The Siphon’s inky mass writhes, arms winding, every movement intelligent and terrifying.
“We have to keep going!” I scream, my voice cracking as the heat presses against my lungs. “It has to die tonight, or we all die with it!”
Ryder’s eyes blaze with cold, unyielding fury.
He moves before I can blink, legs carrying him so fast they blur. His sword dips in and out of the Siphon’s writhing limbs, each strike precise, yet the creature counters with horrifying reflexes, its shadowy tendrils whipping toward him faster than the eye can track. I mirror him, arcing my blade alongside his, striking in sync, but each time a limb falls, it twitches, grows, and lashes again. There is no pause, no mercy, only relentless motion.
“I—don’t—think—we—can—beat—this—thing,” I grit through clenched teeth, my hilt burning my palms. My muscles tremble. “It… it doesn’t… tire!”
The edge of my sword catches the Siphon, but this time it doesn’t slash; the slime seems to drink it in. It tumbles back, fire licking its rear, then lunges again. I hold my breath, but it doesn’t fall—it grows, doubling in size as easily as the bunnies multiply.
“Shit. That sword was made with Xoro’s Gift.” Panic threads my words.
I’ve strengthened it. With that power, it begins to catch the bunnies before they divide, consuming them as if spun sugar, not flesh and bone.
“It’s absorbing their power,” River yells.
“No Gifts, guys, it’s too dangerous!” I shout, my throat tight.
A massive limb scythes through the air, slamming into River with bone-shaking force. The knives tear free and go spinning, skittering uselessly across the scorched earth like discarded toys.
He stills for half a second, chest heaving.
He doesn’t have many blades left.
My arms burn, muscles trembling, exhaustion setting into every limb like molten lead. I see it in all of us—in the sluggish drag of a sword swing, in the way Nala’s arrows land a heartbeat too late.
My grip tightens around my blade, palms slick with sweat. Panic crawls up my spine, cold and biting.
My footing slips.
The sword wrenches free from my hand.
Then it laughs.
A dry, fractured sound—like something that has never known joy, attempting to mimic it.
And the truth hits me, sharp as broken glass sliding down my spine.
I don’t think we’re hurting it at all.
Chapter Forty-One
“Not giving up so soon,” The Siphon croons, hollow and low, and I don’t know which chills me more—its voice, or that it can speak at all.
“Never,” Ryder snarls, blade arcing in a vicious sweep. The creature shrieks as an arm is severed—only for it to slump into a puddle and seep back into the ground like living tar.
“Not until you’re dead,” Ryder continues, “and Nyxos is locked away forever.”
“You will never defeat me without your Gifts. The Gods may make you powerful, but without them you’re nothing,” the creature hisses. “Now, all I must do is keep you puny creatures entertained until the fire burns out. Then you are mine. And the world… isHis.”
“No!” River shouts, sweat streaking his forehead, breaths harsh and ragged. “We freed your army. They’re not under your trance anymore. You won’t have their power.”
“I don’t need them.” The thing laughs, slow and delighted. “You thought they were for me? They are a feast for Nyxos. The sun is all the power I require. Once it is consumed, Nyxos will revel in darkness as he always has. I only brought the meal to spare him the effort… but he does enjoy a hunt.”
My stomach sinks. Every strike I’ve landed, every slash, every shock—it reforms. The Siphon doesn’t tire. And when the firefinally collapses, it will escape, go straight to Nyxos, and then our world will descend into a nightmare.
I grit my teeth. “What are you?” I snarl.
