Chapter 63
Avilyna
THE BLOODMOON WAR
Sam grabs my hand, and together we sprint toward the woods, our small bodies darting under carts as we run with everything we have.
The chaos around us masks our escape; ten minutes pass without a sound behind us.
We finally collapse in exhaustion at the edge of a clearing, slumping onto a fallen log.
Gasping, I turn to Sam. Pulling him close, grateful for his care despite the danger.
I rise to plan our next move, but the woods fall eerily silent.
A shadow sweeps overhead, breaking the stillness with the same piercing shriek we heard earlier.
“Watch out!” Sam shouts, pushing me to the ground.
A rush of air blinds us as the creature swoops through the grey sky, the sun swallowed by dark clouds.
Before us, a monster with the upper body of a haggard crone, twisted by malice.
Her weathered skin pulled tight over brittle bones.
She beats her sinister wings and dives. My heart hammers in my chest; time slows.
But just as she’s about to strike, a flash of white bursts from the shadows.
With a primal growl, the white wolf lunges at the harpy, teeth snapping and claws tearing in fierceness.
The monster fights relentlessly, but the wolf shields us without hesitation.
Bloodied and weakened, the harpy finally retreats into the darkening sky.
The snarling white wolf confronts us, causing me to recoil instinctively.
Sam steps forward, his expression tight.
“I know, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have left,” he says apologetically.
Facing each other, they continue their heated discussion through their lycan’s link.
But their conversation is interrupted by the rustling of leaves and a foreboding scream coming from me as the harpy sinks her talons into my right shoulder.
Shock freezes Sam for a moment before instinct kicks in.
Except that I’m already too far off the ground.
His figure and the white wolf grow smaller as Netherworld’s creature flies away with me in its hold, my frantic cries fading into the distance.
Her talons are digging into my skin as burning iron.
I cry out, my voice lost in the sky. Below, the forest is a blur of green and ash.
We rise quickly, and the jagged peaks of Kallahan’s mountains loom ahead.
Snowflakes are all I see, stinging as tiny shards of glass on my face.
The sky is a churning cauldron of storm and magic, and then I see it.
The battle.
It unfolds across the wide, frozen plateau at the summit of the North Mountain.
White stones are stained red, and the snow is churned to mud beneath thousands of clashing feet.
Pegasus dive through smoke-wreathed skies, their valkyrie riders a blur of silver and wrath, blades raised.
The Legion line the ridges above, releasing shimmering arrows.
Lycans slash through the enemy flanks, snarling, their fur matted with blood.
Centaurs gallop through the thickest lines, hurling spears and swinging glaives, their hooves shaking the ground as thunder.
Spells arc overhead, blue gusts of ice, red fire, crackling violet bolts hurled by witches.
And there she is, my mother.
The Queen in golden armour, wings stretched wide.
She cuts through the enemy, a storm incarnate.
Demons fall beneath her katana, their dark blood hissing against the snow.
She moves with lethal grace, unstoppable, but she’s surrounded, outnumbered.
Even if she cannot hold it forever, wielding an aetherium weapon isn’t a guarantee of success.
The harpy shrieks and throws me. I slam onto the frozen rock, pain lancing through my ribs as I tumble across a ledge dusted in snow.
The cold strikes instantly, sinking into my bones.
I groan, breath steaming from the frigid air.
And then I feel it, the world darkens, as though the sun itself retreats, hope dying.
The warmth in my chest fades, and he steps into view.
Tall, impossibly tall, broad-shouldered, built like a God of war, every movement fluid and controlled.
His body radiates unnatural strength. A man sculpted for destruction, a weapon forged in flesh.
His long black coat flutters behind him.
His face…
It’s beautiful, in the way the Devil is.
Striking, sharp, flawless, a jaw cut from stone.
A mouth set in a cold, unreadable line. High cheekbones and obsidian hair slicked back.
His eyes glow faintly red beneath dark lashes.
Embers simmering behind the mask of something once human. He looks like a fallen angel.
Nekros.
The name trembles in my mind, a curse. There’s no anger in his face.
Only a cold, detached curiosity, the kind a hunter has when the prey walks willingly into the trap.
A glint of amusement tugs at the corner of his mouth, as if I’m something he expected to own.
