Taking advantage of their shock and lack of commands, I storm into the cell and swiftly stab a Deviant right between his eyes with the spear. The last warlock who was enjoying watching his brother torment a child, scurries back to avoid blood splashing on him.
The sound of my boy hiccupping and trying to reach me snaps me out of burning holes into the last remaining warlock. Turning my head to him, I see him trying to free his hands, which only makes the chains dig harder into his soft wrists.
Keeping my blood-dripping spear aimed at the warlock’s head, I meet his eyes and shake my head at my baby. Immediately, his movements halt. The lack of crying helps me focus on the bastard in front of me again.
“You touched my kid.” Poking his forehead with the spear, I apply the tiniest bit of pressure that has him shuddering in fear. “I warned her. I specifically saidnot.him.”
Despite the weapon pointed at him, the warlock has the balls to hiss atme. “How did you get out?”
It shouldn’t surprise him I broke free since I’ve done it before. Sure, onlyoneof two prisoners escaped that time, but I still consider it a success.
The warlock’s eyes frantically look for help, and I see the exact moment he realizes he’s on his own. Taking another step back, he helps me by cornering himself.
This dungeon is drowning in black magic, making it impossible for inside voices to break free, and the next shift change isn’t forhours. I have no plans to stick around that long.
“We had a deal. You leave him alone, and I take his share ofeverything,” I pant. It suddenly hits me that even when my Divine is healing me and doing its best, a decade’s worth of next to no food or water will be working against me today.
The warlock’s shoulders stiffen, and I hear his heartbeat falter, but his pride won’t let him beg for his life. Not like it would change anything.
“That was before you started passing out every hour. The Queen asked us to train the kid to take your place.”
My blood freezes in terror when he causally mentions making the small boy their next scapegoat. That’s exactly what I wanted to prevent. I won’t let them do to him what they did to me. My skin might be crawling with a decade’s worth of scars, but I won’t let them leave permanent reminders of this nightmare on my boy.
There are two types of magic bearers. The kind that uses dark magic and pays for that power with their soul, that chips away with every spell and eats at their humanity. The second kind practices clean magic that spares their souls by letting their bodies take the brunt of wielding such power.
Without a soul, the dark witches go straight to Purgatory when they die. However, the light witches still have a chance at finding eternal peace inAzure, Heaven created by the first Lucifer forgoodsupernatural creatures. Good being subjective.
Purgatory: a place where rotten to the bones supernatural creatures are tossed to spend eternity in misery after death.
Azure: A version of Heaven created by the big bad Satan himself to make sure his brothers and other supernaturals had a place to spend eternity in peace after they gave up immortality.
The warlock’s mangled left ear tells me he is a light warlock, but that doesn’t mean he will go to Azure in this life.
I grab him by his neck and push him against the mouldy wall before asking the boy to look away. My baby doesn’t object and turns his head just as my palm squeezes tighter, and I let my Divine come out to play.
The warlock’s eyes widen in fear when the brown in mine becomes non-existent, and a gold ring forms around my iris that reflects in his petrified eyes. I’ve deprived my Divine of an audience for so long that it’s no surprise the warlock hasn’t seen my Divine make its presence known.
Sucking up every bit of light and warmth from the cell, a thick gold essence circles me protectively. Dancing over my skin in wild patterns, the strings of gold wait to swallow its prey. His skin melts beneath my palm, and black spider veins form on his flesh as I absorb every last bit of his darkened soul.
The foul smell of burnt flesh overtakes his wails, growing louder as he tries to escape. Choking on his blood, he pleads with his eyes, but I wasn’t born to be merciful, especially not to monsters like him.
Throwing my head back, I take a deep breath and fill my lungs with every ounce of his Divine—his supernatural power, leaving him empty. I tear his soul apart from his body and, in my anger, crush it without thinking of how it’s not what I’m supposed to do.
The warlock falls to the ground with a thud when I finally loosen my hold. His face turns a shade of deep purple, and his body shrinks as if he has been dead for ages. Wide eyes resembling the fear he felt in his last minutes.
My mere touch can void them of their souls, and it’s nothing short of barbaric, but what else would you expect from Dean’s daughter, one of the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse?
From the daughter of Death.
A hiccup breaks my trance, and I fight to gain back control from my Divine. My essence fades reluctantly so I can tend to the one who matters most.
Rushing to the boy, I crouch before him and cup his face between my palms. Even when my movements are abrupt, he never flinches away like he does with others and keeps looking at me with those big blue eyes.
“Hey, little monkey.”
I search him for injuries, and except for a few scratches and handprints, the only concerning one is on his stomach. The fast flow of blood is what’s making him panic, meaning I have to treat that first.
“I can fix it, okay? I’ll take away the pain, and then we can go far away from here. I won’t let any of these blood-sucking witches hurt you again, I promise.”
