Page 96 of Eclipse Born

He crashed to the ground, his perfect composure shattered. Before he could recover, I was on him, moving with a speed and fluidity that didn't feel human. Each strike was calculated, deadly, fueled by something beyond my control. My vision pulsed red with each heartbeat, the mark on my chest burning so hot I thought it might incinerate me from within.

“What are you doing?” Asmodeus hissed, blocking a flurry of attacks that would have overwhelmed any lesser being. “You'll destroy yourself.”

I didn't answer. Couldn't answer. The power rushing through me was intoxicating, terrible and beautiful at once. It felt right in a way that terrified some distant, still-rational part of my mind. This was what I was meant for. This was what the mark had been preparing me for all along.

Sean and Cassiel joined the assault, their attacks synchronized with mine as if we shared a single mind. Sean drove his silver blades into Asmodeus's side while the demon was distracted by my onslaught. Cassiel's angel blade pierced the demon's shoulder, pinning him momentarily to the stone floor.

Asmodeus roared, his perfect facade crumbling further to reveal scales and horns beneath the human skin. His eyes blazed with hellfire, no longer bothering to maintain their golden hue. With a surge of demonic strength, he threw Cassiel aside and kicked Sean across the ritual circle.

But I didn't relent. Couldn't relent. The mark's power had me firmly in its grip now, driving me forward even as my body screamed with exhaustion. I struck again and again, the Heavenly Lash burning brighter with each contact, leaving smoking furrows across Asmodeus's increasingly inhuman form.

For the first time, genuine fear crossed the demon prince's face. He tried to retreat, to regroup, but I gave him no quarter. The Lash wrapped around his throat, celestial fire burning thedemonic flesh beneath. He clawed at it, black blood pouring from his injuries.

“This won't save you,” he gasped, voice distorted by pain and fury. “Even if you kill me, the ritual has begun. The Heart responds to blood. Any blood.”

I didn't care. In that moment, consumed by the mark's power and my own rage, I wanted nothing more than to watch him die. To make him pay for Hawk, for all the others who had suffered because of his schemes.

With a final, desperate lunge, I drove my silver blade through Asmodeus's chest. The air crackled with power, my mark flaring like an inferno beneath my shirt. The pain was exquisite, transcendent, a burning that consumed without destroying.

Asmodeus's eyes widened, not with pain but with a terrible recognition. “Finally,” he whispered, blood bubbling between perfect teeth. His hand shot out, grasping my wrist with surprising strength. “She'll be so pleased.”

Then his body collapsed, black blood pooling across the ritual sigils on the floor. The golden lines absorbed it eagerly, as if they had been designed specifically for this moment. The Heart, still exposed in its open box, began to pulse faster, brighter, responding to the demon prince's death.

The red haze receded from my vision, the mark's power withdrawing like a tide. I staggered back, suddenly aware of the throbbing pain in my ribs, the cuts and bruises covering my body. My legs threatened to give out, muscles trembling from exertion beyond human limits.

Sean exhaled a ragged breath of exhaustion and relief, one hand pressed to his bleeding side. “Is it over?” he asked, voice rough.

But Cassiel's eyes had widened in horror. “No,” he breathed, watching as Asmodeus's blood seeped into the sigils, completingpatterns that had been dormant until now. The ritual absorbed it, each line lighting up in sequence as the blood touched it.

“Get back!” Cassiel shouted, already moving toward us. “Get away from the circle!”

Too late, I understood. This had never been about stopping Asmodeus. This had been about using him. Using us. The ritual didn't care whose blood activated it—only that the blood contained power. And what could be more powerful than the death of a demon prince?

I staggered back, the mark on my chest suddenly cold, a sharp contrast to the burning heat of moments before. My vision swam, darkness closing in at the edges. I realized with dawning horror that my actions had played directly into some larger plan.

The air split open at the center of the ritual circle, a fissure of darkness tearing through the space where Asmodeus had fallen. The Heart pulsed once, twice, then shattered, fragments of otherworldly matter flying outward like shrapnel. A wave of power erupted from the breach, knocking us all backward with concussive force.

I slammed into stone again, my already injured ribs cracking further under the impact. The world spun, consciousness threatening to flee. Through dimming vision, I saw the darkness at the center of the ritual grow, expand, take form.

Something was coming through. Something ancient and terrible and patient. The First Nephilim, the being that angels and demons alike had conspired to keep imprisoned.

And then, from within the ritual circle, a deep, resonant voice whispered—words that seemed to bypass my ears and speak directly to my soul, to the mark that had always connected me to forces beyond my understanding.

“I am free.”

The darkness solidified, taking form—a man of impossible beauty and terrible power, his eyes holding the wisdom andcruelty of eons. He looked directly at me, recognition in his ageless gaze.

“Hello, child,” he said, voice like velvet over steel.

25

RECKONING

SEAN

Ipulled myself up from the cold stone, my body protesting every movement. The taste of blood filled my mouth, metallic and warm. Every instinct screamed at me to run, to grab Cade and get the hell out of there, but I couldn't move. Not yet. Not when the air itself seemed to congeal around us, thick with power older than civilization.

The darkness at the center of the ritual circle had solidified, taking shape. A man stood where Asmodeus had fallen, his blood still staining the ancient stones. But this was no ordinary man. Power radiated from him in visible waves, distorting the air like heat rising from summer asphalt. He was beautiful in the way a lightning strike is beautiful—awe-inspiring, perfect, and absolutely deadly.

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