My body convulsed, the burning intensifying until it felt like my insides were liquefying, every breath a rasp of agony. The enclosed space within the blade tightened around my mind, walls of impossible metal closing in, the entity's thrashing growing wilder, its grief and hunger merging into a storm that threatened to swallow me whole. Images flickered: fire consuming a grand hall, stone crumbling as something vast broke free for a moment before being slammed back into chains; voices pleading, breaking under the weight of what they'd done; blood pooling in patterns like the runes I'd traced earlier, but twisted, corrupted. I couldn't make sense of it, the pieces too shattered, too overwhelming, but the truth pulsed through: the blade was the prison, the entity the horror, and I was caught in its grasp, feeding it my own essence without meaning to.
Pain spiked, white-hot and all-consuming, radiating from my core outward until my limbs went numb, then flared back to life in waves of torment. I was dying, I knew it, my body unable to contain this surge, the fire eating me from within as the whispers grew to screams, the entity reaching through the cracks to claim me. Xavian's voice faded further, his pulls desperate but ineffective, and in that moment, trapped in the blade's impossible depths, I felt myself unraveling, consumed by the thing he'd bound himself to, with no way out.
The warehouse had faded entirely now, replaced by that suffocating enclosure, the metal curving in on itself like a labyrinth with no exit. The entity's presence pressed closer, its form shifting in the dark, not solid but fluid, tendrils of shadow coiling around my thoughts, pulling at memories that weren't mine but felt achingly familiar. A ritual chamber, lit by flickering torches that cast long shadows on walls etched with sigils glowing faintly blue. Figures circled a forge, their faces hidden under hoods, chanting in unison as hammers fell on molten metal, each strike binding screams into the blade's core. The entity fought, its rage a palpable force that shook the stone, cracking floors and sending sparks flying, but the binders persisted, their voices laced with sorrow, as if they knew the cost but had no choice.
Grief hit me again, sharper this time, a woman's voice cutting through the chaos, not chanting but wailing, her pain echoing in my chest like a physical wound. Betrayal, loss, the severing of something vital. Blood flowed freely, not spilled in violence but offered, pooling around the forge to seal the prison. The hunger was born there, in that moment of binding, the entity's essence twisted into an endless need, trapped and starving, lashing out through the metal that contained it. I felt its isolation, centuries of it, whispering demands to hosts like Xavian, eroding them piece by piece to sustain itself.
My own body screamed in protest, the burning in my veins reaching a fever pitch, as if the entity's fire was trying to remake me from the inside. Sensations overlapped: the cold of stone under bare feet, the heat of flames licking at skin, the metallic tang of blood filling my mouth. Voices overlapped too, not just the whispers but fragments of pleas, shouts of defiance, echoes of rituals long past. Something trapped, yes, but not mindless; it had intent, a will that pulsed with ancient fury, bound againstits nature. And Xavian had been its keeper, feeding it with the prison that held it, unaware or unwilling to see the full horror.
I tried to scream, to force my hand open, but the surge held me, pulling me deeper into that enclosed space. The walls tightened, the darkness thickening until it felt like I was being crushed, the entity's thrashing syncing with my heartbeat, each pulse sending fresh waves of pain. Hunger clawed at me now, not for food but for essence, a void in my core that demanded filling, whispering promises of power if I just gave in. The memories flashed faster: fire engulfing a battlefield of stone and shadow, where figures clashed with blades that hummed like Virelya; rituals in hidden chambers, binding not just entities but fates, with grief as the price; blood staining hands that weren't mine, washing away in rivers that led to nowhere.
Xavian's hands were on me still, I could feel them dimly, yanking at my arm, his voice hoarse with panic. "Morgan, fight it! Drop the damn thing!" But the words dissolved into the whispers, the entity's voice rising to drown him out, a roar that shook my bones. It was intimate, this connection, terrifyingly so, as if the blade had opened a door straight into my soul, letting the trapped thing taste my fears, my doubts, the buried parts of me I'd never acknowledged. The dreams I'd had all my life, the humming halls and metallic scents, they weren't echoes anymore; they were precursors, threads tying me to this horror.
