The half-baked plan I had just went down the bloody drain. I’m no longer waiting for the perfect opportunity to skin that warlock alive.
Before the pathetic man can lay a hand on my kid again, I hurl my dagger and watch it slice through the air, perfectly landing on the side of the warlock’s neck. The cell goes eerily quiet when his body hits the floor like a sack of wrinkled old potatoes.
Shouldn’t have touched my kid.
Taking advantage of their shock, I storm into the cell and swiftly drive my spear between a Deviant’s eyes. The last warlock, who was enjoying watching my kid get tormented,scurries back to avoid blood splashing on him.
There are two types of magic bearers in our world. Those who dabble with dark magic pay for power with pieces of their soul that chip away each time they cast a spell. Others, who practice clean magic, take the brunt of wielding such power on their flesh to keep their soul intact.
Without a soul, the dark witches go straight toPurgatorywhen they die—a place where rotten-to-the-bones supernaturals are tossed in to spend eternity in misery. But the light witches still get a chance of finding eternal peace inAzure,a realm similar to heaven created by Satan himself.
The warlock’s mangled left ear tells me he uses clean magic, but that won’t get him anywhere near Azure in this life. Not if I have anything to say about it.
The sound of my boy hiccupping and struggling to reach me snaps me out of my tunnel vision. I hold the spear dripping with his brother’s blood at the warlock’s forehead and turn my head slightly to find the boy tugging at the chains around his wrists, trying to get free.
I wait for the kid to meet my eyes before I shake my head. Immediately, his movements halt, and the silence helps me focus on the bastard in front of me.
“How dare you put your filthy hands on my kid?”
Poking his forehead with the spear, I apply the tiniest bit of pressure that has him shuddering in fear. “I warned her, didn’t I? I specifically said,not him.”
Despite the weapon aimed at his head, the warlock has the balls to hiss atme.“How did you get out?”
Why is he surprised that I broke free? I’ve done it before. Although only one out of two prisoners escaped that time, I still consider it a success story.
The warlock’s eyes frantically search for help, and I see the exact moment he realizes he is on his own. Taking another step back, he helps me by cornering himself. The dungeon is shrouded in black magic, making it impossible for voicesto escape from within.
“We had a deal. You leave him alone, and I take his share of punishments,” I cough out.
A shudder runs down my spine, and it suddenly hits me that even when my Divine is trying its best to heal, my lack of a stellar diet in the past decade 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 has ordered us to train the kid. He is supposed to take your place.” My blood turns to ice at how casually he says it, like turning my boy into their next punching bag is no big deal.
He is dreaming if he thinks I will let that happen. My skin might be crawling with a decade’s worth of scars, but I won’t let them carve this nightmare into my little boy.
Grabbing him by his throat, I push the warlock against the moldy wall before asking the boy to look away. The kid doesn’t object, turning away just as I squeeze my fingers tighter, and I allow my Divine to come out and play.
The warlock’s eyes widen in fear as the brown in mine vanishes, revealing a ring of gold around my irises that reflects in his terror-glazed 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 last bit of light and warmth from this dungeon, my essence swirls protectively around me. The thick strands of gold dance across my skin in wild patterns, hunting for prey.
When my Divine finds its target, it latches onto the warlock and begins absorbing his darkened soul without wasting another moment.
The stench of burning flesh bothers me more than the warlock’s growing wails as his skin melts beneath my palm and he fights to break free. Choking on his blood, the warlock pleads with his eyes, but I wasn’t born to be merciful… especially not to monsters like him.
Throwing my head back, I fill my lungs with every last drop of his Divine, draining him before tearing his soul from his body.
The warlock falls to the ground with a thud when I finally loosen my hold on him. His face turns a deep shade of purple, and his body shrinks like he’s been dead for years.
It’s not my fault they forget my mere touch can drain their souls. My power is nothing short of barbaric, but what else would you expect from the daughter of a Horseman of the Apocalypse?
From the daughter of Death.
A muffled hiccup behind me breaks my trance. I immediately fight to regain control over my Divine, and it reluctantly fades to the background.
