Page 148

Kill .

He saw her broken on the ground, and the word took root.

Kill .

He felt her blood on his hands, and it bloomed.

His shadows rose in answer, coiling at his back like smoke.

Kill.

And they obeyed.

The first Sanctifier barely had time to react. The shadows at his back twisted, writhing like living things before snapping forward, a blur of darkness and heat—stabbing straight through his wards and into his chest.

Skye didn’t pause to admire the kill.

Tendrils lashed the legs of another, yanking him from his feet. The Sanctifier screamed. Skye was already moving. He launched forward, his sword a streak of light.

One clean strike. The body fell in halves, fire devouring his robes mid-air.

It echoed louder now. Kill .

The tang of his mate’s blood soaked the air. Each breath fanned the flames of primal rage rising inside him.

Kill, kill…

Fear and pain screamed down the bond. His shadows seethed around him, eager to strike.

One of the Sanctifiers stepped forward. “Stand dow—”

KILL! KILL! KILL!

Shadows struck before the words could finish. And then so did he.

With a roar, Skye lunged, driven by fury, carried by the darkness at his back. Aether flooded his veins as the core between his shoulder blades pulsed.

Another Sanctifier dropped, choking on the shadows strangling him from the inside out. Skye wrenched his blade loose, blood misting the air—eagerly claimed by the waiting dark.

“Did you see that?!” one of the Sanctifiers shouted.

“The shadows—they’re feeding off it!” another yelled. “His blood… no, all the blood!”

Indeed, his shadows rippled like smoke across the killing field, greedily siphoning the aether from every spilled drop, swelling larger and darker with every bit of stolen magic.

“Shit!” someone barked from behind, the scrape of their boots echoing in the chaos. “He’s a fucking bloodcrafter!”

The next two Sanctifiers came as a pair. One launched a hail of ice shards. The other ran straight at him, trailing violet. Skye ducked, cold shrieking past him like glass through wind. His blade lashed out as he rose, but the second mage was already there.

A fist drove into his ribs, the impact exploding through him as he skidded backward, boots scraping against stone. Skye snarled. Shadows exploded outward, solid as a shield.

A second wave of ice struck, only to warp and coil into barbed tendrils before snapping back toward its sender.

The Sanctifier barely managed to deflect. Every impact against his wards sent up a cascade of sparks.

Skye didn’t wait. Didn’t hesitate. Didn’t give them time to regroup.

Muscles shifted beneath his skin. Bones flexed, and tendons realigned.

Bloodcrafting had shown him how to break a body down to its base elements—how to unmake and remake. He’d practiced on himself for hours, reshaping around the metals in his blood, until morphing became as natural as breath.

Skye lunged, the shift already carrying him forward. His fingers lengthened, sharpening into claws.

One strike to the throat—flesh tore, bone cracked.

Skye was moving again before the body hit the ground. A breath of frost warned him—the ice-caster was preparing another volley.

Shadows coiled around his feet, slinging him across the battlefield like a blade loosed from a bow.

A single strike split the mage from shoulder to sternum.

Kill.

He was wrath embodied, vengeance given form, cutting through the ranks with a singular purpose.

KILL.

When a mage came at him with a blade, Skye let go—he let his body unravel, each particle and piece of him dispersing into the air in a controlled cascade. Another perk of shadow essence. It formed a stable enough network to keep his molecules intact, even when he broke himself apart.

Shadows clung to the edges of his dispersal, guiding his reformation. In a snap of movement, he coalesced behind the Sanctifier—solid, whole, exact.

Skye’s lips curled back in a predatory snarl. His fist, wreathed in shadows, punched through the mage’s back. The blade clattered to the ground as his heart exploded out of his chest.

“Form a perimeter—don’t let him slip away!”

The rest of the Sanctifiers—fewer of them now—moved swiftly. They encircled Skye with coordinated precision, weaving barriers of light and energy.

Skye darted forward. His form was a blur, shifting with the grace of smoke.

A sudden, jarring force slammed into him—like crashing into a wall of solid energy.

“Keep the barriers strong! Shadows can’t escape the light!”

Pain ripped through him, but it only stoked the fire burning in his gut.

He staggered back, snarling.

He’d rip them apart with his hands—tear their flesh with his teeth!

Every drop of pain they’d inflicted on what was his, he’d repay in brutal, bloody kind.

“That’s it! Focus on containment! We have to—”

Flames erupted along the line of Sanctifiers, a searing wave that tore through their ranks. The explosion sent mages tumbling, fleeing. The roar of fire and the crackle of magic filled the air.

