Page 61 of Shadow Fall: Part Two

Kill him now. The thought throbbed like an ache in my head, and I crossed the room before I’d even thought to throw up a shield. Kill him, kill him.

I lifted my hand, my heart skipping at the sight of a hundred runes covering my skin like tattoos, each symbol blazing ruby light. It was the only thing that wasn’t green in this place; even my skin took on a sick pallor. The sigils covered every bit of skin I could see, scattering crimson highlights over the sofa as I approached Cronus’s unconscious form, braced for him to spring up and attack me.

Was he weakened here? Or had coming to this place done the job and killed him for me?

Verena had said catch, and obviously thrown something, casting us into this fancy living room. I felt like a doll in a dollhouse, trapped until some giant kid came to play with me. Speaking of giants—Cronus was back to his normal size, only a few feet taller than me, but for some reason he was still made of deep, menacing shadows. I approached slowly, knife in hand, spiralling into my core of magic and so relieved to sense the now-familiar cocktail of power that my knees weakened.

A dozen different colours burst to life down my blade, thrashing like they were as furious—and terrified—as I was. I saw the blue of Cronus’s magic within it, the black of Erebus’s shadows, the vivid red of my own blood magic, and the unforgiving gold of Harvey’s sunlight. I kept a tight grip on my magic as I crept closer, my whole body tensed.

Looking down at Cronus in the semblance of sleep, my rage flashed higher, but so too did the ancient Fury that lived inside me. How dare he know peace when he’d made so many suffer? How dare he sleep when he’d deprived so many of sleep, of comfort, of food, of life? He needed to pay.

I sucked in a shallow breath as I took the last few steps, my skin tingling with apprehension, a deep primal warning in my gut. I needed to kill him, to restore balance, to deliver justice for everyone he’d hurt and murdered in the name of power.

The age of titans—that’s what he wanted. I would rip that dream from him. The second age of titans would never arrive. This was the age of fury.

Instinct made me flex my other hand, multicoloured flame roaring to life in my hand, its fire every bit as silent as the rest of this place. Only my soft footsteps and ragged breathing made noise, the clamour of the battle very far away. Like we were in our own little world.

A jolt of realisation made my heart thump. Our own little world… Wyn gave Verena that golden sphere, rumoured to make a pocket world about as big as a house. Or create an actual house that was its own world?

Verena did this. Weakened Cronus. The Fury in my soul cheered, and my blood quickened with its call to arms. Kill him, kill him once and for all.

I reached his shadow form, my heart beating a rapid tattoo against my ribs, and drove both flame and blade down into his body before I could hesitate. My palm met shadow, the volcanic blade driving into—nothing.

“You can’t believe I’d be so stupid,” Cronus drawled, his awful voice… not stabbing into my skull in its usual way. My ears didn’t bleed, and my nose didn’t trickle blood. His words didn’t pound through my skull like a drum. But his voice was every bit as wicked and smug, lacking a vital gleam of humanity that made people if not good then human. Made them a person.

I wasn’t sure what Cronus was after a thousand years festering in his own rage and self-importance in Tartarus. I wasn’t sure what all the unforgivable acts he’d committed made him into. Certainly not a person. Not even a villain. Toxic waste. Something to be incinerated so it could never harm anyone else.

I turned slowly, not giving him the satisfaction of spinning and letting my fear show. But I couldn’t mask my surprise when I saw him, not slick with shadow or even grand and dangerous like I’d seen him in the past, Erebus walking the pathways of Wane’s misery with me. Standing across the grand room was a man.

A smile curled my mouth, cruelty in its curve. Titans may not die, but men could.

“It was an illusion,” I guessed, gesturing with a fiery hand to where he’d slumped on the rug in front of the fire. Where he’d never been. As usual he’d hung back, watching, manipulating me from the side lines.

I took a step, reaching for more magic, pulling so much that my arms shook with the weight of it, the force of it pressing on my bones. This power hated Cronus, itching to wipe him off the face of the universe. I frowned at the bundle of rags in the crook of the bastard’s elbow, waiting for him to hurl it at me. What was it—grenades? A hundred throwing stars? Another trickery of time to fuck with my head?

I flexed my hand and speared a thought into my pit of rainbow rage, my smile deepening when the flames in my palm stretched into a circular disk big enough to protect my chest. A shield.1

“Parlour tricks,” Cronus sneered, matching my step. “But I assure you this is not a trick.” He tilted the pile of rags until I could see a tiny, screwed up face, closed eyes casting shadows from thick lashes, and the arch of a leathery wing just visible.

Despite myself, I slammed to a halt in the middle of the room. It’s not real. I knew that, but I couldn’t help the pain that drove through my heart like an arrow.

The veins of shadow in my shield throbbed, silently screaming. I sensed its urgency, felt its panic all the way through my body, and forced myself to take another step, to choke back the pain of losing Kaida and so many others. My hands shook harder, both with the weight of pulling up so much magic and with the emotional strain. I blinked and a tear rolled free, but I took another step.

“Parlour tricks,” I snarled, teeth bared. My breath came in short pants. “She’s not real.”

Cronus looked down at the small winged baby girl, a smile softening his tanned face. “Isn’t she?” he taunted, an eyebrow lifting when he shot me a wry glance. “Can you take that risk?”

My mates fought his endless army in the Damned Realm. Verena was there too, in the middle of all that slaughter. And here, a fragile seed of life had begun to grow within me. That was what I couldn’t risk. That was real, and vital, and the whole reason we’d walked back into this war—to protect it. To fight for a better life.

Cronus expected me to falter. He was so assured of it that he had a smug little smirk on his angular face. I blew it off when I brought my dagger around, winding it up like I was about to throw a javelin, and let out a blast of magic, using the blade’s tip to direct its flow. I didn’t even throw my knife; magic shot from me in a rapid explosion and caught the titan off guard.

When he stumbled back, I tore across the room to press the advantage, hitting him with burst after burst of multi-hued power so fast he couldn’t escape it. Each blow hit its target: his chest, his arm, his throat, his head.

His snarl of fury lacked its usual agonising effect and I grinned. Whatever Verena had done, we were evenly matched here. Without his usual parlour tricks, as he called them, what was he? A man with immense power, certainly, but my power was immense too. I carried the magic of all my mates and more. Magic that travelled through my family line, tracing all the way back to Cronus. No, further.

Erebus was one of the first beings to walk any realm, and I bore his shadows—in my pit of furious magic, in my shield and dagger, and in my womb where that fragile life grew. That was what he told me: any descendant of Wane would inherit his shadow. Magic that was so raw and potent that Cronus had spent a hundred years torturing my mate just for a sliver of it. He collapsed cities and rebuilt them, he formed an entire army, and he imprisoned and tortured an incalculable number of people with a sliver.

How much shadow did I have?

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