Sundered by Fate (Shadowbound #3)

Chapter 23

Twenty-Three

A ric alighted on the courtyard stones, golden wings spread around him like rays of the sun. The dim glow of the rift outlined Malekith's form in the distance, but the poison of the anomalies gnawed at Aric's senses, the air thick with its corruption.

Malekith stood before the tear in reality, the violet energy illuminating an eerily empty battlefield. The soldiers and demon forces had shifted to other fronts, leaving the space wide open, deserted. Aric took a cautious step forward, and Malekith turned toward him, his eyes gleaming with a violet hue.

"Solarian." Malekith's voice was low, almost pained.

Aric's heart ached at the familiarity of that voice, the cadence he had once cherished, coupled with the cold unfamiliarity that rimed it like frost. But this—this nightmare of a man—was not the Malekith he had known. The energy of the rift twisted around him like a malevolent storm, and the shape of his demonic form seemed distorted, enhanced by the Void.

"Malekith," Aric said, his voice rough. He tightened his grip on the sword in his hand, the blade's glow pulsing in time with his racing heart. "Please. Whatever you've become—whatever Sylthris and the Sovereign have done to you—it's not too late."

Malekith laughed, a sound that sent a twisting knife of pain through Aric's heart. "Not too late? Oh, little mage, you have it all wrong."

His form shifted, the demonic armor re-forming around him. The rift’s energy reached for Malekith like lover’s arms, the shadows stretching and bending as he approached. Aric made himself stay still, the sword an anchor against the madness threatening to overwhelm him.

"Malekith. Please. I know you're still in there." He took a step forward, the courtyard stones cold against his feet. "I know you can fight this."

Malekith's eyes didn't waver, the violet gleam strong, unyielding. "There is nothing to fight, Aric. This is what I've always been. What I was always meant to be." He tilted his head, a cruel smile playing on his lips. "You should really be thanking me. I was holding back, when we were together. For you."

Aric's chest felt tight, the breath coming in ragged gasps. "You don't mean that. Whatever Sylthris has done to you, we can fix this." He raised the sword, the golden fire dancing along the blade. "I can help you, if you'll let me."

Malekith took another step, shadows clinging to him like a second skin. "I don't want your help."

They began to circle each other, their feet crunching on the charred remains of the courtyard. Aric's heart ached with the familiar dance—the way Malekith moved, the deadly grace of him. But there was a new weight to his steps, a heaviness that spoke of power beyond anything Aric had seen before.

And then he saw it—the corruption spreading through Malekith's veins, the darkness pooling beneath his skin. His once-glossy horns were dull and ashy, and his eyes . . . The violet glow had spread, devouring the whites, the irises, until they were nothing but pits of shadow.

Aric's fingers tightened around the sword. Whatever had happened to Malekith, it was nothing he could fix with words. Not this time.

Malekith moved first, his blade a streak of black as he lunged at Aric with a snarl. Aric's reactions took over, his sword meeting Malekith's with a clang that shuddered up his arm.

"Please, stop," Aric pleaded, trying to reach the part of Malekith that was still his. But the only answer he got was another vicious strike, driving Aric backward, the dance of their blades a relentless assault.

Parry, deflect—the familiar rhythm of their sparring sessions, turned deadly. Aric's heart thudded with each remembered step, each turn of wrist?—

A delicate waltz in the sparring room of the Ixion stronghold, Malekith prodding Aric’s leg with a training blade and caressing each spell Aric cast with his own, until they knotted and swirled together in a tapestry of dark and light . . .

He couldn't think about that now. He had to focus on getting past Malekith. But the longer this went on, the more he felt himself slipping, the sigil on his chest burning with dark power. But Aric couldn’t lose control.

Aric spun, feinting to the right before darting left. Malekith's sword raised to intercept, and Aric brought his own around, the golden fire surging down the length of it. Malekith's blade caught the flames, but they twisted and writhed, trying to engulf him.

Aric's muscles burned as he parried Malekith's relentless assault, the demon prince's weapon a typhoon of shadow and steel. The courtyard stones were slick with Aric's own blood now, the coppery scent mingling with the acrid tang of brimstone from the rift.

Power thrummed beneath his skin, the golden fire that had erupted from him unbidden, the wings, the energy to destroy the rifts, and now, the sigil searing his flesh with each passing second. It would be so easy to give in, to let the darkness consume him and unleash a torrent of destruction upon the demon realm.

Aric braced himself and spun out of the way of a vicious slash. Malekith's blade kissed the air an inch from his jaw, and Aric felt the chill of the Void's touch on his skin. He stumbled back, his boots skidding on the blood-slicked stones, and barely managed to bring his sword up in time to block the next strike.

The force of it sent a jagged bolt of pain up his arm, and Aric's fingers spasmed around the hilt. For a moment, he was terrified he would lose his grip, that Malekith would sense his weakness and strike the killing blow.

