She struggled against the uneven pavement with every step and her breath came in ragged gasps, but she didn’t dare slow down.
She didn’t have time.
They didn’t have time.
Smoke burned her lungs as she raced through the streets of Jericho, screams and the wail of sirens performing an ominous symphony around her. Black fire rose to the top of the city’s skyscrapers, unearthly flames that burned cold and silent. The blaze devoured everything it touched, and she couldn’t tear her gaze away from it; the darkness was all-encompassing, blue embers shining bright as stars in the heavy smoke.
It’s beautiful.
The thought was morbid, but true. It was mid-summer and, if it wasn’t for all the chaos, it would have been a gorgeous night. There was a gentle breeze that made the trees rustle and the sky above was perfectly clear. The crickets sang and fireflies flickered in and out of view. Jericho’s sleek architecture was perfectly balanced with the land around it, technology and the wilderness coming together in a bizarre marriage that she’d always admired. In a similar sign of acceptance, all were welcome in the free city regardless of their species or creed; it was a place of sanctuary, of peace.
Or at least, it had been before he attacked.
The building nearest her gave a groan as it yielded to the blaze and began to collapse. Her eyes widened as the looming structure leaned toward her. It didn't seem real.
A loud crack ripped through the air as the upper half of the skyscreaper snapped free and began to plummet toward her.
She forced herself to move. Her magic rose up to meet her, a shimmering white light that rippled on her palms, and she bolted forward with inhuman speed.
The skyscraper came down hard behind her, glass and asphalt shattering on impact. Rubble rained down from above, the stone and twisted metal continuing to burn as they fell. She could hear cries coming from inside as the survivors tried desperately to escape.
She didn't look back.
There’s nothing I can do for them now. I have to hurry.
The people of Jericho fought in vain against the soldiers swarming the city. They flailed, screamed, and died all around her. The invaders were endless; thousands of them tore through the streets, human and beast alike, all encased in obsidian armor and bristling with weapons and magic. A swan was emblazoned on their backs, its outline trimmed in gold, and the sun in eclipse burned behind it.
The Obsidian Army had only one goal: to destroy. It’s soldiers weren’t burdened with such pointless things as mercy or guilt. They didn’t eat, didn’t sleep, and couldn’t feel pain. A normal man staggered when hit, grew weaker as he bled, but she knew that as long as these shadows still had limbs to move they would continue to march.
And they made short work of anyone foolish enough to stand in their way.
The desperate cries of the city fell on deaf ears as she continued to race through the streets, avoiding as much conflict as she could. She didn’t care that these people saw a savior when they looked at her, didn’t care that she had the power to save them.
Fighting blocked her path at every turn, the battle pulsing and shifting like a living thing, and the chaos made the center of town practically impenetrable. She needed to find a way through.
Her jaw clenched when she spotted it. There was a narrow alleyway nestled between a skyscraper and a heap of rubble, black soldiers swarming out of it like angry ants. A small band of the city's soldiers blocked their path, their warriors making a wall between the hoard and their mages. Many of the spellweavers were already dead, but those that remained had clasped their hands together and were chanting, pooling their energy together for a final, desperate attack.
One of them, probably their leader, had a red cloak that billowed in the wind. A familiar white rose was sewn to it, its petals stained with his blood. She could see his arms shaking from exhaustion.
She was moving toward them before she could think better of it.
“Get down!” she yelled, breaking their circle as she shoved past them.
She didn’t wait to see if they obeyed. With a breath to steady her nerves, she held her palms out in front of her and focused. The obsidian soldiers surged forward, so close that she could catch glimpses of their calcified flesh between the seams of their armor. Their eyes were all the same regardless of who--or what--they belonged to; violet irises clouded over, as if blind, but with a focus wild with hunger and purpose. Metal sang as the soldiers unsheathed their swords and the snarls of their beasts harmonized as they bared their fangs.
The girl held her ground as white runes began to etch themselves into the air before her, gradually forming an arcane circle that shone like the moon.
She'd always felt weightless when she used her magic. It was like drifting through water, effortless, where small movements made large ripples. She could feel the light all around her, warm and bright on her skin, and she could sense its yearning for release grow as the circle completed itself.
