"Do it now or we both die in this hole!" Lyra screamed, her voice cracking.
I didn't have time to answer. The heavy thud of armored boots was already echoing down the corridor, shaking the damp stone walls. The patrol was here. And they weren't coming to offer us a drink.
I looked at her. Really looked at her. She was a mess—torn robes, dirt smeared across a face that still managed to look like it belonged in a temple, and eyes wide with a terror she was trying to mask with rage. She was the one who’d been thrown away, the disgraced priestess, and right now, I was the only thing between her and a cold blade.
"You're shaking," I noted. My voice sounded wrong, too gravelly, like stones grinding together in a throat that wasn't meant for speaking.
"Shut up and bite me!" she snapped, shoving her wrist toward my face. "The shadow bond. Finish it. Now!"
I didn't hesitate. I lunged forward, my teeth sinking deep into the soft skin of her wrist.
Pain didn't just hit her—it slammed into me like a physical wall. It wasn't just a bite; it was a bridge. I felt her panic, a cold, sharp spike of adrenaline, and then something deeper. A void. A hunger for revenge that mirrored my own. The Shadow Pact ripped through us both, a jagged line of black energy stitching our souls together in a way that felt violent and permanent.
Lyra gasped, her body arching back against the wall. Her breath hitched, hot and erratic against my shoulder. For a second, the world blurred. I could feel her heart hammering against her ribs—not just her heart, but mine, syncing to her rhythm. It was intimate. It was disgusting. It was the only way we were getting out of here.
"Gods..." she whispered, her voice trembling. She slumped against me, her weight pressing into my chest. I could smell the ozone and old incense clinging to her, mixed with the metallic tang of the blood I'd just drawn.
"Get up," I growled, shoving her slightly to regain my balance. "They're at the door."
"What did you do to me?" she hissed, clutching her wrist. She looked at the black mark now searing itself into her skin—a jagged sigil of my own making. "I can feel you. Inside my head. Get out!"
"Too late for that," I said. I stepped in front of her, my body shifting, shadows swirling around my limbs like ink in water. "You wanted to survive. This is the price. You're mine now."
"I am nobody's slave," she spat, though she didn't move away. She couldn't. The bond was pulling her toward me, a magnetic force that made her skin prickle.
"Not a slave," I corrected, a dark smile tugging at my lips. "A partner. But I'm the one holding the leash."
*CLANG.*
The iron door burst open.
Three guards stormed in, shields up, spears leveled. The leader was a slab of a man with a scarred jaw and eyes that had seen too many executions. He didn't even look at Lyra. He looked at me—a humanoid shape made of living nightmare—and his face twisted in disgust.
"What the hell is this?" the Captain barked. "A stray ooze in the dungeons? And the traitor priestess is still breathing?"
Lyra tried to step back, her shoulder brushing mine. I could feel her pulse spiking again. She was terrified, but she didn't scream. She just watched me, her eyes searching for a weakness.
"I'm not a stray," I said, stepping forward. The shadows at my feet expanded, swallowing the torchlight. "I'm the one who's going to make you regret coming down here."
"Kill it," the Captain ordered. "And take the girl back to the pits. The High Inquisitor still wants her tongue."
Two guards lunged. The first one thrust his spear with a guttural yell. I didn't dodge. I didn't have to. As the steel tip touched my chest, I didn't feel a puncture—I felt a feast. The shadows surged, wrapping around the spearhead and absorbing the kinetic energy. I felt the weapon's balance, the quality of the steel, the intent of the man behind it.
*Suck. Consume. Evolve.*
With a flick of my wrist, I sent a lash of darkness screaming forward. It didn't cut; it collided. The guard was thrown backward, his armor rattling as he hit the wall with a sickening thud. He didn't get up.
"What was that?" the second guard yelled, hesitating. "It's—it's not a normal monster!"
"Run," Lyra whispered behind me. "Run while you still can!"
I laughed. It sounded like a landslide. "Why would I run? I'm just getting started."
I pivoted, my movement a blur of ink and malice. I was under the second guard's guard before he could even reset his stance. I gripped his wrist—the same way I'd gripped Lyra's—and felt the shadow tendrils dig into his veins. He screamed, a high, thin sound that echoed through the hall, as I drained the strength right out of his muscles.
He collapsed like a puppet with its strings cut. I stood over him, feeling a rush of power. Every drop of essence I stole made my form more stable, my mind clearer. I wasn't just a blob anymore. I was becoming something. Something that remembered how to kill.
The Captain didn't run. He was too proud for that. He roared, drawing a massive broadsword that glowed with a faint, holy light. He stepped over his fallen men, his boots crunching on the grit.
"Abomination!" he bellowed. "You think a few tricks make you a lord? You're nothing but filth from the pit!"
He swung. The blade was a blur of silver, cutting through the air with a whistle that promised death. I raised my arm to block, not with a fist, but with a concentrated shield of solidified shadow.
*KRAK.*
The impact sent a shockwave through the floor. The blade didn't penetrate, but it pushed me back a few inches. I could feel the holy energy searing my skin, burning away the darkness. It hurt. It felt like acid.
"Kaelen!" Lyra shouted.
I froze. Where did she get that name? I didn't remember telling her. I didn't even remember it myself, but the moment it left her lips, a spark ignited in the back of my mind. A memory of a throne. A memory of a crown made of obsidian and blood.
"How do you know that name?" I demanded, my voice dropping an octave, vibrating with a power I didn't know I possessed.
"I read the forbidden archives before they burned them!" she yelled, her eyes wide. "The name of the one who nearly tore the Abyss apart!"
"Enough talk!" the Captain screamed. He leaped, bringing the sword down in a vertical cleave intended to split me in two.
I didn't move. I didn't block. I let the shadows erupt from my back, not as a shield, but as a crest—a massive, winged sigil of a forgotten king that flared into existence behind me, blotting out the light of the torches.
*CLANG.*
The broadsword hit the crest and stopped dead. Not because of a physical barrier, but because the weapon itself refused to strike. The holy light on the blade flickered and died. The steel shivered, vibrating with a sudden, overwhelming fear.
The Captain's eyes went wide. He looked past the sword, staring at the mark on my back, the royal crest of the Void. His face went from rage to absolute, bone-deep terror in a fraction of a second. He dropped his sword. It clattered on the stone, useless.
He fell to his knees, his voice a broken whimper.
"No... it's impossible. He was erased. The records said he was gone!"
I stepped toward him, my shadow looming over his trembling form. "Who was gone?"
The Captain looked up, tears of sheer panic streaming down his face, and screamed at the top of his lungs:
"The old Lord's back! The Abyss Lord has returned!"