Page 14 of Infernal Crown (Cursed Darkness (DarkHallow Academy) #3)
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
LYSITHEA
The Forge calls to me like a siren song in reverse, drawing me deeper into its transformed heart. The massive chamber has a ceiling soaring into shadows that contain their own weather systems. Veins of molten metal run through the walls like arteries, pulsing with heat that makes the air shimmer.
At the centre of it stands the forge itself. It’s something organic, a fusion of divine craftsmanship and living metal that breathes with the rhythm of creation itself. The surface ripples like liquid mercury, waiting to receive whatever I’m brave enough to offer it.
“Magnificent, isn’t it?” the grimoire says, materialising beside me with its shadow-bound pages fluttering. “A tool worthy of the task ahead.”
I approach the Forge slowly, feeling the heat wash over me in waves. Each step closer makes my skin tingle with anticipation and my collar pulse with responding warmth. The power here is intoxicating, ancient beyond measure and utterly focused on the act of creation.
“What do you need from me?” I ask, though part of me already knows.
“Everything. Your blood to bind it. Your will to shape it. Your divine heritage to make it real.”
Behind me, the guys form a protective triangle, their combined presence a steady anchor against the overwhelming power radiating from the Forge.
They understand what this costs me, what it might change me into, and they aren’t going to stop me.
We all know our plan. We just have to hope we are strong enough and fast enough to move when Verik casts the Armageddon spell.
“Walk me through it,” I say, pushing up the sleeves of my dress, buying time.
The grimoire’s pages flip open, revealing some diagrams. The forging process is laid out in flowing script that burns itself into my memory. “First, your blood upon the metal. Royal blood, divine blood, to establish the foundation.”
I press my palm against the Forge’s surface, feeling the metal part like water to accept my offering. The heat sears my skin, but I don’t pull away. My blood sizzles as it hits the molten core, sending up wisps of silver smoke that look like starlight and ancient power.
The Forge responds immediately, its surface rippling outward from the point of contact. The metal reshapes itself, flowing into the basic framework of a Crown. Not ornate or decorative, but something primal and purposeful. A circlet that could contain the power of gods.
“Now the binding,” the grimoire instructs. “Your men’s power woven through your own. The Soul Scar will guide the process.”
I turn to face them, holding out my hands. “This is going to hurt.”
“Everything does with you,” Dathan says, but he steps forward without hesitation.
Dathan and Evren place their hands over one of mine, Verik takes the other, and the Soul Scar explodes into brilliant life.
Their power floods through me, a torrent of hellfire, nightmare, and death that should tear me apart.
Instead, the Forge channels it, weaving their magic into the Crown’s foundation like threads in an impossible tapestry.
But something else flows with their power. Something that’s been sleeping in my blood since the moment the grimoire screamed me into existence. Divine heritage, god-touched potential that the forging process awakens with painful intensity.
Liquid fire races through my veins. This is something older, purer, carrying the weight of creation itself. My vision fractures, revealing glimpses of other realities and possibilities. I see myself as I could be, crowned and terrible and utterly beyond limitations.
The transformation hurts. Every cell in my body rewrites itself, struggling against divinity in a battle that leaves me gasping. My bones ache as they strengthen to bear divine power. My magic expands beyond anything I’ve ever felt, reaching out to touch the edges of reality itself.
“Lysithea!” Verik’s voice sounds distant, muffled by the roar of awakening godhood.
I try to respond, but the words come out as pure song, notes that make the Forge ring like a bell. The Crown takes shape faster now, fed by the divine power flowing through me. Metal becomes something more than metal, infused with purpose and will and the fundamental force of creation.
Suddenly, Aeliana explodes through the wall like a hurricane made flesh, her ancient power crackling around her in waves of silver fire. Free from Blackgrove’s containment, she’s horrifying, every inch the first Nox Siren the grimoire created to be just like it.
Her attack slams into me mid-transformation, divine power meeting less than divine power in a collision that cracks the floor beneath our feet. I stagger but don’t fall, the awakening godhood in my blood rising to meet her challenge.
“Fuck off!” I snarl, my voice carrying harmonics that make the air vibrate.
She laughs, a sound like breaking glass. “You think you can match me, little echo? I am the original! The perfect creation! This is my purpose!”