Nekros’ gaze drags over me, slow and deliberate, and for a heartbeat, I’m frozen, paralyzed.
He is the shadow beneath every bedtime story.
The unspoken fear behind every locked door, and now. ..
He’s looking at me.
“Well, well,” the demon says, his voice smooth as smoke, dangerous in its calm, “this just got interesting.”
Fear claws up my spine, but then I see him. Just beyond Nekros, flanked by a line of grotesque demons. A norous stands with my unconscious brother slung over its bony shoulder as a bloodied rag doll.
“Alek!” I scream, the sound tears out of me before I can stop it.
Lunging forward, my heart hammers, but Nekros is faster.
In a blur, he catches my arm. To him, I’m just a child, small, weak, and they always underestimate us.
I kick his tibia, leaving him grunting. Dropping low, I twist and slide between his legs.
In one smooth motion, I snatch one of the blades resting at his belt.
Surprisingly light in my hand, I hurl it without hesitation.
The weapon whistles through the air and buries itself deep into the demon’s skull with a sickening crack.
It lets out a shriek and crumples to dust—aetherium.
But my brother’s body never hits the ground.
Instead, it hangs suspended mid-air, held by invisible tendrils of red smoke. Slow, deliberate clapping echoes through the chaos. I slowly turn around, apprehending what’s coming. Nekros is watching me, a slow, dangerous grin spreading across his face.
“I must admit,” he says, velvet dipped in poison, “you continue to surprise me, little mouse.”
“Let my brother go!” I snap, anger surging through my fear. He tilts his head, a mock sigh slipping from his lips.
“You see, I can’t do that. He’s part of something...” His eyes glint crimson.“Unless, of course, you’d want to trade places?” The words hang heavy in the frozen air. I open my mouth to answer, but I’m cut off by a blur of white fur. Smaller than the other wolf this time.
Sam.
He launches himself at Nekros with a snarl, jaws sinking into its arm.
Nekros lets out a hiss of annoyance, but it's enough. Focus slips, and with it Alek. My brother drops on the snow with a soft thump, and I spring forward. But Sam’s pained yelp stops me cold.
Turning right on time to see Nekros slam the white wolf to the ground, before his hand curls around Sam’s throat and lifts him with sickening ease.
Rage ignites in my chest, and I charge, swinging my foot into the one vulnerable spot no man, no matter how immortal they are, enjoys being kicked.
It lands. Grunting, Nekros stumbles back, releasing Sam, except it’s a brief victory. Rough, clawed hands seize us, yanking us apart as demons close in. Nekros recovers quickly, and this time he grabs my chin, his grip cruel. Nails digging into my skin, forcing me to meet his dead eyes.
“I’m starting to lose patience, little mouse,” Nekros growls, his voice no longer amused, but sharp with warning.
Desperation drowns me, heart pounding. I can’t let him take them, I can’t—I won’t.
“I accept! Myself for them!” I yell, my voice high and shaky. Nekros smiles, but it’s not a nice smile. It’s a cruel, sharp as a knife, ready to slice smile.
“You,” he says in that creepy soft voice. “For one of them.” His red eyes glow. “Choose.”
I stop moving, my heart’s thudding so hard it feels as if it might burst. This is not happening, no, no, no…
“Why?” I whisper, my voice breaking. “Why are you doing this?” If I had my valkyrie powers…
If I were like Mom or even like Alek, I could stop him. I could fight, but I’m not. I’m just… me.
Nekros leans down a little, his hand going up, and I flinch. But that doesn’t deter him; the Demon King only wipes away a tear from my cheek. Bringing his thumb to his lip, savouring my sorrow, while fear chills me to the bones.
“Don’t cry, little mouse,” his sweetness poisoning the air. “ The world’s full of darkness. Once you stop being afraid of it… You start to crave it.” At that, his face changes.
All the fake kindness melts away. He doesn’t look human anymore, not really. He looks like a wax statue came to life, beautiful but wrong, something from a nightmare dressed up in blood and flesh.
“Now,” Nekros says quietly. “Choose.”
I can’t think, I don’t know what to do.
My hands are shaking.
My chest hurts.
“This is getting boring,” Nekros sighs, “I’ll count to five.”
“One,
Two,
Three,
Four…”