I lunge, blade arcing like lightning, aiming for his exposed ribs. He catches it barehanded, fingers like iron bands closing around the steel. I wrench, twisting with all my might, trying to rip it free, but his grip tightens.
A tentacle lashes out, wrapping around my arm and squeezing so tight it feels like a band of fire. Pain lances up my arm, but I shove a fist into his snarling maw, smashing bone and teeth. He roars, a sound like a thousand screams warping into one.
I kick out, slamming my heel into his side, cracking ribs beneath my boot. He stumbles but recovers instantly, claws slicing across my face, a hot, ragged tear from cheek to jaw. Blood trickles, mixing with the rain, stinging my eyes.
I wipe it away, fury burning hotter than the wound. Death Singer hums in my hands, a howl of power begging to be unleashed. I plunge it again, deeper this time, slicing through slick, black leather skin and into something colder, void essence writhing beneath.
The blade shudders, my hands trembling from the force, but Emranth only laughs, that terrible noise that echoes inside my head. Then, with a sudden surge, he tears free, sending shards of dark smoke pouring from the wound like ink in water.
“Your effort is admirable, Prince, but pointless,” he says, and I watch as his wound seals before my eyes. “I cannot be killed. I am smoke and shadow. The flesh and bone you see are an illusion. I am the essence of the void. Its lifeblood.”
He takes a step toward me, eyes burning white but somehow devoid of all light. “You cannot destroy what was never alive. I am raw, vicious power to be wielded, in his name.”
Suddenly I taste it, the power he boasts of, drifting from the wound, thick on the air, bitter and heady and intoxicating. I had always thought of Emranth as flesh and bone, not a well of shadow-magic. The thought slams into me. Maybe I don’t need to kill him. Maybe I drink from that well instead. Take every drop of that darkness into myself until there is nothing left of Emranth but the echo of his last scream. He commands these void-spawned creatures, but if his power were mine… they would bow to me.
I lash out, knuckles cracking against his cheekbone. The blow should’ve sent any man reeling. He doesn’t so much as blink. My teeth grind. I hit him again, harder and again. Every strike lands with a satisfying jolt through my bones, but still he turns back to me, unflinching. Mocking.
I don’t stop. I can’t.
With a thought, Death Singer dissolves into the void, the weight gone from my grip so my hands are free to ruin him. My elbow slams into the bridge of his nose. There’s the crunch. A knee drives into his gut. My fist arcs up in a clean uppercut to his chin. He only laughs, the sound low and grating, but I’m past hearing it.
Because I see it, thin wisps of smoke curling from his skin every time I make contact. I inhale deep. The smoke shifts, slithering toward me, seeping into my lungs. It burns in a way that makes me want more. With every breath, my fists land heavier, my strikes drive deeper.
Now he stumbles. His knees tremble. For the first time, a flicker of uncertainty mars his perfect arrogance.
“Favored one. Enough!” he roars, but there’s a tremor beneath the bark, a fissure in his control. “Let me serve you. Together, we can burn away every soul that dares to stand against you. We can return these lands to their rightful heir. There is still time to undo your missteps.” His voice drops, dark and coaxing. “The Father Below will give you everything you crave. All he asks is to be fed. Give him what he hungers for… and the void will be yours.”
My vision tunnels, my eyes rolling black as the abyss.
“You’ve told me a thousand times,” I hiss through my teeth. “I am the favored one. Where I walk, darkness follows. Where I call, the void answers. This is my birthright. My bloodline.”
I drive my fist into his face again, and this time he drops. Blood-smoke pours from him in thick coils, rising off his weakening frame.
“Iamthe void,” I snarl. “Icontrol you.”
My hand shoots out, fingers locking around the slick, twitching tentacles beneath his chin. They writhe against my palm, desperate to root themselves back into him, but I rip them free with a savage wrench. The sound is wet and tearing, and black, reeking ink bursts across the courtyard, splattering my chest, my face.
My other hand clamps around his throat. I squeeze until I feel the cartilage grind, until his pulse stutters beneath my thumb. His mouth falls open in a shuddering gasp and smoke gushes out in a torrent.
I inhale it. All of it.
His malice shreds into me, his hate scalds down my throat, his power threads itself through my blood until my body vibrates with it. It’s agony, bliss, hunger, and satisfaction all at once. My vision swims black, my heartbeat becomes a drum older than the sun.
His eyes bulge. The leathery mask of his face pulls tight, skin drawn so taut I can hear it strain, stretching until it finally splits like soaked parchment.
I keep drinking him in until there’s nothing left, until the smoke is mine and his body is a hollow, brittle shell.
Suddenly, pain detonates across my back. I hiss, teeth bared, as something forces its way through bone and muscle, ripping, splitting me open. The pressure builds until my spine arches and the air leaves my lungs in a roar that shakes the sky.
Two colossal wings of smoke tear free, unfurling wide enough to cast a shadow over the entire courtyard.
When I finally drag in a breath, I look down. What’s left of Emranth crumbles in my grasp, flakes of blackened flesh lifting away on the wind. His bones collapse into dust, carried off by the storm.
Mine. All of it is mine.
My wings snap wide, stretching to their full span, and the song in my soul soars at their return. There are no words for it, no Fae or mortal tongue that could capture the rapture soaring through me. I want to launch into the skies, tear through the clouds, taste the wind rushing beneath me.
But not yet.
