Page 56 of Warlord’s Plaything

56

HIRA

I can barely breathe.

The pain is unbearable.

It feels like my flesh is unraveling, like fire has burned through my veins and left only raw, exposed nerves in its wake.

But I am still alive.

Somehow.

Kaelith stands before us, no longer a dark elf, no longer anything mortal.

His body has stretched into something unnatural—his form elongated, his skin cracked like blackened stone, golden veins of necrotic power running through him.

The violet glow of the rift pulses behind him, feeding him, changing him.

His fingers, once elegant and long, are now claws, dripping with inky shadows that do not belong in this world.

When he speaks?—

It is not his voice anymore.

It is many.

It is a chorus of the dead, a symphony of agony, speaking as one.

"You fight so hard." His voice slithers through the air, pressing into my skull like a disease. "But you cannot stop what is already written. I am beyond you now. Beyond flesh, beyond time, beyond death. I am the beginning and the end. And you, Hira—You are like me."

My breath catches.

Because his words slither beneath my skin, curling into the deepest, darkest part of me.

The part I have ignored.

The part I have refused to name.

The part that loves war.

The part that does not fear the carnage but hungers for it.

The part that feels alive when my blade is deep in my enemy’s throat.

The part that revels in the kill.

And Kaelith sees it.

Kaelith knows.

"You feel it, don’t you?" His grin splits his face inhumanly wide, his sharpened teeth gleaming. "The power. The hunger. The war that lives inside you. You are not just a gladiator. Not just a slave turned warrior. You are destruction incarnate. A perfect blend. You are not meant to fight me. You are meant to join me."

I feel his magic slithering into my mind, whispering to me, caressing the edges of something dark.

I feel the way the battlefield calls to me, the way the power inside me rises, eager, waiting, ready to be unleashed.

I feel how easy it would be to let go.

To stop fighting.

To embrace it.

To become more.

To become unstoppable.

"Hira!"

Xyron’s voice cuts through the haze, through the whispers in my mind, grounding me, pulling me back.

I blink?—

And suddenly, I see him.

Bloodied.

Bruised.

On his knees, his sword shaking in his grip, eyes locked onto mine.

But not in anger.

Not in rage.

In desperation.

He knows.

He sees what’s happening.

He knows I’m slipping.

And if I do?—

If I give in?—

I will be lost.

"He’s lying to you." Xyron’s voice is hoarse, raw, but unrelenting. "You are not like him. You never will be."

But Kaelith laughs. "Oh, but she is." He raises a hand, and the darkness inside the temple trembles, reaching toward me. "You have always been. You were made for war. You were born for destruction. And you will never be satisfied until the world burns beneath your feet."

His voice sinks into my bones, a seduction wrapped in certainty. "Deny it all you want, but the truth remains. You are not a savior. You are not a hero. You are meant to rule beside me, to wield death as your weapon. So stop fighting it. Stop fighting yourself. And become what you were always meant to be."

The darkness tightens around my limbs.

Clawing.

Digging.

Trying to pull me under.

And for a moment?—

I almost let it.

He is right.

There is something in me that craves the destruction.

A part of myself that does not want to stop.

It wants to kill, to burn, to take my place as something more.

Then I hear it.

Not Kaelith’s voice.

Not Xyron’s.

Not the whispers of the dead.

But her voice.

Sella.

The way she laughed when we trained in the pits.

The way she believed in me.

The way she died screaming in agony.

And Dagen.

The way he always called me Great Warrior.

The way he bled out for this fight.

The way he never got to see this moment.

Kaelith took them.

Kaelith wants to take everything.

If I give in now I will become him.

I snarl.

I rip myself free from the darkness curling around me.

I clutch my blade, knuckles white, breath ragged.

And I look at Kaelith.

And I say the one thing I know to be true.

"You will never own me."

His face twists, his grin faltering.

Just for a second.

Just long enough.

And that’s when Xyron moves straight for Kaelith’s throat.