25. Nyx
Chapter 25
Nyx
This has stretched far longer than I expected. The castle grounds are unrecognizable—Samael and Kaine have clearly not been idle. I had thought they’d be unprepared for our assault, but the extensive preparations suggest either paranoia or anticipation. Perhaps they fortified the place against Lyra’s eventual return. The thought makes me laugh aloud. Lyra wouldn’t be deterred by mere enchanted barriers and traps.
Frustration mounts as I realize our lines of communication are still down—Colton’s illusion vanished not long after our arrival. Damn him, probably slacking off with his magic, or perhaps... No, I quickly dismiss the darker thought of his demise. Despite everything, he is my brother, and his death would crush Lyra. Yet life would be simpler without him.
As if summoned by my thoughts, his projected self materializes within our ranks, and I can’t help but shake my head at the sight.
It’s eerie, seeing him like this—so lifelike yet so detached, moving mechanically until he chooses to engage. The fighters beside me still seem unnerved by it. I’ve only grown accustomed to it because my father used the same ability often.
Colton hurries over, and I brace myself for whatever comes next.
“Nice of you to join us again,” I remark as he approaches.
“I lost my magic. Were any of you affected?” His question catches me off guard.
“What? No,” I reply, scanning our surroundings for any immediate threats and not seeing any. “How?”
“Arrows,” he explains, “shortly after the battle began, hundreds of spelled arrows rained down on my group, turning into golden dust that nullified our magic. That’s why my illusion disappeared. I regained my powers moments ago.”
Fucking Samael. This reminds me of the time Lyra and I were captured and restrained with specially spelled metal bars and chains, crafted from a deal he struck, selling a piece of his soul to Euric for the power to strip my magic. Now, it seems he’s found a way to harness that same spell for mass deployment, which does not bode well for us.
“Have you checked on the other team?” I ask, hoping they’ve fared better but preparing for the worst.
“Yes, I’m with—” Then his illusion vanishes again. Godsdamn it.
“Everyone, watch out for arrows. They can nullify Fae magic. Spread the word, and don’t get hit by one, for fuck’s sake,” I shout to the men closest to me.
The castle looms on the hill in the distance, but Colton’s warning forces us to proceed with even greater caution. “Fan out,” I command, gesturing for the men to take different paths through the shadowed gardens.
It’s deep into the night, and with only a sliver of moon overhead, visibility is minimal. I navigate a narrow footpath leading through a gazebo, pausing outside as a prickling sense of being watched crawls over me. Surveying the small grassy area before me, centered by a softly murmuring fountain, I try to calm my nerves—water’s gentle sound being the only soothing element tonight.
With a surge of urgency, I dash across the open space, feeling dangerously exposed, and enter the rose gardens. These gardens are eerie, filled with angelic statues that add an unsettling touch to the landscape. Who thought this was a good design?
A sudden movement catches my eye—a childlike figure holding a bow and arrow seems to twitch. I blink, convincing myself it’s a trick of the light or my strained nerves. But as I take another step, reality strikes hard and painfully: a stone arm swings out, striking me across the head. Holy fuck, it’s not my imagination. The statues are spelled, animated now, descending on me.
I’m surrounded by a veritable army of these flying, child-like statues, all armed with bows. It feels like I’ve stumbled into a nightmare, one concocted by Samael in his most deranged moments.
I waste no time with these monstrosities and simply fix my gaze on two of them and obliterate them with a burst of my power. As another statue draws its bow, aiming a stony arrow at me, I take no chances. I swing my sword, cleanly decapitating the eerie little figure, then with a sweeping gesture of my arm, I reduce the remaining four to rubble.
Straightening up, a smug smile creeps across my face. The ease of it almost makes me laugh—it felt too simple, almost trivial. Stepping over the scattered remnants of my adversaries, I aim to continue down the path when suddenly, a rose bush lashes out, its thorns slicing through my tunic and cutting into my arm. After all the sophisticated traps I’ve navigated tonight, it’s absurd that a fucking flower draws first blood.
The sound of ceramic reassembling begins quietly at first. Reluctantly, I turn, dreading what I know is happening. The shattered pieces on the ground are pulling themselves back together, reconstructing the angelic figures I’d destroyed. I catch what looks like a smirk on one statue’s face, even though half of it is still missing, and that’s enough for me. This is too damn creepy.
With a renewed sense of urgency, I dash through the rose garden, my arm outstretched, shattering every statue in my path—spelled or not, I’m not sticking around to find out. I can’t shake the eerie feeling as I flee, the sound of reforming statues echoing faintly behind me in the dark, twisted garden.
“King Onyx, the men on the other side of the property have been attacked by guards—dozens of them,” Poe gasps, crouching next to me, breathless from his dash. The young officer is reliable, and I can’t help but feel protective of the kid.
