Sundered by Fate: Dark M/M Demon Fantasy Romance, page 22
"We need to get everyone out of here—"
Diviandra's shout pierced the air, and Aric spotted the source of the chaos. From the rift, a shimmering wave of energy was spreading, warping the air, bending the very fabric of reality. Buildings twisted and melted like wax, people screamed as their forms stretched and snapped.
Aric tried to assess their resources. They had Diviandra and Sylas, two of the most powerful mages in the kingdom, and a contingent of palace guards. But they were badly outnumbered and outgunned by whatever forces had come through the rift.
“Get ready. We’ll need a great deal of energy to close it.”
But as the words left his mouth, the rift shimmered and flared, and a new wave of demons poured through. They were larger and more fearsome than the last, their bodies wreathed in dark flame.
"Fall back!" Diviandra ordered. "Get to the palace!"
The guards formed a protective barrier around the mages, and together they retreated, fighting off the demons as they went. But the demons only kept coming, a tidal wave of claws and fangs.
Aric's shoulders ached from the strain of his magic, his reserves running dangerously low. He needed to keep his strength up, to use it at the right moment, but every instinct was screaming at him to unleash it, to burn away the darkness that surrounded them.
"Aric—" Davin's voice was strained as he held off a demon that had broken through their lines. Its talons raked at Davin's throat, and a dark ichor oozed from the wounds.
"No!" Aric shouted, his magic flaring. He hurled a stream of golden fire at the demon, and it shrieked as it burned away to ash.
But there were still too many of them, and Aric could feel his strength waning. He needed to find a way to close the rift, to stop them from coming through. But how?
They couldn't be everywhere at once. As much as he hated it, he had to make the call to divide their forces.
"Davin, I need you to oversee the evacuation." Aric's gut clenched, remembering Davin's injury after their last battle. But he trusted Davin to protect the civilians, to get them to safety.
Davin's eyes flared, but he nodded, his mouth a grim line. "I don't like it. But I trust you."
"And I you. Keep them safe, Dav."
Davin's eyes widened, but he nodded, lips pressed thin. "Just—be careful, alright?"
Aric gave him a lopsided grin. "When have we ever been careful?"
"There's a first time for everything."
Davin looked at him, and in that moment, their eyes met. There was a thousand unspoken things in that look, a lifetime of shared battles and unvoiced fears.
"Go!" Davin's shout was almost lost in the din, but Aric caught it. "I'll hold it off. Just—"
Aric watched Davin go, already barking orders to the palace guards. He was confident, assured, even after everything he'd been through. Aric felt a twinge of guilt for putting him in harm's way again, but there was no one else he trusted more to protect the civilians.
And if he couldn't trust Davin, who would he trust?
Aric took a deep breath, trying to focus. The rift was the key; he was sure of it. If they could close it, the demons would be cut off, and they could regroup, plan a counterstrike.
Aric's mind was racing, trying to piece together a plan. They needed to close as many of the rifts as they could to cut down on the sheer numbers pouring in. But the streets were clogged with panicking civilians and the demons that had already slipped through.
Aric and the Silver Tower leaders worked through them swiftly, the smaller peons falling easily to simple spells.
Yet as he worked, a sickening dread settled in his gut. How had this invasion caught them so off guard? The wards around the city should have given them some warning, some chance to prepare. Instead they were scrambling, grasping at straws in the face of overwhelming odds.
He pushed the thought aside, focusing on the immediate task at hand. He couldn't afford to dwell on what he should have done, what signs he might have missed. Right now, there was only the fight, and he had to be ready to give it everything he had.
But as he continued to direct the defense, a realization hit him with the force of a physical blow.
The rift was centered right over one of the city's ley lines.
And the same ley line that had been the focus of Valerian's secret research.
Understanding sparked in Aric's mind as the pieces fell into place. The rift wasn't happening in spite of the magical disturbances.
It was happening because of them.
The magical fluxes, the drained aether, the anomalies—it was all connected. And the demons had found a way to exploit it. The demons, or Valerian? Were they working as one?
This was what the visions had warned him about. The shadow in the court, the danger lurking within their own walls. Aric had been so focused on stopping the anomalies and proving his own innocence that he hadn't seen the true danger the anomalies posed.
Had Sylthris seen it? Had the Silver Tower?
Had Valerian?
How could he have been so blind? If he'd only figured this out sooner, they might have had more time to prepare, more time to stop whatever nightmare had been set in motion.
Guilt and anger warred within him as he fought to keep his focus. He couldn't lose himself in recriminations, not now. Not when their very survival hung in the balance.
Malekith. Was he still out there, somewhere in the chaos, struggling and bleeding and suffering? Or had he already been lost, sacrificed on the altar of the demons' whims? Aric felt a hollowness spreading through him at the thought, a cold void where his anger and determination had once burned.
And it was his fault. He'd thought he was doing the right thing, trying to stop the anomaly from ripping their worlds apart. But all he'd managed to do was get them both caught up in the demons' power plays, a pawn and a traitor, respectively.
He tried to push the thoughts aside, to concentrate on the battle at hand. But it was no use; the images kept creeping in, like a sickness festering in his gut.
