Chaos reigns in the courtyard of Morhenhall.
It is not an orderly retreat. It is panic. Servants run blindly in all directions, laden with crates they drop the next moment. Horses whinny shrilly, their eyes wide with terror, while stable boys desperately try to calm them. Above it all lies the booming howl of the alarm horns. A deep, vibrating sound that settles in the bones.
Maelis's grip on my hand is iron. She drags me forward. Her nails dig into my skin, but she doesn't even notice. I stumble, catch myself.
I do not complain. I analyze. The guards are overwhelmed. No formation. If the demons breach the gate, this will be a slaughter.
"Over here! Maelis! Quickly!" A man bellows through the noise.
Valerius. Daemon's younger brother. He stands beside a black travel carriage that is already hitched. Four powerful black horses stamp nervously on the cobblestones. Valerius looks like Daemon – the same white hair, only shorter, the same green eyes – but he is slighter. Less warrior, more administrator. Yet today he wears armor. The helmet is missing.
"Get in!" he roars, throwing the carriage door open. "We have no time!"
Maelis lifts me up, nearly throwing me into the interior. I land on soft velvet upholstery. Inside, the air is stifling, smelling of lavender and the sweat of fear. Aurora is already huddled in the corner, knees pulled to her chest. Eamon presses against her. Opposite them sits a woman – Elara, Valerius's wife. She is chalk-white. In her arms, she holds a bundle that whimpers softly. Her baby.
Maelis storms in behind me. The door slams shut. "Go!" I hear Valerius shout from outside. He does not get in. He swings himself onto the lead horse. A jolt goes through the carriage that nearly throws me from my seat. Then we roll. The wheels clatter brutally over the pavement. We pick up speed.
"Mama?" whimpers Eamon. His voice is thin. "What is happening? Why is everyone running?"
Aurora says nothing. She stares only at her hands. Her knuckles are white, she grips the seat so tightly. Maelis breathes heavily. She brushes a strand of hair from her sweaty face. She forces a smile. I recognize it immediately. It is the same smile I used to practice in the mirror. A smile that does not reach the eyes.
"Everything is fine, my darlings," she says. Her voice barely trembles. Good actress. "Bad men... demons... they are attacking the city. But we are going on a trip. We are riding far away before they are even here."
"Demons?" breathes Aurora. Her eyes widen.
"We are safe," says Elara suddenly. She seems hysterical. She rocks her baby back and forth much too fast. "Valerius is getting us out. He knows the secret paths. We are safe. We are safe."
I remain silent. I look out the small window. The walls of Morhenhall fly by. We are fleeing. That means the defensive line has already fallen, or Daemon expects it to fall. A king does not send his family away if he believes he will win the fight easily. This is an evacuation.
"What about Father?" asks Eamon suddenly. Panic rises in his voice. "Is he coming?"
Silence in the carriage. Only the rattling of the wheels and the clatter of hooves. Maelis reaches for Eamon's hand. She squeezes it tight.
"No, darling," she says gently. "He must stay here."
Eamon sobs. "But the demons..."
"He must lead the knights," Maelis interrupts him. Her voice becomes firmer. Almost proud. She believes it. She clings to this belief like a drowning woman to driftwood. "Do not worry about your father. He is the strongest man in the world." She looks Eamon deep in the eyes, then Aurora, then me. "In all the years I have known him – and that is my entire life – he has never lost."
Cold. That is the first thing I feel. Cold, wet grass pressing against my cheek. An unnatural, booming silence that is slowly displaced by a high-pitched ringing in my ears.
I open my eyes. Grass. Green. The sky above me is gray. Where am I? What happened?
Then the memory comes. The demon. The window. The fall. I sit up abruptly. Too fast. Dizziness floods me. I check my body. Arms. Legs. Ribs. Nothing shifted. I move my legs. Nothing broken.
How?
I reach for my back. My fingers graze the fabric of my coat, which is shredded. Beneath it, I feel it. Cold, hard metal that slowly liquefies and retreats into my pores. Bloodsteel.
The memory flashes: The split second before I crashed through the window. I instinctively concentrated my entire mana on my back. I transformed the skin, the flesh, the bones of my backside into Bloodsteel. I landed on a plate of indestructible metal, not on flesh and blood. That distributed the impact. It saved me.
"Ten minutes."
The voice is calm. Amused. I freeze. My heart, which had just found a rhythm again, skips a beat. I whip my head around. He is sitting there. Not ten meters away, on a stone bench in the shadow. Azrhael.
He sits there like a nobleman enjoying the evening air. One leg casually crossed over the other, arms spread on the backrest. His black suit is flawless, not a crease, not a speck of dust.
"I waited a whole ten minutes for you to wake up," he says, examining his fingernails. "I was almost tempted to wake you. It is rude to keep a guest waiting."
I force myself to my feet. The world sways briefly, then I find my balance. My gaze falls on his hand. The hand I severed in the throne room. It is there. Intact. As if nothing had ever happened. That is not one of his mana abilities. As far as I know, that is quite normal for demons. They can always regenerate as long as it isn't a fatal hit.
"You could have killed me," I say. My voice is rough. "I was unconscious. Defenseless. Why didn't you take the opportunity?"
Azrhael laughs. It is a quiet, vibrating laugh that sends shivers down my spine. "Kill? Just like that? In your sleep?" He shakes his head as if I had made a bad joke. "Where is the fun in that, little King? That would be like closing a book before the most exciting chapter begins. No..."
