Page 98 of The Vespertine Treaty
The impact sent a shockwave through my arm that rattled my teeth. The blade sparked, the star-metal screeching against the magic. It didn't break. The barrier held.
"You cannot cut through it," Malathor laughed. "It feeds on kinetic energy. The harder you hit, the stronger it gets."
He took a sip of his wine. He raised a hand, and the room tilted.
The staircase vanished. The floor melted into a pool of black oil. The pillars elongated, twisting like snakes.
Obscurer magic. He was warping my perception, trying to make me doubt the ground beneath my feet.
"She screams prettily, by the way," Malathor’s voice echoed from everywhere at once, disembodied. "Your little Aenite whore. She is quite vocal when she thinks you aren't coming."
The world went red.
The rage that exploded in my chest wasn't hot; it was absolute zero. It was the end of all things.
"Open it," I roared.
"Make me."
I dropped the orb. It rolled across the stone floor.
I didn't need Aemelia’s light anymore. I needed darkness.
I plunged my sword into the stone floor, anchoring myself against the vertigo. Then, I reached out with both hands, digging my fingers into the magical fabric of the barrier—the only thing in the room that felt real.
The pain was excruciating. The magic burned my gloves, searing the skin of my palms. It felt like grabbing a lightning bolt.
I ignored it.
I accessed the core of my power—the Death Touch. But I didn't use it to kill a person. I used it to kill the magic itself.
"Everything dies," I snarled, the veins in my neck bulging, the shadows around me expanding until they filled the hall, snuffing out the torches one by one. "Even your spells."
I poured necrotic energy into the ward. I drained it. I sucked the life out of the weave, turning the vibrant, purple energy into grey sludge.
The illusions flickered. The staircase reappeared. The oil solidified back into stone.
Malathor’s smile faltered. He stepped back, the wine glass slipping from his fingers and shattering on the floor.
"Impossible," he whispered.
With a final, primal scream of effort, I tore the barrier apart.
It exploded outward, blasting the stone pillars and sending debris raining down. I didn't wait for the dust to settle. I snatched my sword from the ground and launched myself up the stairs.
"Evar!" Malathor screamed.
The raven launched.
It didn't fly like a bird; it flew like a dart, faster than sound. It aimed straight for my eyes.
Rhana intercepted.
She leapt from the ground floor, a massive arc of black fur. She collided with the raven in mid-air.
Evar was fast, and vicious. The bird’s talons, enchanted and razor-sharp, raked across Rhana’s flank, tearing through her shadow-hide. Bright, crimson blood sprayed onto the stairs.
Rhana yelped, a sound that tore at my heart, but she didn't let go. She twisted in the air, her massive jaws snapping shut around the raven’s wing.