Then the first of the soldiers was upon her, raising an axe high above her head. She looked up into his hollow eyes.
A white mage couldn't be afraid of the dark. She released her hold on the light and let it rush forward with reckless abandon.
A searing white beam exploded from the circle. The soldier before her burned to ash, his armor shattering like glass. Anything in the the spell's path disintegrated and she could feel her hair and cloak lift and flow with the waves of heat it gave off. Soldiers shrieked and wailed in the light, their twisted forms torn into fragments of black. When it faded, shadowy wisps lifted up like smoke in front of her, the wind carrying the ashes away as if they'd never existed at all.
Her spell had sliced a perfect ring through the buildings and rubble to the center of the city. Everything, and everyone, in its path was gone.
The group looked at her in both awe and horror and she shifted uncomfortably beneath the weight of their gaze.
By any means necessary. She thought, shoving the feeling aside. She turned away from them and bolted down the path that she created.
What was a few lives compared to a hundred? Compared to thousands?
Did it even matter how much blood was on her hands anymore?
A killer was a killer. It didn’t matter what their body count was.
I have to get to the Citadel. I have to stop this.
The Citadel was the tallest building in all of Jericho, its church-like spires extending so high that it was said angels landed on them to rest their wings. Its penthouse was made from diamond and its marble, gothic architecture oozed extravagance, but she wasn’t interested in its riches. At its apex, the Citadel held the secret behind the free city’s independence; an arcane catalyst of staggering proportions. It was the central conduit for the power grids, both magical and electrical, and was considered one of the great technological wonders of their age. It provided seemingly unlimited clean energy.
More recently, though, Jericho’s mages had been using it to amplify their power and defend the city during the war.
No matter how powerful her magic seemed, no matter how brilliant and searing, it paled in comparison to what he could do... to the destruction that he wrought. But if she was able to get to the catalyst she just might stand a chance.
“You might be able to use it to purge the city of the dark army.” Zune had said before she left, his voice thick with concern. “And, with the right spell and a lot of luck, it wouldn’t even hurt the civilians. Think you can manage it?”
“I’ll have to.”
She didn’t have the control required of her magic to do something of that scale otherwise.
The mage quickened her steps as she burst into the courtyard. It was eerily quiet, the sounds of the battle now distant and muffled. Corpses littered the square and the broken husks of merchant carts burned in the shadow of the Citadel, black flames slowly reducing them to ash. As her gaze traveled upwards, she realized that most of the building’s windows were dark. Electricity crackled and sparked from loose wires around the massive front doors, their glass shattered and frames off track.
Despite the damage to the building, it’s penthouse was still illuminated. It’s floor to ceiling windows were crystal clear and it was so high up that it seemed immune to the chaos of the city below. She was about to move on when a flicker of movement caught her eye.
She focused, closing her eyes and using her magic to help her see farther. The silhouette of a man paced the length of the windows like a caged animal, his form cloaked in shadow, spikes protruding from his head like a wicked crown. The pacing stopped and the figure turned to face her, but she couldn't see his face.
She broke the spell and stepped up to the double doors. Without hesitation, she slid her fingers between their bent frames and pried them open. They grated on their warped tracks and announced her entrance with an ear-splitting screech.
The girl flinched, waiting for something to attack, but nothing did.
The interior of the tower was empty, eerily so, and the scent of blood stung her nose with its metallic tang. Corpses were strewn throughout the room, crimson pools sheen against the tiled floor. They looked like they died the moment they first saw an intruder; the receptionist was slumped over her desk, a janitor collapsed with his head in the mop bucket, and many of the tower’s wealthy patrons lay disemboweled on the velvet lounges of the lobby.
She shivered at the pure efficiency of it. Whoever did this had been been fast and accurate.
The girl headed toward the elevator and stepped over the bodies as delicately as she could. The doors were already open but the control panel sparked and cracked, black ooze dripping from the edges of the buttons. She grimaced; she could feel the black magic coming off it in waves.
She lifted her hands and focused on the otherness of the magic in front of her. It was so unlike her own, and yet unsettlingly similar. A different side of the same coin. The mage heard its whispers and, while she couldn’t know their language, she understood their meaning.
