Page 69

Rui

The Dokkaebi emperor forces down his complete and unending terror as his blue fire burns steadily in his palms, their deadly flames licking upward toward the sky. Does Gameunjang look down upon him?

What has come of her promise that she will descend in Bonseyo, that she will stop the Prophecy herself? As the Prophecy battled against Emperor Jeon, Rui awaited her descent: waited for a flash of dark-red hair and a crimson hanbok, the unmistakable sense of fate . Yet there was nothing, no whisper of the divine, even as the mortal emperor began to falter in his fight—and it is now that Rui understands, with a terrible clarity, that something is very wrong.

For it is in this moment that the Prophecy has her scaleblade pressed against the Jeon emperor’s throat. She is only one drop of blood away from reaching Fulfillment, from releasing her Imugi into the skies as terrible, winged beasts.

Trembling, Rui forces his roaring thoughts back down and focuses only on the thrumming of power through his blood and the burning of his dokkaebibul.

There is still time to win. He can no longer wait in vain for Gameunjang to lend her powerful hand. Lina needs him.

She needs him, and if the gods won’t answer her, he will.

The Prophecy hisses, faltering where she stands above Emperor Jeon. “You wouldn’t,” she hisses.

Rui makes himself smile sharply. “Do not underestimate what I would do for her,” he breathes and hurls one of those fiery orbs straight toward the Prophecy.

Caught off guard, the Prophecy takes the full force of the Dokkaebi fire. It hits her chest, and she lurches backward, flame erupting on her skin. Rui grits his teeth, fighting the urge to look away as Lina’s body catches fire, flesh and scales burning. It is not enough to kill her body, he has made sure of it, but it is enough to keep her down.

The Prophecy’s wounds do not bloom upon his own skin. This dokkaebibul has never been able to hurt him. This is the one weapon he has. The one weapon that can buy Lina—wherever she is—some time.

He can only apologize that Lina may feel the same pain that wracks the Prophecy’s body—and can only hope that she is close enough to the surface that she does not lose valuable time from the agony of it.

The Prophecy screams in rage as she stretches out a hand toward the sky, attempting to summon rain. Rui, eyes flashing, takes a stance before the weakened Bonseyo emperor.

The fire has eaten a hole through the Prophecy’s stealthsuit. Rui watches as, panting hard, she manages to climb to her feet even as the fire continues to ravage her flesh. “What are you doing?” she spits.

A muscle jumps in his jaw. “Time,” he replies coldly. “It’s something that we unfortunately need.”

“Ah,” the Prophecy replies, cocking her head. “Still too weak to kill me, I see. Still waiting for your treasured wife to break free.” She stalks forth, gritting her teeth. “Your longings are foolish. Move aside, Dokkaebi.”

“No.” Rui searches her gaze, searches intently for Lina. She is not there. Not yet. “No,” he repeats quietly.

“You—”

A pillar of Dokkaebi fire erupts before him.

It splits into five, then into ten.

The flames encircle the Prophecy. There is no way out, not unless she’d like to be burned alive. And without her Imugi, the storm does not come as quickly as it did on the battlefields, where Rui tried this same trick. Overhead, thunder rumbles, but it is still in the distance.

“Let me out!” she roars. When Rui does not react, does not even so much as flinch, the Prophecy holds a scaleblade to her own throat and digs the blade in just enough to spill a droplet of blood. Through the flames, her face is twisted, contorted with hatred and pain.

Rui freezes as a drop of golden blood spills down his own neck, but no sooner than a moment later, his eyes narrow. Oh, he knows a bluff well. Her threats on the rocky beach rang true, but now… Now, when Fulfillment is so terrifyingly close, he cannot imagine the Prophecy sliding that blade across her throat.

“Come now,” he sneers. “You really are a terrible liar.”

The Prophecy snarls at him, spitting through the flames, her scaleblade falling away from her throat.

“That’s what I thought,” murmurs Rui smugly as, behind him, Emperor Jeon slowly drags himself to his feet. Blood trickles from his face, and one of his eyes is beginning to swell shut.

Rui does not see as the Prophecy’s hand drifts to the pocket of her stealthsuit, where the Jeon daughter’s throwing knife rests, all too thirsty for blood.

“Lina,” he whispers, staring into the Prophecy’s eyes, “wherever you are…I beg you, hurry.”