Page 49 of Crowned In Venom

49

ANYA

T he cold stone beneath my back is slick with my own sweat and blood. My fingers curl against the edges of the altar, nails splitting as I brace against the agony ripping me apart from the inside.

The Ghost’s voice rises and falls in a language I do not understand, each syllable vibrating through my bones, twisting, pulling, unraveling. The runes carved into the altar glow a deep, sinister red, pulsating in time with my heartbeat—a heartbeat that feels like it is being torn from my chest.

Pain.

I have known pain before.

But not like this.

This is fire and ice. Blades carving through my flesh from the inside out. A thousand swords piercing me, withdrawing, only to stab again.

I open my mouth to scream, but the sound is lost to the torrent of raw suffering flooding my veins. My throat is already ruined, shredded, but my body keeps trying to scream anyway, trying to purge the agony even though there is no escape.

I am bleeding. Everywhere.

The altar drinks it in. The red light grows brighter.

A part of me is being taken. Something deeper than blood, deeper than flesh.

I thrash, convulsing. I can hear a voice—Varkos.

"Stop this!" His snarl is hoarse, wrecked. "You're killing her!"

His voice is frantic. A storm of rage and desperation.

A firm grip yanks him back. The Ghost, keeping him from interfering.

"She must endure," the Ghost says, his voice calm. Distant. "Or it will all be for nothing."

Endure?

I can’t.

I want to die.

This isn’t worth it.

My vision blurs, dark edges creeping in. But the Ghost’s magic is cruel, relentless—it won’t even let me slip into unconsciousness.

I have never felt so utterly helpless.

Tears and blood mix on my skin, my body writhing against the stone, my limbs twitching involuntarily. The magic reaches deeper, pulls harder.

It hurts. It hurts. It hurts.

"Please," I try to whisper, but my voice is too raw, too broken.

I am going to be nothing after this.

A hollow shell.

A body with no soul.

The altar pulses again, and my back arches violently. A new wave of pain splits through my stomach.

I hear Varkos roar.

His voice is pure anguish.

"Anya!"

I want to answer him.

I want to tell him I’m still here.

But am I?

The magic digs deeper.

My soul is unraveling, piece by piece.

I feel the blood pouring from me, soaking the altar, dripping onto the stone floor below.

I can barely hear the Ghost’s voice anymore.

Only the pain.

Only the tearing.

Only the hollow, ragged gasps scraping up my throat.

This shouldn’t be possible.

I should be dead.

I wish I was.

A sob wrenches from my lips, but it sounds more like an animal’s dying cry.

"Make it stop," I try to say, but I don’t know if I actually speak the words.

Then—

A whisper.

Soft. Gentle.

Familiar.

"Anya, my darling girl…"

The warmth of the voice cuts through the pain like a single ray of light.

I force my eyes open.

The world is hazy. Warped. The pain is still there, unbearable, but something else rises in its place.

A figure.

A woman.

My mother.

Her hair is exactly as I remember it, thick waves of chestnut, her face gentle but lined with sorrow.

"You must endure, little flame," she whispers.

I choke on a sob.

"Mama—?"

Another shape appears.

Broad shoulders. A strong jaw. My father’s kind, steady eyes.

Then another.

My sister. My brother.

My people.

The family I lost.

My chest tightens.

My mother kneels beside me, her fingers brushing through my hair. I can’t feel her touch, but I feel her presence.

"You are stronger than this pain," she says, her voice firm but full of love. "You are ours. You are fire, Anya. You are unbreakable."

My father nods, his gaze warm but sad.

"Don’t give up, little fox."

The words strike deep.

Tears spill from my eyes.

"I miss you," I whisper.

My mother smiles.

"We are always with you."

The light surrounding them grows brighter. The warmth of their presence begins to fade.

"No—!" My voice breaks.

"You have more to do," my father says, his voice soft but insistent.

I reach for them, but my fingers pass through empty air.

Their faces begin to blur, fading back into the darkness.

"Fight, my love," my mother whispers.

And then?—

They are gone.

The pain rushes back tenfold.

A jagged scream tears from my throat as my body arches against the stone, muscles seizing, spasming.

The Ghost’s chanting reaches its peak.

A final surge of magic rips through me?—

And then?—

Nothing.

The pain is gone.

Just like that.

As if it had never been there at all.

I barely register the silence that follows.

The blood cooling on my skin.

The sweat plastering my hair to my face.

The way my body feels too light. Too hollow.

I try to move.

I can’t.

A heavy warmth envelops me.

Strong arms. A trembling touch.

Varkos.

His voice is wrecked, hoarse, breaking.

"Anya, love—please?—"

I barely hear him.

I barely feel anything at all.

But I see him.

His face hovering over mine.

Tears in his eyes.

A relief so raw, so profound, it nearly crushes me.

My lips barely move, but I force a smile.

Then—

The darkness swallows me whole.