Page 31 of Slayer

“You always were the weaker one,” I continue quietly. “Hiding behind your slayers. Sending them to finish the work you didn’t have the courage to do yourself. I just let you think you had the power.” I spit. The sound cracks through the silence, a final insult.

“You were much easier to bring down than I ever imagined.” I tilt my head, studying what’s left of him. “Such a pity.” My mouth curves, not kind, not merciful. “You were never the legend you thought you were, just a man with no honor.”

I move slowly, every inch of me protesting, my body remembering the raven like a fever dream. Maddoc’s sword lies only a few feet from Silas’s body. I make my way to it, every muscle screaming in protest.

I reach down and lift it, the blade dragging across the stone. The dry, grating sound pulls me back into myself. Maddoc wouldn’t falter if he were in my position.

Silas lashes out, sending one of my own daggers spinning through the air. It opens my forearm to the bone, the blade biting deep. Blood fountains, hot and fast, spilling down my wrist and dripping to the floor. Fuck, he hit an artery.

The pain is sharp and immediate. I feel like I'm fading, a mix of losing too much blood too quickly and overexerting myself.

I clamp my bleeding arm hard against my ribs, fingers slick as I press down, feeling my pulse hammering against my palm.

I keep coming anyway, each step a promise that I’ll fulfill my task. I kneel above him. He gurgles. Dark crimson bathes the flagstones beneath us, soaking into the cracks. His blue eyes, so bright once, are small now, flaring with panic and disbelief.

This is the moment where I finally get to take down my last mentor. The one who has instilled pain in every single person that has walked into this academy. The one who mutilated women for the sake of “tradition.” The one who made deals that have killed thousands. He has finally fallen. By my blade.

“Any last words?” I ask, a courtesy I give to all my victims.

He chokes, the attempt at speech bubbling up through the blood flooding his mouth. What’s left of him looks pitiful, broken, barely human. For a single beat, I let him search for the man he used to be.

I want him to feel the distance. To understand how far he’s fallen.

“A shifter,” he whispers at last, wonder bleeding into his voice. “You, darling, are far more than I ever imagined.” He coughs violently, blood dripping down his chin. “Don’t let them know what you are.”

Disgust surges through me, sharp and absolute. I won’t let this turn tender, not after everything he’s done to me. I won’t give him that.

“This is for me,” I say coldly, “For taking something out of my body that never belonged to you.” My gaze doesn’t waver. I look down at his mangled face, thinking of the ruin he made of so many lives.

“And for Maddoc.” I continue, my voice steady, merciless, “You disgusting, manipulative man.”

I lift Maddoc’s sword, trembling under the weight.

I drive the blade straight through his heart. His icy blue eyes lock with my grays, shock flashing only once, before the light drains from them completely.

Silas finally dies.

I hold the sword in his chest for several long minutes, intent on making sure he’s gone for good. If by some stroke of divinity Maddoc can see this, he’ll know it was for him.

Only when I’m certain do I let go. The blade slips from my fingers. It hits the stone with a sharp metallic ring, the sound echoing through the chamber long after it should have faded.

My knees give out. I sink to the floor, the pain in my arm pulsing hot and relentless, blood still spilling freely from the wound. My breath comes shallow and uneven as I stare at what’s left of Silas. My eyes blur, losing focus as the injury drains me.

“He’s gone,” I say with a ragged breath. He’s finally gone. The words repeat in my mind, over and over. The weight in my chest eases, just slightly, leaving behind only bruised ribs and hollow space.

I force myself to look away and scan the room, vision blurring further as I search for anything, anything, to stop the bleeding. My gaze catches on a scarf draped over the back of a couch on the far side of the chamber.

I push myself upright, legs trembling, and stagger toward it. Each step is slower than the last, heavier, as if the floor itself is trying to pull me under. Blood trails behind me, painting my path across the stone.

I grab the scarf and wrap it around my arm as tightly as I can, fingers slick and clumsy. Pain and exhaustion threaten to pull me under if I slow for even a second.

I stagger to the door just to make sure it’s locked. Then to the windows as I fight the strong breeze from the storm, to shut and lock them.

I need to feel safe. I can’t make it anywhere tonight, so here will have to do. I make it to the couch and collapse, sinking into velvet cushions that swallow me whole. The room spins, the edges of my vision dimming and blurring together. Somewhere beyond the stone walls, the ocean crashes against the cliffs, steady, endless, indifferent.

The fire crackles beside me. Smoke and salt fill the air, warm and sharp in my lungs.

Maddoc’s face flickers through my mind. A single tear slips free, slow and hot, trailing down my cheek.