Page 105 of Forging Darkness

Seraphim dips her chin in agreement, the chilling psycho-smile back in place. “She’ll be released and deposited wherever she wants to go.”

As my resolve starts to harden, a strange sort of peace folds me in a tight embrace.

I don’t want to die. I really don’t. Every living creature is built with the innate desire to survive and I’m no different. But I never thought my life would count for much. Giving it to save an innocent is a more noble way to go than most.

“Legion, are you well enough to perform the ceremony?”

Legion lumbers forward, tearing the pieces of what’s left of his shirt off as he passes me. His facial burns are deep red, but the skin has knit itself together. His back is not pretty. The damage there is much more severe. Skin is bubbled and blackened, split open and oozing black blood.

“It would be my pleasure,” he snarls in my direction.

Seraphim’s fingers twist in the child’s hair, getting a firmer grip. “After you.”

Chapter Thirty-Three

It takes only moments to reach the red draped platform. Silver no longer stands on top, but instead watches from the side. I follow Legion to the middle, his mangled back leading the way until he stops and turns to face me.

We wait as Seraphim drags the girl over and secures her to the side of the platform. As a shackle is snapped around her petite wrist over her threadbare shirt, I half-wonder if the child could simply slip her hand through the manacle. But even if she could, where would she go?

Finally released from Seraphim’s grasp, the girl sinks to the ground and rolls into a ball. The only parts of her visible to me are her rounded back and blonde head. My gaze remains on the poor child until Seraphim joins us.

“This isn’t exactly how I planned this,” she says on a huff. “But let’s move forward anyway.”

Legion stands to my right and Seraphim’s left. Mimicking Silver’s actions from earlier, he lays a hand on both our shoulders. His grip on me is biting, but I don’t show it bothers me.

When several moments pass without anything happening, I chance a look around. Full night has fallen, the spectrum sky having darkened to a puzzle of dark indigo and deep purple splotches poked with crimson starlight.

The moon is large and bright, but torches are being lit throughout the arena. Silver and a few other Forsaken place them around the platform. The blue flames light the platform for the spectators.

The crowd is in an unusually somber mood as they wait for the ceremony to continue. Once the last torch is placed into the sand, Legion starts talking.

I squeeze my eyes closed, not wanting to see the look of satisfaction on Seraphim’s face, but Legion’s voice—even uttering the alien words—sounds too much like Steel’s.It’s not him. It’s not him. It’s not him, I chant over and over to myself. Even so, I have to take a look at his altered visage to remind my heart he’s truly gone, or else I may beg for him to stop.

The unknown words he utters are filled with spite and hate. I don’t need to know the meaning to understand the intention behind them. His fangs have shrunk in size, but still poke into his bottom lip on certain words.

Looking into the dark abyss of his gaze, I think,whatever happens next, I’ll find you, Steel.

“This is my favorite part,” Seraphim whispers to me conspiratorially as the cyclone starts at her feet and steadily moves up her body.

A tugging sensation begins low in my belly, and despite my former belief that I’m resolved to my fate, my body jerks, rejecting what’s about to happen.

My breathing increases tenfold and sweat begins to bead at the back of my neck.

Legion’s words spill from his lips—Steel’s lips—every syllable slamming into my chest with the force of a physical blow.

Seeing my distress, Seraphim laughs. The sound is husky and soon swallowed by the funnel of air that wraps around her head. She’s still visible through the wind, but her features are distorted.

The feeling of being pulled from my body intensifies even as the Enochian language Legion speaks pounds into me.

The pain is like nothing I’ve ever experienced before. I’m being struck by a hundred fists while invisible hands reach inside, wrenching my soul from its bodily shell.

I want to fall and curl into a ball, but my legs are frozen, captured in the cyclone making its way up my legs.

I don’t want to do this. I can’t do this. I change my mind. But it’s too late.

My power builds as the ceremony continues. Molten lava runs through my veins, adding the agony of fire to the other sensations.

Whatever magic facilitates the merge reaches my chest. Across from me, Seraphim’s form begins to blur.

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