But Malekith merely smiled, a cruel twist of his lips, and stepped back. The violet glow in his eyes seemed to pulse with cruel amusement, as if he knew Aric's every thought, every fear. "You're holding back," he purred, his voice a low, seductive rasp. "Why is that, I wonder? Afraid to hurt me?"

Aric's heart clenched at the words, at the ghost of the Malekith he had known in that honeyed tone. No, he told himself fiercely. That's not him. Not anymore.

But even as the thought formed, Aric saw an opening. A bare second of hesitation in Malekith's next strike, a fraction of a heartbeat where his guard dropped and his throat was exposed. Aric could do it, could end this nightmare with a single, swift thrust of his blade.

And yet he hesitated. His arm trembled with the effort of holding back, but he couldn't do it. He couldn't strike down the man he loved, no matter what Sylthris and Zaxos had done to him.

Malekith's eyes narrowed, and then his lips curled in a sneer. "Fool," he hissed, and lashed out with his blade.

Aric tried to parry, but he was too slow, his movements sluggish from exhaustion and pain. The black steel bit deep into his arm, parting flesh like butter, and Aric shrieked in agony. Blood welled from the wound, hot and sticky against his skin, and for a moment the world swam around him in a dizzying spiral of color and sound.

The rift behind them pulsed, a sickly violet glow that seemed to mock him with its very existence. This was what he had come here to stop, what he had risked everything to prevent. And now, because of his own weakness, his own unwillingness to do what needed to be done, it might all be for nothing.

Aric gritted his teeth, his vision clearing as the pain in his arm sharpened into focus.

But Aric had seen where that path led, the twisted mockery of Malekith that stood before him now. He couldn't let that happen to him, couldn't become the monster that Malekith had become. No matter how much it cost him, no matter how much it hurt, he had to find another way.

Aric raised his sword, the golden flame dancing along the blade in time with the frantic pounding of his heart. Malekith's eyes glinted with cruel amusement, and he stepped forward, his own blade poised to strike.

"You should have killed me when you had the chance," Malekith seethed. "Now it's too late. Now, I'm going to make you pay for your foolishness."

Aric met his gaze, his own eyes hard and unyielding. "I won't let that happen," he said, his voice steady despite the fear that gripped his heart. "I won't let you become this monster. Not without a fight."

Aric changed tactics, his mind racing as he searched for anything that would stop Malekith without striking him down. He couldn't bring himself to end the life of the man he had once loved, no matter how much of a monster he had become.

Instead, Aric focused on his magic, the golden flames dancing along the length of his blade as he feinted and dodged, trying to create distance between them. He knew he couldn't match Malekith in a straight-up fight, not with the demon prince's newfound power and the advantage of the rift's energy.

Malekith anticipated each move, cutting off Aric's attempts to reach the tear in reality.

Aric's mind flashed back to the countless hours he had spent sparring with Malekith at the Ebon Spire. He remembered teaching the prince this very defensive pattern, Malekith's movements fluid and graceful as he mastered the technique. The memory hit Aric like a physical blow, throwing him off balance and leaving him vulnerable to Malekith's relentless assault.

Malekith's blade found its mark once more, the black steel slicing through Aric's tunic and biting deep into his side. Aric cried out in pain, the coppery scent of blood filling his nostrils as he stumbled backward, his vision blurring at the edges. The courtyard stones seemed to tilt and shift beneath his feet, and he feared he would collapse under the weight of his injuries.

But the searing agony in his side brought a sudden clarity, snapping Aric back to the present with the force of a slap. He couldn't afford to lose focus, not even for a second. Exhaustion was seeping into his bones, his muscles screaming in protest with each parry and deflection. If he didn't find a way to end this quickly, to stop Malekith before his strength gave out, he would be at the mercy of the demon prince's blade.

Malekith laughed, the sound cold, emotionless, as if he sensed Aric's flagging strength and was seizing on it. But Aric refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing his weakness, refused to let him know how close he was to breaking.

The combat took them in a wide circle around the rift, neither gaining a decisive advantage. Aric's heart pounded in his chest as he parried and deflected, a marrow-deep exhaustion creeping through him. But he pushed through the pain, his mind working furiously to find a solution, a way to turn the tide of this battle.

Because in the end, it wasn't just about him and Malekith. It was about the fate of two realms, the lives of countless innocents hanging in the balance. Aric had come too far, sacrificed too much, to let it all slip away now. He had to stop Malekith, no matter the cost. He had to.

Aric launched into a flurry of strikes that drove Malekith backward. Each blow was calculated to force the demon prince onto the defensive, to create the opening Aric needed to reach the rift. The rift pulsed and swirled around them, the violet light casting eerie shadows across the ruined courtyard.

