Page 113 of A Kiss of Hammer and Flame

Yet as Hael struggled to reconcile it, he sensed the truth within his ancient heart. And in that moment, as Cahra gazed with such life into his open eyes of fire, he knew just what he felt for her, and he could never tell her. Because she was his Master.

Cahra had freed Hael from his tomb, only for him to ensnare himself anew.

He stilled, visualising the ebb and flow of Nether-magicks cycling through his body. He needed to calm himself, lest his eyes betray him. Gratefully, there was violence to be had, and nothing soothed him like the song of war.

He smiled, the mask in place. ‘I must attend the sacrilegious wretches in your temple.’

Cahra put a hand to his cheek – and for a mere moment, he melted against her touch. She closed her eyes, resting her head against him.

‘Be careful,’ was all she whispered.

‘It is they who should possess a care.’ Hael paused. ‘Please, stay here. The powers that you accessed are no more,’ he told her, torn between leaving and staying by her side.

Cahra made the choice for him as she nodded, stepping back. Hael’s cue to show her, have her see him as he really was. Not the weapon, but a monster.

Hael smothered his flames as a low rumbling swelled and he changed, splintering, his very essence descending into smoke and ash, a jet windstorm that choked the sparing air of his shrine room and its dim passages as he speared for the doors to explode them open, rocking them from their hinges as the metal showered down.

His battle cry echoed through the temple, a defiant proclamation of the Reliquus reborn, trumpeting his desire for vengeance.

It had been an age since the screams of worthy victims had graced Hael’s immortal ears, and he smirked as Kolyath and Ozumbre’s soldiers clamoured to flee the pyramid.

Fleehim.

From his shrine, while speaking with Cahra, Hael had tracked the forces’ deafening stampede and deduced precisely which level, which wing, which hall to materialise amidst in order to inflict the most chaos upon the enemy’s ranks. So, he spirited into the dark and dust, reappearing in the dead centre of those stricken, traitorous men.

And he would raze them to the Netherworld-forsaken ground.

After 399 years in captivity, Cahra’s adverse emotions were not enough to satiate him. He needed more, and the first thirteen mattered most. But unlike with her, this process would scarcely be so peaceful. After what the tri-kingdoms had done to Cahra, Hael would ensure a like for like. Namely, their suffering as punishment, for hers.

For he was free at last, dark magicks sparking at his fingertips, with centuries of bloodlust to slake. It was a simple task of flitting from foe to quailing foe, draining soldiers of their suffering then stealing onto the next. Mere moments after his arrival, the innermost men had fallen to the floor, the abreption leaving them as lifeless husks, each death feeding and strengthening his fires within. His enemies leapt back, their faces stained with horror, just as Hael was stained with the blood of their comrades.

Arms outstretched, Hael loomed above them all, sighing softly, as the negativity of his victims surged within him, activating every dormant aspect of his infernal existence.

As the hewed features of his humanoid face descended into chaos.

As he curled his fingers before him, the squat nails he’d borne for centuries extending, sharpening into his gnarled talons once more.

As both eye sockets caught fire with the celestial heat of a thousand suns, fangs growing to protrude like jagged sabres from his elongated jaw.

As a monstrous, blood-curdling howl erupted from his mouth and the lick of undiluted power Hael had sensed in Cahra, which had triggered his transformation, ended with the full restoration of his Nether-powers – and the second of his forms.

He spoke. ‘Know me as Hael. Reliquus of the Order of Descry, and Vassal Champion to the Scion, Empress Cahraelia of Hael’stromia.’ He lowered his chin to the ground, relaxing into readiness for an easy victory. ‘It is my pleasure to deliver you to my lord Tenebrius…And from this life.’ Hael snarled into the darkness, the temple’s foundations trembling.

Thus, it began.

Kolyath and Ozumbre’s soldiers near him froze, making them effortless prey as he lopped heads from torsos with his bare palms, gore spattering the walls of the black temple. Following this, most took flight, the unbridled panic sending contingents both scurrying towards the surface and back into the bowels of his abode. One, two, three senior officers drew their swords to face him, courageous yet futile. He swooped to slash one man’s throat, swirling flawlessly to impale another’s chest – blood spraying from the mangled heart – before turning on the final enemy Captain. Hael’s grin widened as he kicked a broadsword from the man’s grasp, caught it by the blade and crunched it between his Reliquus teeth, the metal snapping under the tensile strength of his jaws. His opponent’s eyes bulged with fear. The reek of urine followed.

Hael advanced, soundless despite his hulking frame.

‘Your kingdoms assailed my Master, your rightful Empress to the realm.’ He paused. ‘There will be no mercy.’ Words lashing with savagery, Hael disintegrated into his dread ash and smoke, life and death’s own matter – a product of the sunken fires of his true abode – and charged the airways of his opponent, shooting for the lungs and erupting to detonate the soldier from the inside out. Chunks of mortal meat rained in the darkness.

He had cleared one level of the temple.

Then Hael flew, lethal and limitless, for those fool enough to near his Master.

CHAPTER 45

Dressed in a stolen Kolyath army tabard, her dark brown hair tucked beneath a large helmet, Wyldaern followed the path laid out by her vision, slipping through the enemy’s front lines all the way to Hael’stromia’s gate. She moved quietly inside.

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