Page 43 of Zepharali: Lord of the East Winds (Lords of the Wind Book 3)

Lazaar

Lazaar cocked his head at the King of Autumn’s correct observation.

Voices of the good and divine sounded distorted and confusing.

Lazaar could only hear languages spoken in the demonic tongue.

He no longer saw in color, the flames in his eyes causing the world to appear black and white, the life forms around him in shades of gray.

He could no longer see Theodor’s orange-and-red aura, but he could feel the weapon—Gold Reaper—he wielded because it was forged of hellfire. It had a pulse, and it called to him, revered him.

Lazaar’s arms and legs dripped with flames, his torso a molten core of dark madness.

He was a living embodiment of fire, shadows, darkness, and destruction. His vampire was the bringer of chaos and misery to any who dared threaten what was his.

“By the gods,” Boraleashe gasped.

“Your gods of purity are not here,” Lazaar growled. “My blessings descend from the dark and malevolent lords.”

Lazaar was the Defiant of the Gods of Light

He threw his hands out to his sides as flames twenty times hotter than all the realms erupted from his fingertips and disintegrated the indestructible cage around him into nothingness.

The blast sent the titans and their captor hurtling backward.

And that was only a minuscule burst of his power.

He was the Lord of Fire and Warrior of the Flame

Lazaar reached behind him and touched his fiery hand to Myst’s broken wing, pleased when it mended and his raptor burst into her beautiful flames of protection.

A cloak of crimson fire enveloped Lazaar’s shoulders.

The billowing obsidian smoke circled him like a living entity.

He emerged through the darkness as his namesake: Master of the Shadows.

The titans stood to the side, giving him plenty of room as he approached.

The battle of the lifeless was over, the titanesses no longer having to fight as the dead souls fell to their knees and bowed in Lazaar’s presence.

He did not honor them. His deadly glare was on his mother crawling along the ground in the opposite direction.

Her mission had failed.

He stalked toward her, wreathed in fire. Together, he and his raptor were a horrific sight.

“Bring her to me,” he demanded in the language of the God of Vengeance.

Lazaar’s fangs were longer, making his voice more garbled and sinister.

He relished it. Embraced the evil of his vampire while also controlling it.

Myst leapt several feet in front of him and came down on his mother’s back, digging her long talons deep into her flesh.

Myst flapped her large wings and dragged her over, dropping her mangled body at Lazaar’s feet.

She tried to lift her head to look him in his eyes, but Myst stepped on the back of her skull and pushed her face into the dirt.

She cried out, but Myst showed no leniency. Held less compassion in her soul than even him.

“Keep your eyes lowered. You’re not worthy to gaze on my dark glory.”

“Those powers are mine,” she whimpered with a mouth full of mud. “Give them back…my…my son, please.”

If Lazaar had been capable in this form, he would’ve laughed.

“They were never yours, and I was never your son.”

“Then let me serve you as my dark prince.”

Lazaar paused and listened to the murmured orders of the evil gods that ruled with Hades.

Your wishes, my lord? Myst asked in a grainy voice that echoed in Lazaar’s mind. He was now able to communicate with her, as his powers had no bounds.

Death, he answered, the taste of victorious evil thudding in his core.

Myst gripped his mother’s arms and hauled her upright.

She struggled to look at him as his irises ignited in a wreath of flames.

“The lords of Hades are ready to receive you, Lavinia Drach, disgraced mage of the Coven of Ember. And you will serve my gods, headless, in the Underworld, on your hands and knees.”

His mother didn’t have another chance to beg for her life before Lazaar dragged one flaming finger across her throat, slitting it deep enough that her head hung off her shoulders.

Myst released her lifeless body and let it fall to the ground.

Lazaar held his palm out flat in front of him and motioned downward, sending her corpse beneath the ground and to his lords as they demanded.

There was no remorse for her death. He felt no sympathy.

Lazaar closed his eyes and praised his evil gods before he released his darkness.

With his core exposed and his mind clear, he called on his titan’s heart to bring him back to goodness and love.