Page 100 of Cursed By the Dawn

It wouldn’tmove.

“Let us celebrate a new dawn,” Mithras said. “Let us celebrate a newworld.”

His teeth were all I could see as everything faded into black.

Citadel Evernight was a nightmare.

Its lavish walls dripped with red smoke, and dreamers—no, demons disguised as dreamers—crowded its twisting halls like blood surging through the veins of a behemoth. No longer were we in beautiful adornments of white and gold; everyone was now wearing various hues of bloodred crimson and rich, all-consuming black. A quick glance at my hands told me I was dressed similarly. Clawed black gloves tightened across my forearms, leading to a crimson dress with a plunging neckline. A neckline that very clearly was designed to outline Raelion’s mark. Cool air brushed against my back, startling me.

My back was open—bare.

“It suits you.”Raelion’s voice slithered through my mind, rancid as a dying snake.“Now, come to me.”

I winced, stumbling into a nearby Reveler. No—demon.

The woman’s pale blue eyes flashed red, clearly revolted that I’d stepped on her foot.

“Watch where you’re running, you wretched thing,” she said with a sneer. Bones unfurled from her spine, curling around her like the cocoon of some diseased caterpillar. Other demons looked like her: part human,part monster. “You must be a lower demon—so disgustingly similar to a human.”

One of her bones dug into my shoulder, pinning me in place against a wall.

“Perhaps I will use you as a footrest in my new manor. Would you like that, you clumsy rat?”

“I am not yours to take,” I snapped, growing furious. “Let mego.”

I grabbed the bone digging into my shoulder, intending to shove it aside. But instead of pushing past her to find Erebus, Elliot,anyone, my limbs moved on their own. My hand squeezed the bone so tightly that it fractured under my grip. She shrieked, howling as if I had broken her arm, and continued to hiss as I slammed her into the ground. Her riblike bones, protruding from her spine and flexing like skeletal fingers, cracked.

Raelion was the master behind the puppetry—the fire fueling my rage.

“Look at you,” I heard myself say. But it wasn’t me at all; it was Raelion behind my throat. Raelion using my breath, tongue, and teeth. “An insect struggling to crawl.”

The woman’s eyes widened. Saliva trickled down her chin, dribbling down to her crimson robes. “Lord Raelion,” she murmured in reverence. “I-I did not recognize you. F-forgive me, m-my lord.”

Other demons had stopped to watch the scene unfold. Some bowed, some nodded in reverence.

But none intervened.

I drew my sword from my palm, still under Raelion’s control, and pressed it to the woman’s throat.

“M-my lord, have mercy,” the woman begged, squirming under my blade. The crowd gasped, sneered,laughed. “I am yet not attuned to my human’s inferior body. Had I been in my true form, I would have sensed you.”

I felt my lips peel back. “You are not suitable for my new world,” I snarled. “You will return to the rot from whence you came.”

And then I severed her head from her body.

It rolled around, the demon’s long blond hair tangling in the others’feet before fading into wisps of red-tinged smoke. I dropped the sword with aclang; it folded quickly into shadows, merging with my arm once more. My hands shook. My feet felt numb. Raelion’s laughter swirled around my mind, squeezing it in a vise. He had me under his control.

He has me under his control.

The sea of Revelers—all red-eyed demons wearing the bodies of their chosen humans—opened for me as I passed, dropping into low bows. They recognized me for who I was. Who I held within my skin. I wanted to be sick. Instead, I shoved the feeling down, using my newfound status to quickly ascend Evernight’s tunnels.

The top of Evernight had become a weeping wound, a distortion of the beautiful coliseum that was once tucked into its many spires. The open-air arena was both magnificent and menacing—a space that breathed with malevolent purpose. The edges were adorned with grotesque tapestries in shades of crimson and black, their woven images depicting scenes of torment and ecstasy. Greenish flames floated like sickly ghosts, casting flickering shadows that danced to the rhythm of the haunting melody that filled the air. The floor was black glass, polished to a mirror’s shine. It reflected a violet-red sky churning with restless clouds, their underbellies lit by the smolder of an unseen inferno.

It was an unsettling illusion, as if one misstep could send a dancer tumbling into the void below.

At the center of the arena, a raised platform of red stone jutted from the floor. Its surface was slick as though wet with blood. It glistened sickeningly under the baleful green light. The atmosphere carried a sharp, metallic tang, the unmistakable scent of iron mingling with the acrid bite of sulfur. Everything about the space seemed both to beckon and threaten—a siren song of wicked beauty and complete destruction.

Seven thick chains surrounded the platform, each encasing a Weaver.