Malekith's eyes narrowed, his face a mask of cold concentration as he met each strike with a parry or deflection. But even with his enhanced power, he was beginning to falter under the relentless onslaught. Aric's magic poured through the sword, the blade resonating with the raw energy of his golden flames.

Their blades finally locked, the steel kissing in a shower of sparks as they strained against each other. Aric's face was inches from Malekith's, close enough to see the flecks of violet in his eyes, the twist of cruel amusement on his lips. For a moment, they held there, two warriors locked in a silent struggle of wills and strength.

And then, in a flash of desperate hope, Aric searched Malekith's eyes for any spark of recognition, any hint of his prince. But there was nothing there, only the cold, pitiless gaze of a stranger. Malekith sneered, and he spat out a single, venomous word: "Fool."

With a sudden, vicious twist, Malekith wrenched the blades apart, sending Aric stumbling backward. The human mage caught himself on one knee, the sword still clutched in his hand. Blood dripped from a fresh cut on his cheek, mingling with the sweat and grime of battle. His chest heaved with exhaustion as he staggered onto his feet again. Aric was running out of time, that his strength was fading with the dying daylight. But he couldn't give up, not now, not when he was so close to his goal.

He met Malekith's gaze one last time. "I will keep fighting for us. Even if you cannot.”

Malekith’s mouth popped open in a wordless protest. Something working behind his eyes as his jaw shifted. Recognition? Concession? Defeat? Renewed fury?

It mattered not.

Aric would fight for them both.

With a final, desperate cry, Aric's wings enveloped him, golden fire erupting in a blinding torrent. He surged forth in one last burst of energy, ignoring the searing, needling pain along his spine as Malekith’s sigil dug in its claws, as though it meant to hold him back. Sword drawn, wings spreading wide, fire crackling with fury . . .

Malekith lunged for Aric, talons connecting with Aric’s ankle and digging in. Hot points of pain flared bright along Aric’s skin as though it were a venomous strike.

But Malekith was too late to stop him.

The rift screamed like water thrown on a heated stone as Aric’s blade connected with its surface, and then Aric was screaming. Was Malekith shrieking, too? Magic popped and hissed in his ears. The rift's howls were drowned out by a thunderous roar as the divine flames consumed it, and with one last, ragged shriek, the portal began to collapse in on itself.

The fiery hurricane pulled Malekith towards it, his talons still locked around Aric. But as the rift began to swallow him, Aric's wings beat so hard they sent out a shockwave of pressure, throwing them both backward.

Malekith landed with a rough thud that forced him to release Aric. His claws digging into the cobblestones with a bone-rattling crunch, and lay there for a moment, stunned. Aric, too, lay sprawled on the ground, the divine fire ebbing away, leaving nothing but ash and embers in its wake.

In the distance, Aric heard the cries of victory from the human forces, echoing through the broken streets. They had won—the rift was closed, the demons vanquished. But at what cost?

Aric's body felt heavy and hollow, his limbs trembling with exhaustion. The wings retracted into his back with a rush of cold air and then vanished. The sword fell from his hand with a shudder. He felt as though he had been drained of all his essence, every last drop of power wrung out of him.

And yet, as he looked at Malekith lying beside him, a terrible sense of loss and emptiness filled him—a wound that no amount of magic could heal, no amount of battle prowess could fill.

Aric forced himself to his feet. Malekith staggered beside him, his chest heaving, the infernal glamor of battle faded into a dismal wreckage. His horns were cracked, one of his long ears torn, and crimson stained his cheek.

But as the smoke began to clear, Aric's heart froze at the sight of the human forces advancing towards them. A line of armored knights, their blades gleaming in the dim light, and behind them, the archers with their arrows nocked and ready. And Aric was no longer certain if they were friend or foe.

There was a low groan from Malekith as he too saw the human forces approaching. A flicker of uncertain emotion passed over his mangled features, and for a moment, Aric thought he saw the hardened warrior from so long ago—the one who had stormed the outpost and captured Aric, who had tormented and manipulated him, who had laughed in the face of Aric's pain and suffering.

He was not that same demon. Not anymore. And though Aric had sworn to end his hold over him, he could not bear the thought of watching him die.

The line of human soldiers drew closer, their weapons raised. Aric swallowed hard, forcing his limbs to move, to step in front of Malekith, blocking their sights. He knew the odds of surviving against so many were slim, but he would fight with every last breath, every shred of his power, to protect the demon he loved.

The soldiers shouted something, but Aric could not hear them over the roaring in his ears, the thunder of his own heart. He positioned himself between them and Malekith, his own sword a weight in his hand.

"Stand down, Solarian." Lord Regent Valerian, joined by Olaya and Diviandra of the Silver Tower, moved forward from the throng. "We cannot suffer this monster to live."