Page 100 of Forging Darkness

“Steel, please keep fighting. Don’t give up on me now.”

Sad eyes connect with my own. He knows what I’m asking. I want him to fight the merge. To fight for control when the Fallen tries to take over his body.

“Emberly.” My name takes shape on his lips, but it’s uttered too softly to hear. He lifts his head higher and then shakes the hair from his face so I have the full effect of his striking teal gaze. “Don’t you know by now that I would do anything for you? I would search for a thousand years and tear down ten thousand doors to reach you. I’d rip the world apart and then find a way to stitch it back together if you willed it.” His Adam’s apple bobs when he swallows. “Please don’t ask this of me.”

His words rip me apart and put me back together. How is it possible to be utterly devastated yet filled with incandescent lightness at the same time?

A hot tear streaks down my cheek.

Steel’s eyes flare, his muscles straining as he pulls against his bindings to get a few inches closer to me. “Death isn’t powerful enough to extinguish the fire between us. This isn’t our end. If there’s anything I believe in, it’s that.”

A million unspoken things pass between us in that moment.

“How can you say these things and ask me to let you go so easily?”

“Because now you know that whatever happens, in whatever reality that exists after this one—I’ll wait for you.”

Chapter Thirty-One

Ahorn blares, and the intimate bubble I’ve imagined around us pops. The chaos of the spectrum world rushes at me on a growing roar from the crowd.

The battle among the Fallen has finished. A single blood-drenched combatant remains standing. From the look of the carnage scattered everywhere, it was a violent event. Various pieces of Fallen are littered over the arena floor. I can’t see the entire scene from my point-of-view, but it appears like a couple of the Fallen are still alive. I watch as a Fallen drags himself toward one of the dark arena tunnels—he’s missing a leg from the knee down and his wings hang akimbo.

The winner strides toward us, his hungry gaze locked on Steel—his victor’s prize. His gray skin is a macabre canvas for the oily blood splattered everywhere.

Reaching the platform he jumps up, only breaking his stare with Steel when Seraphim directs him to face the other direction and address the crowd.

“Legion,” Seraphim starts, “you have proven yourself the most worthy. As your reward for faithful service in my court, and for demonstrating the superiority of your combat skills this day, you may claim the cherub vessel.”

Seraphim throws her arm out with a flourish, arcing it up and then back toward Steel. Another sound wave erupts as the Fallen and Forsaken around the arena stomp their feet, roar, and screech their delight.

Steel has mustered the strength to stand tall with his head held high. Distain and disgust are the only emotions broadcasted on his face.

“Steel, what happens next?” I have to yell to him to be heard over the crowd.

He refocuses his attention from Seraphim and the Fallen—Legion—to me. “There isn’t a Nephilim still on this Earth who has witnessed a merging and lived to talk about it.”

In other words, he has no idea what comes next either.

“Tales of the process were considered too horrific to pass down through the generations.” Steel’s brow lowers, his eyes broadcasting the seriousness of his intent. “If presented with the opportunity, strike fast and true.”

He means for me to end him if the merge happens . . . no matter what the outcome.

I’m going to throw up. It doesn’t matter that my belly is empty, whatever digestive juices are currently burning a hole through my stomach lining are going to make an appearance any moment.

“The enchanter may come forward to start the ceremony!” Seraphim’s voice booms, and the coliseum quiets.

A red robed figure makes their way toward us from the edge of the arena. A large hood is pulled up and over their head, making it impossible to see who it is. Considering their height, I’m guessing it’s a Forsaken rather than Fallen.

Their steady steps are unhurried, as if they might be savoring each of these moments. It isn’t until they’re standing in front of the platform and pull back the hood that I see who is beneath the ceremonial garments.

Silver’s eyes shine with satisfaction. A tiny cat smirk curves her lips upward.

Steel’s cool finally breaks and he tugs and jerks against his bindings in a fruitless attempt to free himself.

A thin circlet of gilded leaves rings Silver’s hair like a halo. She’s swathed in a white linen dress. The hem brushes the tops of her sandal-clad feet. A completely ridiculous outfit for the weather, but she hardly seems to mind the cold. She’s probably warmed by the fire of revenge burning in her soul.

Skirting the platform, she ascends on the side and saunters toward Steel. Lavender snowflakes collect over her matted black hair and settle on the ends of her eyelashes before melting.

---