice said, and I realized it had never been separate from me at all. It was me—the part of myself I’d been denying, fighting, trying to forget.
The Bone Behemoth roared, and I roared with it, the sound shaking the very foundations of the earth. Power, true power, flooded through me. Not just the magic I’d cultivated as Kazimir Blackrose, but the ancient strength of the Shadow King himself.
I could feel it all—every ley line in the realm, every pulse of magic, every living thing connected by threads of power I could manipulate with a thought. The Heirloom on Arabella’s head sang to me, recognizing its true master.
Take it all, I thought. Reclaim what was stolen.
The battlefield transformed as my power manifested fully. Shadows rose from the earth itself, taking shape as warriors, beasts, monstrosities beyond mortal comprehension. The sky darkened, stars vanishing as if consumed by an endless hunger.
This was what I was meant to be. Not just a Dark Lord playing at conquest, but a force of nature, inevitable and unstoppable.
Through it all, one small part of me—the part that was still Kazimir, still the man who loved Arabella—screamed in horror. But that voice grew fainter with each passing second, drowned out by the roar of ancient power reclaiming its throne.
The Shadow King had returned.
And the world would tremble.