Page 21 of Court of Twisted Angels (Cruel Beautiful Angels of Aerasak #1)

21

KYRIE

I step into the arena, my boots crunching on crystalline sand that sparkles with residual magic from previous trials. The morning air tastes metallic, charged with power that makes my conduit band hum against my palm. Above me, the tower pierces the sky - all gleaming obsidian and jagged edges that catch the light of the sun.

This is it. My last trial.

There's only two dozen or so left of us from the original nearly three hundred. And the xaphan anticipate none of us making it out of here alive.

Xaphan nobles fill the floating observation platforms, their pristine wings creating a canvas of white against the purple-tinged clouds. Their excited chatter drifts down, mixing with the low thrum of protective wards that encase the arena.

"Final contestant, approach the marker." A voice booms across the grounds, magically enhanced to reach every corner.

I keep my chin lifted high as I walk forward. Other contestants line the arena's edge—the ones who survived the previous trials. Some nurse injuries, others whisper prayers. None meet my eyes as we all wait in our places spread out in the arena around the tower.

The base of the tower stretches wider than twenty village houses. Ancient runes pulse along its surface, creating patterns that shift and change like living things. This close, I can feel the weight of its magic pressing down, testing, probing for weakness.

A gust of wind whips my braid, carrying the scent of ozone and something else—something deadly. My conduit band grows warm as it detects the poison in the air. Without the gemstone, I'll have to rely on short bursts of magical shielding, timing them perfectly between the gravity surges.

The marker glows at my feet—a circle of white light etched into black stone. Around its edge, words appear. Rise or Fall, the Tower decides.

I take my position, chin high, shoulders back. Let them watch. Let them think they know how this ends. The sun casts my shadow long across the arena floor, stretching toward the tower that will either grant me wings or claim my life.

A sound erupts through the arena and we all take off. I press my foot against the tower's surface, testing its grip. The stone feels alive beneath my boots, thrumming with ancient power. One wrong step and I'll become one of the broken bodies that are already starting to litter the ground below.

Magic pulses through the obsidian in waves. Each surge drags at my limbs like chains, trying to pull me down. I activate my conduit band, channeling a thin shield of energy around my body. Warmth spreads across my palm, fighting against the crushing force.

Ten steps up. My thighs burn. Twenty steps. Sweat trickles down my spine, soaking through my shirt. The higher I climb, the heavier my own body becomes. It's like carrying a sack of grain that doubles in weight with every movement.

A flash of gold catches my eye—a Praexa watching from his floating platform, his triple wings spread wide in casual display. His lips curl into a smile that doesn't reach his eyes.

I grit my teeth and push on. The tower's magic seeps into my bones, making them ache. Each breath requires more effort than the last. My lungs strain against the increasing pressure, fighting for air that grows thinner by the second.

"Keep moving," I whisper to myself, the words coming out in short gasps. "For Mother."

The conduit band flares hot against my skin, warning me of another gravity surge. I brace myself, fingers digging into tiny cracks in the stone. The force hits like a physical blow, threatening to tear me from the tower's face. My shoulders scream as I hold on, waiting for the wave to pass.

Blood pounds in my ears. The ground below - now forty feet down - seems to ripple and twist. The tower's magic plays tricks with perception, making distance stretch and warp. I dare not look up. Better to focus on each individual step, each small victory against the crushing weight that wants to drag me to my death.

My muscles tremble with exhaustion, but I force myself higher. The pendant bounces against my chest with each movement, a constant reminder of why I'm here. Of who needs me to succeed.

A flash of crimson light erupts from the runes beside me. I twist away as flames burst from the tower's surface, so close the heat singes my eyebrows. My conduit band pulses in warning - more traps triggering around me.

"Not today," I mutter, pressing myself flat against the obsidian as crystalline spears of ice materialize above my head. They crash where I stood moments before, shattering into deadly shards that glitter like diamonds in the sunlight.

The tower's surface shifts beneath my fingers, ancient stone restructuring itself into new patterns. I leap right as a section dissolves into liquid fire, my hands finding purchase on a jutting piece of rock. The muscles in my arms scream from the enhanced gravity.

Magic crackles through the air - raw power that makes my teeth ache and sets my hair on end. A bolt of pure energy slices through the space where my head was a heartbeat ago. The smell of scorched stone fills my nose.

My conduit band grows hot against my palm as I channel its power into quick bursts of shields, deflecting smaller projectiles that spray from the tower's face. Each use drains more of its stored energy. I'll have nothing left for the summit if I'm not careful.

Ice crystals form in spiraling patterns around me, their razor edges catching the light. I recognize the pattern from Azrael's teachings - a cascading trap designed to box in its target. The first crystal shoots forward like an arrow. I drop three feet, catching myself on a narrow ledge as more ice spears crisscross above me.