Slowly, carefully, she willed the light to push back the darkness. The good thing about opposites was that equal amounts of each would cancel each other out. At least in theory.
To her relief, it worked. A ding sounded through the lobby and the buttons lit up as they waited for her to select a floor. She jabbed a finger into the highest one.
As the elevator began its aescent, she found herself staring at her own reflection in the mirrored surface of the doors. A girl in dented armor and a bedraggled red cape looked back at her, her ashen hair falling in chaotic waves over her shoulders. Blood had dried across her chest in a mahogany splatter and the white feathered wings on her back were tattered. Her face, while beautiful, had become hardened and gaunt since she last saw it. No light sparkled in her crystal-blue gaze and her expression reflected the numbness she felt.
The war had exacted its toll.
A crackling sound tore her from her thoughts and the scent of burning rubber stung her nostrils. Despite her best efforts to keep the black magic away from the controls, the damage had been done. The lights flickered before they went out completely and she heard the distinct sound of something powering down.
Damn. Three floors short.
At least it had gotten her this far.
She pried the doors open and, to her relief, she was almost even with the next level. A quick jump was all she needed to catch the edge and pull herself up, the girl just managing to squeeze through the opening created by the floor and the roof of the lift.
She emerged into a large ballroom with cherry wood floors and tall, stained glass windows. A chandelier hung above her, its crystals catching the moonlight and casting fragmnents of silver throughout the room. The entire place was bloodstained.
There were people everywhere, but they were no longer themselves. Their skin had become pale and paper-thin, their veins black with the curse that pulsed through them. Small white crystals sprouted from their wounds and salt weighed down their hair in tangled mats. They turned in unison to face her, their eyes clouded and glinting with purpose.
Her stomach flipped when she noticed the blood around their mouths. No wonder she hadn't seen any corpses.
Her grip on her sword tightened. No matter who they’d been before, if she let them live now all they would become were more soldiers to stand in the Obsidian Army’s ranks. More harbingers of death.
She made the first move. With a graceful lunge, she sliced open the body nearest to her; it was a boy no more than 10 years old. He was still in his pajamas and his hair was messy, the picture of innocence, but the snarl that came out of him as he fell was animalistic. He thrashed and kicked like a thing possessed until the last bit of life drained out of him alongside black blood.
The others closed in around him, still hungry.
She’d remember his face. She always remembered the first one, but none of the others would haunt her.
Her movements were graceful as she cut her way through the mob, elegant as a dancer, but they also carried ruthless precision. Like whoever had desecrated the lobby she, too, could be efficient. She could be just as merciless. She destroyed anything and everything in her path, seeing only monsters to kill and necks to slash.
How very disappointed her parents would be if they could see her now.
The thought came unbidden and, despite the absurdity of it, she laughed. It was a croaking sound that was honestly more akin to a sob, but it was a laugh all the same.
Her people had always preached that peace was the answer. They had devoted themselves entirely to the search for knowledge and declared that violence was wholly uncivilized. It had made them the most advanced nation in the world, but they had done nothing with the secrets they uncovered aside from going out of their way to hide them from others. They drew blueprints for weapons of mass destruction and devised spells the likes of which had never seen before, but they never made any of it real. It was all a great thought experiment, all "theoretical", even though they all knew the numbers would have worked.
They were pacifists, a fact her mother liked to remind her of often, and it was against their creed to raise arms against the people beyond their borders. Not even if they attacked first.
She scoffed as she beheaded the final man that blocked her path. Blood gushed from the stump of his neck in rhythmic spurts before his body fell to the ground with a wet thud.
Look what their "peace" had earned them; an early grave, a graceful genocide. The search for knowledge was honorable indeed, but honor had never won a war.
Once she was sure everything around her was dead, she wiped the blade of her sword on the nearest corpse and headed toward the stairs. Just as her boot crossed the threshold to the stairwell, a terrified scream echoed around her.
She lifted her hands up defensively, light blazing in her palms, only to see a man crouching like a cornered animal in the furthest corner he could find. He was cradling his left arm, the socket twisted at a painful angle, and a wound festered on his shoulder. Dark ooze dripped from it and the veins on his arm had gone black.
