Page 57 of Warlord’s Plaything

57

XYRON

I know the moment my blade meets Kaelith’s throat that it is useless.

Steel does not kill gods, as he calls himself. Whether or not he truly is one remains to be seen.

The flesh beneath my sword is no longer flesh at all.

It is something worse.

Something that twists and shifts, absorbing the wound as if it was never there.

Kaelith’s lips curl, his empty, abyssal sockets locking onto mine.

"Still trying, little warlord?"

He moves faster than I can react, than should be possible. Pain rips through my side as his clawed hand plunges into me. I snarl, twisting away before he can crush something vital, rolling onto the blood-slick floor.

My vision blurs. But I still see him. Standing there, untouched, untouchable. Death looking down at a mortal. A predator watching his prey bleed.

“ Xyron!"

Hira’s voice is a roar, a battle cry, a desperate plea.

She is still standing, barely, her blade trembling in her grip, her body refusing to fall despite the pain lacing every inch of her. She sees it too. Kaelith is beyond us now. We cannot kill him, no matter how hard we try.

He is not just standing in the temple. He is the temple. The altar. The rift. The power that pulses through these walls, through this land, feeding him, making him untouchable.

"You were never meant to win," Kaelith murmurs, his voice wrapping around us like a death shroud. "You were never meant to even survive this long. But I am generous. You—Hira—you still have time. Bow before me, and I will grant you a place at my side. Bow, and I will give you purpose. Bow ? — "

"She will never bow to you." The words come from me before I even think them.

He laughs. "Then you will both die."

I stagger to my feet.

My hands clench at my side, blood dripping from my wound.

The air trembles.

The temple groans.

And in that moment?—

I know what I must do.

I know what my father meant when he said that the blood of Herox is the only thing that can seal this place forever.

Not a drop.

Not a wound.

A sacrifice.

My father built this clan on the knowledge that one day, this temple might need to be shut forever.

That one day, someone would have to pay the price.

I just never thought it would be me.

But who else would it be?

I turn to Hira.

She sees it.

She sees it in my eyes before I even say the words.

Her lips part—a breath of a protest.

But I cannot let her speak.

If she begs me to stop, I might hesitate.

And there is no room for hesitation.

I have to protect her.

Not when this is the only way.

"Protect them," I say.

I love you, the words remain unsaid as my heart bleeds for a love that can never be.

For a future that can’t come.

Her brow creases, something breaking in her expression.

"Xyron—"

"Swear it."

"No."

"Swear it, Hira."

Her hands curl into fists.

Her body shakes with something bigger than rage.

Bigger than war.

But I do not wait for an answer.

I cannot.

Kaelith is already moving.

And I have seconds left.

I step toward the altar.

And I do what must be done.

I raise my blade.

I turn it inward.

And I drive it into my chest.

The pain is instant.

White-hot.

Blinding.

But I do not scream.

I do not fall.

I feel it working.

I feel the temple shudder.

I feel Kaelith’s power waver.

This place is bound to my blood.

And I am breaking it.

Tearing it apart.

Undoing everything Kaelith has become.

"NO!" Kaelith’s roar shakes the earth.

He stumbles, his form flickering, his body twisting between solid and shadow.

He is losing control.

And Hira?—

Hira sees her opening.

"Hira—"

My voice is barely a whisper.

But she understands.

She moves.

Faster than she ever has.

Stronger than she should be.

Blade high.

Eyes burning.

And she drives it straight through Kaelith’s heart.

The world erupts.

Kaelith screams?—

A sound that is not a sound at all.

A sound that tears through reality itself.

The temple collapses.

The altar shatters.

And the rift closes.

The last thing I see before everything fades to black is Hira, screaming my name.