Page 167 of A Dawn of Gods & Fury

The hairs on my body rise as I realize what it is—the entrance to the Nulling that we arrived through, that he is now leading us back into. I reach for my affinities, but they are gone, my access cut off.

“What are we doing here?” I ask, my dread growing.

“Sometimes my subjects need guidance to emerge. We will wait until one senses me. It should not be too long.” Malachi is at ease in this place between realms, this hell without time or dimension.

I search the murkiness. I don’t know what’s more disorienting—that I am basically blind to the dangers around us or that I cannot defend myself once they come. This feels like falling from the sky and not knowing when or if I’ll ever reach the bottom.

Much like falling into the rift, I suppose.

It’s the breathing I hear first—a raspy, guttural, inhuman sound.

The stench of rotting flesh hits me next.

And then suddenly, the beast looms before us, its red eyes glowing within the mist.

My mouth goes bone-dry. This is not the first time I’ve faced a daaknar at Malachi’s request, but I’ve never been this close, and certainly not without a way to defend myself.

“Come, my loyal servant,” Malachi croons in a soothing voice, leading me backward with slow, easy steps. “I have a job for you.”

With a deep, rumbling snarl, the daaknar follows on sinewy hind legs, its tattered wings hanging limp from its back. This one’s skin looks especially charred, the pale-yellow pus oozing from the cracks like dribbles of custard.

“I thought they lived in Azo’dem,” I whisper, afraid that speaking too loudly will goad it to lunge. We are utterly defenseless here. Has Malachi lost his mind?

“They do, but I cannot summon them within my current form.”

“So you sent them to the Nulling to wait for you.” Clever fate.

“Yes. I have found them very useful in this realm. The Saur’goths are effective and listen to my commands, but they are not invincible. These special creatures, on the other hand, do not fall to a blade and strike fear like none other.”

He is right about that. My heart is racing.

“They do not like it in the Nulling, but they know I am their way out, so they will not attack us while we’re in here. Shield now,” he commands as the fog dissipates.

I reach for my affinities and they leap to me, forming a barrier just as the daaknar charges, its fangs slamming into the invisible block. That only angers it more, and as we move backward and away, I extend the shield to protect us on all sides.

It quickly loses interest in us, swinging its attention to the waiting Saur’goths. They’ve barely drawn their swords when it reaches the first, tearing off its arm with its barbed claws. Two others sink blades into its flesh. It releases a pained roar that reverberates through the cavern before raking its claw across their stomachs, cutting through armor to spill their innards onto the stone.

Idiots. They could stab it a thousand times and it will not die. Now, it is even angrier.

“Drop the shield,” Malachi commands, and I do so reluctantly, ready to rearm.

“Enough!” A flaming whip materializes, striking the daaknar’s wings, earning a deafening screech as it veers its hateful gaze back to us.

A silver cord of power waits at my fingertips, ready to unleash and send it back to Azo’dem. It takes everything in my power to keep from lashing out.

“Obey me!” Malachi booms, cracking his flaming whip again.

I recoil on instinct. If I close my eyes, I can see the Fate of Fire standing before my crumbling sanctum, a menacing form of blazing horns and dominance.

The daaknar answers with a snarl, its lips curling back to flaunt its yellowed fangs. But then it lumbers over to the open cage, climbing in.

My heart thumps in my ears as the Saur’goths latch the door shut and, collecting the metal poles, lift the beast to carry it toward the passage back to Cirilea.

“Our entertainment for tonight is secured.” Malachi smooths his palm over my back.

I beam up at him while inside, a voice screams.

“See? Not an empty seat. This is what the people wanted.” Malachi throws a casual hand toward the crowded arena before leaning back in his chair, holding up his wine goblet in the air, his wordless demand for the servants to refill it.

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