His eyes were wide and terrified as they found hers, their corners bloodshot, but she saw relief flood through him when he realized she wasn’t one of them.
The man sobbed.
“Kill me.” be begged, clutching his shoulder with renewed vigor. “Before it...before I…”
She nodded in understanding, her brows furrowing with sympathy. He didn’t need to elaborate. It was an abomination, cursing people like this. The magic that was forcibly put in their veins was an infection that stripped them of everything in exchange for power. It was an addiction that would do nothing but feed itself until their only companion was the desperate hunger for more.
She would have wanted someone to kill her, too, if she was destined to become something like that.
“This won’t hurt.” she promised, her words barely above a whisper, and he nodded.
She lifted her hand to his temple, his skin hot and sweaty against hers. Before he had time to change his mind, a beam of light cut through his skull as quickly as any bullet. It killed him instantly. His body tensed and toppled, growing still in the shadow of the stairs.
She didn’t look back as she ran up the stairs.
The penthouse of the Citadel was known as one of the most extraordinary places on the planet. Since it was the tallest building in modern history, the top floor was said to sit on top of the world. It was lavish and expensive, the windows made from pressed diamond to ensure they wouldn’t break. The catalyst at its core had been disguised as a pendulum made from crystal, an ornate calendar carved into the marble floor to help it mark the time. Only scholars and the highest ranking mages had been allowed here...until today.
She shoved past the golden doors that separated her from the penthouse fully expecting it to be in ruin. The doors opened smoothly on their hinges and, instead of the copper tang of blood, the pleasant scent of parchment and incense greeted her. Gears whirred dutifully on the walls and the only sound was the faint ticking of the many clocks that hung from the ceiling, their glass faces glinting in the lowlight.
Slowly, delicately, she approached the center of the room and rested her hands on the golden railing that had guarded the pendulum for centuries. Now, instead of the great calendar and the instrument of time, there was a gaping hole at the Citadel's center. It was an ugly wound with jagged metal edges and warped rebar sticking up at every turn. The chasm extended down into nothingness for what must have been miles, the only break in the oppressive darkness the occasional spark of electricity from severed wires.
She was doomed. Without the catalyst she could never hope to defeat him. Not here. Maybe not ever.
“Where are you?” she screamed, fury tainting her words.
“Oh, certainly not here.” a voice answered obediently. It was dark and rich, coiling around her like velvet, but she could hear the poison in it. She recognized the voice, but it wasn’t his.
It wasn’t The Prince.
But that was impossible. There was only one person in the world who could use black magic.
Unless...
She whipped around to face the source of the sound and blanched. One of the soldiers from the Obsidian Army shambled toward her, a circle of crystals on his skull forced to grow in the shape of a crown. Blood dripped from the edges of his “horns”, the growths apparently fashioned just for this purpose.
He smirked, his eyes blank as someone else spoke through him.
“And you shouldn’t be, either.”
She realized, too late, that it was a trap.
The girl whirled around and started to run toward the exit, but she heard something click behind her. As if on cue, the ground began to shake beneath her feet, the marble splitting as the room split itself in half.
A giant crystal orb burst out of the hole in the floor and shattered the roof above, shards of metal and diamond spinning around it like planets. As it flew higher into the sky, shadows began to gather within it until its clear interior was filled with a twisting, horrible blackness.
No.
It was the catalyst.
Once it was high enough in the air the orb began to hover, spinning violently in place. Ice blue light began to erupt from within it, stretching into lines that formed a giant arcane circle above the city.
The mage had never seen a spell of this magnitude, but she could feel the immense power that radiated from it. She didn’t know what was going to happen when it was done, but she knew that, whatever it was, it was strong enough to wipe out the entire city.
She had to block it, maybe counter it somehow. It was her only chance.
Once the circle was complete, black clouds descended on the city. They crackled with power, twisting and churning like a storm, and they buffeted her with wind and cast her into complete darkness. She swore she could hear the screams of creatures in the gale.
She extended her hands blindly, and a white light began to glow from them. It was weak at first, but it gradually grew into a blazing sun. She felt the light in her veins, fast and hot, and she struggled to keep it in her grasp. The clouds nearest to her began to burn away.
