Page 166 of Ignite
I glance down at the knife as Nyx’s words float into my mind:“Blood of the gods.”
The knife calls out to me, begging for one final sacrifice, as if it hasn’t already taken almost every piece of my soul.
Blood.
I swipe the blade across my palm, my body numb to the pain as the unsettling feeling of my magic missing fills it.
The blood doesn’t trickle off the edge; instead, itmoves. The sticky substance wraps around it like a winding vine, twisting around it and melding into the bone-white blade until it’s stained maroon.
“Now, Lu!” Opal screams behind me, likely so confused that she doesn’t understand what’s happening, but enough to push me into motion.
I hold up the dagger, the silver glint of it reflecting off of the moonlight streaming in from the library. It surges in my hands, a bolt of power jolting through it as my magic brings it to life.
It’s as if it’s fueled by night itself, a blade to wield the moonlight. To harness the very core of pure Essence.
Moros stares back at me, his eyes hard. But he can’t stop the flash of fear that flickers through his gaze.
He spins around, heading for the door, which Adrian instantly blocks. And with the collar suppressing his magic, he’s just an old human man who’s half the size of Adrian.
“You’ll never be able to stop her,” Moros hisses, turning back around to face me. “Vidaris is a goddess. Who are you to defeat that?”
I flex my fingers around the hilt of Nightfall, my Essence intertwined with it. I lift it higher. The blade grazes my cheek as I whisper in a quiet rage, “She may be the Goddess of Vengeance, but I’m the one that’s sending you to the pits of the Vale. Have fun being tortured for eternity.”
And before Moros can breathe another breath, I drive Nightfall through his heart.
Sixty-Seven
Vivianite
Moros’s mouth falls open,his eyes instantly glazing over as he begins to struggle for breath.
Dark, web-like veins snake across his body. They appear on his throat first, spreading down and disappearing beneath the collar of his shirt. But they don’t stop there. They cover his face, his arms and hands. I imagine they ensconce his entire body.
Adrian gasps, a sharp intake of breath that sounds like a shout in the deadly silent room.
I drive the knife in a little further, my hand meeting resistance, which causes Moros to garble out unintelligible words.
“Rest in pain,” I mutter as I step away, letting the dagger remain in his chest as he falls to the ground.
He releases a rattling final breath before his chest stills and his gaze grows distant.
Finally—finally.
Moros is dead.
I look over to Adrian, waiting for his reaction. In his mind, Moros was his uncle—a feat I still don’t quite understand how Moros accomplished.
Adrian’s eyes lock with mine, his chest heaving.
I search his gaze for anger or regret, but find none. There’s a realization there now, one that wasn’t there before. The collar was a brilliant idea, vital in my taking down Moros once and for all.
“Thank you,” I breathe, my muscles still tense as adrenaline pumps through me.
Adrian shakes his head. “That man—he wasn’t good. He was going to kill you, maybe kill all of us.”
I nod, because Moros probably would not have left this room without ending each of our lives.
And Adrian helped—this whole time, he was someone we thought we couldn’t trust, and for good reason. He’s done nothing but work against us, serving himself and his own needs.