And through the inferno, Sarina appeared, stepping out of the blaze like the goddess of Fire herself.

Blazing horns crowned her head, and her hair whipped wildly in a halo of flame-touched strands that danced in the heat.

Fiery tendrils licked at her skin. Each step scorched the ground beneath her bare feet as her dress hung in singed, still-flaming tatters.

Hell hath no fury like a Fey female whose child had just been tortured and mutilated, and the scream that ripped out of her when her eyes landed on Taly shook the heavens.

She paused, flames flickering around her as she met Skye’s gaze. Her eyes burned with molten fury. In them, he could see a single command.

Kill.

Then Sarina lashed out with a wave of fire, incinerating the nearest line of mages. One of them tried to retaliate with a surge of water, but it evaporated in a hiss of steam.

Stone melted. Flesh sizzled.

Nothing could withstand the heat of her flames.

She carved a path through their line, and Skye followed in her wake, swinging with sword and shadow.

“This is where we should’ve started.” Through her flames, Sarina’s smile was feral, her eyes wild. “To hell with politics. Act like a dog, and you’ll go down like one.”

Two came from the side, attempting to flank them. Sarina met the first with a searing blast. Skye moved to intercept the other—

The Sanctifier screamed as his arm was suddenly detached from his body—then he stopped screaming as with a snap of her water whip, Aimee took his head.

Standing at the edge of the crowd, she was dirt-streaked and sweaty—but smiling so broadly, Skye couldn’t help but smile back.

“That’s a bit more effective than last time,” he said.

She laughed. “A little bit.”

And just like that, Aimee joined the fray.

One Sanctifier, sensing the tide was turning, broke away and tried to run. The crowd shoved him back.

Until now, they’d been frozen, caught between terror and hope. Too afraid of the Sanctorum to intervene, but a new energy was crackling among them.

“Shit.” Aiden dropped to his knees beside an unmoving Taly. His hands flared green as he assessed her many injuries. “Don’t just stand there!” he snapped at one of the onlookers. “Someone help me!”

A Lowborn woman peeled away from the crowd. “Ana,” she said in greeting. “Tell me what you need.”

And that was the breaking point.

That single act of courage was the spark that ignited the flame of their collective bravery.

The crowd surged forward, armed with whatever they could find—makeshift weapons, magic, sheer will. The air crackled with aether of every kind, the sound of clashing spells and weapons filling the morning.

The Sanctorum, caught off guard by the uprising, struggled to maintain their ground against the onslaught. There were seven of them still standing. Highborn fuckers were hard to kill.

A water whip lashed out. Aimee gave a shout of victory from somewhere in the chaos.

Sarina unleashed a torrent of flames that engulfed half the battlefield.

And Skye—he was lost to the rage. To the devastation. He bared his teeth, snarling as he spotted a stray piece of meat trying to run.

Shadows coiled around him. He closed the distance in a blink, crashing into the mage.

The impact sent them sprawling to the ground in a tangle of limbs and darkness. Skye came out on top. He brought his fist down. Blood sprayed, and he reveled in it, delivering punch after punch.

The man was beyond begging, limp on the ground, but it wasn’t enough. He wanted him to suffer, needed —

“Skylen.”

The familiar voice was enough to cut through the bloodlust. Skye froze, his fist still raised.

He looked over his shoulder to find Ivain standing behind him.

A sudden hush settled over the crowd. The clash of steel, the roar of magic—all of it quieted.

“That’s enough,” Ivain said calmly. He didn’t raise his voice. Didn’t need to. Beside him, Calcifer’s tail lashed once, eyes glowing with barely-contained fury.

Skye’s blood howled at him for more—more death, more blood, more pain, more punishment.

Kill, kill, kill…

But he straightened, breath ragged. And with a vicious kick, he crushed the Sanctifier’s skull beneath his boot.

Bone crunched. The cobbles shattered from the force.

“Now, I’m done,” Skye muttered with a glance at Ivain, and moved towards the only thing that could ground him right now. Taly. Kneeling beside her, he stood guard as Aiden tried to calm her with a soothing spell and the Lowborn woman dripped pain potion into her mouth.

Ivain’s steps were slow, measured. His boots tracked through blood as if it were nothing. He eyed what remained of the Sanctifiers, now shuffling backward. None of them were particularly strong individually. Numbers had always been their greatest strength.

His attention finally settled on Taly. Her eyes were closed, her breathing too shallow. Her body was a mess of torn flesh, exposed wounds, and thorns embedded deep.

Ivain merely pointed and said with deathly calm, “Who did this?”