Xander felt Kace shift, his own beast howling for the switch. His grip was tight on his sword, blood dripping down his brow as he slowly backed Dirk towards the warehouse. He needed to remain in control, to savour the kill.
“You’ll never stop it!” Dirk teased, his grin strained despite the arcane that coated his hands. “Join us in the new age, the one where we rule.”
The power in his palms spluttered and spat, Xander’s chi already aching from the onslaught. His own arcane coated his blade, an icy blue that matched the frostiness of his eyes.
Druids were of the earth, their magic natural but limited, which was why the ancestors looked for other ways to strengthen it. They bargained with dark magic, corrupting themselves until they were able to manipulate blood and death much like black witches, as well as their own natural abilities, and in doing so made themselves more powerful. They stripped themselves bare, only to be reborn as Daemons.
It was why The Guardians were created, a penance to pay for the sins of the ancestors who chose the dark and all the madness that came with it. The seven of them were forced to go through a ceremony binding themselves to their beasts so they could withstand the Daemons stronger powers. Their own magic was heightened, as well as their speed, strength and agility. They could take blows that would shatter a shifters bones, and recover from mortal damage that would make even a Vamp hesitate.
All against their choice, because creatures like Dirk wanted to be immortal.
Except nothing was immortal, and Xander was about to prove that.
A flash of silver in his peripheral, a knife shooting past as Xander twisted slightly to the side. It caught his chest, cutting a clean slice before it disappeared behind him. He hadn’t seen where it came from, but from the pained shout only seconds later he guessed Riley had.
Tendrils of black magic tainted the area around him, strangling his lungs and coating his tongue as he bared his teeth in warning. Xander blinked past the blood, his night vision perfectly clear as he quickly swept the surrounding area. The dead druid lay on his back, his front covered in a stark red against pale skin. It was clear he had started the transition, Xander had witnessed enough bodies over the years to see it in the lines indented into his face, in the veins that continued to squirm even in death.
Druids alone were one of the rarer Breeds, taking up only five percent of the Breed population. According to The Order, who ruled across the entire Breed, there have been only five-hundred successful transitions in history that they’re aware of. Five hundred because the success rate was less than one percent. Candidates died, their bodies not designed to withstand that type of magic.
Except before Dirk had sliced the man’s throat, he had been very much alive.
Dirk laughed as realisation narrowed Xander’s eyes. Kyra had been able to keep the druid alive, which meant Dirk wasn’t leaving there with breath in his lungs.
Not that there was really any other option.
“She’s magnificent, isn’t she?” Dirk purred. “I have never quite tasted power like hers.”
Xander dodged Dirk’s quick strike of the knife, his returning swing strategic as he closed their distance.
“But not as tasty as the little place between her…”
Xander moved without a conscious thought, his beast pushing for blood, for their blade to pierce skin. It was an error, Dirk’s words chosen specifically to torment as his arcane struck against his arm and weakened his grip with the sword. Xander no longer cared about the weapon, throwing it down as he launched himself forward with a clenched fist. His knuckles hit bone, and as Dirk’s head whipped to the side he landed another. Rage was a storm in his veins, numbing the pain as nails raked deep down his side.
A knife kissed his skin, the discomfort sharp before he gripped it, ignoring the sting across his palm.
A heavy weight knocked him to the wet grass, pale teeth flashing and rancid smoke suffocating as fangs clamped down on his shoulder.
“Fuck!” he grunted as he gripped the limited fur of the hellhounds scruff and yanked back, ignoring the amount of his own flesh that came with the teeth before the hound closed down on his forearm, tearing and thrashing.
A flash of pale grey, Kace colliding with the giant hound. His brother snarled, the black markings along his thick fur brightening as he launched a deadly attack.
Dirk smirked, his red eyes bright as they flicked behind him. A man screamed, the sound piercing before it quickly changed into a furious snarl.
“Looks like our Little Black Witch is having some fun of her own,” Dirk said. “Don’t worry, Guardian, I’ll share once I’ve broken her in.”
A blade glistened in the grass, his own blood coating the severe edge. Dirk noticed, his smile dropping as they both launched toward it at the same time. The red arcane seared across his chi, eating away at his aura as his palm touched the coolness of the handle.
“She’s mine!” he growled, piercing the tip straight into Dirk’s heart. It wasn’t a killing blow, not against someone as powerful as him.
As Dirk began to howl Xander’s fist connected to his throat, and then in the same movement he lifted his heavy boot, hitting the handle perfectly and pushing the Daemon back to Riley’s waiting blade.
He didn’t need to watch as Riley expertly separated Dirk’s head from his body, trusting his brother to finish the job. Kyra stood, the derelict farmhouse an ominous shadow against the arcane that coated her palms, the magical flames dancing. A grim reaper looking Fae lay dead by her feet, several spirits surrounding Kyra in thrall, their eyes pale and hungry.
“Kyra?” he called to her as he closed the distance, ignoring the spirits who turned their dead gaze to him in a single quick movement. “Kyra?” he called again when she stared blankly with eyes completely black, her lips slightly parted as her hair whipped around her face. There was no warmth from her magic, the power so cold it ached against his skin.
Spikes at his nape, his beast snarling as something dark attacked his back, the magic a mist that moved to wrap around his chest. It stole the breath from his lungs, filling the space with thick sludge.
Kyra titled her head, the spirits copying the movement before they shot across the field. Xander sucked in a pained breath, calling on his beast as the dark magic wrapped its spell tight, phantom thorns piercing into his heart. It fucking hurt, but it wouldn’t kill him… probably.
