The him that was caged, that was fighting, was dead, nothing stirred in him except those alluring voices, and they chanted one thing to him, purred to him in pleasure and ecstasy.
Dark King. Dark King. Dark King.
Grabbing the Curse, he sheathed it, turning to his army of dabarnes. They reminded Adair of wolves, now his pack, ready to hunt for him—to kill for him. Before him, the hundred of dabarnes bowed, his army that was born from nightmares.
“Anyone who is of ability and wants to join my forces can. Rid the world of its weakness, rid the world of the doubt, of the lies. There is one king now, and they will either bow, or they will die,” Adair said to them. The roars were shattering, and Adair screamed over them. “We are the future!”
Adair looked to the mountains and grinned, the thought spreading through his ranks. “Bring anyone who wants to rebuild this world to the Draken Mountains. My kingdom will be born there. Go. But tell no one of this location. Ever.”
The army roared, galloping through this city of ruins, and pleasure raked through him. He knew they would spread through the country like a plague. Soon, the world would know his name. A mad, dark king.
Adair started walking toward the Draken Mountains, and he was remade. Everything was a distant detail, and he was his power.
“Listen to us, and you will be unstoppable.”
The smoke curled around him, and he took off, cutting through the air, less of a man and more destruction. It was seconds before he was standing before the face of the mountain, and giggles sounded in his mind when he rolled his neck.
He flipped his palm over, and on the opposite hand, a dark green talon replaced his nail. Cutting deep and slow, his blood welled, dripping onto the dirt. Placing his hand on the cool stone, he dragged his flesh over it, tiny splinters of rock entering the wound. Stepping back, Adair looked at the blood red slash and grinned madly when the stone turned to dust under his blood, creating a doorway.
“All of Might, our Dark King.”
Alone, with the chilling voices of the Oilean curling around his mind, Adair stepped into the center of mountains, and didn’t look back.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Brokk
Running deeper into the woods, the two monsters closed in on their heels. Froth collected at the corners of his mouth, and he wanted to stop. He wanted to give in. Memphis’s shirt was in his mouth; his friend was unconscious and thrown across his back, the bloodied fabric the anchor between them.
Stumbling, he pushed harder, his quaking muscles drained of energy. Flashes went through his mind, leaving Emory, their idea of growing forces against Adair. Memphis crazed and broken. He knew his friend wanted to leave, but he couldn’t let him, no matter how mad they were at each other.
Even though Memphis could be annoying and stubborn, he loved him.
A day had passed since Emory left, since the fall of the Academy. It was a long night of endless running; the once comforting blanket of night turned against him, harboring screams and breeding nightmares.
Brokk leapt over a decaying log, his back paw catching, and they were both flung forward. They landed hard, and Brokk swayed to stand, looking at his friend who didn’t stir. Snarls sounded behind him, and he knew he couldn’t run anymore.
He turned, sides heaving, as he took in the two circling dabarnes. They snapped their teeth, daring him to prove their dominance wrong.
His hackles rose, and he dove down deep into his motivation for staying alive. And then he charged, his growls guttural and deep. They clashed, claws ripping fur and skin, spittle and froth flying. Brokk sank his teeth deep into the rotting flesh, choking and gagging. He was body checked, flying violently as the second dabarne caught his throat, dragging him down.
Its teeth held him, any movement on his end would tear through his flesh. The second one prowled up to him, saliva dripping from its maws, and Brokk understood that he wouldn’t stand a chance two against one. He needed to fight now.
He flattened his ears, his growls intensifying, as he prepared to twist his body from the dabarnes pinning grip. A flicker of movement flashed to their left, and a wild scream cut through the woods. A young girl charged at them without hesitation, without fear.
He was in awe of her courage and stupidity.
The dabarnes stalled, and Brokk felt the energy surge through him as he shifted back, slamming his fist into the creature’s jaw, teeth flying onto the ground. The girl was pale and covered in dirt, her electrifying blue hair unbound. A small curved blade flashed as she sunk it into the side of the dabarne, and it screamed.
He parried, shifting back, and threw everything he had left in him at the wounded one to their left, and with a crunch of bones, it dropped. The girl practically growled at the other one, but another scream tore from their right, and the three most unlikely people Brokk ever thought to see ran past the trees.
Alby. Wyatt. Jaxson.
They threw themselves at the monster, blades sparking, the wet thud of steel into flesh, and Brokk shifted back, dumbfounded. Once both forms were still, they chortled, relief flooding into their voices.
“Brokk! You guys are alive?” Jaxson exclaimed.
“Who’s the girl?” Wyatt asked.
“No one else survived. Alby hid us, but then we heard howls and followed them,” Jaxson continued, talking over Wyatt.
Overwhelmed, Brokk ignored the questions and turned to the girl. “Who are you?”
Jutting her chin out, she said, “Bryd Reit.”
“Why are you out here?”
“My town...” her chin wobbled, “...was destroyed by those creatures. I was one of the only survivors to escape. The rest of my fellow villagers, those who didn’t perish, left with them on the promise of glory with the Dark King.”
A heavy silence fell over them, and Brokk raised his eyebrows to his
