“There,” I tell Argo with a tap of my knuckles against the side of his neck. “Get me right there.”
He snaps his attention to exactly where I want to go, at the narrowest point where the army weaves around the land’s snowy dune. We fly within the haze of the smoke-stained clouds, like an arrow speeding through the cover of night. All while magic builds within me. Churning. Boiling.
With piercing precision, Argo drops down through the sky toward our mark and lands with a roar and a spray of snow, right in the midst of the invading army.
Right in the middle of the marching fae.
After being stuck in this land for so long and only being around Oreans, the sight of so many pointed ears and sharp fangs is surreal.
The fae nearest me are startled for several seconds. Stopping in their tracks, they take in my appearance, obviously noting I’m fae. They hesitate, because they don’t know my relation to the army or if I’m one of them.
I’m not.
The closest ones are smart enough to pull the swords from their scabbards. To feel the building threat.
One of them raises his weapon at eye level. “Who are you?”
Who am I?
I jump off Argo’s back, and the second my boots touch the snow, my magic surges out.
The fae have a moment to gasp, to curse, to shout, but then I let my rot free. Let itreign.
And it rules with pure tyranny, showing themexactlywho I am.
Argo and I stand at the eye of the storm while rot floods out. It pours into the ground, like spreading fractals burnt through wood. Black lines stain the snow, the reaching veins bursting beneath the soldiers’ feet.
Fae start to drop.
It’s a ripple effect while the erratic lines reach and stretch and grow, poisoning all in their path. The soldiers, their clothing, their supply carts, their fucking leather boots. The brown-tinged snow and the frozen soil beneath it. It all succumbs to death. It all succumbs tome.
Because this is what I am.
I am hostile darkness and festering death, and with my forms now fixed, with my essence now bonded and my heart healed, my unrestrained power is stronger than ever.
For once, I don’t have to hold onto control, to hold my magic back. It’s like being bound with ropes and then cutting through every cord, letting the shackles fall. Letting the monster loose.
And loose it does.
Some fae try to use magic against me, try to defend themselves. Balls of fire get thrown my way. Bursts of unnatural light too. Shields. Wind. A swarm of locusts probably ready to strip the flesh from my bones. But I drop them all before they can drop me.
My rot devastates the ground, making it start to sink. Soldiers fall, looking like their corpses have been left for weeks in the sun, while the rest try to run. But there’s no running from this. No running from me.
Their magic sputters out uselessly as their festering bodies split open. My rot floods further than I can see, so many bodies being swept away. Hundreds. Thousands.
Still, my power pours.
My skin feels charged, like I’ve brushed against a bolt of lightning, and I revel in it.
And then, I call up the dragon and wrench it free.
The splintered form of the creature pours out of my body. It takes root beside me, sprouting from the vapor that streams from my silhouette. Its smoke is thicker even than what chugsout of the forest, until it forms a shadow beast that’s blacker than night.
This time, the dragon is far bigger than it was in the bog.
It coalesces beside me, standing twenty feet tall, black scaled body rippling with strength. Its spikes are hooked and deadly, stretching down its spine and legs and looking sharp enough to stab someone through. Its tail sweeps over the snow, but it does not move a single flake, just like its feet don’t leave prints on the ground.
Even so, the world seems to tremble at its incorporeal presence. The fae still alive all scream out in fear when they see it.
