CHAPTER 66
Alora
Alora woke to cold stone beneath her back.
The air was thick with ash and the stench of blood, smoke curling in the wind as though the mountain itself wept. When she opened her eyes, the sky above was torn and bleeding. The Blood Moon hung vast and swollen, casting the land in an ominous crimson glow.
She was bound to an altar at the hill’s crest, her wrists shackled with webbing. Every time she strained against it, agony lanced her arms as if knives were driven into her veins. Shadows whispered over her skin, not her own, but Sal’vathar’s, crawling and cold.
Around her, a sea of demons spread across the valley floor. They stood in ranks, weapons clashing, wings shivering, their eyes burning faintly like embers in the red-dark. Behind her, the Dominions sat in individual thrones. Only Nexia’s remained empty.
Ira leaned back, one leg crossed on his knee. Morvenna lounged with a feline smile, petting Rihan’s head. He sat trembling at her feet. Theia hid his face against her chest tightly so he wouldn’t see the ghastly things around him, though it didn’t spare him the sounds of Balgor gnawing on a human leg.
Alora’s stomach churned.
She looked to the camp, finding the tents of her people torn and trampled, bodies torn apart in the mud. Her eyes burned tears.
And at the foot of the altar, Sal’vathar stood, his webs spilling from his hands like spun glass, glinting in the crimson moonlight as he chanted a spell in Hellspeech.
“My queen,” he purred when noticing she was awake. “How generous of you to bleed for us beneath such a sky.”
Alora’s heart hammered when she realized her wrists were bleeding. Whenever her skin healed, his webs would merely cut another slit. Below the altar, a siphon array pulsated, the glyphs gleaming where her blood had fallen. Spider lilies had spread from it, spilling like a sea of glowing blooms over the ground.
She tried to summon her power, but the shards seared through her veins, weighing down on her with a terrible weight. Tears of desperation and helplessness welled in her eyes, reminding her of the horrid moment she had lived through before.
But Alora pushed past it, holding on to her composure. “Do you recall what happened to the last person who attempted to siphon my magic? There was nothing left of him.” She sneered. “And there will be nothing left of you.”
Sal’vathar only smiled. “Your naivety was always amusing. Bear witness, Alora, to the potential you never reached.”
He rose his arms to the blood-red sky. The demon army roared in answer, a sound that shook the earth beneath the altar.
From the clouds, the Blood Moon rose like a bloodied sphere in the sky.
Sal’vathar continued chanting, the words echoing over the hills. The air rose on her arms as she realized with dread—this was not merely a ritual. He was using the occurrence of the Blood Moon to enhance the array.
On the one day when the veil thinned between the Realms.
And her blood had soaked into the earth.
Alora’s eyes widened. “Sal’vathar, wait!”
If he didn’t stop, the force of the spell would tear open another Rift.
But Sal’vathar snapped his fists closed and the webs tightened with his chant. The shards dug deeper, threading into her veins and Alora arched against the stone with a strangled cry as her magic was ripped free in slivers of light.
The edges of her soul was beginning to peel away, unspooled thread by thread. Shadows bled from her mouth with her breath, her song dying in her throat.
The world swam red, her vision dimming.
Her lips shook. “Stop…”
Sal’vathar levitated as he absorbed her magic, pathways of darkness and light bleeding off him.
“Yes,” he groaned, eyes half-lidded, drinking in her pain. “So much delicious power.” His fingers twisted and her body convulsed, the magic dragging upward like skin flayed from bone. Memories began to peel from her mind. The shards bit deeper. She screamed, body convulsing, as her magic tore free in burning strands of light and shadow. He licked his lips as if tasting it on the air. “All of it will be mine.”
Alora fought with every strand of her will. The altar cracked beneath her from the force, stone splintering.
Sal’vathar’s joyous cackle rang in her ears. “This is what it means to be remade.”