But the force of the oncoming wave was too much for her. It was suffocating and she crumbled beneath its weight. The light slipped from her grasp and sputtered out. The winds of the storm whipped around her and knocked her from feet.
She scrambled to grab hold of something, anything, but it had happened too fast and she could only watch as the ground fell out from under her and she was sent plummeting toward the city below. She held out her hand desperately, as if trying to catch the last rays of the sun before they could slip away.
The darkness fell on the city and she heard the sonic boom of a shockwave ripping through it.
In the slow moments of freefall that followed, she wondered what she could have done differently. What if she’d trained more, or if she hesitated less? What if she’d been there when her parents died?
What if she’d never met him?
Would it have ended differently?
She twisted helplessly in the air, her wings useless against the strength of the winds, and crashed into the rooftops.
The impact knocked the breath out of her, stars dancing in her vision as she struggled to protect her head until she stopped moving. It sounded like a hurricane had hit Jericho; she could hear wood splintering and glass shattering all around her and the moan of skyscrapers falling in the gale was haunting.
And then, all at once, everything grew still and silent, the only sound the shrill ringing in her ears.
Slowly, she opened her eyes. Her vision was blurry at first, the dust was still settling, and she realized that she’d fallen onto what was left of a house. Through some miracle she’d landed on a sofa, but only after the roof broke her fall first.
The mage groaned as she forced herself to sit up. Her body ached and she could feel her broken ribs scraping against one another when she moved. Her magic had sapped most of her energy and she could feel the fatigue beginning to manifest as a headache, but that didn’t matter.
She had to see if it had worked.
With effort, she scrambled through the rubble to get outside. When she got there her breath died in her lungs.
Most of the city had been destroyed. The shadows still lingered, but she could see the fallen towers and demolished houses. It looked as if a bomb had gone off in the heart of Jericho, fracturing roads and collapsing bridges in its wake. The steel skeletons of skyscrapers remained, but their glass was gone, blown to a fine, sparkling dust that drifted through the fractured streets.
Tears welled up in her eyes. People must have died in the thousands from falling debris, but that wasn’t the worst of it. Despite her best efforts, despite all the energy and will she’d poured into her spell, her magic wasn’t strong enough to counter the attack. Anyone left alive in the city had begun changing into the accursed monsters the Prince used as soldiers, their veins black, shadows festering in their open wounds.
She’d failed.
Again.
Her knees buckled and she collapsed to the street in a sob. She could hear the hungry growls of the monsters as they grew closer, drawn by the frayed edges of her power, but she made no effort to run. She deserved this kind of end. Her eyes lifted to face her attackers, a hoard of new soldiers for the Black Crown, and she began cursing each and every one of them in her mind.
Just as she accepted her fate, it changed.
A flash of golden fire scorched through the ranks of the creatures nearest to her, the heat so searing that she had to lift a hand to shield her eyes from it. It left cinders and ash in its wake. Though they were single-minded, the monsters still had enough sense to take a few steps back and began to look around wildly for their attacker.
“Oh get up already. I've seen you fall from higher.”
It was a command, not a question, and she’d never been so happy to hear that cocky tone in her life. Through the flames she could see a dragon-winged knight standing in golden armor, a massive sword hoisted onto his shoulder. He looked worse for wear, bearing his own set of injuries, but he carried himself as if he didn’t feel them.
She narrowed her gaze at him as he held a hand out to her. There was something about his haughty smile and the fact that his rust-colored hair was inexplicably perfect that infuriated her.
Is he...posing?
She heaved a sigh and let him help her up. Zune always had a flair for the dramatic.
“Thanks.”
“You need to run.” he told her, the humor draining from his face. “Now. I’ll keep them occupied.”
“But...the city,” she started. “The people--”
“We can’t do anything for them now.”
She flinched. The words stung, but she knew they were true. There was no cure for the curse in their blood, no means to undo the black magic that had been woven around them. At least, none that they could perform.
The growls of the Accursed grew louder as they began to circle around them, and the knight lifted his hand to send another jet of flame into their midst.
The greatest mercy they could offer them now was a swift end.
“The Prince isn’t here, Zune.” she said. Her mind was still foggy from exhaustion, but she knew this was important. “It’s someone else.”
“That’s impossible.”