The pain crested, my vision fracturing into shards of light and shadow, the burning so intense it felt like my blood was boiling, my skin splitting from the heat within. I was convinced this was the end, my body giving way to the surge, consumed by the entity that thrashed in its prison, pulling me down with it into the void. The whispers laughed, the memories swirled in a final, chaotic storm, and as darkness closed in, I felt myself slipping away, lost in the blade's depths, dying inch by agonizing inch.
But even in that conviction, a sliver of awareness lingered, registering Xavian's desperate grip, his shouts fading as the fire took hold. The entity pressed closer, its hunger merging with mine, and I knew with shattering clarity that if I didn't break free, it would claim me entirely, turning me into another vessel for its endless need. Yet the pain pinned me, the whispers coiling tighter, and as my strength ebbed, I wondered if this was what Xavian had felt all along, trapped in a nightmare that was now mine too.
The enclosure tightened further, the metal walls now pulsing like a heartbeat, each throb sending jolts through my body that made my limbs spasm. I could taste the entity's grief, bitter and metallic, mixed with its rage, a cocktail that flooded my senses until I couldn't distinguish it from my own emotions. Fragments kept assaulting me: a stone altar slick with blood, hands pressing down to hold something writhing; fire blooming in controlled bursts during a ritual, illuminating faces twisted in concentration and sorrow; voices breaking mid-chant, grief overwhelming the binders as the entity screamed its defiance. Hunger wove through it all, not a simple appetite but a profound emptiness, born from the binding itself, the entity's essence fractured and starved in its confinement.
My body arched in agony, the burning reaching my eyes, blurring the world into a haze of red and black. Xavian was there, his face a distorted mask of alarm, his hands clawing at mine, trying to wrench the hilt free. Sweat beaded on his forehead, his eyes wide with a fear that mirrored my own, but the surge made it hard to focus, his efforts like distant tugs against an unbreakable tide. He was losing control, his usual stoic mask cracking as he cursed under his breath, pulling harder, his voice breaking on my name. "Morgan, damn it, let go! It's killing you!"
But I couldn't. The connection held, intimate and violating, the entity delving into me as I was pulled into it. Sensations from the memories bled into my reality: the weight of stone pressing down, fire singeing hair that wasn't mine, blood warm and sticky on skin. Grief swelled, a tidal wave of loss for something bound and broken, and I felt tears streaming down my face, not from pain alone but from that borrowed sorrow. The hunger gnawed deeper, hollowing me out, whispering that if I fed it, the pain would ease, the prison would crack just enough to breathe.
The space within the blade warped further, enclosing me in loops of impossible geometry, where walls bent back on themselves, trapping echoes of rituals that played out in endless repetition. I saw the binding again, clearer in flashes: a circle of figures around a forge, their chants weaving threads of light into the metal, forcing the entity down, compressing it with each hammer strike. Its screams shook the chamber, grief radiating from both binders and bound, a shared tragedy that left scars on reality itself. Blood sealed it, offered in sacrifice, turning the blade into a vessel of containment, the hunger a side effect of the entity's starved state.
Pain lanced through my skull, the whispers rising to a deafening crescendo, the entity's thrashing syncing with my convulsions. I was dying, every cell ablaze, consumed from within by the fire of its presence. Xavian's pulls grew frantic, his body pressed against mine in his effort to break the hold, but it was futile, the surge too strong, pulling me under as the darkness closed in, whispers promising oblivion if I just surrendered.
And in that final moment, as my vision tunneled to black, I felt the entity's touch like a lover's embrace, intimate and fatal, drawing me into the prison's heart where hunger and grief waited to claim me forever.
