Page 225 of The Ascended
"My guards captured this spy at the borders of Sundralis three days ago." Olinthar circled the prisoner like a predator.
The Shadowkin raised his head at the sound of Olinthar's voice.One eye had swollen shut, but the other fixed on me with unsettling clarity. His face bore marks of recent violence—split lip, bruised cheek, dried blood like oil at the corner of his mouth.
"He's been questioned thoroughly, but remains uncooperative." Olinthar stopped behind the prisoner, hands resting on its shoulders. "And now, he must face justice."
The implications hit me hard. "You want me to kill him."
"I want you to practice your gift on a being that deserves judgment." Olinthar's expression remained serene. "This is not an innocent, Thatcher. This is an enemy who would have brought harm to my domain and its people."
I stared at the Shadowkin, trying to see the threat Olinthar described. I saw only a beaten prisoner, bound and defenseless.
"I can't," I said.
Olinthar studied me, his golden eyes unreadable. "I understand. Taking a life, even one that deserves it, is never easy when they pose no immediate threat." He nodded. "Perhaps I misjudged your readiness."
Relief washed over me, quickly evaporating as Olinthar spoke again.
"Very well. We'll handle this another way." He moved to stand directly before the Shadowkin. "Since our guest refuses to share what he knows, and you refuse to grant him a swift end, we'll need to be more persuasive."
Before I could react, Olinthar raised his hand. Light gathered at his fingertips, white-hot and searing. He pressed his palm to the Shadowkin's chest.
The creature's scream tore through the chamber, scraping against my skull. The stench of burning flesh filled the air, thick and nauseating.
Bile rose in my throat as I fought to keep my expression neutral. Hatred threaded my skin, threatening to blow my cover.Thiswas the being my sister and I had sworn to destroy.
And here he stood, torturing a defenseless prisoner while I watched.
Olinthar withdrew his hand, the light fading. The Shadowkin slumped forward, ragged breaths hissing through clenched teeth. A handprint had been seared into his chest, its edges still glowing red.
"This is the fate that awaits any enemies of my realm, Thatcher." Olinthar's voice remained calm, like he was discussing the weather rather than torture. "I take no pleasure in it. But necessary actions rarely bring joy."
Liar. I'd seen the gleam in his eyes when the creature screamed, the curve of satisfaction on his lips. He enjoyed this display of power, this reminder of his absolute control.
He raised his hand again. The Shadowkin flinched, a whimper escaping his throat.
I wanted to stop him. But that would only reveal my true feelings. I remained where I stood, fists clenched at my sides, nails digging into my palms.
"Justice requires difficult decisions, Thatcher." Olinthar's gaze flicked to me, assessing my reaction. "Is it just to allow a spy to return to his master with information that could destroy innocent lives? There are no clean hands in conflict. Only necessary actions and their consequences."
The light gathered at his fingertips once more, hotter than before. The Shadowkin's eye found mine, wide with terror.
"Help," it whispered, the word barely audible.
My chest tightened, guilt warring with self-preservation. I thought of Chavore waiting outside, of Thais in Draknavor, of our plan—so fragile, so dependent on my ability to maintain this charade. I thought of Sulien, who had died protecting our secret. I thought of my mother, destroyed by the very being now standing before me.
For one reckless moment, I considered ending it right here—lunging for Olinthar's throat, burning through my mortal reserves tounleash everything I had. But the power radiating off him was suffocating, ancient, and immense. He would swat me like an insect before I could even touch him. No, I needed to ascend first—to reach godhood before I could challenge him with any hope of success. One moment of vengeful satisfaction now would destroy everything we'd sacrificed.
Olinthar placed his glowing hand on the prisoner's shoulder. The scream that followed sliced through the chamber—higher, desperate, unending. The smell of charred flesh thickened the air.
I kept my face blank while rage churned inside me. This was a performance for my benefit. I hated him for it. Hated myself for standing witness.
Minutes stretched in a blur of agony. The prisoner no longer resembled a creature of darkness. Burns covered its body, skin now mottled with raw red. One arm hung at an unnatural angle. Black blood pooled beneath the chair.
"Please," the Shadowkin whispered between screams, his gaze fixed on me. "End this."
Olinthar paused, turning to me with an expectant expression. "You see? Even he begs for your intervention."
The screams grew worse. They drilled into my skull, vibrated in my teeth, saturated the air until I couldn't think, couldn't breathe. My hatred for Olinthar warred with the overwhelming need to stop this.