“I know it wasn’t him.” she insisted. “It wasn’t his voice, and this isn’t his magic.”
“Of course it’s his magic.” the knight huffed. “It’s black magic, isn’t it?”
“Yes, but it’s not the same.”
She watched as he scoffed and turned his attention to the ever growing hoard around them. He was a blazing inferno as he cut through their ranks, his sword glittering with embers. He was the leader of the rebellion that had risen up against the Black Crown, and it was easy to see why the people painted him as some sort of hero. To them, he was larger than life, the lost prince of the now-fallen dragon nations. He was a savior sent to carry their hopes and dreams.
To her, though, he was just a childhood friend. A friend who had always been a little too brave and a little too reckless. No matter how many titles he acquired or how many lives he saved, it was impossible for her to look at him and not see the troublesome boy who’d accidentally set her room on fire.
She hoped that he didn't forget that boy, either.
Before she could react a blast of ebony smoke swept him aside in an instant, the clouds extinguishing his flames like a candle.
“Zune!”
She stood, her magic rising around her palms as she turned to face the hoard with renewed hatred. Her eyes scoured the group, searching for the source of the attack, and her breath caught in her throat when she found it.
The monsters parted as a man dressed in black glided through them. Silver armor glinted on his arms, the metal crafted to look like bones, and his raven-black hair fell in perfect chaos around his sharp features. She almost forgot to breathe as she took in the perfect lines of his face, the familiar curl of his crooked smile, and her eyes burned as she met his icy gaze.
“Corvus.” she whispered, gasped, as she tried to come to terms with what she was seeing.
He was so real, so alive, that it took her a moment to notice the changes in him. A dark aura clung to him like a storm cloud and his eyes, once so bright with intelligence and mischief, were now hollow and cold. The draconic wings that sat on his back were still impressive as ever, but instead of glittering like the night sky their membranes were stretched thin and tattered over visible bones.
He was a black knight, beautiful and dangerous, surrounded by his pawns.
If he’d heard her, he didn’t acknowledge it. Instead he flourished his sword, its onyx blade slick with blood, and sized her up like any other enemy.
Her eyes shimmered with unshed tears.
“What happened to you?”
He didn’t reply, instead tightening the grip on his sword. She could sense the power that started to gather around him, twisted and hungry. There was no doubt in her mind that he was the one behind all of this.
But she hesitated. For the first time since the beginning of the war, she didn’t want to fight anymore.
Not if it meant fighting him.
He showed no such mercy. Before she could react, he rushed her. Black magic leapt at her like a snake, a barbed whip of black tar that cracked against her ribs.
She yelped in pain, her side burning, and she doubled over. She fell to the ground and rolled to the side on pure instinct and she heard the whistle of steel as his blade passed through the place she’d been only moments before.
Cold realization swept over her.
He’s actually trying to kill me.
The knight didn’t let up.
She was forced to backpedal as he continued to slash at her with a barrage of attacks. Her blade met his every time, sparks crackling between them, but she was always a second too slow. He landed a cut on her shoulder, then her thigh, then her side. Where his blade didn’t reach his magic did, a sharp shadow that snapped at her heels and tried to sneak up on her from behind.
Through it all, she couldn’t help but think that he was holding back.
As his blade left another cut on her arm, a thought drifted to the front of her mind.
I can’t win this.
As much as she hated it, as prideful as she was, she knew it was true. She was no match for him now. Not with how exhausted she was, not with her injuries from the fall, not against the amount of power she knew he could control.
She’d been fighting her entire life; she’d been the exception to her species’ moral code but now, when it mattered most, she realized that she didn’t have the heart for it.
When their blades crossed again she searched his eyes for signs of the man she used to know. Surely he didn’t want this either?
He shoved her back with a snarl, confliction warring in his icy gaze. His expression was pained, but his words were fierce.
“Why won’t you fight back?”
It was the same voice she’d heard so many times before. It’s baritone timbre was smooth and rich, a shot of spiced brandy in the winter, but it held poison in it now. A dangeorus edge.
Her jaw set in resolve. The shadows of who he used to be were hard to ignore, but she understood, somewhere deep down, that the version of Corvus she knew was dead. Stolen away just like everything else the Prince had taken from her.