17
XAVIAN
She was convulsing in my arms, her body arching like it was being torn apart from within. I could see the fire in her veins, glowing faintly under her skin as if the blade was burning her alive. Morgan's eyes were wide, unseeing, rolled back to whites, and her grip on Virelya's hilt was ironclad, fingers locked white-knuckled around the leather as if fused to it. The whispers hit me too, faint echoes bleeding through our bond, but they were nothing compared to what she must have been enduring, her gasps turning to ragged screams that echoed off the warehouse walls. Panic surged through me, raw and unchecked, a terror I hadn't felt since the exile, since Nyra's betrayal sealed me to this curse. This wasn't supposed to happen, not like this, not after the runes had gone so smoothly, drawing her closer instead of ripping her apart.
"Morgan!" I shouted, my voice breaking as I wrapped my hands around hers, prying at her fingers with all the strength I had left, nails digging into her skin until blood welled up. She didn't respond, didn't even flinch, her body thrashing against mine while the blade hummed viciously, its presence in my mind twisting into something triumphant, like it had finally found away to feed deeper than before. I yanked harder, feeling the bones in her hand grind under the pressure, but her grip held, unyielding, the surge pulling her deeper into whatever hell it had unleashed. Blood trickled from her nose, her mouth, staining her lips red, and her breaths came in shallow, wheezing bursts that told me she was slipping away, dying right here in this grim room because of my arrogance, my need to test her limits.
I shifted my hold, grabbing the blade itself with one hand while keeping the other on her wrist, channeling what remained of my muted power through the bond, willing it to sever, to release her. The wards on the walls flickered in response, a faint pulse of energy rippling through the air, but it bounced off Virelya like water on oil, the blade rejecting my command, its whispers laughing in my head now, mocking the futility. "Let her go!" I roared at it, pouring every ounce of will into the push, the air thickening with the strain, but her convulsions only worsened, her skin paling to a ghostly white as the glow in her veins brightened, pulsing in time with her weakening heartbeat. She was being consumed, essence draining into the void I'd fed for so long, and I could feel it through the bond, the entity inside reveling in this fresh connection, pulling her under where I couldn't follow.
Desperation clawed at me, guilt twisting like a knife in my gut because this was my fault, my curse dragging her into the abyss, and if I didn't stop it now, she'd be gone, lost to the same hunger that had eroded me piece by piece. Her screams faded to whimpers, her body going limp in spasms, and I knew there was no time, no other way. I released her for a split second, lunging across the room to the corner where I'd stashed old tools scavenged from the warehouse depths, my hands shaking as I grabbed the axe leaning against the wall, its edge dull but heavy enough for what needed doing. Horror flooded me, bile rising inmy throat at the thought, but she was dying, fading before my eyes, and this brutality was the only severance left.
I swung back to her, dropping to my knees beside her crumpled form, the axe raised high, my vision blurring with the terror of it, guilt screaming in my mind even as I brought the dull blade down hard on her wrist.
18
MORGAN
Pain was the first thing to anchor me.
It was a throbbing heat that radiated from somewhere on my right side, pulsing in time with my heartbeat, which felt too slow, too labored, as if my body was struggling to keep up. I tried to move, to shift away from it, but my limbs were heavy, unresponsive, like they belonged to someone else.
There was a smell hanging in the air, thick and metallic, coating the back of my throat with every shallow breath, and it mingled with something sharper, like charred herbs or singed cloth. Sounds filtered through the haze, muffled at first: a low mutter, the rustle of fabric, the scrape of something against concrete. Hands on me, pressing down, firm and insistent, sending fresh waves of stinging fire through my arm. I wanted to pull away, to tell whoever it was to stop, but my voice caught in my chest, emerging only as a weak groan that echoed strangely in my ears.
The world tilted, or maybe it was just my head lolling to the side, and for a moment everything blurred into gray nothingness, pulling me under again.
When I surfaced next, the pain had sharpened, localized now to my wrist, a burning ache that felt… wrong.
Xavian's face swam into view above me, his features tense, brows furrowed in concentration, sweat beading along his hairline despite the chill in the room. His hands were on my arm, wrapping something tight around the source of the pain, cloth or bandages, soaked through with red.
