Page 191 of Malicent
Cage was going to be a problem. That’s why he’s taking a nap during all this.
Shadows begin to slither from his body. I know Vyraxis is coming.
I bolt.
Windows I pass display a suddenly dark grey stormy sky. Large bolts of lightning zip through the clouds, and thunder rattles the castle as Vyraxis’s energy pulls.Yeah, she is pissed.
I sprint through the winding halls to the mage wing. Thanks to the ball, the entire wing is deserted.
Idiots.Too reliant on their wards. And their ward keeper is fast asleep.
I reach the sealed iron door. My magic slides from my fingers and sinks into the runes etched across the metal. One by one, the wards shatter. It’s nice not having the collar on. There’s no burning. This freedom tastes like power.
Inside, the artifact room feels like an overstuffed tomb. Shelves tower above me, crammed with cursed relics, ancient enchantments, and things that should never have been made.
I find the box easily. Golden, unassuming, barely bigger than a picnic basket.
A chill floods my veins the moment I touch it.
The Nightmother stirs awake.
Open it, she purrs. Her voice coils in my mind. My hands shake when I try to resist.
Open it,she growls.Her compulsion slices in my mind. Images flash in my mind—a grotesque, four-armed beast. The visions are drenched black and crimson.
“Stop,” I whisper.
Open it. Open it.OPEN IT!
Her screams split my skull, and I collapse to my knees, clutching my head. I place the box down in front of me, grabbing my head.
“Stop! Stop!” I repeat. My scream cracks. Glass shatters across the room.
Her presence invades my mind. My vision floods black. My body spasms under the weight of her control as my hands move without my will. They rip away the protective wrappings, and the box creaks open.
She releases me, allowing my eyes to roll forward.
The box before me is empty inside, just a dust-lined interior wrapped in aged green velvet. A mirror is on the inside of the lid, so grimy I can barely make out my reflection.
Something moves in the corner in my periphery. I look over. Nothing.
Then the crows come, and I drop the box.
One, then a dozen, then hundreds explode from the box. Wings beat against the air. Screeches shatter the silence. They slash at me, beaks and talons piercing skin.
My magic erupts. A repulsion wave flings them back. I throw up a shield. They hammer against it, desperate to break through.
Some die on impact, but they keep coming.
I bolt for the door, flinging it open to escape.
They flood the hall like smoke, growing as they fly.
Legs lengthen. Muscles swell. Their claws twist into deadly appendages. From their backs, black spines sprout in whip-like tails sharpened into piercing tips.
Arms burst from their chests, each armed with three long talons
Their beaks stretch, mouths splitting open to reveal rows of glistening, serrated teeth.
