Page 98 of Magic in My Bones

But just as the chain was about to strike the ritual circle, a blast of Dorian’s magic sent Alistair careening into its path. The runes along the chain flared with blinding intensity as they made contact with his grotesque flesh, searing into his skin like white-hot brands.

Alistair let out an inhuman shriek of pain and rage, his bulbous eyes bulging even further from their sockets. Viscous, dark blood oozed from the wounds, splattering onto the stone floor in thick, ropey strands. To my horror, the droplets fell directly onto the pulsing lines of the ritual circle, causing them to flare with a sickening, crimson light.

“You fool,” Alistair gurgled, his voice a wet, bubbling rasp. “Do you have any idea what you've done?”

Vane's face contorted with a mix of disbelief and fury as he stared at the now glowing ritual circle. “The blood,” he snarled. “It wasn't supposed to be his. You've ruined everything!”

The ground beneath my feet began to tremble, a deep, bone-rattling vibration that sent shivers racing up my spine. The ritual circle pulsed with an angry, crimson light, the runes twisting and warping before my eyes. I stumbled back, nearly losing my footing as the stone floor heaved like the deck of a ship in a storm.

“Ren!” Dorian shouted, his voice barely audible. His arms closed around me and he pulled me back.

The air grew thick and heavy, pressing down on me like a physical weight. It was hard to breathe, hard to think, as an overwhelming sense of wrongness pervaded the chamber.

And then, with a deafening crack, the center of the ritual circle split open, a jagged fissure that raced across the stone like a lightning bolt. From the depths of that unnatural chasm, a geyser of brackish water erupted, spraying the room with a foul-smelling mist that clung to my skin and clothes.

The geyser of water settled into a large, undulating shape, its movements strange and unnatural. A hulking form emerged, its outline shifting and unsteady, with dark, glistening scales catching the dim light. The air around us seemed to grow colder, the very atmosphere thickening as if reality itself was bending in the creature's presence.

Dagon had arrived.

Beside me, Dorian stood motionless, his breath caught in his chest. I could understand why. The sight before us was beyond anything our minds had prepared for. He was indescribable, and yet my mind scrambled to make sense of this nonsensical being from the depths.

Alistair’s face went pale, his eyes wide with raw panic. He staggered back, his body convulsing as he tried to flee, but hissteps were clumsy. His hands grasped at nothing, his breath ragged as he fell to his knees.

A black tentacle snaked out from the shifting form, coiling around Alistair’s waist with unnatural speed. His screams faltered as the tentacle tightened, its grip unyielding.

The last thing I saw was the look of pure terror on Alistair’s face before the tendrils drew him into the creature’s vast, shadowed form. The air filled with an eerie, final silence, and the ground seemed to tremble as it consumed him.

The creature let out a low, rumbling sound that was almost like a contented burp, and the air seemed to shift, the oppressive weight of its presence easing, if only slightly. With a final, lingering glance at the scene before it, Dagon began to retreat back into the depths from which it had emerged. Its massive form undulated, disappearing into the shadows of the ocean with an eerie grace, leaving nothing behind but ripples on the water’s surface and the scent of brine in the air.

A chill ran through me as the silence stretched on. Dorian's hand found mine in the darkness.

Dean Vane, having watched Alistair's fate unfold before him, seemed to snap out of his stunned stupor. His eyes flickered with panic, and in a desperate, jerky motion, he turned and fled the way he’d come. His footsteps were hurried and erratic, his mind clearly scrambling to escape whatever horrors he had just witnessed.

But before he could get far, a low hum filled the air. It was soft, almost imperceptible at first, like the vibration of the earth itself. Rowan stepped forward, a calm, predatory look in their eyes. The air around them seemed to ripple, like a distortion in the fabric of reality itself.

“Stop,” Rowan's voice cut through the tension, and with it, the world seemed to pause. Dean Vane froze mid-step, his body stiffening as if he were suddenly caught in an invisible net.

The psychomancy magic flowed from Rowan like a silent storm, wrapping around Vane's mind, dampening his will, subduing his movements. His face went slack, his eyes glassy and unseeing, as though he'd been struck by some unseen force. The panic on his face faded into something more blank, less human.

“You're not going anywhere,” Rowan added, their tone cold but oddly gentle. “Except to stand before the council to answer for your crimes.”

With Alistair devoured by the eldritch horror he had sought to control, and Dean Vane held captive by Rowan's psychomancy, an eerie calm settled over the chamber. My heart still raced, my mind reeling as it tried to process the rapid succession of events.

I turned to Dorian, seeking comfort in his presence. His face was pale, his eyes wide with shock, but when our gazes met, I saw a flicker of relief, of pride. He pulled me into a tight embrace, his warmth chasing away the lingering chill of Dagon's presence.

“You did it, Ren,” he murmured into my hair. “You stood your ground. You were magnificent. I’m so proud of you.”

I clung to him, burying my face in his chest as the adrenaline began to ebb, leaving me shaky and exhausted. “I couldn't have done it without you,” I whispered. “Without any of you.”

Cassian approached, his large hand coming to rest on my shoulder. “You've got a strength in you, kid. Don't ever forget that.”

I nodded, feeling a swell of gratitude and affection for my friends, my mentors, my chosen family. We had faced the unimaginable together and emerged victorious, though the cost had been high.

My gaze drifted to the shimmering remains of the ritual circle, the runes now dull and lifeless. The Chain of Echoes lay whereit had fallen, the silver links glinting in the dim light. I stepped forward, bending to pick it up with a trembling hand.

The spirits within were silent now, their anguish and rage quelled by the destruction of the circle. I could feel their presence still, a gentle hum of energy that pulsed in time with my own heartbeat.

“What do we do with it now?” I asked, turning to face the others. “The Chain, the spirits... we can't just leave them like this.”

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