Chapter 18: Blood and Betrayal
539 Words
The sound of footsteps echoed through the forbidden archive, steady and unhurried, like the predator who already knew its prey could not escape. Ethan’s grip tightened around his blade, while the shadows slithered eagerly up his arm, merging with the steel in a black shimmer.
Seraphine extinguished the torch with a flick of her fingers, plunging them into near darkness. Only the faint crimson glow of her eyes remained. “They can’t see what we see,” she whispered. “Use that.”
From the gloom, a tall figure emerged, armored in silver-trimmed black. His face was familiar, twisted with disdain—Marcus, one of Malachai’s enforcers. Once Ethan had seen him in the halls of Blackspire, a loyal hound of the Council.
“I knew I smelled betrayal,” Marcus sneered, his fangs gleaming. “Seraphine, consorting with a half-turned mongrel. You’ve doomed yourself.”
Ethan stepped forward, his voice low and cold. “Leave now, and live. Stay, and I’ll carve your arrogance out of your chest.”
Marcus laughed, the sound sharp as steel. “You? You’re nothing but a broken slave who doesn’t know his place. I’ll drag your corpse to Malachai and remind him loyalty still exists.”
Without warning, Marcus lunged, his blade arcing through the air like silver lightning. Ethan met the strike, steel against steel, sparks flying. The force rattled his bones, but the shadows surged, wrapping his arm, doubling his strength. He shoved Marcus back, the ground cracking beneath their feet.
Marcus faltered, eyes narrowing. “What trick is this?”
The whispers coiled in Ethan’s ears. Show him. Feed.
For a heartbeat, Ethan hesitated. Then the rage of his lost family burned through him, and he let the shadows spill forth. Tendrils of living darkness lashed from his body, wrapping around Marcus’s sword arm, dragging it down.
Seraphine gasped softly, but her gaze held no fear—only awe.
Marcus roared, struggling as the shadows tightened, sinking into his armor like claws. Ethan stepped close, eyes burning with unnatural light. “You should have left.”
With a twist, the shadows ripped Marcus’s weapon free, sending it clattering across the stone. Ethan’s blade found the enforcer’s throat in the same breath.
But he didn’t strike. Not yet. He leaned close, his voice a whisper edged with fury. “Tell Malachai what you saw. Tell him his Oaths won’t hold me. Tell him his chains are broken.”
Marcus’s arrogance wavered, fear flashing in his crimson eyes. Ethan released him with a shove, and the shadows recoiled like a tide pulling back into the sea.
The enforcer stumbled, gasping, clutching his throat. “You… you’re a monster.”
Ethan’s lips curled into something colder than a smile. “No. I’m worse.”
Marcus fled into the labyrinth, his footsteps fading into silence.
Seraphine exhaled, stepping closer, her voice low. “You’ve shown your hand. Malachai will know soon enough.”
Ethan sheathed his blade, the shadows still pulsing faintly under his skin. “Then let him come. The more he fears me, the sooner his empire crumbles.”
The whispers in the dark purred in approval, and Ethan realized with grim certainty: the path of no return had already begun.
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