Page 67 of A Kiss of Hammer and Flame (Fated for Hael #1)

Spiriting through the veil, Hael transported himself to the capital’s Luminaux gate, his infernal sight on Decimus of Ozumbre as the King absconded for his army.

Now that Hael was both liberated and magickally revitalised, his Nether-insight granted the occasional detail, such as the name of the Ozumbre army’s leader and twin, Commander Diabolus, who was battling mid-field with King Royce of Luminaux.

It was to his wretch of a brother that the King of Ozumbre now scurried.

Hael smiled darkly. The illusion of safety always helped his Reliquus cause and the exquisite abreption that inevitably followed.

So, he did not rush, instead drawing himself to his full height as he calmly traversed the sable sands between himself and Kolyath and Ozumbre’s men stationed by the gate.

It was time to remind the sister kingdoms why Hael was designated ‘the ultimate weapon’.

The fact that he would be avenging Cahra’s suffering? Another boon.

Hael had left no Kolyath or Ozumbre soldiers alive within the temple, and his focus was solely on the enemy, numerous as Cahra had warned him.

Yet her disquiet was borne of what she had seen during their second abreption: a bygone victory against Ozumbre in the first twenty-five years of Hael’s existence as a Scion champion.

Then, he had been but on the precipice of his true powers and still discovering them.

Now, as he stood beneath the gate, the Haellium a metal infused with his blood…

now, was different. He may have been resting for nearly four centuries, but he was a thousand-year-old immortal warrior fuelled by dark magicks and the Nether-plane beyond the veil and void.

The powers of creation. And of his destruction.

Hael would educate these mortals in precisely what that meant.

None had noticed him, fixed as they were on the conflict before them to the north-east. How lamentably human, Hael thought, to heed only the obvious danger and nought beyond it, as he cast his own spirit spell: the scridon that let him ‘turn to smoke and fly around’, to quote Cahra’s amusing depiction.

He did appreciate such magicks, Hael admitted, summoning the Nether to slit a hole in the veil between planes.

Smoke billowed from it as he materialised on the killing grounds, venting a blast wave that floored the fighting around him.

‘ Decimus! ’ Hael bellowed with the full force of his occult voice, the fires of the Nether roaring, crackling in his words. Ozumbre’s King narrowed his teal eyes from the midst of his forces. ‘Surrender.’ Hael drew out the final word. ‘Now.’

To his merit, Decimus strode forward, the King’s voice clear as he laboured to yell across the mess of battle lines. ‘So, you are the ultimate weapon! Well, I must admit, I was expecting a rather elaborate sword.’ Decimus gestured. ‘Would you not prefer to join us?’

‘Join us?’ Kolyath’s Commander Sullian stepped from Decimus, questioning him. Then Sullian glowered at Hael. ‘When will you heretic Seers learn? We do not need you .’

‘Your Steward needed me,’ Hael enlightened Sullian. ‘It was his plan, in fact, to wrest control and utilise my powers to slaughter you all. Though I see that Atriposte did not speak so plainly with his future victims,’ he mused, smirking.

Oh, how the All-seeing was favouring him, this day.

‘Debate is immaterial. My order remains. Surrender.’ Hael paused, telling Decimus, ‘You will not live to regret the alternative.’

From where he stood, Hael sensed King Decimus’ doubt, if only for a split-moment. Then Ozumbre’s ruler laughed.

‘Be on your guard, weapon.’ Turning from him, the King raised his sword and signalled for Commander Sullian to continue.

Despite his protracted life, Hael had never been a creature of patience. He extended his own arm and unfurled his fingers towards Decimus.

Smiling.

The gasps of Kolyath’s army carried on the wind, as the King of Ozumbre’s blade was whisked into the air – and evaporated into smoke, tendrils curling to the sky.

King Decimus stared at Hael, at length grasping his fatal plight.

Hael’s smile widened, revealing his predatory fangs.

Then he blew a whispered breath, knowing his words would reach Decimus’ ears only.

‘ I warned you .’

Standing at the forefront of where Kolyath and Ozumbre’s forces converged, Hael raised his arms, the sand-streaked soil of the lands between the capital and the Wilds cracking, sundering to reveal the crust below the surface of the sands and the red-hot fires of its depths.

His depths. His core. The fires of his destruction.

Hael stretched for the sun, commanding rock by molten rock, semi-liquid magma spewing above Kolyath and Ozumbre’s armies, their lines shattered by the makeshift plates on which they now crouched, cowering.

Soldiers watched open-mouthed as lava shot past then rained back upon them in a hiss and sizzle of screaming, human flesh.

He had vowed it, for Cahra. To the Netherworld-forsaken ground.

Then Hael scridoned to Decimus, pressing a honed talon to the Ozumbre King’s neck.

Unnecessary, as Hael could destroy Decimus even if he was in another kingdom, but mortals tended to respond with more gravity to such threats.

The sharp intake of the man’s breath was sweet satisfaction.

Behind the curve of his nail, he felt Decimus swallow.

Before he exacted the realm’s justice, Hael deigned to speak.

‘One final note, King.’ His claws outstretched, he grazed Decimus’ throat.

‘When you do reach the River Tenebri, please say hello to Atriposte and Jarett, from your Empress.’ Hael’s flames blackened as he thrust his talons into the King’s neck and hoisted the man’s body like a limp rag doll.

It was then that Hael began to feel the air, the will, go out of Ozumbre’s armed forces. ‘Your King is no more. Yield.’

Yet the army’s officers, scattered across the remnants of the kingdom’s lines, charged.

Hael sighed inwardly.

So be it.

He flicked his hand, palls of coal-black smoke exploding either side of him as the baying of his Nether-hounds echoed through the strand. It had been centuries since Hael had called upon his shadow jackals, and he bowed to the skeletal beasts, nodding.

For his hounds would be ever so hungry.

Then Hael turned, slashing the head of Ozumbre’s dead King from his shoulders, and left his Nether-hounds to hunt.

‘As the realm shall learn, I possess a long memory. I will right my former wrongs,’ Hael murmured, advancing on the highest-ranking official left in Kolyath’s army.

Commander Sullian scrambled across the jet sands.

I will avenge you, Emperor Brulian. For Cahra and all who came before her.

It was time to set about ridding Kolyath of its villainy, once and for all.

Time for the leviathan of Hael’s third and final form.

But before Hael could trigger his darkest transformation, he sensed something.

Hael! Wyldaern’s voice cried, desperate and wavering, as if unsure of her new powers.

He shot into the air in a flurry of ash and smoke, searching the battlefield.

An agonised howl, raw and rageful, sounded from Luminaux’s end of the plain – and he felt a tremor within the dirge of life expiring. The fires of destruction. Of ruling life, lost.

Hael, not having met Luminaux’s Prince, nonetheless somehow knew the man’s voice.

And despite the young man’s feelings for Cahra, woe swelled in Hael’s chest as he watched Prince Thierre rip King Royce from the grip of the sword that gored him, the two of them sagging to the ground.

Thierre raised his head, vengeance in his eyes.

The King of Luminaux was dead.

Above him stood the King of Ozumbre’s twin, Diabolus, sword dripping with blood.