Discord.
Domination.
Destruction.
These things flooded into Damien uninhibited and limitless. He’d gotten a taste of this kind of power in The Wilds when he had allowed his noxscura to erupt unbridled, but this—this wassomuch more. This was everything, the ability to strangle and crush and not just kill but make nonexistent. This wasn’t breaking, wasn’t death, but annihilation.
And it, or It, was inside Damien.
The ground was no longer soft, the stake at his back gone, and Damien could flex his fingers, roll his shoulders, straighten his back. He could do a lot more than that, actually: he could swallow the entire world if he liked, but he didn’t need to, not with the looks he was getting in the dark.
We should kill them, It said into his mind.
Six men stood before him, but he only needed one.At least give them a head start, he said back to It.It will be more fun that way. “Run.”
Roman Caldor was first to flee, his weapon dropped into the mud with a disappointing splat. He made it perhaps two yards off before a black tendril burst from the ground and ensnared him. There was a guttural scream, a crushing of bones, and then nothing was left of the final Caldor heir but blood.
Kaspar and the other two nobles scrambled, but Damien simply reached out. Or was it E’nloc who reached? Who took? Who killed? Two of them were gone just the same as Roman, and then only the little one was left. He was raised higher into the air, a second tendril working upward, curling as if to flick him in thehead, and instead impaling him through his face before he too was squashed.
The field was awash in darkness, but the blood of the four caught the slight ring of sunlight still visible in the arcane eclipse above the arena, shimmering beautifully in the shadows.
Damien grinned—darkness, that feltgood.
Archibald hadn’t fled, but he was gripping onto Gilead, his other arm unsheathing his sword. Magic was alight in the weapon, divine mages often choosing something sharp as a conduit for their strongest powers. Rather silly, such a little flicker in the dark, barely a candle held up against the expanse of the Abyss.
Damien shook his head. E’nloc flicked a thin tendril. The magic was snuffed out, and the sword was pulled from his grip, tossed across the field.
Archibald reared back, but he had nothing to be afraid of—Damien needed him. It was the mage he didn’t need.
“Aren’t you supposed to be able to control him?” Archibald cried.
Control Damien? With E’nloc inside him?No onewould ever control him again.
Well…
Gilead snorted at the king’s demand and simply squeezed his fist. A pressure in Damien’s chest mimicked the move, and his arm twitched. Oh, that was much, much less good.
Let us kill them.
Damien’s head pounded with the demand.Not Archibald. I need him.
We need nothing. Complete the merger so We may destroy all.
So, the merger wasn’t complete?
Gilead squeezed his hand again, such a nothing move for a nothing spell, and Damien fell to one knee.
“How?” he coughed.
“I’ve not been studying this entity for decades and drenching myself in protection after protection so that I would be at its mercy once summoned,” spat Gilead.
That one knows, It spoke into Damien’s mind, voice vicious,but his manipulation works on the vessel alone. Relinquish control, and We can stop him.
Archibald’s relieved sigh cut through Damien as he was trapped there in the mud, ensnared all over again. “I was quite nervous there for a moment,” said the king as if he were not surrounded by the splattered remains of four of his most loyal subjects. He wiped at a drop of blood on his cheek. “The crimes continue to accumulate for our villain, eh? At least there will be no question his death will be well deserved. Perhaps we’ll even make a holiday out of it. Well, let’s get this over with. Send him on his wild rampage, remember to avoid the places we discussed, and we’ll reconvene in Eirengaard’s square for the finale.”
Gilead let out a long, low sigh. He turned swiftly to the king, his own arm raised, ill intent in it along with an arcana that would surely kill. With his other fist so tight, Damien could barely breathe let alone move, only glancing upward. “I didn’t domesticate the greatest destructive force in existence to do the bidding of some pathetic monarch with a father complex.”
Archibald took a step back, boot squelching in the mud. “You serve the crown.” He spoke as if nothing else could be true.
