Page 98 of Marked By His Hunger
That thought was not rational.
But it was absolute.
My gaze flicked toward the forest.
And I saw it.
A shadow.
Not a Daemon.
Not a slug-thing.
A spirit.
Blurry.
Dark.
Watching.
Waiting.
It felt curious.
Detached.
But aware.
My heart pounded so violently I thought it might split open.
I pointed.
“Help him!”
The words didn’t feel like words.
They felt like command.
Something exploded out of me.
Sharp.
Glittering.
Purple.
It burst from my chest in jagged waves, visible even in the storm light. I gasped at the sight of it—actual magic, streaming from my body like lightning made of amethyst.
The energy slammed into the waiting spirit.
And the ghost screamed.
Not in fear.
In purpose.
It surged forward like a banshee unleashed, wrapping around one of the Daemons and dragging it backward.
