Page 101 of Angel in Absentia
“No,” Clea said, and shook her head. “Let’s do this.”
“It will be quick,” Ryson said and approached the door slowly. He drew his weapon—the cursed blade bound to him by blood and loss—and pressed it into a hollow at the center of the door.
He paused, looking at the weapon meaningfully before he whispered, “It’s time, Vanida. Farewell.” He then twisted the weapon powerfully.
For a heartbeat, nothing happened, and then Clea watched in awe as the soul seemed to drain from the end of the weapon. The doors broke open, splitting on either side and leaving the key in the center post.
A cold rush of air swept out, carrying the scent of dust, ruin, and something darker — something waiting. The walls fell loose and collapsed in all angles, shattering. All that remained at the center was a single stone coffin, coated in chains of gold and frost. Vanida’s soul continued to drain from the weapon and fill cracks toward the coffin, sinking into the chains that were laid across that final resting place.
Clea hesitated. The air cooled dramatically.
The hair at the back of her neck rose.
Prince’s mask shuddered, and she heard the hiss like an echo across the city before the coffin cracked in half.
My body.The voice washed across her with a chill and then Prince dissolved completely. A dark wind circled them, sucked violently into the coffin with a howl.
Thank you, Princess,he said.I always knew you could do it.
The coffin trembled.
A heartbeat later, it exploded.
A shockwave ripped through the clearing, sending vines and rubble hurtling outward. Clea threw up an arm, shielding her face as debris rained down around them, but Ryson had formed a dome of flickering curses that wrapped them both.
From the shattered remains of the coffin, something began to rise.
A figure—impossibly tall, impossibly thin—peeled itself out of the darkness. Its hair was long and silver, cascading down itsback like a shroud. It had no face. Only a smooth, pale mask of flesh, featureless and cold.
Its arms elongated as it moved, hands shifting into cruel shapes—blades, claws, whips of sinew and bone.
The air thickened, pressing against Clea’s lungs like a wet cloth. Massive, silver eyes opened on its fleshy façade and down its arms.
Ryson drew the weapon from the post and split it into two pieces, the hook and spire. They were weapons meant to fell a great evil, the evil that had first tried to break their world in a search, only to mend its own emptiness.
Its struggle was reflected in cien, reflected in the struggle of every Venennin, creatures who embodied its nature. The beasts rose from their hiding places with howls and roars, contorted souls screaming in discomfort.
Looking at this beast, she watched the god of the Venennin, the heart of cien manifested in physical form. At last, Prince had returned to his body, the body he craved with such depth that no other bodies could satisfy him.
In the moment, Clea was unsure if they’d taken a step toward saving the world or destroying it. She saw what had felled the four heroes all those years ago, dragging them into the darkness of their own despair.
“Stay in the wings,” Ryson said firmly. “This is going to take both of us. I’ll create an opening.”
“An opening for what?” she said back, her hands at the ready.
The creature turned its head toward them and smiled—a terrible, knowing smile that split its featureless face in half.
Then it moved.
With a shriek that tore through the stones themselves, it lunged—straight for Ryson.
Chapter 32
The Beast of Ages
yson moved the instant the creature struck.
His blade flashed, carving a line of light through the air, meeting the creature’s bladed arms with a clash that rang through the hollow bones of the city.
