Page 186 of As Above, So Below

The massive creature would have once been fae.

Now, it only vaguely resembles what it had been in life. The creature is a shambling corpse—elongated and warped, its proportions all wrong. Thinning silver hair falls to its shoulders, it dons bloodied and damaged silver armor. Sunken and cloudy violet eyes meet mine—

“Thalion,” I breathe.

The creature laughs, a haunting barking sound produced only by vocal cords that shouldn’t exist—flesh that’s rotted away and been reconstructed by necromancy and blood magic.

“You should have listened to your father.” He smiles, revealing rows of jagged teeth.

A soul warped by three centuries in the hells, the flesh he’d been assimilated into reeks of death and decay. He stands over eight feet tall, his movement anything but graceful, so unlike the last time we’d met. Stunned by the hatred in Thalion’s eyes as he presses forward, I struggle to move, shocked by my father’s disregard for the dead.

Without hesitation, Eve launches herself at the construct, a crimson sword of hellfire appearing in her hands. She buries theblade into Thalion’s back, piercing through him, but he doesn’t slow.

Thalion roars, his voice thundering in my head, and it becomes clear to me Eve has no experience in fighting undead.

The creature swings himself around, fists landing against Eve’s stomach, sending her flying—she crashes against the bed as the hellfire sword in Thalion’s flesh vanishes. He doesn’t waste time and sets his sights on her, moving across the room.

My panic sets me into swift motion, shadows swirling around me, ready to strike. Snaking forth, they wrap themselves around Thalion’s neck, and I pull—his grasp at Eve returns empty.

She flails as she stands, my messenger bag falling to the ground, its contents dumping onto polished floorboards.

It’s all happening too quickly.

The door bursts open, shards of ice ripping through the room faster than I can see from Cyran’s hands. Black blood spurts from Thalion’s side coating Eve, my bed, and portions of the floor—the stench of sulfur and decay turning my stomach.

Thalion swings at Cyran with an arm, he dodges.

Barely.

Shouting something to Eve, she rolls out of the way of the hellfire that bursts out of Thalion’s other hand.

The bed catches fire like dry tinder, and more of my shadows streak forth wrapping themselves around his arms and legs, anchoring him in place. He’s abnormally strong and it takes more focus than it should to keep him restrained.

Bright red light catches my attention, gleaming beside the bed.

The obsidian box with the gold soul opens, dragged through some of the black blood.

It sits close to Thalion’s foot, and he notices the light.

Cyran launches more ice, blades this time, aimed for Thalion’s throat—a distraction. They tear the flesh to ribbons, but he gives them no notice.

“Eve!” I shout, sheer panic pitching my voice.

It takes her less than a second to see what I do, and she dives forward, hands outstretched. Her fingers clutch the box, but she won’t be fast enough to escape his descending foot.

Crushing my hand into a fist, my nails bury themselves into the flesh of my palm and my shadows react.

Thalion bellows with laughter, his leg falling away at the knee.

Severed clean.

A gravity-induced stream of congealed blood oozes from the wound.

Another clench of my fist, and Thalion topples onto his back, shaking the floor with his fall and roar. His severed leg flies across the room, thrown by my shadows.

As the fire grows, flames licking the ceiling, Eve closes the box, her bleeding hands trembling—the undead blood coating them is acidic to living flesh. She slides the box along the floor, toward the balcony, away from the fire.

I’m not going to be able to restrain him for much longer.