Page 8

R.I.O.T

H ero. Champion. Grand Arbiter. And…

Saviour.

It's the name whispered through stories when creatures talk about things I've done, the monsters I've killed, and the people I've saved.

It isn't a title I asked for. It isn't a name I chose. It isn't mine.

But my oath has turned me into some kind of beacon in this broken world. Even the Gods have recognised my power—my influence. And went so far as to give me the title of Grand Arbiter .

I wonder what they would say if they knew I wasn't doing it for them. I wasn't doing it for the world. It was for Her.

Every decision. Every step. Every breath I breathe is for Her. Only ever Her.

I'm not a hero, but the world likes to think otherwise, and I never bothered to correct them. If they want a hero, if they want to think that hero is me, I'll let them live in their delusions if it allows me to get what I want—the Nightwalkers. Dead.

But this woman before me sings the name like she knows it's a lie. It’s the way her pink lips—stained with black blood—tilt up at the corners. The way she stretches each letter of the word. The way she stares right at me as if to exaggerate her point.

Like she's doing right now.

I want to kill her. She's my enemy. She's a creature of destruction, and there isn't a single thing about her which disproves that fact.

Her beauty is unmatched, and the ethereal glow around her would bring any creature to their knees.

From the soft and delicate tattoos running up her neck, curling up the side of her face and over her forehead, to her long, silky, white hair.

From those heart-shaped lips dripping in black blood, to her legs and the fullness of her breasts—she's temptation.

She's sin and death wrapped in a beautiful body.

She's a Nightwalker.

The scientist—Ricci—created Nightwalkers to be perfect.

Flaws would have meant death because, like he would always say, there's no room for error.

And this Nightwalker's flaw is staring me right in the face with those mismatched eyes.

Her right eye is pale and colourless, and her left is green, as dark and deep as the forest at dusk.

She holds two worlds in her eyes, and they are both dead.

My hand tightens around her wrist, but she doesn't flinch. "I need to replace what I've lost." I trail my gaze all over her face but find myself stuck to her eyes. "You seem competent enough."

That would be an understatement. She just admitted to being able to track Nightwalkers. I know she's telling the truth, because she looked genuinely thoughtful at the prospect that another creature could track Nightwalkers, too.

The Nightwalker scoffs and rolls her eyes. "Why would I help the creature that's eradicated more than half my kind?"

"Do you expect me to believe that you care about them?" I ask, and I watch her face fall. Those lips twist into a pout, but her eyes are still dead.

All their eyes come to life in moments of chaos. I should know; I've killed enough Nightwalkers to witness that gleam in their eyes when they're surrounded in blood, drenched in fear, sinking in depravity.

She manipulates her face far too well that if I wasn't looking so closely at her, I probably wouldn't have noticed those dead eyes. But they're there, in my face, engraved into my memory and messing with my head.

She isn't like them. I'm not quite sure if that makes her all the more dangerous.

"Aww! I like pretending to give a shit; why do you have to go and ruin it?" She huffs. I grit my teeth, wondering why she bothers me so damn much.

I hardly have a chance to respond when the wolf jumps over my shoulder and attempts to rip the Nightwalker's head off.

She hardly blinks as Seth's large body flies over mine to get to her, and she doesn't pause as she slams the heel of her palm beneath his jaw, causing him to fly back and hit the ground with a loud and painful thud.

The Nightwalker leans her body to stare around mine, glancing down at Seth, feigning a disappointed sigh. "Tsk, tsk, tsk." She shakes her head, murmuring, "And after I released you, too. So rude."

I narrow my gaze at her. She glances at me from the corner of her eye and smiles.

"Now, I'm going to tell you boys something very crucial, so listen closely, and listen well.

" She turns to Seth, her smile melting away and her face becoming distant, cold, and dead.

Her mismatched eyes burn gold when she says, "It's a very dangerous mistake to underestimate the extent of my power. "

Her words are dead, but that doesn’t stop the effect those promising words have on us—the night, me. Something about the way she speaks them makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand at attention.

Her words seem full of experience. Like she's proved those words more than once, that the blood on her small hands is more than I could possibly imagine. It's because of that, that I can’t bring myself to doubt her or her powers.

"Riot." I tilt my head, aware of the fear in Seth's voice as he says, "We can't let her live."

"No?" I glare at the Nightwalker as she picks the dirt gathered beneath her nails. "And why's that?"

"I don't know what she did, but…" Seth pauses, clearly distraught.

"Suddenly, all I wanted was to please her.

But it felt deeper than that; I was happy to do it.

For a moment there, I truly believed my entire purpose in life was to serve her, and if she had told me to kill you, I'd have done it in a heartbeat. "

I shoot the Nightwalker a narrowed-eyed look. Her white hair is ruffled, her white collared shirt is covered in red and black blood, and her legs and feet are bare.

If I hadn't intervened, this little Nightmare would have broken the loyalty bond between my General and me. It isn't a small feat; I'm a powerful creature, and the bonds between us were created by Gods. It shouldn't even be possible for her to touch it.

Seth is afraid of her, as he should be, but I can’t help but see this as an opportunity.

“Kill her, Riot,” my General—always the voice of reason—pleads, “ we'll find another way to take care of Damien, but we can't trust this Nightwalker. She's dangerous.”

Maybe Seth's right; she is too dangerous to trust, and I get the feeling she wants to show me what she is capable of doing.

Nightwalkers, and creatures in general, like to keep their abilities hidden from their opponents.

But this Nightwalker doesn't care who sees her.

It's like she doesn't think it'll make a difference.

