Page 94 of Empire of Wrath and Ruin
Let us out, they demanded. Let us burn them all.
The first wave of guards hit us and the arena exploded into chaos.
Marcus roared—a sound of pure fury that somehow cut through the crowd's bloodthirsty cheers—and threw himself into the enemy ranks with the reckless abandon of a man who had nothing left to lose. His sword carved through armour like it was parchment, each blow driven by years of suppressed rage finally given outlet. He fought like a force of nature, hammering his opponents into the sand with brutal, overwhelming strikes that left no room for finesse or mercy.
Septimus moved like death given form, his blade finding the gaps in armour with surgical precision. Where Marcus bludgeoned his way through enemies, Septimus cut them apart with the cold efficiency of someone who had learned that survival meant being practical about violence. Every movement was calculated, every strike designed for maximum effect with minimum effort.
Antonius had positioned himself between the guards and the rest of us, his shield work a thing of beauty as he deflected blade after blade while his sword darted out like a serpent's tongue. He moved with the steady confidence of a man who had stood in shield walls before, who understood that sometimes the greatest heroism lay in simply refusing to break.
But it was Jalend who truly commanded the arena's attention. The prince fought like his royal blood had finally caught fire, his blade work so precise and devastating that even the bloodthirsty crowd fell silent to watch. This wasn't the hesitant young man who had struggled with doubt and guilt—this was a warrior prince in his full glory, cutting through his father's soldiers with the terrible grace of divine judgment.
The whispers in my head grew louder with each clash of steel, each spray of blood across the sand. They fed on the violence, grew stronger with every death, and I could feel my grip on sanity slipping like water through my fingers.
Yes, they hissed.This is what you were made for. This is your purpose.
Tarshi fought beside me, protecting me. Even in human form, he moved with inhuman speed and strength. He must have made a formidable gladiator. I watched him dance between sword thrusts, his movements flowing like water around stone, and felt a surge of fierce pride at the beauty of his combat.
A guard's blade came for my throat, and I deflected it more by instinct than conscious thought, the shadows around my hand hardening into something almost solid. The man's eyes went wide with terror as darkness wrapped around his wrist, and I felt his bones crack beneath the pressure before I could stop myself.
The whispers laughed with delight.More,they demanded.Show them what you really are.
"Taveth!" Livia's voice cut through the chaos, sharp with concern. She was holding her own against three guards at once, her bladework a deadly dance that left blood trails across the sand. But I could hear the strain in her voice, could feel through our bond that she was beginning to tire.
I forced the shadows back beneath my skin and threw myself toward her, my sword taking one of her opponents in the back. The man dropped without a sound, and for a moment our eyes met across the carnage.
"The crystal," she gasped between parries. "You need to—" Her words were cut off as another soldier hurled himself at her.
"Taveth!" Antonius's voice cut through the chaos as he spun away from a guard's thrust and thrust the crystal into my hands. The leather cord that had held it around his neck was slick with blood—his own or someone else's, I couldn't tell. "It's time! Do it now!"
The crystal burned against my palms like a star torn from the heavens. The moment my skin touched its surface, the whispers exploded into a symphony of madness that nearly drove meto my knees. But through the chaos, I felt something else—connection. A vast web of magical bonds stretching out across the Empire, linking every dragon collar, every shadow mage's torment, every scream of anguish from creatures whose minds had been enslaved.
I could feel them all. Hundreds upon hundreds of dragons, their consciousness trapped behind walls of magical compulsion, screaming silently as they were forced to burn and kill against their will. The collars around their throats blazed like brands in my magical sight, each one a node in a network of suffering that stretched back centuries.
Free them, I thought, pouring my will into the crystal. Free them all.
For a moment—one glorious, impossible moment—I thought I had won. The network shuddered under my assault, ancient bindings creaking like ship's rigging in a storm. I felt dragon minds stirring, felt the first cracks appearing in their magical chains. Above us, the circling dragons screamed—not in rage, but in something that might have been hope.
I can do this, I realized with sudden, blazing certainty. I can actually do this.
I pushed harder against the network, feeling more bonds begin to snap. Dragons thousands of miles away shuddered as their collars flickered and died. I was winning. I was actually—
Then the darkness pushed back.
It hit me like an avalanche of pure malice, centuries of accumulated madness and rage pouring into my mind all at once. I screamed—or thought I did—as a thousand shadow mages' final moments crashed through my consciousness. I felt every betrayal, every moment of despair, every instant when someone like me had chosen power over humanity and been consumed by it.
The crystal wasn't just a tool for controlling dragons. It was a repository, a vast storehouse of every dark emotion, every moment of madness, every choice to embrace destruction over creation. And now all of that poison was flowing into me like wine into a cup.
No! I screamed inside my own mind, clawing desperately at the walls of my consciousness as the darkness poured in. This isn't me! This isn't who I am!
But the voices were so loud now, drowning out everything else:Look at them. Look how they cower. How they bleed. Beautiful, isn't it?
I tried to focus on Livia's face, but even as I grasped for that memory, it twisted. Her terror became amusing. Her screams would be music. I wanted to hear her beg, wanted to watch the light fade from her eyes as I—
NO! I fought against the thoughts, but they kept coming, each one more vicious than the last. Please, I don't want this. I don't want to become—
You want to tear them apart,the voice whispered, and it was my voice now.You want to feel their bones break in your hands. You want to paint the sand red with their blood.
The image filled my mind—Jalend's neck snapping under my fingers, Marcus gutted and screaming, Antonius burning alive. And the thought didn't horrify me anymore. It thrilled me.
