Page 98 of Feral Gods
The chamber shudders violently, dust and small stones showering from the ceiling as magical discharges shake the structure above. The battle has intensified, Thane clearly giving everything to buy us the time we need.
"The ritual," I remind them, forcing focus through rising concern for our warrior brother. "We must complete it before they breach this chamber."
Kaia nods, determination replacing momentary wonder as she approaches the floating sphere. The Codex opens in her arms, pages turning of their own accord to reveal complex ritual instructions.
"We need a triangular formation," she directs, all hesitation gone from her voice as she embraces her role. "Equally spaced around the Confluence."
We position ourselves as instructed, forming a perfect triangle with the wildspont sphere at our center. The Codex floats from Kaia's arms to hover directly above the pulsing blue light, its pages emitting magenta energy that interacts with the Confluence's blue radiance to create shifting patterns of purple where they intersect.
"Join hands," Kaia instructs, extending her arms to connect our circle.
As our transformed flesh connects—my indigo hands clasping Kaia's slender human fingers and Zephyr's slate-blue palm—energy surges through the contact points. The sensation resembles our mental link but intensified hundredfold, creating awareness not just of thoughts but of essence itself.
Through this deepened connection, I feel Thane's battle rage above us—his fierce joy in combat tempered by grim acceptance of what must come. The realization of his intent hits me with physical force, nearly breaking my grip on Kaia's hand.
"He means to sacrifice himself," I gasp, the certainty of it burning through our connection.
Kaia's eyes widen with shared understanding, but her voice remains steady as she begins the ritual incantation. "We must complete this quickly, then. His choice will be meaningless if we fail."
The brutal truth of her assessment steadies me. Thane makes his choice as a warrior—providing the ultimate tactical advantage to secure our objective. To waste his sacrifice through hesitation or sentiment would dishonor everything he stands for.
Above us, the Codex begins to pulse with increasing intensity, its pages turning faster as Kaia's incantation grows more complex. The ancient language flows from her lips with native fluency, knowledge transferred directly from the sentient text to her consciousness.
The chamber trembles again, more violently this time. Through our connection, I feel Thane's life force burning hotter, brighter—consuming itself at unsustainable rates as he channels the curse energy in ways we never dared attempt.
"They've breached the upper chamber," Zephyr reports, his scholarly detachment strained by evident concern. "Morwen leads the magical assault personally."
Kaia's voice never falters despite this warning, the ritual words gaining power and resonance with each precisely articulated phrase. The Confluence sphere expands slightly, tendrils of blue energy extending toward each of us like curious appendages.
"We need more time," she murmurs between incantations. "The final sequence requires precise alignment."
Through our connection, Thane's acknowledgment flows—grim, determined, accepting. Above us, his life force flares with blinding intensity as he makes his decision.
"Thane, no—" I begin, but it's already too late.
Our warrior brother has triggered the deepest aspect of our curse, the final failsafe built into Morwen's magical binding. By consciously inverting the energy flow that maintains our transformed state, he creates a catastrophic release—curse magic discharging in a single devastating pulse rather than the controlled burn of our normal existence.
The magical backlash reverberates through our connection like physical pain. Through Thane's senses, I experience fragmented impressions of the chaos he unleashes—Morwen thrown backward by the unexpected surge, her perfect features contorted in shock and pain; King Kres shielded by his guards yet still staggered by the magical concussion; the palace itself shuddering as wildspont energy interacts with the curse's release in unpredictable ways.
And Thane himself, at the epicenter, his transformed body glowing from within as the curse energy consumes its vessel in final, spectacular defiance of its creator's intent.
"Complete the ritual," his voice echoes through our connection, already fading as his physical form begins to crumble. "Make it mean something."
Horror and grief threaten to overwhelm me, but centuries of military discipline provide structure for the chaos of emotion. Thane has made a tactical decision—the ultimate sacrifice play. Honoring it requires completing our mission despite the devastating cost.
"Continue," I tell Kaia, my voice steadier than the turmoil in my chest would suggest possible. "Thane buys us the time we need. We cannot waste it."
Grief flashes across her features, tears gathering in her dark eyes, yet she nods and resumes the incantation with renewed purpose. The ritual reaches its crescendo, the Codex now spinning above the Confluence sphere, pages blurring as they turn with impossible speed.
Through our fading connection with Thane, I feel his final moments—not pain but release, not fear but fierce satisfaction as his sacrifice achieves its purpose. His consciousness flickers, then disperses like mist before morning sun.
"Vale, brother," Zephyr murmurs, the ancient warrior's farewell passing his lips in the moment of Thane's dissolution.
A perfect warrior's death—purpose fulfilled, enemies confounded, brothers protected. Yet the knowledge brings no comfort as his presence vanishes from our mental link, leaving a jagged void where his fierce vitality once burned.
Above us, the Codex suddenly stops its frantic spinning, hovering open to a specific page directly over the Confluence sphere. Symbols from the book detach themselves from theparchment, floating down to merge with the pulsing blue energy. Where they connect, transformative magic sparks and flares.
"The final sequence," Kaia announces, voice thick with emotion yet never faltering in its ritual precision. "Each of us must contribute essence willingly—something precious, offered without reservation."
