Bel reached around to grasp it, but the stone was larger than his arm span. He gritted his teeth. He was too small to reach it in human form. Of course he was.
He stood back. Closed his eyes. Curled his hands into fists. And then he breathed out in a long, deep exhalation.
And he gave into the rage.
The internal walls he’d built around it fell away, and a fiery ecstasy charged through his veins. His vision was overtaken by fire. Everywhere he looked he saw flames, and it was fucking glorious. He wanted to burn alive in it. He wanted to destroy everything in his path. He wanted to bathe in blood and stand atop the crumbling ruins of the world, knowing he had brought about its end.
Through the intoxicating rush of his inner darkness, he maintained a tenuous grasp on the present. He was so tall now, his head hit the roof of the tunnel. And he could have gotten much bigger, had he the space.
He reached out, wrapping his arms around the heavy block of stone. In this state, the stone felt light, and he gripped it easily. He turned, hefting the enormous piece of rock, and with a roar, chucked it down the tunnel, past the portal, and into the chasm beyond.
At his back, he felt an ice-cold blast.
He spun around. The opening before him was pitch-black, but he could hear moans and screams within. And then suddenly, there was a rushing sound, like a river breaking free from a dam.
And then souls came.
They blew past him, shooting with powerful force down the tunnel. Their essences brushed against him, offering him glimpses of their lives and memories … and he knew.
He knew exactly what Murmur had done.
From the depths of the lightless chasm, the soul cried for release, his cry mingling with the others. Thousands of haunted, voiceless screams, were trapped in this blighted place. There was no release for them, no end to their suffering. The great dragon sucked their essences, draining them like water from a punctured vessel. They knew only darkness.
To them, death had not meant release, but enslavement.
But then … everything changed.
The door was opened. And there was freedom at last.
Suddenly, the soul was rushing toward some unknown destination. Thousands of other souls went with him, all chasing their long-sought salvation.
But then he felt a tug. A tether, drawing him back.
Not back in the direction of the prison, but … somewhere else. To a place that had once meant everything to him but now seemed like a distant memory. Did he want to go back there? He could sense that if it fought hard enough, he could snap the tether and continue on.
But … something called him back.
Some voiceless, faceless longing told him that he had unfinished business. It told him that there were wrongs he had to right, mistakes he’d made that he had to atone for.
So he surrendered, and he let the tether take him.
He was sucked backward. He slammed into a confined vessel, his formless essence imprisoned by atoms and molecules. Rushing rivers of blood deafened his inner ear. The throbbing pulse of life beat like a drum.
And then he sucked in a breath … and opened his eyes.
Soaring through burning skies, high above the scorched plains and bone-littered mountains, the High King of Hell let out a mighty roar.
Ahead, the Necromancer’s lair loomed, its stone spires like a dark crown. He’d been flying rapidly toward it, planning to take that castle apart piece by piece until he found the traitor within, feasting on the flesh of any creature who stood in his way.
Instead, he froze midflight. It could not be. Surely he was mistaken.
And yet … Suddenly weakened, his wing beats faltered, and he plummeted toward the ground below. Just before he made impact, he managed to gather his wits enough to pump his wings and bring himself back to altitude. But his mind continued reeling.
In the heart of his fortified territory, in the deepest, darkest depths of the Nine Rings …
A door had opened.
His secret source of power had been compromised. The souls he had imprisoned were rushing out, finding the freedom he had denied them.