“Better you stay with me then. We’ll head through the gardens toward the back entrance. The team can handle the other side,” I advise him firmly.
“Yes, sir,” Poe replies as we navigate the dark, zigzagged path. I keep silent about the statues. No need to relive that horror or scare him unnecessarily.
“Stop,” I whisper suddenly, extending my arm to pull Poe down behind some bushes. I’ve spotted movement on a distant balcony that I recognize as Lyra’s parents’ old chamber, likely now occupied by Samael, given its size and grandeur.
“What is it?” Poe whispers back.
I nod toward the balcony where I saw a light flicker. As if on cue, several lanterns blaze to life, illuminating the figures of Samael and several others. It’s difficult to make out faces from this distance, but the presence of Kaine and his wife are discernible. No sign of Citlali or any other Lamias though. Samael, donning a large mask that obscures his face, steps forward confidently, his hands gripping the railing as he surveys his domain.
The urge to hurl a blade at his head surges within me, but I know better. Magical shields and protective spells are undoubtedly in place, and who the fuck knows why he’s wearing a mask?
“Oh, King Onyx, I know you’re out there somewhere,” Samael calls out, his voice unnaturally high-pitched and grating, echoing across the courtyard to our hidden spot. “Do you have my little bird with you? Oh, I do hope she’s with you. I’ve missed my pet,” he croons maliciously.
I clench my jaw so tightly I fear it might crack, repulsed by his possessive words about Lyra. Beside me, Poe’s eyes widen in alarm. I shake my head slightly, signaling him to stay silent.
“Nothing to say? Not ready to beg for my forgiveness and bow to me? I imagine you’ll be regretting that decision by sunrise, especially after what my men have told me about how your people are faring at my other camps.” Samael’s laugh rings out, a chilling echo mingling with the distant clash of battle.
I glance at Poe, ensuring his silence. Samael’s penchant for deception and provocation is well known. I don’t believe his claims that our other teams are struggling. Even if their magic has been temporarily nullified, my troops are far more adept at combat than the Sorcerers.
The lights abruptly extinguish, and all I hear is Samael’s dismissive, “Suit yourself.” Then the real onslaught begins. Guards pour from every corner of the castle into the courtyard, and I immediately grasp the unfolding scenario. I don’t bother to shout a warning about taking cover. It would be futile.
Arrows rain down around us, and as Poe starts to panic, conjuring a shield, I shout over to him, “It’s no use! The arrows themselves won’t hurt you. It’s the golden mist they release that takes away our powers temporarily. There’s no avoiding it out in the open like this.” The mist will penetrate our defenses, seeping into our very skin, even if we hold our breath.
The battle intensifies as we reach the hill’s crest, the eerie golden mist swirling around us like a premonition of doom. It’s a scene pulled straight from the darkest of fables, with shadows and fog dancing together under the moonlight, transforming the castle grounds into a living nightmare.
As I unsheathe my weapons, a sword in one hand and a dagger in the other—Dorian’s magic ensuring it returns after each throw—I’m momentarily reassured by the familiar weight and the faint hum of magic still alive within them. Despite Samael’s cursed arrows, our weapons remain potent, a small but crucial advantage.
With Poe close behind, we charge forward. Sorcerers, their robes billowing like dark specters, descend upon us. I waste no time. My strategy is simple—attack before they can utter a single incantation.
My sword slices through the air, finding its target with deadly precision. A head falls, the body collapsing into the mist, barely making a sound over the clash of battle. Without missing a beat, I hurl my dagger at another Sorcerer. It strikes true, embedding deep into his throat. As I spin to face my next opponent, the dagger flies back to my hand, slick with blood.
The mist thickens, a desperate attempt by the Sorcerers to diminish our onslaught, but it does little to quell the ferocity of our advance. Each step I take is a calculated dance of death—parrying, thrusting, and moving with a grace born of countless battles and many years of training.
I glance back to ensure Poe is keeping up. His young face is set in a mask of concentration, his actions mirroring my own as he fends off attackers. Our rhythm is synchronized, a testament to the countless hours of training and battle we’ve shared.
Sorcerers fall one by one as I weave through the gardens up the hillside, the castle growing larger as we near it.
The ground beneath us cracks, a spiderweb of dark energy spreading with alarming speed. I brace myself, planting my feet firmly on the earth, ready for whatever Samael’s twisted magic might conjure.
Without warning, the ground tilts, a sudden steep incline throwing many off balance. I watch as the levitating Sorcerers begin to chant in unison, their voices a haunting melody that chills the blood. Above us, the sky darkens further, clouds swirling into a vortex directly over the battlefield blocking out the moonlight.
