Magic Undaunted (The Grimm Files #6)

Chapter 10

Chapter

Ten

ELYRIA

T he battlefield of the Council chambers lay behind them. In the end, it had not been the high lords who had tipped the battle in the favor of the rebels, it had been the lesser fae and some of the Council’s own warriors who had done so at Thaelon’s instigation. The battle had been a sea of chaos and magic, but Stryker had been like a port in the storm. Now with the victors holding the capitol, a band of rebels and others had gone to destroy the rogue mage.

The twisted spires of the mage's stronghold loomed in the distance, shrouded in a malevolent energy that pulsed like a heartbeat. Behind Elyria, a strike team composed of both rebels and High Council warriors stood ready—fae who had been enemies for centuries, now united under one banner, the weight of the impending battle pressing down on them all.

Elyria could feel the eyes of every fae on her, the unspoken question hanging in the air: could they truly prevail?

She stepped forward, her pulse racing as she scanned the faces of those who had followed her here. Rebels who had fought for their freedom and High Council soldiers who had once been her adversaries now stood side by side. The divisions between them had once seemed insurmountable, but now, as they stood on the edge of this final battle, Elyria knew that it was their unity that would make the difference.

She looked to Stryker, standing tall and fierce beside her. The electricity between them hummed, a constant pull, but there was more than just desire in the air now. There was trust. And there was hope.

Elyria lifted her voice, her magic crackling in the air as she addressed the gathered people. “We’ve come from different sides—some of us have fought against each other for centuries. But today, we fight as one. The mage behind those walls seeks to destroy everything we hold dear—our homes, our magic, our very realm. He will tear apart the fabric of our world if we don’t stop him.”

The crowd stirred, the weight of her words sinking in.

“But I know this: we are stronger together than we have ever been apart. We are fae. We are warriors. And today, we end this madness.” Her voice grew stronger, the power of her conviction coursing through her veins. “The mage thinks he can break us. He thinks he can tear us apart with his twisted abominations. But he underestimates us.”

She paused, letting the tension build before she finished, her voice ringing out across the battlefield. “For centuries, we’ve been told we are divided. But today, we stand united. We fight for Celestia, for our realm, for our people. And we will win.”

A cheer rose up from the gathered army, a sound that echoed through the air. The rogue mage might hear them… let him. Let him hear their united voice. Let him know fear. They were coming for him, and they would not be denied. Elyria felt the surge of magic and power around her, the unity of their forces igniting something deep inside her.

Beside her, Stryker caught her eye, his dark gaze intense. “That was quite the speech.”

Elyria couldn’t help but smirk, even as the weight of the battle pressed down. “I’ve learned a few things.”

Stryker’s lips twitched into a half-smile, but his expression quickly sobered as he turned toward the distant stronghold. “We’re ready for this.”

She nodded, her heart pounding with both anticipation and fear. The battle ahead would be fierce, but she had to believe they could win.

“Let’s finish this,” Elyria said softly, her voice laced with determination.

T he battle erupted with a ferocity that shook the very ground beneath their feet. Magic clashed in the air, bolts of raw power slicing through the sky as fae on both sides unleashed their abilities. Elyria’s heart raced as she led her forces forward, her sword gleaming in the dim light, her magic sparking around her like lightning.

The human mage’s creations swarmed toward them—twisted abominations that had once been fae, their bodies warped and broken by dark magic. They moved with horrifying speed, their eyes glowing with an eerie light, their twisted limbs lashing out with lethal precision.

“Tavish’s weapons!” Elyria shouted over the roar of battle. “Now!”

Tavish, standing at the front lines, lifted a gleaming blade, its edge pulsing with magic. He had spent weeks forging these weapons, imbuing them with spells strong enough to cut through the mage’s twisted creations. His hammer rang out as he swung, the enchanted blades slicing through the abominations with brutal efficiency.

But the creatures were relentless. They kept coming, their bodies regenerating as fast as they were cut down, dark tendrils of magic knitting their wounds back together in sickening displays of power.

Elyria gritted her teeth, her magic flaring as she unleashed a blast of energy, knocking a group of creatures back. She could feel the strain of the battle weighing on her, the overwhelming force of the mage’s power pressing down on them all.

“Elowen!” she called, her voice sharp with urgency.

The healer appeared at her side, her hands glowing with soft, golden light as she tended to the injured. Elowen’s healing magic was pushed to its limits, the sheer number of wounded fae forcing her to work faster than ever before. Her face was pale with exhaustion, but she didn’t stop, her ferocity to save the wounded as fierce as any of them engaged in the fight.

