Page 55 of The Monster You Made
I feel it too, the old pull, the chains he forged in me. His voice cuts sharper than blades. “Lucian,” he says, calm as if greeting an old friend. “My shadow returns.”
The words claw through me, dragging memory from marrow. The dark cells, the manacles, the endless drills, the lies poured into my ears until I thought them true. My fists tighten around my blades. “I am no one’s shadow.”
His smile curves, cruel. “You always were. You always will be.”
I lunge.
Steel clashes; sparks scatter. He moves like no man I’ve faced, each strike measured, each parry effortless. My blades crash, but he bends them aside, his strength monstrous, his speed unnatural. He fights as if he already knows each move before I make it. Around us, the battle rages, but it is distant thunder. Here, there is only him.
***
Elira roars, cutting down soldiers who surge to protect him. Rourke fires, dropping men who aim rifles at me. Vera carves through the press, her hatchet flashing, her voice a cry that pierces the smoke. They fight to reach me, to reach him. But Declan holds me in place, his every strike binding me like chains.
“You think yourself free,” he says as our blades lock, his strength pressing me to my knees. “But freedom is nothing but another leash. We forged you. You are mine.”
Rage floods me, white-hot, burning. I break his lock, drive forward, blades flashing. For a moment, I see surprise flicker in his eyes. For a moment, I feel his blood splash hot on my cheek. But then his hand clamps my throat, iron strong, lifting me from the ground as if I am nothing.
“You cannot kill us,” he whispers. “You carry us in your very bones.”
I choke, clawing, vision blurring. Then a cry splits the smoke, Vera’s. She hurls her hatchet, the blade spinning end over end. It strikes his shoulder, biting deep. He snarls, staggering, his grip loosening. I drop, hit the ground hard, and drag air into burning lungs. My blades rise, and I drive them forward.
But he’s gone. Slipped into smoke, his cloak vanishing like shadow. His voice echoes, disembodied, everywhere at once. “You cannot kill me, Lucian. You never could. I will break you again. And when I do, all who follow you will kneel in chains.”
***
The battle surges back into focus. Soldiers rally despite the fire, pushing hard. Elira’s rebels bleed, their lines faltering.Rourke curses, reloading with trembling hands. Vera fights near me now, her face pale but fierce, her hatchet bloodied. Abigail’s face flashes in my mind, safe in the forest camp, and fury drives me forward.
“Hold the line!” I bellow, voice raw. “He is not a god; he bleeds!”
They hear me. Rebels rally, their cries rising, their blades flashing brighter. We push, step by step, through smoke and blood. Elira cleaves a path with her breaching axe, her voice a roar. Rourke fires until his rifle clicks empty, then swings it like a club, laughing through blood. Vera fights at my side, unyielding, every strike a defiance.
We drive them back. Not far. Not enough. But enough to break their surge. By dawn, the battlefield is ash and ruin. The pavilion lies torn, the banners burned. Soldiers retreat, dragging their dead, their wounded, their pride shattered. But Declan is not among them. He has vanished into shadow, his promise lingering like smoke.
***
When the sun rises, it finds us bloodied but unbroken. Graves are dug, names whispered. The rebels gather, their faces pale but their eyes burning brighter. They saw him. They saw him bleed. And they saw him flee.
Elira stands before them, her breaching axe red, her voice thunder. “You see now! He is no god. He can be cut. He can be driven back. He can be destroyed!”
Cheers erupt, not wild, but fierce, steady, unyielding. They believe. And belief is sharper than steel.
I stand apart, blades sheathed, eyes on the smoke curling above the trees. Vera finds me there, her hand slipping into mine. “You hurt him,” she whispers. “You broke his mask.”
I shake my head, jaw tight. “Not enough. He still walks. He still commands. Until he is ash, none of this is enough.”
She lifts my hand, presses it to her chest. “Then we make it enough.”
For the first time, I allow myself to breathe. For the first time, I feel not just the weight of chains, but the spark of something greater, an army that believes, a fire that spreads, a truth that will not die.
But in the back of my mind, his voice lingers, cold and certain:You are mine.
And I know this is only the beginning.
Chapter 24 - Vera
The battlefield doesn’t sleep when the fighting ends. Smoke drifts for days, clinging to hair and clothes, seeping into lungs until every breath tastes of ash. Graves multiply until the earth itself feels heavy with sorrow. Yet beneath the grief, something else thrums through the camp, defiance. They saw Declan bleed. They saw him flee. The stories spread faster than fire, reshaped with every telling until even children repeat them at play. A monster wounded, a shadow broken. For the first time, hope does not whisper. It roars.
But I do not roar. I sit by the graves at dawn, Marta’s satchel pressed to my knees, my throat raw with words I cannot say. Victory feels like splintered glass, sharp in the mouth, cutting even as it glitters. We lived. We struck him. Yet he walks still. And as long as he walks, ash waits for us all.
