Page 141 of The Eternal Mirror
The thing I might have to destroy.
And then I hear it.
Marching.
The distant roll of armored boots. Khronus is coming, and he’s bringing a lot of friends to the party.
Beside me, Khaos shifts. His body bends and snaps, reshaping until Wrath stands beside me, eyes blazing gold. His job is to protect me, but also to try to clear a path to his father.
I draw Nightfall.
And step forward.
All around, the mirror’s eerie light reflects off a thousand eyes glinting between the trees as though the forest is alive. Fuck, there are a lot of them. Then Khronus appears, flanked by a living wall of soldiers. He halts twenty feet from where I stand, his guard spreading out around him. I can feel the pulse of his wards, the magic more powerful than I’ve ever encountered.
Tall and lean, he’s dressed all in black with a crown of silver on his head. He doesn’t raise his weapon or shout. For a second, his gaze flicks to the mirror, and a gloating expression spreads across his face. Then his eyes shift to the dragon behind me, and a small smile plays across his lips. Snug bastard. Finally, he looks straight at me. His gaze drops down over my body, and every muscle tightens.
“Your answer?” he says.
“To what? Do you mean your proposal?” I shake my head. “Wow. Still obsessed. Get over me already.” I cock my head and smile just enough to irritate him.
Rage tightens his jaw, turns his eyes to burnished gold. His nostrils flare. “You could have been my queen.”
“For the record? I’d rather gargle broken glass.” My voice is steady, but my pulse is not. It’s racing, as if it will break out of my body and sprint for safety. But there’s no safety. Not in this world. Or maybe any. Not while this man lives.
“You will regret this. As will everyone you know and love.” His eyes flick to Wrath crouched just behind me. “Starting with my son. I’ll make a throne of his bones.”
And with that, he raises his hand, and the world tears open.
The ground trembles as the first wave hits. Twisted shifters, warped magical creatures with broken faces and burning eyes race past him, heading straight for us. Wrath launches into the air, and I reach for the celestial flame, drawing it from deep inside me. Crimson fire roars from Nightfall as I slice my sword, and it catches everyone around me. They scream as they burn. I remember the first time I did this. I was filled with a sense of limitless power. I’d craved the destruction of my enemies. Now, all I feel is sadness and loss. I had once seen everything as so black and white. They were the bad guys. These aren’t bad guys; they’re puppets of an evil, megalomaniacal despot. But they still burn in my fire.
The first line of soldiers vanishes. Ash on the wind. But there’s another line behind them. And another.
For a brief moment, I catch a glimpse of Khronus through the inferno. I send my flames shooting toward him, but they bounce off the wards. It’s clearly going to take more than celestial fire to finish him off. But I’m not giving up yet—not without a fight.
But my distraction costs me, and an arrow slams into my shoulder. Luckily, it’s my left, but shit, it hurts. Above my head, Wrath screams in rage. His lithe body spins in the sky as he lets out a roar of fire, burning the forest behind me and the archers within it.
We are circled by fire. I can feel the searing heat on my skin. The smoke singes my throat and nostrils. I have to conserve my magic. I know what happens when I use too much.
I fight my way toward Khronus as still more of his soldiers pour into the glade like a tide of nightmares, racing toward me. And as I fight, I hurl spells his way, hoping that something will get through, but nothing makes even a dent in his wards.
Wrath swoops down. He’s fire and fang and sky-splitting wings. His roar makes the stars flicker.
I race forward, swinging Nightfall as I go. I have a clear view of Khronus, and I try another spell. I run forward and hurl it.
“Invisible shield, I call your name—
Break beneath my magic flame.”
But the flames just burn around him. Inside the ring of fire, he raises his hand and points at me, and I’m caught in bands of iron, unable to move; then I’m flying backward, slamming into a burning tree trunk behind me. I crumple to the ground, dazed. As I lift my head, a sword comes down, but the wielder is plucked from in front of me before he can make contact.
Wrath comes to land beside me, and I shake my head—it’s ringing—then whisper a spell to release me from the irons, I scramble onto his back. He rises into the sky, and I cling on as he slams into the heart of the army, scattering bodies like kindling. His tail sweeps wide, claws tearing trenches in the dirt, flames spewing across the front.
It’s beautiful. It’s devastating.
It’s not enough.
Everything hurts. I’m bleeding from the arrow, the skin of my cheek is burned, and I’m pretty sure I broke a few ribs when I slammed into that tree.