“We need to keep moving,” Stryker said, his voice rough as he cut down another creature beside her. His movements were fluid, precise, his coordination with Elyria perfect as they fought side by side, just as they had in the days before everything had fallen apart.

The magic of her army wove together seamlessly, each move complementing the other, the bonds of brotherhood reigniting in the heat of the battle. But there was a bittersweet edge to it—a knowledge that, no matter how perfectly they fought together, the stakes had never been higher. There was no room for hesitation. One mistake could cost them everything.

“We can’t hold them off much longer!” Finnian shouted, his blades flashing as he defended the front line.

Elyria’s eyes narrowed as she looked toward the heart of the stronghold. “Then we go for the mage.”

Stryker nodded, his gaze meeting hers with fierce resolve. “Together.”

They pushed forward, cutting their way through the chaos. The stronghold loomed ahead, dark and forbidding, its walls pulsing with the dark magic that had fueled the mage’s experiments. As they approached, the twisted creatures grew stronger, their attacks more ferocious, but Elyria and Stryker fought with a relentless determination.

Every strike, every blast of magic, brought them closer to the heart of the stronghold.

They reached the massive iron doors at the center of the fortress, and with a surge of Elyria’s magic and Stryker’s strength as a griffon, they forced them open, sending shockwaves through the structure.

As they entered the central chamber, Elyria's heart pounded at the sight before them. The room was bathed in an ominous, pulsing glow. The massive weapon the human mage had been building stood at the center, a vortex of dark energy swirling above it, bending the very fabric of reality. It was mesmerizing—a dizzying dance of malevolence and magic.

Inside, the mage stood waiting, his hands raised as he prepared to activate the final spell. His eyes gleamed with malicious power, dark tendrils of magic swirling around him like a storm. The air was thick with his corruption, the very walls of the stronghold pulsing with the twisted energy of his experiments.

“You’re too late,” the mage hissed, his eyes glowing with malevolent power. “The weapon is nearly complete. With it, I will tear this realm apart and rebuild it in my image.”

Stryker’s grip tightened on his sword, magic crackling all around his fingertips. “Not if I have anything to say about it.”

Elyria stepped beside him, her wings unfurling slightly as her magic rebounded to life, undaunted by the previous battle. “You’ve caused enough destruction. This ends now.”

The mage let out a low, mocking laugh, his tainted magic swirling around him like a storm. “Foolish fae. You cannot stop what’s already in motion. This power will consume everything—Celestia, your precious High Council, and the entire realm. And when it does, I will be the one in control.”

The vortex above the weapon grew larger, the energy tearing at the edges of reality and distorting the space around them. Elyria felt the pull of the wicked magic, its unnatural force threatening to unmoor her from everything she knew. She exchanged a glance with Stryker, their unspoken bond tightening as they faced the impossible together.

“We stop him,” Elyria whispered, her voice steady despite the chaos around them.

Stryker nodded, his dark eyes locking onto hers. “No matter what it takes.”

With a roar, Elyria and Stryker charged forward, her magic flaring as he brandished his sword, forging their path and keeping her safe as they launched themselves into the fray. The room erupted with the clash of power—light and dark colliding in an explosion of energy. Elyria’s heart raced as she struck out with her magic in swirling arcs of brilliant silver and pink. She felt Stryker’s presence beside her, his sword merging and enhancing her magic in a seamless dance of combat.

But the mage was powerful—more powerful than either of them had anticipated. His dark magic lashed out like a whip, striking with deadly precision and forcing them back. The vortex above the weapon grew larger, tearing at the fabric of reality with every passing second.

The room shook violently, the walls cracking under the strain of the magic. Elyria gritted her teeth, dodging a bolt of magical energy as she and Stryker pressed forward, trying to get closer to the weapon. She could feel the pull of the vortex, its power immense and overwhelming.

“We have to destroy the weapon!” Elyria shouted, her voice barely audible over the roar of magic.

Stryker nodded, his face set with grim determination. “If we don’t stop it now, there won’t be a world left to save.”

Just as they closed in on the mage, he unleashed a wave of foul energy that sent them both crashing to the ground. Elyria gasped as the force of the blow knocked the wind from her lungs, her vision swimming. She struggled to her feet, her magic flickering as the weight of the battle bore down on her.

And then she saw it—the mage was about to activate the weapon.

Her heart seized in her chest as she realized the gravity of the situation. The weapon, once fully activated, would unravel the entire realm. Everything—the fae, the magic, the very fabric of reality—would be torn apart.