The rift. The demons. The price he would pay for his failure.
Aric shook himself, forcing his breathing to steady, the cold iron of control to return. He'd have to save the self-recriminations for later; right now, there was a battle to be won.
He straightened, turning to the others. Diviandra was chanting under her breath, her hands wreathed in azure flame; Sylas was circling, tracing runes in the air with a gloved hand.
"Aric," Diviandra said softly, her voice a firm anchor. "Are you ready?"
He nodded, a bitter taste on his tongue. There was no other choice.
"Then let us end this."
They shoved through the crowd, Diviandra's wards parting the demons away from them like surf. A dark figure stood at the heart of the rift, its body wreathed in shadow. The shadows coiled and writhed around it like living things, and as it moved, the shadows seemed to slice through the air, leaving jagged rents in its wake.
The figure raised its hands, and the shadows swirled around it, coalescing into a massive, swirling vortex. And from the vortex came a deafening roar, a sound that seemed to shake the very foundations of the city.
Aric's legs felt like lead, his chest constricting with panic. His magic was a raging storm inside him, a maelstrom of power and rage. Another wave of lesser demons surged towards them, and Diviandra's wards flared, incinerating them where they stood. The acrid smell of burnt flesh filled the air, and Aric's stomach turned.
The demons were a storm, a black and furious tempest devouring everything in its path. But Aric was a wildfire, his magic a bright and searing flame that cut through the darkness.
He moved with a fluid grace, his sword flashing in the chaotic light of the rift. Each strike was precise, each movement calculated to maximize the damage to their demonic foes. He was a master of his craft, and he fought with a single-minded focus that bordered on the fanatical.
But even as he fought, he was acutely aware of every guard that fell around him. Each death was a weight on his conscience, a reminder of the lives that were being lost in this desperate struggle. He had trained many of these men and women, had fought alongside them in countless battles. And now they were dying, one by one, because he hadn't been able to stop this invasion before it began.
He pushed himself harder, ignoring the burning in his muscles, the fatigue that threatened to drag him down. He had to keep going, had to keep fighting, because the alternative was unthinkable. If this city fell, if the demons were allowed to spill out into the countryside, the entire kingdom would be at risk.
"Aric!" Diviandra called out as she struggled against a sizzling wave of dark magic threatening to constrict around her.
Without a word, he moved to her side, his sword a blur of golden fire. Together, they dispatched the demons, their bodies dissolving into dark smoke.
"We're being pushed back!" Diviandra shouted, her face streaked with blood and sweat.
Aric glanced around, taking in the chaos all around them. The palace guards were locked in desperate combat with the demons, but they were clearly outmatched. And the wave was only growing in size, the dark energy pouring out of the rift threatening to overwhelm them all.
Aric plunged into the fray, his magic a searing lance of light. The lesser demons fell before him, their blackened blood hissing on the cobblestones. But for every one he felled, two more took its place, a tide of darkness that threatened to consume them all.
Aric’s heart dropped into his stomach. A massive demon, at least twice his size, was lumbering toward them, its eyes glowing with an unholy light. Aric steeled himself, his magic flaring at his fingertips.
And with that, he charged toward the demon.
It roared as it saw him coming, its massive fists slamming into the ground, sending a shockwave through the street. Aric rode the wave, his feet barely touching the ground, and drove his sword into the demon's side.
The demon bellowed in pain, its massive arms flailing as it tried to swat Aric away. But he danced around its blows, a whirlwind of golden magic as he struck again and again, each strike leaving a trail of golden fire in its wake.
The demon staggered, its wounds smoldering, but it was far from defeated. It raised its massive fists, the air around them crackling with dark energy, and brought them crashing down on the ground.
Aric barely had time to brace himself as the shockwave hit him, sending him flying backward. He hit the ground hard, the air knocked from his lungs, but he staggered to his feet, his sword still clutched in his hand.
The demon was coming for him, its eyes burning, but Aric was burning from the inside.
He had to end this. Now.
With a roar, he charged at the demon, his magic blazing around him like a halo. The demon met him halfway, its massive fists raised, and everything seemed to slow, the two of them locked in a moment of suspended animation.
And then they collided.
The impact was like a thunderclap, the force of their blows shattering the stones underfoot. Aric's sword sliced through the demon's armor, the golden fire of his magic spreading like wildfire through its body. The demon roared, and the world became nothing but pain.
But Aric held on, his magic burning brighter than ever. He drove a gout of golden power into the demon's chest, and with a final, shuddering cry, the demon fell, its body dissolving into ash.
Aric staggered forward, his legs shaking, his magic guttering out. But he couldn't stop now. All of Astaria was at stake.
Behind him, he heard a shout, and he turned to find Diviandra and Sylas struggling against a trio of demons. Aric's heart clenched, and he charged toward them, his magic flaring once more.
But as he moved, he caught a glimpse of something out of the corner of his eye. A figure, watching from the shadows, its features obscured. But there was no mistaking the smug smile, the gleaming eyes.
Valerian.
Aric's blood ran cold. He'd suspected, but he hadn't wanted to believe it. There was no denying it now—Valerian was behind this attack. Valerian was working with the demons.
