Page 8 of Court of Twisted Angels (Cruel Beautiful Angels of Aerasak #1)

8

AZRAEL

T he polished obsidian beneath my boots gleams with an otherworldly sheen as I stand at the edge of the viewing platform. Below, a vast expanse of magical darkness churns like a living thing, its inky tendrils reaching upward before dissipating into wisps. The darkness isn't just absence of light—it's a tangible force that devours illumination, crushing the senses of those trapped within.

While the contestants can't see down there, the void splays out like a body of water in the arena for the rest of us to be able to view easily. It allows me to watch as a blade is thrown through the void, followed by an agonized scream that echoes off the arena's towering walls. Another contestant eliminated. Their life force drains away, feeding the very darkness that claimed them.

"Pathetic." I grip the platform's crystalline railing, my knuckles white.

These humans throw their lives away for a chance at wings, at ascending beyond their mundane existence. They don't understand the price of power, the weight of the gift they so desperately seek.

Someone else must have a conduit because I see purple spark start to sputter in another section. The void responds by intensifying, condensing around the magical barrier until it shatters like glass. The contestant's terrified whimpers carry through the chamber before falling silent.

My wings flex unconsciously, as I keep scanning, looking for any hint of the gemstones in this portion of the trails. Maybe I can slip in after the initiation is over, snag it without really being seen.

The edge of the arena is lined with torches. The flames burn with an eternal magic that even the void below cannot touch. Ancient runes carved into the platform's edge pulse with containment spells, keeping the darkness from spilling over into our sacred spaces.

A determined contestant manages to forge ahead, their blade - probably imbued - cutting a path through the shadows. For a moment, hope flares in their movements - until the void-wraiths materialize. These spectral hunters, born from the darkness itself, circle their prey with predatory grace. The human's magic flares brighter, desperate now.

I lean forward, watching dispassionately as the wraiths close in. The void swallows another scream, another failure, another fool who dared to dream of wings.

But then a flicker of movement catches my eye - and I see Kyrie. She's at the center of the void, facing off the last guardian. Her auburn hair whips around her face as she dodges the wraith's ethereal claws. Instead of fighting the creature head-on like the others, she rolls beneath its strike, her movements fluid and precise.

The void surges toward her, but she's already moving. I watch in fascination as she uses those twin blades like they are an extension of herself, combatting an enemy she can't even see. It's impressive as she slides a blade through the wraith's ribs and it implodes.

"Clever girl." The words escape before I can stop them. Most contestants rely on brute force or defensive magic, but this one... she's different. She uses the arena itself to her advantage, timing her movements with the void's natural ebb and flow.

When the void starts to disappear beneath her feet, ready to drop her to the arena's floor, my chest tightens. It's an odd reaction since I know that this means she's survived, but I hold back a wince when I watch her slam to the ground, now released from the void.

She stands tall despite her obvious exhaustion, blood trickling along her skin, her clothes singed and torn. Yet there's a fierce pride in her stance that commands respect.

I find myself leaning forward, studying Kyrie with newfound interest. This human has more than just survival instinct—she has vision, adaptability, and most importantly, the wisdom to know when not to fight.

It's exactly what I need and the plan I started last night is ready to be moved into place.

I descend the obsidian staircase toward the organizers' booth, my wings folded close against my back. The crystalline structure gleams with embedded runes of power, their azure glow reflecting off the polished surfaces.

Inside, three Praexa sit behind an ornate desk carved from ancient silverwood, their own wings creating a backdrop of white and gold feathers.

"Lord Azrael." The central figure inclines his head, silver rings in his hair chiming softly. "What brings you to our station?"

I rest my hand on the desk's surface, letting my family's signet ring catch the light. "The human who completed the void trial, has she been assigned a trainer yet?"

"Kyrie Kael." The female organizer to the right unfurls a scroll of enchanted parchment, the words shifting and reforming beneath her touch. "From the slums up north. No formal magical training, though she's shown remarkable aptitude in basic energy manipulation." She looks at me and shakes her head. "No trainer yet assigned."

"Untrained?" My wings twitch with interest. "Yet she managed to navigate the void wraiths with more skill than seasoned practitioners."

The third organizer, his face half-hidden beneath an ornate hood, speaks in measured tones. "She's clearly trained in combat."

I nod, thinking. "And her motivation for entering the trials?"

"The usual. Dreams of wings, elevation from poverty." The central figure's lips curl in a dismissive smile. "Though she specifically inquired about access to restricted medicines."

"Interesting." I straighten. "Get me her complete file. Including the details from today's trial."

The organizers exchange glances, their wings rustling with uncertainty. I slide a small pouch of celestial silver across the desk, the enchanted metal singing against the wood.

"Of course, Lord Azrael." The hooded figure quickly tucks the payment away. "We'll have it delivered by nightfall."

My mind races as I look to where Kyrie is limping away from the arena and back toward the human's quarters. Raw talent like hers is rare - especially among the untrained masses that populate the copper district. Most humans who enter the trials have at least some basic magic whether it's a conduit or an imbued weapon, yet she navigated the void's dangers on instinct alone.

Which means she might be more powerful than most expect. Strong enough to feel and capture the gemstones I need.

My family's curse grows stronger with each passing day, and these stones may hold the key to breaking it. But tracking them requires someone who can move unnoticed through the shadows, someone who I can train and keep close, who won't want them when they are found. And with them being in the trails…

I need someone human.

Below, maintenance mages reset the trial arena, their spells weaving new patterns into the void. Fresh runes ignite along the obsidian walls, ready to trap the next batch of hopefuls. The wraiths reform, their ethereal forms dancing through the darkness like smoke.

My wings shift restlessly as I consider the possibilities. An untrained human would be perfect - especially if I could entice her with something as easy as medicine. And this one has already proven her adaptability, her instinct for survival. With proper guidance, that potential could be shaped, honed into something truly formidable.

I trace a finger along my family's signet ring, feeling the cursed magic that pulses within. The stones' power could cleanse this taint, restore my bloodline's honor. And I think I found just the right way to have the stone obtained in the trials without having the whole of New Solas watch me debase myself by jumping in myself.

My plan begins to crystallize. I'll offer to train her personally—an honor no human could refuse. And while she learns to harness her power, I'll mold her into the perfect tool for my search.

I look back to the Praexa. "Assign her to me."

They blink, staring up at me. The central one furrows his brow. "You want to train her?"

The hooded one next to him howls with laughter. "Of course he does. He's a bored noble and what's more fun than tormenting a human in the trials."

Their words make my stomach twist, but I let a cruel smile spread across my face. "Exactly."

"We'll mark it down," the hooded one says, and I nod in thanks, turning away.

I stalk through the rocky corridors of the trial grounds, my boots clicking against the polished floor. Magical orbs float overhead, casting a soft golden glow that reflects off the faceted walls. My wings rustle with each step, the silver feathers a constant reminder of my noble birth—and the curse that threatens to strip it all away.

A decorative mirror catches my attention, its surface enchanted to never tarnish. I pause, studying my reflection in the ancient glass. Dark circles shadow my ice-blue eyes, more pronounced than they were last month.

The curse's progression shows in subtle ways—the slight pallor of my skin, the dull sheen of my once-lustrous wings, the faint tremor in my hands that I must constantly suppress.

Behind me, the Praexa's laughter echoes down the hall, but they don't see the desperation hidden beneath my carefully maintained facade, the way the curse eats away at my family's power day by day.

Finding those stones isn't just about restoring honor anymore - it's about survival. And that human girl, with her raw talent and unconventional methods, might be my last chance to save everything.