Page 221 of The Dark Lord’s Guide to Honeymooning (and Other Acts of Tyranny)

We clashed in a fury of magic and malice. She was skilled, I’d give her that—her spells were elegant, efficient, designed to kill with minimal effort. But I was stronger, had been for years. Each of her attacks I batted aside, each defense I shattered with raw power.

The battlefield around us became collateral damage. Soldiers from both armies fled our vicinity as spells meant to kill missed their targets and devastated the landscape instead. The ground cracked and split, reality groaning under the strain of our conflict.

“Your wife should be meeting Auremar about now,” Amaryska said as she narrowly avoided a spear of shadow. “Such a lovely girl. It would be a shame if something happened to her.”

The voice in my head screamed for blood, but I forced myself to remain calm. Through the bond, I could feel Arabella—tense but unharmed, focused on her mission. If she were in real danger, I would know.

I sent a wave of dominion magic at my mother. “Did you really think such an obvious ploy would work?”

She twisted away, but not quite fast enough. The magic clipped her shoulder, sending her spinning. When she regained her footing, blood stained her robes.

“First blood to me,” I observed coldly.

Amaryska’s eyes narrowed. “You always were an ungrateful child.”

The words shattered something inside me. “I was your weapon! You carved me into shape, pointed me at your enemies, and I delivered. I killed Vargus for you—gave you the revenge you couldn’t take yourself. And the moment I succeeded, you sold me to a demon because I’d grown too powerful for your comfort!”

The admission burned coming out—that I’d known all along I was nothing more than her tool for revenge. But saying it aloud, here on this battlefield, made the old wound fresh again. My connection with Arabella slipped. And the voice in my head seized on that old pain, twisted it, fed it back to me amplified.

Amaryska used you. Discarded you. Make her pay.

I attacked with renewed fury. The voice in my head merged with my own thoughts until I couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began. All that mattered was making her suffer as I had suffered.

But Amaryska was nothing if not a survivor. Every time I thought I had her, she slipped away—a teleportation here, an illusion there. She didn’t fight to win; she fought to frustrate, to delay, to escape.

And it was working. Each near miss, each failed killing blow, fed the rage building inside me. The careful control I maintained over my power began to crack, darkness seeping through the fissures.

Let go, the voice whispered. Embrace what you are. Show her true power.

“Stand and fight!” I roared, shadows exploding outward in all directions.

Amaryska appeared atop a pile of corpses, looking down at me with those cold gray eyes. “You’re losing control, Kazimir. Just as you always do when emotions run high.”

“Shut up!”

I reached for more power, pulling from reserves I didn’t know I had. The Bone Behemoth responded to my rage, its attacks becoming wilder, less discriminating. It no longer distinguished between friend and foe, crushing anyone in its path.

Screams rose from my own troops as the behemoth’s massive fists came down on their formations. I heard them, distantly, but couldn’t bring myself to care. All that mattered was catching Amaryska, making her pay.

Yes, the voice purred. This is who you are. Who you’ve always been.

Ancient memories flooded my mind—not my own, but familiar nonetheless. Images of battles that spanned centuries, of kingdoms rising and falling at my command. Of a name that echoed through history: Shadow King.

I stumbled under the weight of the memories. Amaryska used the distraction to put more distance between us, her form flickering as she prepared another spell.

“No!” I snarled, reaching out with dominion magic to hold her in place.

But the spell went wide, my control shattered by the chaos in my mind. She vanished, reappearing at the edge of the battlefield.

“Until next time, my son,” she called, already fading into another portal.

She was gone, leaving me standing among the carnage, rage and ancient memories warring for control of my mind. The Bone Behemoth continued its rampage, no longer responding to my commands. It attacked indiscriminately, a monument to my loss of control.

Why do you fight it? the voice asked, no longer whispering but speaking with terrible clarity. You know who you are. Who you’ve always been.

More memories crashed over me—the confrontation with Soriven, the Golden Roses that bound me, centuries of imprisonment. Not metaphorical imprisonment, but literal, my consciousness doomed to roam in pieces, looking for hosts while my power remained sealed.

I was the Shadow King.