Page 14 of Fallen Stars

Turning back to the writhing man, she raised her dagger once again, ready to begin carving, the way she had planned—to keep him alive for the first few moments of it.

But as she looked at his one brown eye, her vision blurred, red flashing, and suddenly, it wasn’t just a man before her; it was Ariete, and they were on the roof of the palace, not in a fighting den.

She screamed, something bloodcurdling and born of rage as it tore out of her, and she impaled her knife through his other eye. The man below her gave one final groan as he died, the life leaving that eye. But all Elara could see was Ariete now. She screamed again as she raised the blade, stabbing it back into his skin, this time through his neck. Again and again, she cleaved him, her rage knowing no bounds as she saw Ariete beneath her, and what she wished she had been able to do to him. She wailed and cried as she continued to tear his body apart, blood drowning her as it sprayed off his lifeless body onto hers.

There were screams from the crowd as she continued to mutilate him, hacking and hacking at his skin, cutting slashes across his face, leaving wounds over his throat and chest, his face now unrecognisable. The rage burned and burned, as though Ariete really was there—his charm fuelling her.

And through the red mist, it was only the sound of Astra’s whine that reached her.

She stopped, her dagger hovering above the man once more, blood running down the handle and drenching her hands and sleeves.

She took a deep, shaky inhale as she blinked, seeing where she knelt again, over the body of an unimportant criminal, his face now a bloody pulp. The dagger fell from her hands, utter silence from the crowd around her as they watched her performance, stricken.

She breathed heavily, standing on shaky feet, desperate to call to her shadows for support. But they were already working their magick through the crowd as Elara staggered over to Astra. The blood of her victims was sticky against her suit, already crusted on her face.

She staggered, taking another few steps towards Astra who cowered, trembling, the blood still gushing over her fur.

“It’s okay,” Elara whispered, reaching out a shaking hand so the wolf could sniff it. “It’s going to be okay, Astra.”

All Elara wanted to do was get the wolf out of that place and then collapse, her limbs aching, legs about to give out. But she remembered the laughter at Astra’s expense. The violent enjoyment in the eyes of so many in the crowd.

As though on cue, a voice shouted out amongst the silence. “Kill the fucking beast then,” it roared.

Her bodybeggedher to use her magick as she stood again, the untamed beast withinherroaring.No magick,she tried to remind herself.

But suddenly, she really didn’t care. She would use her powers, allow the darkness itching in her veins to be unleashed. The Stars had ripped her dreams from her, forced her to live in a nightmare. And so, a nightmare she became.

The momentarily stunned throng began to laugh before taking up the chant.

“Kill the beast! Kill the beast!”

The agonising, twisting grief within her had finally been given an outlet. And she realised then, as her shadows swallowed her last shred of morality, leaping upon the walls as they were left utterly untethered, that what was about to take place in that underground cesspit…

It wasn’t just going to be a murder. It was going to be a massacre.

Elara dragged the last body out of the tunnel, her shadows helping as she groaned every step of the way. Finally, she let it slump with the other two, falling to her knees.

She wondered if her love would be proud of her or if he’d admonish her for what she’d done, and what she was about to. She hoped the former.

Astra was beside her, the wolf in dire need of medical attention. Elara stroked her fur, murmuring comforting words to the beast before turning back to the bodies before her.

She cocked her head as she looked at the stiffening body of the first corpse—the first brother—raising her blood-soaked dagger once more. And in true Enzo fashion, she began to carve a letter onto his skin.

“I loved her more than the day loves the Light, and she loved me more than the Dark loves the night.” Elara hummed Enzo’s lullaby softly as she worked, the melody soothing as she carved the last letter on the already cooling third body. She felt nothing as she looked upon the bloody mess of his face, merely tissue and bone and sinew now.

She wondered absent-mindedly if there was something wrong with her. She’d lost count of the number of people she’d killed after the three men she’d fought tonight. Even Gem, her first kill—she’d felt triumph as she’d choked her to death. Had felt delight as she’d murdered the three men before her. And the rest of the crowd, now a pile of bodies blocking the entrance to the fighting pits…well, she’d felt nothing at all as she’d wiped the den clean of them.

She finished the last line on the corpse, painstakingly pulling the blade down his gut and all the way to his groin. It was curious, how blood began to congeal when the heart was no longer pumping—dark and thick when it had run so free and red less than an hour ago.

She sighed, wiping her hands off as she fell back onto her haunches, and with a last bout of effort, spun her shadows to her, ordering them to string the bodies up one by one.

Utter calm. That’s what she felt in that moment as her darkness helped heave the corpses high so they dangled in the breeze from ropes in the arch’s rafters.

She admired her handiwork, the three shirtless dead swaying.

Ewas gouged into the torso of the first.

Linto the second.

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