Page 159 of The Blood Rites

The world doesn't just go white—it detonates.

Light erupts from my chest in a single, ruthless column, the kind that ignores rules and makes its own. It slices across the clearing: a hard line that turns the darkness into seething, golden daylight. It is not a gentle thing. It is violent, honed to a single point.

The beam tears through Atheron’s side—no, lower. His thigh. Flesh unravels. Bone liquefies. The air reeks of singed hair and burning flesh. The light carves a groove through the grass, through stone and tree, vaporising everything in its path. Atheron’s mouth is an open howl, and the sound is not human.

The rest of him falls, tumbling away from his severed leg. The cauterised stump where his leg used to be is blackened and slick with molten blood. His hands claw at the dirt, wild and panicking, all dignity stripped away. He looks down, sees what’s missing, and something inside him simply leaves. He scrambles, dragging himself backwards, his eyes filled with a fear I’ve never seen in him before.

He flees, propelling himself backwards with jets of fire from his hands until the darkness swallows him.

The Overseers scatter, their unified litany lost in the violence.

I look up—

Eleven.

Still there. Like nothing I did mattered.

Marissa collapses like her body has finally given up. She lands hard, hands splayed in the dirt, the tips of her fingers split and bleeding.

The air is thick with ash and electricity. Every breath sears my throat.

Kael is staring at me, silent with shock.

Atheron is gone. His howls fade, replaced by the unending hush of the aftermath.

I’m on my knees before I know I’ve moved.

I want to reach for Marissa. I want to gather her up and hold her, but the memory of my outburst—the impossibility of my light—has hollowed me out. My hands are numb and useless. All I can do is crawl.

I drag myself to her side.

She is not whole. The skin on her arms and neck is blistered and ruptured, melted in places. Her hair, what’s left, is scorched to the scalp. The air stinks of boiled flesh. She isn’t crying, but her mouth is locked in a grimace, teeth stained pink with blood. Her good eye rolls up to find mine.

There is no pain in her gaze. Only relief.

I failed her.

I reach for her, then stop. I’m afraid to touch her. Afraid that my touch will shatter her.

Her voice is threadbare, but it comes out strong. “Did you see me?” she rasps.

I nod.

The death counter above us burns a little brighter. I hear Kael drag himself closer, his shadow stretching long and broken beside mine.

He says nothing. He just places a hand on my back, and I shrug it off.

It’s petty and childish and exactly what I want to do.

Marissa tries to smile, but her face cracks with the effort. “It hurts,” she whispers.

“I know,” I say, though I don’t. My pain is nothing compared to hers.

She tries to shift her hand towards mine. I hesitate, then give in, letting her fingers wrap around my own. Her palm is burned raw, blood leaking between her knuckles. She winces but holds on with everything she has.

Kael moves closer, tries to steady me, but I can’t bear to be touched.

I kneel, gathering Marissa into my lap, cradling her like the dying thing she is. She blinks slowly, her gaze drifting up to the death counter.