It took him a moment to regain his bearings and open his eyes again. Slowly, he got to his feet and looked down at the weapon. The dragon bone gleamed in the moonlight; the tip of it sparkled where the black blood of an unknown being had melded into it.
Now all he needed was to take care of this final loose strand, and then maybe he could find a way out of this joyless place.
Daimon traveled on shadows and darkness to the edge of the Shadow Realm. He wished he could see Evelina, wished he was still dreaming. But he couldn’t do this in his dreams, couldn’t risk waking up or not getting to Moros.
He needed to draw Moros out of the cave. There were too many small holes and places to escape. He needed them out in the open. With nowhere to hide. He also had to be careful not to risk Vidaris somehow finding out, needed to draw Moros out and get him out of the Shadow Realm without Daimon himself stepping too far outside of it.
Daimon wrapped his shadows around himself until he was hidden. He slid into the cave, sticking close to the walls. If anyone looked his way, he could pass as a shadow cast by the gleam of moonlight.
He felt a heavy darkness at the mouth of the cave, and the deeper he ventured, the heavier it weighed on him.
It didn’t surprise him when he found a small host of Furies with Moros.
Theirkinghad gone into hiding, and so had they.
Daimon left his shadows concealing most of his features, but released them enough to get Moros’s attention.
“Who are you?” Moros spat. “Show yourself.”
He looked…old.
His skin was wrinkled and leathery, with deep circles beneath his eyes. He looked more like a decaying corpse than a living being. Daimon could still feel his dark magic, could feel how much stronger it was than the body that held it.
By all accounts, he should have been dead in human regard, already over a hundred years old. The toll this amount of magic was taking on his body might just kill him before Daimon got the chance.
Moros surrounded himself in darkness, wrapping himself in a shield of safety. Shadows billowed off the old king, spewing from his flesh and encasing him in a magic that reeked like a decaying body.
Daimon set his shadows loose on the cave, sending sharp rocks falling from the ceiling and tumbling down onto the rebels below. He backed away, slowly forcing them out of the cave as rocks fell. Moros shielded himself from being struck, as did the Furies. He couldn’t kill them in here, but he could get them to come out.
Daimon taunted them, striking their bodies so they would follow.
Moros’s face reddened with rage.
Daimon smiled. His plan was working.
Moros and his followers had been drawn out of his hiding place and were nearly to the edge now.
A screech filled the air. Daimon froze. He knew that sound. It was a wyvern. He had heard it a thousand times over the years, had fought with the beast’s Rider just as long. The Alpha Fleet was here.
Moros heard the sound too, as did the Furies with him. He screamed in anger and turned around to retreat, but Daimon was behind them. Now, the Furies would have no choice but to run across the border into the fae lands, away from the safety of the curse that would trap souls inside.
Moros ran, slow in his old age.
Vero’s wing crested over the cliffside first. His massive body came next, so fast there was nothing Daimon could do to stop it. Two more wyverns flanked Brielle and Vero—Aster and Willow atop them.
The three wyverns flew over him, their eyes fixed on Moros.
Daimon clothed himself deeper into his shadows, making it impossible for anyone to see him in the darkness.
Willow and Aster descended first, swooping down and using their magic together. Willow pulled any kind of nature she could from the forest’s edge—large branches, clumps of soil filled with sharp rocks—while Aster called on the sea, surrounding the rebels with a torrent of water to try and drown them.
Brielle set Willow’s projectiles on fire, and Aster made openings in the water for the fiery weapons to soar through.
Daimon couldn’t see through the chaos, but he could feel his magic flare in answer. He took care of the five Furies with a single spear made of shadows. They rushed toward him and he sent the spear sideways. It tore through their throats one by one.
He ran after Moros. He got close enough that he caught Vero’s eye. The beast turned its head and growled. Brielle looked over her shoulder, but he was still invisible to her.
A wave of sickening heat slammed into him; the familiar pulse of darkness that lived inside of him sang in answer. Moros was about to attack.
