Page 112 of Cursed

This was nothing new. Lucian had commanded us to kill on more occasions than I could remember.

But as Bastian did, I caught a flicker of something in his pale eyes—confusion?Doubt?It vanished too quickly for certainty, swallowed up by the dark thrill that animated him. His hand twitched, and his fingers curled as the black and gray smoke of his magic burst forth—but the moment seemed suspended, stretched thin between intention and uncertainty.

“Why do you hesitate?” Lucian’s voice rang out, and I noticed the way Valen flinched at his tone.

“I’m not,” Bastian replied, but his tone was too casual. Yet I sensed the tremor beneath his bravado, a tiny crack in the façade. With brutal efficiency, he approached the crumpled form of Elder Craster, who lay trembling, desperate eyes darting between us and Lucian.

“Please... I can still serve our cause!” Fear choked Craster’s voice; his impending doom had crushed whatever defiance might have been left in him.

“Your time is up, old man.” Bastian’s voice had turned sharp as he raised his hand.

“Get it over with,” I muttered.

Bastian’s jaw tightened as the tendrils of his magic wrapped around the old man’s slender form and lifted him from the stone floor.

Craster’s scream shattered the silence, a raw wail that echoed against the rough walls, and reverberated through me.

Bastian’s lips drew back, baring his teeth, as he lunged forward again. He concentrated the force of his magic upon the Elder, but there was an uncharacteristic weakness in his movements, and the strands of his magic seemed paler.

“Valen!” I hissed, motioning for my brother. “He’s losing control.”

Valen hesitated and his brow furrowed as he watched Bastian grapple with the Elder’s thrashing body.

“Valen!”

My voice snapped him from his stupor, and he rushed forward, hands glowing faintly blue as he attempted to channel his magic and assist Bastian. I glanced at our father and noted the twitch in Lucian’s brow, but he didn’t move.

As Valen reached out, I saw that the muted blue glow of his magic failed to ignite fully; and the tendrils of smoke flickered as they coiled around the Elder’s limbs.

“Help him!” I barked in frustration as I clenched my fists.

Craster’s screams renewed, and he writhed under the torturous power my brothers wielded. But it wasn’t enough.

“Come on, Bastian. Finish it!” Valen’s voice was strained and there was a horrified gasp from one of the members of the Council as the Elder’s body contorted and his spine twisted.

The screams continued, a haunting melody that coiled around my thoughts and filled the room with anguish.

What had gone wrong? Why did our powers wane when they should have surged?

“Do it!” I shouted. The urge to intervene clawed at me. The urgency of the moment wrapped itself around my throat, choking any lingering hesitation.

“Shut up!” Bastian spat. His face was a mask of concentration and fury, yet his grip on the Elder faltered. “I’m trying!”

“Try harder!” I growled. The vault seemed smaller now, suffocating, as if the shadows themselves conspired against us.

As Craster’s cries spiraled into a crescendo, I realized we were teetering on the precipice of chaos—if this execution failed, Lucian would blame us.

This should have been a show of power and control.

Instead, it was a horror show.

I reached behind my back to my knife. The blade slid from my belt with a sickening ease and gleamed under the dim glow of the torches that flickered against the stone walls of the vault. A dark tide seemed to rise as Bastian hesitated once more, and his hands trembled slightly.

Valen’s teeth were bared, but his stance wavered.

What was happening?

The Elder’s eyes were white, rolled back in his head, and his mouth was slack, showing his yellowed teeth. If he could speak, he would plead for mercy, but it was too late for weakness. There would be no mercy here.

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