She’d known since the day he went missing.
She’d just never expected to face him again, especially not dressed like the enemy.
“Because I loved you once.” she replied, lifting a hand to wipe the blood from the corner of her mouth. “Back when we were different people.”
He flinched at her words, the black aura around him faltering.
She smiled weakly, turning her blade over in her palm.
“And because I missed you. Gods, I missed you. I had a million things I wanted to tell you, but now that you’re here I can’t remember any of them.”
He looked like he’d been bitten by a snake. His brows were knitted tightly together and one of his hands had gone to his head, as if he were fighting off a headache. Shadows twisted wildly around him, an onyx maelstrom, and she knew what she had to do.
If she couldn’t win, the least she could do was go down fighting.
Even against him.
She willed her magic into her sword and rushed forward. The blade glowed white-hot and grew warm in her palm, the rays bathing the destroyed city in sunlight. She brought it down on him with incredible force, the metal slicing neatly through the armor of his right arm.
It shattered like glass and he dropped his weapon, his other hand going to his wrist with a hiss of pain.
“We don’t have to do this, you know.” she said as she landed, her body instinctively falling into a crouch. She kept her sword up in front of her diligently, but her hands shook.
“You don’t understand.” he growled, lifting his good hand toward her.
In horror, she watched as two shadows peeled themselves from the ground, twisting and writhing as they took the shape of something vaguely serpentine. Jaws formed from the darkness, and then glittering scales. The creatures were grotesque, pitch black and glossy, and their bodies constantly oozed a tar-like substance.
Their eyes burned a shocking ice-blue as they turned, in unison, to face her.
Everything about them felt wrong. The way they moved, the magic that radiated around them, the gleam in their frigid gaze.
They rushed her at once, their ebony maws extended, black fangs flashing. She sidestepped them easily, her movements graceful and light, and her blade sung as it cut through them. The creatures wailed--a terrible, unnatural cry--and their skin seemed to boil as her magic tore them apart.
“Then help me understand.” she pleaded, landing gracefully on the other side of him and slashing out toward his wings. Her blade found purchase near his shoulder and she felt herself slice through bone as twisted away from her.
As he whirled to face her, she caught a glimpse of an intricate tattoo on his arm. The mage did a double-take and, when she made out what it was, she suddenly understood. There were complicated runes and arcane circles etched in black onto his skin. They writhed and traded places, constantly forming new runes and sentences in an incredibly complex curse.
Sorrow speared her heart.
“You don’t have a choice, do you?” she asked, voice barely above a whisper.
She saw the muscles in his jaw tense, but he didn’t answer. Instead he rushed at her again, shadows trailing his ebony sword.
Their blades met again and again in a shower of sparks, each blow fiercer than the last, but she knew they were both holding back, exploring the others' new limits. This dance was for show, all part of a performance for an odious audience, and they demanded a grand finale.
“You can fight it, whatever it is.” she said, trying to appeal to whatever shred of him might have been left. “We can help you.”
“I don’t want to fight it. Not anymore.” he said evenly, a flick of his sword sending another wave of shadow creatures after her.
She honed her focus to a thin line, willing her magic to slice through them in blades of light. Her stance waivered, and even though she recovered quickly, she knew he’d seen it.
She was running out of time.
“Opposites were always meant to clash.” he said, his words heavy with acceptance. “This isn’t personal.”
Their magic seemed to agree, black and white spells crackling violently as they met each other. The world trembled.
Yet, there was still an allure there that she couldn’t explain. Her magic constantly reached out for him, as if his shadows were drawing her in. It was a forbidden siren’s song that she couldn’t resist. She knew he could feel it too, like the pull of weak magnets.
She remembered their many sparring matches in the courtyard, the smack of wooden swords echoing through the pavilion. He’d always let her win and she'd resented him for it. She’d attacked violently, foolishly, with everything she had and despite her planning and power, he’d sidestepped it all with ease.
“You’re too predictable.” he’d said, laughing as he brushed away her spells.
“It should have worked.” she’d insisted. “I studied which moves would be most effective, my swings were accurate--”
“A battle is more than just magic theory. I can read your every move. Come on, try again. And this time surprise me.”