But in that same moment, her eyes darted to Stryker. He was on the ground, wounded, dark blood staining his side where the mage’s magic had struck him. He struggled to rise, his expression twisted in pain as he fought to stay conscious.

Elyria’s breath caught in her throat. The weapon... or Stryker.

The impossible choice hung before her, all but crushing her. She had fought her entire life to protect the fae realm, to defend her people from those who sought to destroy it. But Stryker—he was everything she had tried to forget, everything she had once loved and lost. And now, he was lying there, vulnerable and bleeding, the man who had fought beside her, the man who had stood with her even when she didn’t think she could trust him again.

Tears pricked at her eyes as the world seemed to slow around her. If she went for the weapon, she could stop the mage, but it might mean Stryker would die. If she chose Stryker, she risked everything—her people, her world, everything she had sworn to protect.

“Elyria!” Stryker’s voice broke through the chaos, rough and desperate. “Don’t... don’t think about me. You know what you have to do.”

Her heart twisted painfully, but she knew he was right. She had to stop the mage. The fate of their entire world rested on it.

With a final, heart-wrenching decision, Elyria turned toward the weapon. Her magic surged, flaring with a ferocity she hadn’t felt in years, and she launched herself at the mage, picking up the sword as she struck out with everything she had.

The impact was cataclysmic.

The mage let out a scream as Elyria’s magic collided with his, tearing through his defenses. The vortex above the weapon shuddered, the malicious energy twisting and writhing as the fabric of reality threatened to tear apart. But Elyria didn’t stop. She pushed harder, her magic burning bright as she drove the blade deeper, shattering the mage’s control over the weapon.

With a deafening crack, the vortex imploded, the dark magic dissipating in a brilliant flash of light. The weapon was destroyed, the threat to their world averted—but at a devastating cost.

Elyria collapsed to the ground, her body trembling with exhaustion, her magic nearly drained. She gasped for breath, her vision blurred as the reality of what had just happened washed over her.

“Stryker...” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

She tried to crawl to him but couldn’t. The rogue mage screamed in agony and rage, advancing on her, preparing to end her. Elyria closed her eyes and prepared for her life to end.

“Now you die,” roared the mage.

“I don’t think so,” said Stryker, finding the sword, covering her body, and thrusting the sword up and into the mage, causing him to drop his hands as he staggered back. Stryker found his feet and whirled around, swinging the sword in a powerful arc, separating the mage’s head from his shoulders.

After, Stryker knelt beside her, laying down the sword and cradling her in his arms. His breathing was shallow, his face pale, but he was alive. They were both alive. Elyria pressed her hand to his wound, her magic flickering weakly as she tried to heal him.

“Don’t expend the energy. I’ll be fine,” he murmured, his voice barely more than a rasp as he grinned down at her. “You... you did it.”

Elyria swallowed hard, tears burning in her eyes. “We did it.” She reached for his hand, her grip weak but steady. “Don’t... don’t let go.”

“I won’t,” Stryker whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “I’m not letting go—not now, not ever again.”

I n the aftermath of the battle, Elyria stood with Stryker at the edge of the ruined stronghold, watching as the fae worked together to rebuild. Tavish’s weapons had been pushed to their limits, and Elowen’s healing magic had saved countless lives, but the scars of the battle remained.

The High Council had been shaken to its core. Oberon’s complicity had been exposed, and the mage’s dark ambitions had been thwarted. But the cost had been high, and the road ahead was uncertain.

Elyria glanced at Stryker, their shoulders brushing as they stood side by side. The electricity between them still hummed, but there was something different now—a sense of unity, purpose, and trust.

“We’ve got a lot of work ahead of us,” Stryker said quietly, his voice laced with exhaustion.

Elyria nodded, her gaze sweeping over the rubble. “But what about Oberon?”

He turned to her, his dark eyes filled with the same intensity that had always been there. “How about we recover from our last adventure before we start on the next. Think you can handle it?”

She grinned. “Maybe we could take a couple of days.”

Stryker laughed. “Maybe.”

“Have you heard anything from the Duvall sisters?”

He nodded, sobering. “They said they can’t be sure, but they think Oberon may have escaped into another realm, but there’s no way of really knowing. We’ll have to wait to get better intelligence. Wherever he is, we’ll find him and put an end to him, but let’s give it a few days.”

As the sun began to rise over the horizon, casting a warm glow over the ruined stronghold, Elyria knew that they were just beginning. The world they had fought for—the future they were building—was fragile, but it was theirs.