I take a step, ready to strike the killing blow, but she sighs and pulls her hand out of my grip. Her skin peels away from the pressure, but she continues as if she doesn't realise. "My answer hasn't changed. Why should I help you when I'd rather just fight you?"

Her fist comes flying at my face; the impact feels like thunder and almost takes my head clean off my goddamn shoulders.

Fuck!

Her face falls to the side, beaming savagely. "I knew you'd be fun."

I'm still getting my bearings when she spins low, her fingertips brushing the dirt before snapping upright with a kick that could shatter bone. I'm quick to block the strike with my forearm, a crack reverberating through the clearing, but I tilt my head, unfazed.

She jumps back, and I watch her dishevelled state as she lets out a wild laugh that echoes into the night.

Her movements are fluid, almost hypnotic—each step a dance of controlled chaos as she runs towards me, her bare feet barely making a sound on the soft ground.

Her eyes are dead while her face twists in dark delight, and I'm not sure which is the truth.

My jaw tightens. The weight of the Gods’ enslavement mark pulses in my mouth, foreign yet instinctual, aching to take, to control its first victim.

I'm not sure why I do what I do next, but I snatch her torn fist when she thinks I have my guard down. And because she's so goddamn unpredictable, I work quick and sink my teeth into the inside of her torn flesh before she knows what's happening.

She freezes the moment the mark takes hold.

The energy moves fast, slipping from me into her like a current—invisible but undeniable. It burrows beneath her skin, wrapping around her essence like a vice. Her body stiffens—just for a second, just long enough for me to catch the sharp inhale she tries to suppress.

A snarl slips from her lips, low and instinctual, but she smothers it just as quickly. Tries to pretend it doesn't bother her. That she doesn't feel the weight of the bond settling into her bones.

But I know better.

I see the clench in her jaw, the flicker of strain in her face. She may not admit it, but the mark is there now, woven into her being—inescapable.

Then I meet her eyes, but they're still empty.

I pull my teeth from her flesh, the wound sealing instantly, but the mark remains. A vivid red band coils around her wrist, stark against the black ink beneath it—like fresh blood staining an old scar. It pulses once, as if settling into place, binding itself to her. Permanent. Unyielding.

She almost collapses onto her knees— almost. I slip my fingers through her hair, and she grabs my wrist, but I pull her into me, her chest pressed to mine, soft against my hard edges.

I murmur, my lips hovering over hers.

"Your eyes are dead, but your body still burns." Her eyes sharpen, and she grits her teeth. I run my thumb beneath her eyes with a gentleness I didn't think I possessed and say, "Don't look at me like that, Nightmare. Your mistake was in thinking you had a choice."

"What did you do to me?"

"I enslaved you," I reveal, and smirk darkly at her. "You're mine now."

I loosen my grip, just slightly, watching. Testing.

"Find Damien," I command quietly, slightly uncertain.

Nightmare stiffens, but smiles through clenched teeth as she says, "Did you think it'd be that easy to control me?"

No. Not for a second.

"I do like a challenge," I drawl, unfazed. But my gaze flickers back to the mark; it’s visible, so it must affect her in some way.

"I'll change that soon enough, Saviour," Nightmare promises, right as she pulls out of my grip. She immediately tries to punch me, but her fist stops just a hairsbreadth from my face. She blinks, tilting her head, trying to hurt me but can't.

Her hand falls as she stares at her wrist, running her fingers over the mark. Her eyes meet mine, and she glares at me. "What are you?"

I simply smirk. She wouldn't believe me if I told her, and she isn't ready to witness it, either.

No one is. No one will ever be. Even using the mark to enslave her is risky, but this Nightwalker is too dangerous to allow her to roam freely.

Now that I've decided to use her, I've made it nearly impossible for her to betray me.

"As I said." I slip my hands back into my pockets. "You're competent enough to replace what I've lost."

She glares at me, her words once again full of promise when she says, "You're going to regret this."

I don't doubt her, but I have a debt to pay, and I don't care about the consequences, as long as I get what I want.

I glance at Seth over the Nightwalker's shoulder, knowing he isn't happy with my decision, but he knows better than to question me.

Seth's wolf is already circling her—a low, guttural snarl vibrating through his chest, his brown fur bristling. His large white teeth gleam in the dim light, lips curled in warning as his eyes lock onto her, unblinking, waiting .

Prepared to strike at my command.

Then I shift my gaze up to the sky, staring at my floating castle. Its power surges in my veins, pulsing in time with my heartbeat, ancient and unshakable. The walls, the corridors, the very foundation of the castle— they know me . They respond to me.

And the doors—

The only way in. The only way out.

I sense them; a tear in the fabric of reality, shifting with the energy of the castle itself. It's not physical, not in the way mortals understand. They exist where I will them to, bound to my command, opening only for those I allow.

I reach out, fingers brushing against the invisible seam where the portal lingers. The moment I make contact, the castle reacts .

Power ripples outward, bending the very air around us. Space folds in on itself, the night warping, stretching, until—

We vanish .

A blink. A breath.

And suddenly, the world snaps back into place. The air is heavier, thick with magic, humming with recognition as we reappear within the castle's walls.

The moment we step inside, it knows we're here.

It knows what I brought with me.

The structure settles around us—alive, aware… angry.

Displeasure hangs in the air, weeping off the walls as chandeliers rattle, doors groan, and the floorboards scream in anger in response to my guest. I turn to her, and she turns to me.

She sighs disappointedly. "Now, Saviour, did you forget to tell Mommy and Daddy you're having a friend over?"