He stands up. Slowly. His movements are fluid. "I want you to understand how hopeless it is. I want to see the hope die in your eyes. I want you to scream in pain and beg me to end it. Only then..." His eyes, black holes in the darkness, fixate on me. "...only then will I give you the coup de grâce."
I study him. He belongs to House Mael-rexar. That means I don't have to scan him to find out his type of magic. He uses no simple elemental magic like fire or wind. He is a Special Type. His magic will be abstract. Dangerous. A bead of sweat runs down my temple.
"You should have killed me when I was on the ground," I say quietly. I let my mana pump through my veins. "That was your only chance to win."
Azrhael's eyebrow arches upward. "Is that so? Because you know a few tricks with metal?" His gaze wanders to my sword. "I felt it when I hit you. The red metal with which you protected your pathetic body. That is Bloodsteel, isn't it?"
I do not answer. I tense my muscles.
"Incredible," he continues, and his voice swells. Enthusiastic. "One of the hardest metals in the world. Created from nothing. A remarkable ability... for a human." His face twists into a grimace of contempt. "It is unworthy that such a lowly being as you possesses such a gift. I will relieve you of this burden."
I charge. No time to think. Only act.
My sword sings through the air. I strike. A horizontal slash, intended to cut him in half. But Azrhael is faster. He ducks under the blade, so low that his hair almost touches the ground. Then he sweeps my legs. A kick against my shin.
I fall. But I ignore it. While falling, I form my hand. Into an enlarged claw of Bloodsteel. Four blades. Each sharp as a razor. I strike.
Azrhael, just about to straighten up triumphantly, widens his eyes. He dodges backward, but not fast enough. RRRATSCH.
My claws catch him on the chest. They shred the expensive fabric of his suit and tear four deep furrows into his pale skin. Black blood splatters onto the green grass. I land on hands and feet, roll, and stand immediately.
Azrhael staggers back. He looks down at himself. At the wounds. Then he does something that makes the blood freeze in my veins. He dips two fingers into his own wound. He brings the bloody fingers to his mouth and licks them. "Mhm..." He closes his eyes as if tasting a fine wine. "So warm. Give me more of that, King."
Rage rises within me. Hot, white rage. He is not taking me seriously. He is still playing. He could have attacked me while I was scrambling up. But he just stands there and blathers. He enjoys his own injury.
"As you wish," I growl. "That will be your defeat."
White mana manifests around me. Radiating. Pulsating. I concentrate. I press my mana into my legs. My arms. My sword. Full power. In a fraction of a second, I charge forward.
The ground beneath my feet explodes. I am in front of him. The blade aims for his throat.
Azrhael's eyes widen. For the first time, I see surprise in them. Genuine surprise. Black-red mana bursts from him, an instinctive defense. He throws his head back. The tip of my sword hisses past his throat. A thin red line appears on his neck. A single drop of blood detaches and falls to the ground.
"You amaze me again and again," he says. Panting. Jumping back. "Such good mana control. And full output instantly. Even I cannot manifest and use my mana that quickly." He wipes the blood from his neck. Licks his fingers.
"Are you really human?"
I point the sword at him. "Do you really think so little of humans?"
"Yes. Absolutely," he replies without hesitation. His voice becomes hard. "They are the weakest race for a reason. You have no claws." He spreads his arms as if preaching a sermon. "You do not live a hundred years. Your bodies are fragile as glass. And you are so easy to kill." His eyes narrow to slits. "So yes, I think nothing of humans. You simply cannot hold a candle to us demons. You too will realize that soon enough."
The atmosphere changes. Until now, his aura was oppressive but passive. Now it becomes active. The shadows in the courtyard seem to lengthen. The air turns cold, so cold that my breath forms white clouds. Azrhael tenses. His mana streams out of him more intensely than before. It is no longer just an aura – it is like a dense, black fog, streaked with red lightning.
"It is time to unpack my ability," he says.
I watch him. My mind races. This aura... it is black-red. That fits no element. No fire, no water, no wind, no earth. Not even pure darkness. He definitely belongs to the Special Type. This is the worst possible scenario. Special Types have abilities that break the laws of physics. Space manipulation? Time distortion? Mind control? It is pointless to think about it. If I let him activate the ability, I am dead. I must end it. Now.
I charge again. White mana and Bloodsteel merge. My body becomes the ultimate weapon. I run head-on at him. Azrhael just stands there waiting. I am almost at him. Now.
I feint a strike from the right. A massive blow intended to sever his head. Azrhael raises his arm to block, his grin returns. But I stop the strike mid-motion. The momentum of my body continues, I spin under his arm. A feint. I am now to his side. His flank is open. Unprotected. I thrust. My sword aims directly for his heart. I have you. The tip pierces the fabric of his suit. It touches his skin. I feel the resistance of flesh. Victory.
And then I grab at empty space.
Azrhael is gone. Simply vanished. My sword stabs into empty air. I stumble forward due to the missing resistance, catching myself just in time. What? I tear my eyes open. I spin around frantically. Where did he go? Right? Left? Up? Nothing. The courtyard is empty.
Then I feel it. A warm breath at my ear. Directly behind me. So close that the fine hairs on my neck stand up.
"That wasn't a bad idea of yours..."
The voice is a whisper, but it sounds like thunder in my head. Panic. Pure, unadulterated panic floods my system. I want to turn around. I want to jerk the sword up. But I am too slow. For the first time in my life, I am too slow.
A hand pierces my chest.
Pain. Explosive. All-consuming.
I spit blood. It runs from my mouth. Too much. Much too much. Azrhael's voice is now very close to my ear. It sounds almost sad. "You were strong, little King."
"You were strong. But in the end, just a human." "You never stood a chance."