The Hunters moved as one, weapons raised, masks glinting in the firelight. Their silence was worse than any battle cry, a suffocating void that pressed against the ears and burrowed into the chest.
Aric stood at the center, his sword trembling in his grip. Black fire licked along the blade, coiling down his arm like living serpents. The scar burned hotter with every beat of the drums, urging him to strike.
Yes, the shadow whispered. End it. The choice is already made. Tear them apart before they tear you.
Seraphel staggered to his feet, his face pale with terror. “Aric! Listen to me. Don’t let it in. You’ll lose yourself—”
“I don’t have a choice!” Aric snarled, his voice deeper than his own, almost doubled.
The little girl clung to his leg, crying into the folds of his tunic. Her sobs
