The circle throbbed brilliant purple with the sigils of the power of my familiar and I meshing together.
“I still can't believe you of all people got a familiar.” He shook his head.
The circle burst forth, a purple storm of lightning barreled forth.
Father threw up his arm, catching it, and just barely deflecting it. The spell burnt the flesh of his arm to show bone, and a slew of curse words left his mouth. “What is wrong with you? Why would you harm your own father? Your mother would be so disappointed in you!”
“No, Father, she wouldn't be. She would be disappointed inyou.Don't think that I forgot how you were going to hand my mate over to those dragons after knowing what they do to dragon and drake mates. She's my mate too! How would you feel if Mom was mated to a dragon, and they wanted her?”
His eyes narrowed into slits as he caught me off guard, throwing his hand out, no incantation at all. It served as a cruel reminder of just how powerful my father was.
A bolt of black shot toward my face before I could dodge it, but Nightshade caught the brunt of it with a wards spell. It barely made contact, but my glasses smashed from my face, the center, in between my eyebrows, throbbing in pain while my glasses shattered on the ground next to me.
Thick droplets of rain beat down around us as I waved a hand over my eyes to be able to see without them.
I preferred the glasses because every time I would do this spell, my magical energy waned, but I knew that if my father truly was this power hungry, he had to be dealt with.
I knew that even before coming here, but to actually be the one to kill my father didn’t sit well with me.
Tears pricked my eyes as I caught Nightshade’s gaze.
‘Are you ready?’His little paw patted my cheek, and I nodded.
I had to kill my father, and it was something I didn’t want to do.
I lifted a clenched fist up as I recited the spell that Blair had taught me. Nightshade lifted his paw up into a fist as he recited it with me.
A large purple sigil formed in front of us, and I watched my father's face pale as his eyes widened.
“Where did you learn such a thing?” His voice warbled with words.
Once the spell was recited, the purple of my magic turned the darkest of blacks before fading into existence.
My father's hand clutched his chest as he dropped backwards, his heart no longer beating. It was a spell made only for necromancers. No other witch or warlock without the necromancer subset could use it. Blair had seen it in one of her visions and taught it to me.
I'd planned on using it on Claude, but with the small amount of magical energy brimming through my veins, I didn't stand a chance otherwise.
That spell was almost as insidious as the one I cast it against.
A sinister chill shot through me, leaving goosebumps in its wake, and a sarcastic mocking clap sounded behind me.
“I didn't think you had it in you, boy.” Claude’s rattling voice hit my ears, and I turned to face him. “Don't know how you learned that. Do you think you could cast it again? Or was that your first time?” His tongue pushed against his cheek as he stared at me, unflinching. “Aren't you worried I'll cast the same one to avenge your father?”
I shook my head before realizing he was dragging a corpse by the hair. My mother’s corpse.
“What are you doing?” My voice cut through the air, anger sizzling within it.
I despised that maniac.
“How lovely is your mother like this? She was always full of life. The odd one out in our village, much like you. You got it from her. That bitch.” He spat, pulling her reanimated corpse to its feet, and it stared back blankly, just standing there.
I had grown up around madness. True, unadulterated evil surrounded this madman.
The problem of the village did not solely lie with him. It lied in the power of necromancy. “What would you do if I stopped her body from being reanimated? What would you do if I made it so you would never see your mother again?” He tilted his head. “You cost us a lot by cutting ties with us. Roak almost took back the scale.”
I shook my head. “I lost my mother the day the human killed her. What you have is not her. It’s just a vessel that she inhabited.”
“Look at your son,” Claude demanded, but the corpse kept staring at him so he snatched her back by the hair. The scalp lifted up from the force of his hold. Her milky white eyes skidded over me. Not an ounce of recognition in them, and then Claude snapped his fingers.
