Page 53 of The Last Knight

Gunther didn’t look like Gunther anymore. His form wavered, splitting into multiple versions of himself, four, maybe five, each flickering like a broken reflection in shattered glass. The copies slid apart, then snapped back together in a nauseating rhythm.

Around his boots, shadows coiled, a vile, writhing mist that clung to his legs like living serpents. His muscles strained, cords standing out in his neck as he fought to hold something back. His fists clenched and shook, arms rigid as he battled against an invisible tide.

“Move!” Sterling barked pulling her out of the door dragging her behind a nearby tree. “He’s losing control.”

“I can’t,” Aubrey whispered, voice trembling as her eyes filled with tears. “I won’t leave him. Not now.”

Sterling turned to her, his expression hardening into that of a monarch, ruthless and absolute. His silver eyes, normally so cold and calm, now burned with urgency.

“Gunther is slipping beyond reach. You must accept it.”

But she couldn’t.

When Gunther stumbled out of the door, the writing mist rose higher, curling up Gunther’s waist like a noose tightening. Black veins etched up his throat, threading like spiderwebs beneath his skin. His features twisted, distorted into something monstrous and unfamiliar.

Still, Aubrey couldn’t look away. Neither it seemed could Sterling. They stood frozen, transfixed as the man they knew began to unravel before their eyes.

Then his gaze locked with hers.

Dark, tormented eyes full of agony and pleading. He wasn’t gone yet. Not completely. He was begging her.

Help me.

Her heart cracked. She wanted to run to him, to tear the darkness from his body with her bare hands. But she was helpless, just a girl with no power, no plan.

A guttural cry tore from Gunther’s chest, raw and inhuman. He dropped to his knees, shaking violently, fighting with everything he had left.

“We are supreme,” came the screeching chorus of multiple voices, layered and chilling, echoing from his mouth. “You cannot win against us.”

The air turned cold. A seductive apparition shimmered within the dark mist, a pull that twisted at something deep inside her. It whispered promises, offered comfort.

Aubrey swayed.

Sterling grabbed her by the shoulders, eyes blazing. “Look at me!” he demanded, shaking her hard enough to break the trance. “Do you really want to save him?”

Her breath hitched.

She nodded and then whispered, “More than anything.”

Aubrey looked over her shoulder at the now prostrate Gunther. Her chest tightened at what had to be done. “I think he prefers it,” she choked out the last word, tears now flowing freely. “He’d rather die than be overtaken by evil.”

Sterling held out his hand visibly swallowing. Her hand shook as she placed the jeweled dagger on the Prince’s palm.

“God forgive me,” she whispered turning to look at Gunther who was now fully engulfed in the dark mist.

Gunther’s hand stretched toward them, one final, trembling plea for salvation. His muscular frame shook with the effort, the weight of darkness pressing heavy upon him as he forced himself upright. Knees sinking into the earth, he lifted his quaking arms, palms facing them, as if begging for mercy.

Sterling’s voice cracked with emotion. “Goodbye, my friend.”

He hurled the dagger, the force behind it so great it cut through the air, the jeweled hilt leaving a ghostly trail of light in its wake. Time seemed to slow as the blade found its mark, burying itself deep in the center of Gunther’s chest.

Aubrey’s breath caught in her throat, her mouth open in a silent scream.

Gunther’s eyes widened, stunned more by release than pain. He met Sterling’s gaze, then turned to Aubrey, sorrow and gratitude flickering in his gaze. His lips moved, barely, almost imperceptibly into what might’ve been a final smile. Then, like a felled oak, he collapsed face-first into the dirt.

Aubrey’s scream finally tore through, raw and full of anguish. Her legs buckled, her body swaying as if the very ground beneath her had shifted.

And then the true horror began.