A deep rumble vibrates through the stone. The tower's next attack comes from below—a wave of crackling energy racing up its surface. There's nowhere to dodge. I press my conduit band against the obsidian and pull hard on its remaining power, creating a thin barrier between me and the surge.

The magic slams into my shield like a physical blow. My arms shake with the effort of holding on as the wave passes, leaving spots dancing in my vision. The band cools against my skin, its power dangerously low.

The air thins with each foot I climb, becoming sharp and brittle in my lungs. My chest heaves as I struggle to pull in enough oxygen. Black spots dance at the edges of my vision, transforming the ancient runes into blurred streaks of light.

I press my forehead against the cool obsidian, trying to steady myself. The tower's magic pulses through the stone, a steady rhythm that matches the thunder of my heartbeat. My conduit band flickers weakly, its stored power nearly depleted.

"I. Can. Do. This," I rasp, the word barely a whisper in the thin atmosphere.

Poisonous vapors curl around me like hungry serpents, their sickly green tendrils seeking any gap in my magical defenses. I channel the last dregs of power from my conduit into a barrier, watching as the deadly mist dissipates against it. The band grows cold against my palm—empty now, useless until it can recharge.

My fingers tremble as I reach for the next handhold. The runes pulse faster, their light casting strange shadows across my skin. Each breath burns like I'm swallowing glass. The thin air makes my head swim, turning simple movements into monumental tasks.

I remember Azrael's lessons about managing energy flow, about finding the spaces between magic rather than fighting against it. My hands move across the tower's surface, seeking the natural channels where power flows less intensely. There - a slight difference in the stone's texture, a path where the crushing weight feels marginally lighter.

Blood roars in my ears. The observation platforms have become tiny specks below, the xaphan nobles' wings mere flashes of white against the purple sky. I force my eyes to stay fixed on the stone before me, fighting the vertigo that threatens to tear me from the tower's face.

Another wave of dizziness hits, stronger this time. The world tilts sideways. I dig my fingers into a crack in the obsidian, pressing my body against the tower as I wait for my vision to clear. The air feels like soup in my lungs, thick and insufficient.

A shadow falls across my face. Before I can react, boots slam into my shoulders. The impact drives me against the tower's surface, knocking precious air from my lungs.

Through blurred vision, I make out Dax - the mercenary from the second trial. His face twists with desperation as his hands close around my throat.

"Only room for one at the top." His fingers dig into my windpipe.

I drive my knee up, catching him in the ribs. He grunts but doesn't let go. We grapple on the narrow ledge, the enhanced gravity making each movement feel like fighting through mud. His conduit band glows bright blue—still charged with power while mine sits cold and useless against my palm.

Magic crackles between us as he channels a burst of energy. Pain explodes across my chest. The force sends me sliding toward the edge. My fingers catch a groove in the stone, halting my descent as my legs dangle over empty air.

Dax looms above me, drawing more power from his conduit. "Nothing personal, sweetheart. But I've got people counting on me too."

I swing my body sideways as he releases another blast. The magic sears past my ear, leaving the taste of burnt copper on my tongue. Using the momentum, I hook my foot around his ankle. He stumbles, his concentration breaking.

We roll across the ledge, trading desperate blows. His elbow catches my jaw. I slam my forehead into his nose. Blood sprays between us, instantly crystallizing in the thin air. The tower's magic pulses stronger, responding to our violence.

His hands find my throat again. Spots dance in my vision as he squeezes. The gravity pulls at us both, threatening to drag us to our deaths. I grab his conduit band, yanking hard.

Raw magic explodes outward. The blast throws us apart. And it sends me in the wrong direction. I took a gamble, and I fucking lost.

The force tears me from my precarious hold, sending me spinning into empty air. My stomach lurches as gravity takes hold.

The world slows to a crawl. Purple clouds drift by like ink in water. Sunlight catches on my mother's pendant as it floats up from my chest, the silver chain stretched taut. Crystal shards from the tower's traps glitter around me like fallen stars.

Wind whips my braid into a copper banner above my head. The cold bites through my sweat-soaked clothes. My conduit band sits useless and cold against my palm - no power left to save me. Below, the arena floor spreads out in a massive mosaic of black stone and glittering sand.

My thoughts turn to Azrael. His ice-blue eyes, usually so cold, softening when he called me "little bird." The way his wings would curl forward unconsciously when he stepped close during our training sessions. His rare half-smile when I mastered a particularly difficult technique.

Images of Mother lying sick in our tiny home flash through my mind. Of promises I made and now can't keep. The ground rushes up to meet me, my reflection growing clearer in the polished black stone.

I close my eyes, not wanting to see the end. The wind howls in my ears, carrying the scent of magic and ozone. My heart pounds out its final beats as I plummet toward certain death.