His teeth ripped through his lip, and he bit down, blood filling his mouth. He had relished how it felt to overpower and rip Roque apart slowly and deliciously. Feeding off his fear, knowing his secrets and knowing that he had never done enough. And he had enjoyed killing him. After him, each life he took was like oxygen to embers, sparking and catching until he was an inferno. Emory is dead. She is gone.
Painfully, the magic burned through his mind, through his blood, making him retch, his bile mixed with blood. He fingers dug into the frozen earth, and his skin should have split from his nail wrenching and tearing back. His skin remained flawless, and he howled, his anguish cutting through the woods, the emptiness of the Academy. You are ours. The pain he experienced before was nothing, nothing, to what seared through his body now. Sweat coated his body in a cool sheen as it ripped and tore through him, the magic devouring him. He didn’t know if his bones were dissolving into dust, and his heart lurched, beating too fast and irregularly.
Voices bounced around his mind, but they weren’t memories, they weren’t anything at first. Just soft whispers, echoes of places and people that he had once known. Of the secrets he had learned, the knowledge of men and their lies, of broken crowns and hidden truths. Of the madness that cultivated it all. You will do our bidding to remake this world. The scene sharpened, and Adair stood looking at the still pool of water, afraid to go to its edge. A dull throbbing ached in his temple as he shuffled toward it. We will do great things, together. Rid the world of this weakness. And start to purify the magic. Staring at the water, the surface rippled as his quicks breaths hit the surface. Expecting his reflection, he stared back at the shadows curling before him, deepening with every second. There was no man to be spotted, no recognition of any humanity. Whimpering, he scrambled back, but the water continued to churn, the pond lapping at the edges as the shadows crawled toward him, slick and persistent. They rushed and crashed toward him, blotting out any light, and overtook him, covering his legs, his arms, his torso, his eyes. Until that was all that was left of him.
Adair drew in a deep breath, and, not for the first time today, woke up laying on his back. The sky took on an odd filter, hazy and unclear. Sitting up, he dusted off his jacket, looking around at the edge of the forest. All that stared back at him were the trees encased in ice and downy flakes of snow coating the world. Standing, he looked at the skeleton of the building resting on the hill, and the hundreds of creatures prowling toward him. Wolfishly grinning, he walked toward them, cutting through the ice, away from the forest.
Ashes skittered amongst the fallen, and as he reached the ancient creature, it bowed its massive head, its raspy voice filling his mind. “You are not like the others. Not even like the two who unleashed us. Who are you?” He took in the gashes on its hide, its rippling muscles, and unyielding eyes. Slowly walking toward it, he placed a hand on its mammoth shoulder. Growls rippled throughout the army, but the dabarne watched as blackness ran down Adair’s arms, flowing through his fingers and flaring underneath his palm. Flesh started to knit itself back together, sealing the wounds, and he could feel that same magic stirred in the monster’s heart, echoing his own.
He lowered his hands and bellowed for all to hear, “I am your king!” It was like watching grass flattening against the wind as the dabarne in front of him bowed the front half of its body, the army following suit. The air around him crackled as he drank in the sight. Behind the army, in the broken courtyard, lay a lifeless body in the middle of a ring of ash. His gaze indifferently skittered over the woman, but glinting in the rubble, her sword lay beside her—cruel edges and duel blade with sharpened teeth. He strode through the lines, the army’s answering roar echoing around him. Reaching the middle, he picked up the blade, gripping it in his hands. It was heavy, the hilt’s coldness jarring through him.
Looking up to the Academy, the broken windows, the blood-spattered sides, the smoke rising from the rubble. He thrust the blade in the air, his yell more guttural as his army whispered and chanted throughout his mind. Our Dark King rises, he rises, he rises, he rises. His world was filled with inferno and rage as he stood, as the place he had called home ignited in emerald flames.
Lowering the blade he faced his army, roaring, “I think it’s about time we pay the capital a visit, don’t you?” The ear-splitting roars rose around him as he grinned viciously. His blood thrummed and his skin rippled with goosebumps. He could not get enough of this intoxicating elation. Nothing would ever be enough for his hunger. He would walk to the ends of the world, and take, and consume, and never feel satisfied. As the world shattered and gravity left him, his army galloped behind him, their footfalls like rolling thunder shuddering across the world. He cut through the air consumed by magic and smoke as he shot across the sky like a celestial body, and for the first time in his life, he knew exactly where he belonged. He dove and twisted, his dark soul consumed by his power, and he left the ruined scene behind him, allowing the Academy to burn until it was nothing more than a scorched memory.
Part 2
Evanescence
20
Emory
In a split second, her world had deteriorated around her. The girl