Aric's heart pounded in his chest, and he forced himself to look away. He couldn't think about that now. He had to focus on the battle, on saving as many lives as he could.
Aric's breath came in ragged gasps as he stumbled forward, his magic flickering erratically at his fingertips. Around him, the battle still raged, the palace guards fighting for their lives against the never-ending tide of demons. But Aric had only eyes for the retreating figure of Valerian.
"Wait!" he called out, his voice hoarse from the smoke and exhaustion. "What have you done?"
Valerian glanced back over his shoulder, a glint of something—amusement? Triumph?—in his eyes. "You were always too late, Aric," he said, his voice carrying despite the chaos. "A shame. I'd hoped you, of all people, would understand."
He turned and disappeared into the shadows.
Twenty
The sounds of battle pursued Aric as he tore down the palace corridors after Valerian, exhaustion straining against him with every step. The guards fighting the demons outside the walls were a distant roar now, but the shouts and cries still lingered in his ears, a reminder of the chaos he'd left behind.
Aric's muscles were burning, his lungs fighting for every precious breath, but he pushed himself onward, his mind a swirling maelstrom of rage and confusion. How could Valerian have done this? How could he have betrayed their people, their kingdom, for the sake of what? A little power? A little influence? No, that wasn't right. There had to be more to it, a deeper motive that Aric was missing.
And yet, no matter how hard he tried to see it, to parse the logic of Valerian's actions, all he could find was a bitter void, a darkness that threatened to swallow him whole.
He reached the end of the corridor, skidding to a stop before a pair of ornate doors. The King's chambers. Now it felt like a tomb, cold and unyielding, the silence inside a mocking rebuke.
Aric clenched his fists. There was only one way to find out the truth. Only one way to know for sure if Valerian was truly beyond redemption.
The guards flinched as Aric approached, but their swords stayed sheathed as they took in his silver armor. They weren't prepared for anything more sinister than the demons currently clawing through the city, and he didn't want to give them any ideas. He kept his hands where they could see them, his eyes locked on the doors, still only slightly ajar.
Inside, the council chamber was in chaos. King Aster sat slumped in his throne at the far end of the room, his face even more drawn and pale than it had been earlier in the day. Around him, his advisers and court officials were a flurry of motion, their voices a rising crescendo of panic and fear.
"We need to seal the rift," one of them shouted. "But the demons—"
"They're too strong," another yelled. "We need more mages—"
"We don't have the strength," a third added, her eyes wide with terror. "Then we must retreat. Gather the citizens into the Inner Ward."
"The wards won't hold much longer at this rate!" Valerian shouted, his voice rising above the others. He was standing near the head of the long council table, his face set in a grim mask. "We need to focus on sealing the rift before the demons break through."
Aric took in the room. He recognized most of the faces—some lower-ranking Pureblade officers, a few others from the Silver Tower, the commander of the city watch, and the head of the palace guards—but it was King Aster that held his attention. His eyes locked onto the king's violet irises, so dark and bright.
"Why is he here?"
The venom in King Aster's voice was searing. Aric would have preferred the king not notice him at all, in his current state.
"Because we need every sword and every spell at our disposal," Valerian said, calm as ever. "And Aric's shown himself to be proficient at both."
"Sword," Aric repeated under his breath.
"Fine. Whatever." Aster waved a dismissive hand. "But keep him out of my sight."
As Valerian motioned for Aric to join the table, Aster's stare followed him, lingering a moment too long. But he said nothing more, turning back to the council table.
Aric took a seat, trying to melt into the background. He was here to help, to do whatever he could to stop the demons' attack. But he couldn't shake the feeling that he was a ghost, haunting the court that should have been his, and that everyone in the room wished he would just disappear.
"Now," Valerian said, "let's begin." He nodded to the city guard commander, who opened a map of the city, marking the key points of the demons' attack.
All around Aric, they debated strategies for sealing the rift and driving the demons back. King Aster was fierce, a ruler forged in fire and death, but also a shadow of his former self, hollowed out by loss and betrayal. His presence was a constant reminder of everything Aric had given up, everyone he'd left behind. He was the ghost, Aric thought, watching the council as if from a distance.
They had some options, the king allowed. Valerian's forces were ready to strike at any time, although they'd been focused on reinforcing the wards around the city. The Silver Tower mages were gathering for a coordinated assault on the rift itself, hoping to seal it before more demons could come through. And the Pureblade Order was mobilizing for a counterattack, though their numbers had been severely depleted by the initial attack.
As the discussion raged, Aric couldn't help but stare at King Aster. There was something about him, something he couldn't put his finger on, that seemed familiar and yet not. Not the face, which had been hardened by age and grief; not the mannerisms, which had grown even more imperious and aloof. It was something deeper, something in the way he held himself, in the shadows that danced in his violet eyes.
Aric's fingers twitched with the feeling of magic, his instincts screaming that something was off. But the council room was too crowded, the air too thick with the smell of fear and desperation. He forced down the urge to act, to draw his sword and charge into the fray. He would do whatever it took, whatever was asked of him, to stop the demons. But he had to tread carefully.
