Or go under.
Even if hope feels like an echo of a long-forgotten memory, a fragment of reality I’m no longer sure exists. A fleeting note carried on a wind too cruel to hold it for long. It’s the glint of wings against a dying sun, a reminder that some things migrate far beyond my reach, chasing warmth that may never return.
Pain blows through me like a hurricane, shredding the fragile remnants of my strength, but I refuse to let it destroy me. I bend like reeds in the storm, my defiance supple where it could snap. Oaks fall, but reeds endure.
Malric circles me like a vulture, his presence overwhelming, his delight in my torment palpable. Those scarlet eyes I want to bore out stare into mine, and I hold his gaze, refusing to flinch. Not for him. Not for anyone. Not now. Not ever.
“She’s resilient,” Malric sneers, his claw-like finger dragging along my cheek, leaving a line of searing pain. The metallic tang of blood fills the air as he digs in just enough to break the skin. “But even the strongest steel bends when the fire is hot enough. Don’t you agree, Galen?”
Galen doesn’t respond immediately, his gaze fixed on me, his expression a mask of control wrapped around a core of seething fury. Shadows ripple around him again, twisting and writhing as though they’re alive. The air grows colder, the shadows darker, but Malric seems unbothered.
Instead, Malric steps closer. Too close. His breath is hot against my skin, and the stink of sulfur and decay makes me want to retch.
“Perhaps a more direct approach will help her understand,” he purrs, his tone oily and insidious.
Before I can brace myself, his claws slice down my arm, leaving ribbons of burning pain in their wake. Blood flows freely, hot and thick, pooling at my feet. He moves quickly, efficiently, his claws biting into my flesh again and again, painting me in my own blood. The agony is blinding, each new wound an explosion of fire beneath my skin.
Malric works quickly, methodically, his movements almost clinical despite the perverse delight twisting his face. Each new strike of his claws bites deeper, carving into my flesh with brutal precision. The air reeks of copper and sulfur, a nauseating mix that clings to my lungs with every shallow breath I manage. My body is a canvas, and Malric is painting his masterpiece in crimson streaks.
My screams rip through the silence, raw and guttural, but they only seem to spur him on. His grin stretches wider, revealing sharp, predatory teeth that gleam in the dim light.
“Stop playing with her,” Galen snaps suddenly, his voice sharp and cutting through the oppressive atmosphere like the crack of a whip. His tone is cold, but there’s a dark, unsettling edge to it that’s more depraved than mere annoyance. “You’ll ruin her.”
Malric pauses, his claws hovering over my abdomen, but the grin remains, even as his gaze flickers toward Galen. He presses down slowly, deliberately, the sharp tips puncturing my skin. My body arches instinctively, and a scream tears from my throat, the sound echoing off the chamber walls.
“I’m only preparing her, Galen,” Malric says, his voice dripping with mockery, his words slow and measured like a hyena savoring its meal. “A vessel like this requires refinement. You, of all people, should understand that.”
Galen steps forward, the air around him shifting as shadows surge outward like livingthings, twisting and writhing with malevolent purpose. The temperature in the room plummets, the oppressive chill sinking into my bones, turning my blood to ice even as it pools beneath me.
“That’s enough, Malric,” Galen says, his voice low and heavy, carrying a weight that presses against my chest. His tone is laced with venom, and its dark promise sends a shiver down my spine. “I don’t like others ruining my toys.”
Malric’s grin falters, a flicker of unease crossing his features. The tension in the room thickens, the air vibrating with the clash of unspoken power between them.
“She’s on the brink, Galen.”
The confidence in Malric’s voice wavers ever so slightly. His claws remain poised, the faint tremor in his hand betraying his unease.
“I decide when she’s ready,” Galen replies.
The shades around him deepen, spreading outward like a tide of ink, consuming the light and swallowing the space with their evil. The power radiating from Kade’s brother is palpable, a force that makes the air vibrate and hum with latent violence. Even Malric is afraid, and his crimson eyes flicker as his fear dances through them.
Silence stretches through the chamber, heavy and fraught, as if the room itself is holding its breath. Time stops moving and I swing from the ceiling, a pendulum that moves unbidden as the world waits for what happens next.
“Of course,” Malric says smoothly. “I live to serve.”
The words drip with mockery but his claws withdraw, the sting they leave behind another fresh wave of pain that washes over me. He steps back, but the malice in his gaze lingers, his satisfaction tainted with defiance. Galen’s shadows seem to pulse, pressing outward with deliberate menace, and the space between them crackles with unspoken challenge.
“I don’t recall granting you permission to indulge yourself,” Galen says, his voice lethally calm, a predator’s growl beneath the surface. His fingers twitch at his sides, shadows coiling tighter, their edges sharp enough to cut.
Malric hesitates, his lips curling back in a snarl that bares his teeth.
“You’ve grown possessive, Galen,” he spits, his mockery now laced with bitterness. “A power like hers is wasted on your whims.”
Galen stills, and the unnaturalness of it ripples through the air like a dirge. It’s not composure; it’s the calm before the storm, the silence before the first thunderclap. The world itself seems to pause, holding its breath, as if it knows that once this moment fractures, nothing will remain untouched.
The air shifts, tension turning into an inevitable, uncontainable darkness. The edges of the chamber blur, swallowed by a night that writhes with a mind of its own, as if Pandora’s box has opened again, this time with no hope left at the bottom. The darkness isn’t just an absence of light, it’s the herald of nightmares, the reflection of the vile thoughts unspoken. The chamber becomes a battlefield where the balance teeters on the edge of ruin, and there’s no escape from the inevitability of what’s coming.
Malric moves first, claws flashing in the dim light like the reaper’s scythe as he lunges toward Galen. His speed is unnatural, a blur of malevolence. But Galen doesn’t flinch. He stands at the eye of the storm, his shadows surging forward like a tidal wave, swallowing Malric’s attack in an instant.
