“And you are no lord,” the Shadow Bringer growled. He parried, sending Mithras reeling toward the staircase.
“Let me remind you.” Mithras drew his sword upward. Bright, raging light spiraled down into the tomb, curling against its dark recesses and resting upon the skeletons, bathing their bones in a blinding haze. “I am the Light Bringer. The chosen,” he continued. Light settled brightly against Mithras’s blade, igniting it in a white glow. “As I will live in glory, you will rot in the shadows.”
One side step, a duck, a counter. A sweeping, violent sideswipe. A lightning-fast parry.
Mithras and the Shadow Bringer fought with maneuvers so automatic and instinctive that each movement seemed part of a larger dance. And despite the strangeness, the impossibility of it all, Mithras didn’t cower from the Shadow Bringer’s shadows, even as they shifted to seal their commander in a second skin. Their duel felt like a familiar fight—one waged before, somehow. It was mesmerizing.
A battle between warriors of power and practice.
There was the Shadow Bringer, with his tattered black armor, silver-gray eyes the shade of a churning sea, and face hidden by his draconic helm. White hair tumbled down his pale neck, resting in loose, mangled curls.
Then there was the Light Bringer with his immaculate armor, strong features, and golden eyes that could condemn with a violent fire.
Just as it seemed Mithras and the Shadow Bringer would fight for hours, too evenly matched for a clear victor to emerge, the Shadow Bringer’s darkness began to falter. He glanced at me as his shadowsbegan to fade, an eerie expression on his face. He looked as though he were already dead. Hollow, gaping eyes. Ghostly skin marked with welts and gashes from the Light Bringer’s blade. Cold, pale lips glossed with blood leaking from his cheek. A walking corpse, a man half-alive.
I’m not sure how I knew, but Iknew. He needed me.
He wants me to call on his power—like I did in the Dream Realm.
Though we weren’t dreaming, being inside the Tomb of the Devourer bent the laws of reality itself. Here, shadow and light danced together, alive and singing. I could feel the shadows. They gathered around me, twining in a heavy cloak across my shoulders. They were there, roiling, powerful, and ready for my command. I needed to reject them unequivocally.
But I also needed a weapon.
Something to fend off the Shadow Bringer. Something that would allow Mithras to triumph once and for all.
Mithras.If I chose the Light Bringer, there would be no going back. The Shadow Bringer would die. I squeezed my eyes shut. Why did my stomach hurt? Why did I feelguilty? Maybe it was the image of the Shadow Bringer wretched and shaken as he’d knelt by the entombed skeletons at his feet. Or the Shadow Bringer with his protective shield of shadow when fire had rained upon us. Or maybe it was that look he had given me just now. A simple, veiled plea for help.
The Light Bringer deflected another of the Shadow Bringer’s sweeping blows, ducking as he countered, and moved clockwise, forcing the Shadow Bringer to stand with his back exposed to me.
I had to make a choice.Now.
Delving into the power at my shoulders, I stepped back, balancing its weight as it grew in size. My channeled shadows flickered in and out of more physical forms, shifting from a thousand daggers to a kaleidoscope of broken glass to a billowing fog. I gritted my teeth against the pain. It was all so heavy.
A sword. Morph into a sword, a scythe.
The shadows twitched, twisting into a vague, sharp shape beforefading back into mist. I groaned, shaking from the effort. The shadows weren’t listening. Why weren’t they listening?
Bind the Shadow Bringer—lift and pin him against the wall.
Again the shadows twitched, gathering together as Mithras and the Shadow Bringer continued their battle. They pooled toward the floor, crept out toward the ceiling, but they disintegrated before reaching their human target. I cursed quietly under my breath, attempting to weaponize them once more. The Shadow Bringer looked at me again. Only this time, his eyes were not dead. They were not hollow or weak.
They rioted in the colors of a raging storm.
The Shadow Bringer sprinted my way, ducking as the Light Bringer misjudged the weight and timing of his swing. I froze, thinking he was about to attack me, but he merely grabbed my hand. His skin, typically covered in the Dream Realm, felt cold and stiff, like it hadn’t experienced human touch in many, many years.
“What are you—” I cried out.
He drew my hand to his chest, resting it against the shredded cloth of his armored tunic. I felt it then, what he was doing; my shadows teetered over my shoulders, rising to merge with his own. Night, shadow, darkness—they became one above us, tousling our hair and clothing in their swirling, churning wind. The merging force lifted the curls from my neck, grazing skin that was damp with sweat. It mingled my sleeve with the ragged edge of the Shadow Bringer’s.
I nearly sobbed at the sensation; it felt glorious.
Mithras’s eyes widened at the sight of us. He remained near the staircase, firm in his stance, but he did not approach us. “Look at you!” he began, shouting over the storm above. “A perfect, poisonous match.” He let loose a short, barking laugh. “And like the shadows you are, thenothingyou are, you will both be burned down by the light.” Mithras beckoned around him. His blade glowed in the same ethereal light that shone from his eyes. “I’ll never let you free. This place of rot and ruin was made for you!”
Giving a snarl of frustration, the Shadow Bringer squeezed my handtighter, drawing more shadows into the air. They loomed over us, beautiful and terrifying. He roared, charging the mass of dark magic into Mithras—
Justas I commanded it back.
The shadows heaved against the Shadow Bringer’s limbs, flinging him to the ground with a sickeningcrunchas his helm slammed into stone. The Shadow Bringer struggled to stand—he struggled desperately, fighting against a sea of darkness that sought to consume him whole.
