“Gods above,” Zephyr whispered from somewhere to my left.
Daemon’s jaw clenched so tight I heard his teeth grind. “The Devourer’s been let loose.”
“Not let,” Kaelen corrected, voice flat with contained fury. “It’s finally making its move to fully manifest. This isn’t even its full power. It’s weakened the seal on the throne over the years, and parts of it are passing through.”
I forced myself to look closer, to see past the immediate devastation.
The violence wasn’t random. Citizens attacked one another in escalating waves that spread outward from the city’s heart like ripples in poisoned water. Each wave carried deeper corruption. Anger, hatred, and mindless bloodlust transformed people into rabid animals.
Royal soldiers lined the plaza near the main gates, forming defensive perimeters around key structures. But they weren’tintervening in the chaos. They weren’t trying to restore order or protect civilians.
They just watched. Weapons ready, formation perfect, eyes tracking the violence with blank expressions that suggested orders received and followed without question or conscience.
Death magic pulsed outward from the palace in visible waves, thick, oily darkness that clung to buildings and seeped into the streets. Wherever it touched, the corruption deepened. Madness intensified. People who’d been fighting with fists picked up weapons. People who’d been running joined the violence.
And beneath it all, threading through every pulse of dark power, I felt it.
The Devourer.
Not fully manifested. Still bound to the Hollow Throne. But so much stronger than the entity Lyralei had described in her histories. Centuries of feeding on Thorne ambition and expansion had transformed it from a threat into an apocalypse waiting to happen.
It sensed me.
Recognition flared across the distance between us. I could feel its interest, its hunger, so vast that it made my previous sessions with Thaddeus in Blackstone Keep feel like gentle curiosity in comparison.
The Devourer knew exactly what I was. It knew what my bloodline represented and that I carried the power to send it back to the Void.
And it wanted me anyway.
Not to destroy. To consume. To take everything I was and add it to the endless appetite that defined its existence.
The force of that attention crashed into me like a physical blow. My vision blurred. The ridge beneath my feet tiltedsideways. Darkness crept into the edges of my awareness, promising peace if I just stopped fighting.
Daemon’s hand closed around mine.
The connection between us flared bright and sharp, cutting through the Devourer’s influence like a blade through shadow. His curse-touched blood recognized the entity’s power and rejected it, creating a barrier that kept my mind my own.
I gasped, awareness snapping back into focus.
“Stay with me.” Daemon’s voice came low and urgent, pitched for my ears alone. “Don’t let it in. Not even for a second.”
I nodded, squeezing his hand hard enough to hurt. The physical contact helped. Grounded me in flesh and bone and the present moment rather than the seductive pull of ancient hunger.
My protective guard shifted closer without breaking their watch on the surrounding forest. They’d seen my moment of vulnerability, recognized the danger, and adjusted accordingly.
They were unrelenting in their discipline.
The thought steadied me further.
I forced myself to breathe and see the situation clearly instead of through the lens of overwhelming horror.
The city was already lost. There were thousands of dead or corrupted civilians who looked beyond saving. The Devourer had transformed an entire population into fuel for its own manifestation.
But it hadn’t won yet.
The throne room remained the anchor point. The binding still held, though it was weakened. And somewhere in that palace, King Aeron Thorne sat on the throne as the puppet of the Devourer.
We could still end this.