“Samael’s manipulating the terrain,” I shout to my men, my voice barely carrying over the crescendo of rising winds and the Sorcerers’ incantations. “Stay alert. Keep your footing!”
The Sorcerers, now mere silhouettes against the darkened sky, start to hurl bolts of energy toward us from their elevated positions. Each bolt hits the ground with the force of a meteor, sending shockwaves through the already unstable ground.
I dodge a bolt, feeling the heat singe the air where it passes. The rumble beneath us grows more violent, and I realize Samael’s attacks are an appetizer—something’s coming.
“Poe, stay close!” I yell, not taking my eyes off the floating adversaries. We need to disrupt their concentration, break their formation. I hurl my enchanted dagger toward the nearest Sorcerer. It strikes true, and for a moment his chanting falters—but the dagger returns to my hand, and his levitation resumes as if nothing had happened.
The ground shifts again, more violently this time, and a new crack opens up, spewing a foul, sulfurous gas. I cough, the acrid air burning my lungs, and glance around, realizing that Samael’s spell is more than an attack; it’s a trap meant to disorient and weaken .
“We need to move!” I command, slicing through another bolt of energy with my sword. “Head for higher ground away from the cracks!”
As we maneuver, the realization hits me—we’re up against the very landscape we stand on, twisted by Samael’s dark spells. How has he gotten this powerful?
“Brace yourselves!” I shout to my comrades, barely getting the words out as the ground beneath us seals shut. Suddenly, a torrential rush of water cascades down the hillside like an avalanche, striking with the force of a boulder. I grab onto a nearby tree, anchoring myself as the deluge hits, threatening to sweep me away. Glancing around, I see several of my men aren’t as fortunate, carried off by the newly formed moat swirling violently around the castle’s base.
Enough of this madness. As the water subsides, leaving a slick, muddy mess, I drop from my makeshift perch into the mire. My boots sink into the mud with a sickening squelch, each step a struggle against the thick sludge. But Samael’s magic has to have limits. He can’t sustain this level of power indefinitely.
The Sorcerers, visibly fatigued and now grounded again, struggle to remain upright. “Attack now! Push forward. They’re weakening!” I command, rallying my troops as we advance through the muck.
My blade meets the next opponent with a satisfying crunch. The Sorcerers’ earlier poise has evaporated, their spells now desperate attempts to ward off our relentless assault.
We press on, and Poe and I finally clear the gardens, reaching the castle boundary. All entrances are heavily guarded, but they stand no chance against us. I swiftly take out the first two guards at the bottom of the stairs.
“Cover my back,” I instruct Poe as I start my ascent. Three guards charge at me simultaneously. I kick one squarely in the chest, sending him tumbling down the stairs. His fall won’t be fatal, but it buys me time.
The other two come at me, swords drawn. I fend off one with my dagger while stabbing the other in the chest with my sword, which gets stuck and fucking goes over the side of the stairs, still impaled in the guard. “Poe, my sword!” I grunt, pointing over the side with one arm while holding off the other guard with my dagger, not looking back but hoping Poe gets the message. If only my sword were imbued with magic to return to me as well.
“You’re all going to die tonight. He can’t be defeated,” the guard I’m fighting says between gurgled breaths, blood spurting out of his mouth with his last words as I strike him in the collarbone, bone crunching as I retract my blade.
“Can’t be defeated, my ass.” I kick his body over the side and turn back as Poe runs up the first few steps, reaching out with my sword in his hand.
“I have it, King On—” His voice cuts off as a blade pierces through his chest from behind.
“No, Poe!” I scream, catching his collapsing body. The world narrows to the point of that blade as rage seethes within me.
Rolling Poe gently to the ground, I grab my sword and unleash hell on the man at the bottom of the stairs, who is laughing mockingly. I know he’s dead after the first vicious swipe of my sword, but rage fuels me, driving my blade through him again and again until his laughter is choked out by his own blood.
Even after his body goes limp, I continue pounding his face with my fists until my knuckles are raw and bleeding, the pain a dull echo compared to the agony of losing Poe.
Breathing hard, I return to Poe, his body still warm. I kneel beside him, pressing my hand against his chest, futilely wishing for the magic that could save him. His eyes flutter open, a weak smile playing on his lips.
“Do you remember the first time we sparred off in the ring together?” I ask, my voice cracking as I clutch his hand, trying to distract him from the inevitable.
“I kicked your ass. You never saw my acid rain coming,” he murmurs, his voice fading.
“I told everyone I let you win. Truth is, you really did kick my ass,” I chuckle, gripping his hand tighter. His smile flickers with pride then dims as the light fades from his eyes, his chest falling still.
In that moment, something within me hardens—Samael will pay for this.