Page 85 of Sundered By Fate

A section of the ceiling began to collapse, and Aric tackled Valerian out of the way. They tumbled to the ground, the energy ribbons swirling around them in a dizzying array of colors.

"Valerian!" Aric shouted, his voice barely audible over the roar of the rift. "You have to stop this—we can't control it!"

Valerian's eyes were wild, his pupils black pinpricks in a sea of white. "No, you don't understand! This is it—this is what we were searching for all along!"

The workshop's fabric buckled around them, the air vibrating with an awful tension. But while Valerian saw only the power at his disposal, Aric felt the rift's resonance with the other anomalies throughout the city. The Silver Tower's weapon, the breach at Thornhaven, the ley line surges they'd encountered on the way here—each one a node in a vast, interconnected network of unstable energy.

A weapon, yes, and a terribly tempting one at that. But it was a blade with no edge, no point; only a chaotic, destructive force that would tear apart anything it touched. The thought of tapping into that network, of using it against their enemies, sent a shiver down Aric's spine. But the destruction it would unleash—he couldn't even begin to fathom it.

No, they had to find another way.

Aric gritted his teeth and struggled against the inhibitor cuffs. If he could just get free, then maybe, just maybe?—

But before he could act, a wave of raw energy slammed into him, hurling him across the workshop floor. He skidded to a stop against one of the racks of weapons, the metal digging into his back.

Aric spotted the replica of the divine sword, the Blade of Sun's Dawn, in the corner of the workshop. With all the movement and chaos, it had fallen off its rack, the intricate sigils carved into its head glinting in the violet energy suffusing the air. And despite the pure chaos happening all around, thehammer seemed to be glowing with a soft golden light. It called to Aric, almost magnetic in its pull. Aric's heart twisted in his chest. A weapon of unimaginable power, Valerian said, and he'd taken great pains to try to infuse it with some of the power of the original—power, Aric suspected, that could close the rift, or destroy everything it touched.

Without thinking, Aric surged forward, his hand outstretched, the inhibitor cuffs searing at his flesh. The demons snarled and lunged at him, their claws raking against his armor, but he ignored the pain, the chaos, the threat of the rift.

He just had to reach it.

The world narrowed to the point of the hammer as he dove through the demons, ignoring the shouts and cries of the soldiers, the churn of the rift behind him. The air rippled and tore around him, the violet energy lashing at his skin, but he commanded himself to keep moving, to keep reaching.

He clawed his way through the demons, boots skidding on the glass shards and energy residue.

With fingers slicked with demon blood, Aric grasped the sword's hilt.

Power surged through him like a dam breaking, divine energy flowing through his veins in a golden rush.

A crunch.

A blinding, searing pain as if Aric had plunged his hands into open flame.

And then the inhibitor cuffs shattered, the metal disintegrating into motes of light. The golden radiance poured out of him, illuminating the workshop with withering light.

Aric roared as pain lanced through his back, the force of the magic tearing through him. A moment later, golden wings burst forth, unfurling with a mighty flap. He rose into the air, the sword blazing with holy fire, as the demons scattered before him.

Their cries were drowned out by the thundering of his heart, the wild rush of energy singing in his ears. Aric felt the divine power coursing through every fiber of his being, a force of nature made manifest.

He turned his new eyes to the rift, and saw the threads of magic that wove through it, the currents that fed its violent expansion. He could feel the resonance of the anomalies scattered across the city, a web of unstable energy that threatened to tear their world asunder.

Aric soared into the air, wings beating with divine fire. The inhibitor cuffs fell away, clattering to the ground. With each swing of the sword, he sealed another tear in reality, cutting off the demonic reinforcements before they could pour through.

He tore through the workshop's ruins and hurtled into the sky over the palace. Below, the courtyard roiled with chaos, soldiers and demons locked in battle. Aric's heart twisted at the sight, but he had to focus on the larger threat—the rifts themselves.

He dove toward the rift in the courtyard, the sword's golden flame searing through the air. With a single swing, he sealed the tear, the demonic energy dissipating into nothingness. The demons' cries of rage and despair echoed in his ears, but he ignored them, his mind a singular focus.

Another rift beckoned, this time along the streets of Astaria. The demons were pouring out of the tear, clawing their way through stone and flesh alike. Aric banked hard, his wings straining as he tore through the air, and brought the sword down in a sweeping arc.

The rift snapped shut with a howl of displaced air, the demons caught on this side of the tear screaming in despair. Aric didn't stop to watch their fates; there were too many more rifts to close.

He soared through the city, sealing rift after rift. The sword felt right in his hand, as if it had been waiting for him all this time. And as he fought, he felt something stirring inside him, like a long-dormant part of himself awakening.

As the last rift sealed shut, the remaining demons fell back in disarray, leaving only Malekith and his personal guard. Aric descended to face them, his angelic wings shedding feathers of golden light. The sword in his hand—no, a hammer, now—thrummed with power, begging to be unleashed.

But seeing Malekith here, now—after all they had been through, all the memories that had haunted Aric's dreams—he faltered. The words he had sworn to Malekith all those months ago burned in his mind; the promise of vengeance, of retribution, that he had made so long ago.

And yet, looking into those dark eyes now, Aric felt none of it. Only a raw wound, a dull ache that he longed to soothe.

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