Tears stung her eyes. Those friendly matches had all led up to this, to the clash of steel and forbidden spells.
We were destined to grow up. To grow apart.
They had always been equal opposites, even before his magic was corrupted, but he had spent his time sharpening his sword while she’d only dulled hers.
The war had changed her. She’d lashed out at everything, everyone, in a blind attempt at revenge for all she’d lost. She didn’t care about the secrets of magic, didn’t care about the pursuit of knowledge, didn’t even care about protecting those she had left. She was hurting and all she wanted was to make others hurt too. It had cost her everything, including the control over the white magic she’d once been so proud of.
She’d forgotten his lessons, and all she had left was a broken shell of herself that was as hollow as the soldiers he now commanded.
As she stood staring at him, both of them panting and bloodied, she realized that he, too, felt the sting of loss. This new magic, this incredible dark power, must have cost him everything. He was no longer Corvus Etiari, not truly. Now he was something more. Something that even he, the greatest mage the world had ever seen, couldn’t control.
“Stay away from her!”
She turned to see Zune running toward her, his giant sword in hand. Relief flooded through her, but it was short-lived when she saw his expression. The knight stopped in his tracks when he saw Corvus, his jaw dropping in shock and his eyes wide with horror. It looked like he’d seen a ghost, and to him, he probably had.
She smiled sadly. Poor Zune, always trying to save the day.
“Run.” she said, lifting her free hand toward him. Live.
A curtain of light materialized between them, opalescent and shifting like the aurora. It was too high and too wide to cross. She could hear him yelling from the other side, see the fury on his features, but it was too muffled to hear.
If nothing else, she could grant him this small kindness. If he survived, the rebellion would carry on. It would grow and flourish into an organization that could perhaps, one day, rival the obsidian soldiers.
They would have hope.
Corvus laughed, the sound rich and chilling, but its bitter edge wasn’t lost on her.
“You should run, too.” he said slowly. There was reluctance in his gaze, but finality in his words.
The white mage just continued to smile as she returned her attention to him, a tear finally falling free down her cheek.
“We both know I can’t.”
She spread her wings and gathered what little energy she had left as she leapt into the air, weaving a spell around herself that made her entire form glow.
The black knight set his jaw and said nothing as he followed suite, his wings dark agaist the moon. She could sense the change in him, could feel the magic that he’d been trying so hard to restrain now running wild and unleashed. It rose off his wings and coiled down his sword like a creeping fog, wrapping him in a blanket of darkness. It stole the remorse from his pallid gaze, leaving nothing but the cold.
He’d made his choice, or perhaps he had just finally lost the fight against himself.
She felt weightless as she met him, their blades crossed in an explosion of light and dark. She was a blazing sun against the vast darkness of space, a beacon to light the way. The shockwave of their collision expanded to consume everything around them, tendrils of white and black ripping into the already destroyed city.
She didn’t care -- her magic was free and powerful, the warmth of the sun bright on her skin.
For the first time in many years, it felt right. It finally felt like it was hers.
But she felt her grip falter. Her sword slipped from her hand, its white blade glinting in the sun as it flew away from her, and she barely had time to gasp before she felt warmth spread across her chest.
Her gaze slipped downward and she blinked numbly at the sight of the onyx blade that sat beneath her ribcage.
Strange. She thought hazily, her ruby lips parted in a tiny “o” of surprise. I thought it would hurt more.
The light burned and pulsed, bathing the ruins of Jericho in ghostly white, before it began to waiver and dim. All she could see was Corvus’ face in the dying light, his eyes wide with what she could only believe was shock. She dimly felt the sensation of falling, and she smiled as stared up at the stars.
She’d always been most comfortable in the air. What was a freefall, if not flying?
Someone was calling out to her, their voice desperate and ragged, but it was too far away for her to hear.
“No, don’t go--please don’t go.”
But she had to. Her death was the beginning of something more, of something greater. Magic like hers was never meant to be in the hands of mortals.
The darkness settled, silent and final, as the last rays of light flickered out. The obsidian soldiers and the newly cursed lay on the streets beside the corpses of Jericho, all of them dead, and the only sound was the gentle crackle of the black flames as they continued to burn.
