Page 108 of King Foretold
That can’t be right. No way did a flesh wound hold him off all this time.
Think.
From his agonized scream, I knew I wounded Daeseong, but I didn’t know how or how much. I didn’t care beyond the fact that I had bought myself time to say goodbye to the kid.
Draco.
I bite the insides of my cheeks. I will grieve them like they deserve once I kill the dark mudang.
Think, Sunny.
That wasn’t a flesh wound. I must have ... Did I cut the dark mudang’s hand clean off? That has to be it. He must be massaging his wrist because he’s getting accustomed to the feel of a new appendage.
Fuck yeah.
Daeseong is vulnerable to the sword of light. Its blade reaches beyond his skin and cuts into his essence. And it took him real time to heal—not mere seconds butminutes. That’s why he didn’t attack sooner. Because hecouldn’t.
The sword of light makes Daeseong as killable as me—not easy, but also not impossible.Thatis the power of the sword forged from sacrifice and hope.
Thank you, Samshin Halmeom. Thank you, Draco.
Now, I just have to wound him badly enough and quickly enough to kill him before he can heal himself.
I lean down and press a quick kiss on the kid’s forehead. They’re still warm, and it hurts so much that I claw at my chest, my nails breaking skin. I don’t want to leave their side, but I have to do as they asked. I have to go kick ass.
I rise to my feet and stalk toward Daeseong, drawing an infinity sign in the air with the sword of light.
Think, Sunny.
I realize I was wrong. The sword might look like my hwando, but it doesnotfeel the same. It’s lighter in weight, but it takes more force to swing it, like the blade iscuttingthe molecules in the air, not just moving through it. With slow, deliberate movements, I familiarize myself with the weight and feel of the sword of light.
“You have the Gwangdo.” The dark mudang watches me with sharp interest.
“We haven’t named it yet.” I offer him a vicious smile, shoving down my trepidation. “But theAmheuk Killerhas a nice ring to it, don’t you think?”
Daeseong doesn’t answer. I guess he’s done playing for the night.
He gathers the darkness into his hands and raises his arms to attack. But I don’t give him the fucking privilege. With light-blurring speed, I leap into the air and come down on him, slicing my sword in a long horizontal line across his chest. I hear the hiss of burning skin even before the dark mudang stumbles back.
“This is certainly ... interesting,” he grunts, staring at the gaping gash in his chest. “I wasn’t expecting a challenge.”
“Nah.” I shake my head. “I still don’t see a challenge here.”
I twist and spin, slashing the sword nonstop, encouraged by the black smoke seeping out of his wounds. He lashes out with bruising blows that slow me down, but I don’t stop the onslaught of attacks. Not until my lungs burn and my limbs shake from fatigue.
At last, I leap back and admire my handwork with my head cocked to the side. The dark mudang looks like Frankenstein’s monster before his creator stitched him together—a veritable patchwork of flapping, slashed skin. And black smoke oozes out of the gashes like dark blood.
“Cease,” he booms and reaches out a dark tentacle to grab my sword arm.
I scream in pain as the darkness singes me to my bones. But I don’t drop my sword. I’ve been told I have a stubborn streak. With a twist, I spin the hilt of the sword in my hand to switch to an underhanded grip and slash upward at the darkness wrapped around my arm.
The tentacle snaps back against Daeseong like a contracting rubber band, and he staggers on his feet. Baring his teeth in feral anger, he spreads his fingers toward me.
My breath catches in my throat as four shadowy arrows pierce me across my chest and shoulders, one buried in each end of my collarbone and the other two at the junctions where my shoulders meet my arms. My head spins, and I fall to my knees, stabbing my sword into the ground to stop myself from collapsing.
I feel the darkness suctioning my life—my light—out of me again, but this time it absorbs my gi through the blood pooling at my wounds. The Yeoiju is not a little pearl I could pluck out of me and hand over. Its magic lives in my very blood. The bastard is trying to absorb my very being.
I roar with fury. I swipe my sword across the row of dark arrows and scream in pain. Daeseong screams as well and stumbles to one knee, cradling his fingers against his chest.