Her magic lashes out, tendrils of pure force that would have destroyed me weeks ago. Now they meet a wall of divine power that blazes around me like a second skin. I’m still transforming, still becoming whatever the Crown needs me to be, but I’m strong enough to fight.
The guys scatter as our battle erupts across the Forge chamber, looking for openings to help. But this is a fight between gods, and supernatural magic can only do so much.
Aeliana summons a blade of crystallised song, its edge keen enough to cut reality. She lunges at me with centuries of skill and fury, aiming for my heart. I meet her attack with my bare hands, divine power hardening my skin to diamond as I catch the blade between my palms.
“Impossible,” she hisses.
“I’m full of surprises,” I reply, crushing her weapon to powder.
The Crown behind me vibrates with near-completion, drawing power from our battle like a vampire feeding on violence. Each spell cast, each blow exchanged, adds to its growing strength. The grimoire hovers nearby, ignoring us, its eyes blazing with satisfaction as its greatest work nears fruition.
Aeliana conjures a dozen more weapons, surrounding herself with an arsenal of crystallised music. Swords and spears and arrows all singing their own deadly notes as she prepares for a final assault.
“You cannot have what belongs to me!” she screams, launching everything at once.
The barrage would have killed armies. Instead, it meets the full fury of my awakening divinity. Power explodes from me in a shockwave that turns her weapons to dust and sends her flying across the chamber. When she hits the wall, she leaves a crater in the stone.
But I’m winning at a cost. Each use of divine power changes me further, pushing me away from what I once was and toward something alien and dreadful.
I can feel my emotions shifting, becoming colder and more distant.
The concerns of mere supernaturals seem increasingly trivial compared to the vast scope of existence I can now perceive.
“Thea!” Dathan’s voice cuts through the divine haze clouding my thoughts. “Don’t lose yourself!”
His words anchor me, reminding me who I am beneath the growing godhood. Not a divine weapon or a perfect creation, but a woman who chose love over power, freedom over destiny. I focus on that, using it to maintain some core of morality as the transformation completes itself.
Aeliana pulls herself from the crater, blood streaming from a dozen wounds. But her eyes burn with undiminished fury. “If I cannot have the Crown, then no one can!”
She raises her hands, gathering power for one final strike. Not at me, but at the Forge. She means to destroy the Crown rather than let me claim it.
The divine power in my blood roars in response. I will not let her destroy what we’ve sacrificed so much to create. My magic reaches out, wrapping around her like chains of starlight, holding her frozen in the moment before she can release her attack.
“You’re right about one thing,” I say, my voice echoing around the chamber. “You are the original. The first draft. The prototype.”
I squeeze, and her power turns inward, consuming her from within.
She screams as her magic tears her apart, unmaking the divine heritage that made her what she was.
When the light fades, she collapses to the floor, stripped of everything that made her a Nox Siren, everything that gave her life.
The grimoire is furious, and I know that wasn’t my power, or at least all my power.
The grimoire lent me what I needed to get rid of the one creature who could have fucked this up for it.
Panting heavily, I turn to see its eyes glowing with divine silver fire. I give it a nod, but again it ignores me. It doesn’t care about me, her, or the guys.
The Crown completes itself with a sound like reality sighing in relief. It rises from the Forge, a circlet of impossible metal that contains its own inner light. Not ornate or jewelled, but perfect in its simplicity. A Crown fit for a god.
I turn to face my men, feeling the weight of what I’ve become settling around me like a mantle. I’m still me, still Lysithea, but I’m also something more now. Something that stands on the threshold between supernatural and divine.
“Is it finished?” Verik asks quietly.
I reach out, letting the Crown settle into my hands. It’s warm to the touch, humming with contained power that recognises me as its rightful owner. The grimoire’s greatest work, forged from blood and will and the sacrifice of everything I used to be.
“Yes,” I say, my voice carrying notes that make the air shimmer. “It’s finished.”
But even as I speak the words, I know this is only the beginning. The Crown is complete, but the grimoire’s true purpose still lies ahead. The choice between serving its vision or finding a way to destroy it entirely.
But even as I look at them, I’m no longer entirely sure which path I’ll choose.