Page 131 of Rose and Shadows
“If he dropped his fangs, the device would magically generate dozens of fangs that would drive into his flesh. The same with his claws and talons. If he started to rage while calling on his vampiric nature, magically-manufactured blood would fill his throat, his lungs, and drown him over and over. Being immortal, he would keep resuscitating and experiencing it repeatedly, until he ceased invoking said abilities.”
My fingers dug into the metal to the point of pain.
“You see, this chair was first designed to recondition hybrids to being unable to invoke one side of their abilities, with only one remaining, so they would become pure beings once again. That was until Gregor learned of the growing comfort of the supernatural world with them, and culling became his modus operandi—along with torture to indulge his sadistic side and to punish them of course.”
I drew in a centering breath, masking the necessity as a sigh of exhaustion from the incapacitant running through my veins.
“You’ve gotten yourself in quite a bind, Father.” I smirked. “Pun intended.”
He started. “What are you talking about? I just explained the nature of that chair, you’re the one tied to a torture device and severely weakened. Helpless, Sylas.”
“You gave me a warning, meaning you can’t have me hurt. At least not to the degree that this device will deliver said hurt. At the same time, you need my power currently disabled. However, you also know me.” He thought he did. “So you’re duly concerned as to what I might do.”
His eyes lit up with what actually appeared to be some sort of twisted fatherly pride.
And that was almost more disturbing than the wretched sight of what he’d turned himself into.
Almost.
“Yes, you’re correct. In everything.”
For him to admit I was right would be seen as a failing, as him being wrong. So this didn’t track.
I braced myself, knowing well that something was coming. Something he had up his sleeve, something I couldn’t foresee or ascertain in my current state.
He took a sweeping step forward.
“However,my concerns as to what you might do are rather tempered.” He swept a glowing gray hand in front of me, dispelling the illusion just straight ahead, not around the other three sides. “Bythis.”
Adrenaline shot down my spine as I took in the cave-like space, the alcoves stained with dried blood, the skulls embedded in the stone itself and lining the floor. Bones scattered everywhere.
I knew this place.
“Corvin Morvain’s lair.”
“That’s right. Restored by his black magic users who were loyal to him even beyond his death, which you were largely responsible for.” He gestured slightly to the left. “Never mind that for now.Thisis what we’ll term my insurance against you doing something unadvisable.”
I looked to see an altar forged of bone and skulls, blood literally dripping from it.
And in the center of all that gore hovered a vibrant-blue flame within a cylindrical transparent containment cylinder. “Corvin’s magic.”
“Indeed.”
But that wasn’t what took my attention the most.
It was the shimmering dark-red gem blazing within another containment cylinder.
My necromantic core.
The portion that Corvin had taken from me three years ago.
I jolted and couldn’t hide my visceral reaction, even pulling at the binds.
After all this time… the desiccation, the pain, the withering away, then the necromantic core transplant as a temporary solution that had been the most agonizing fucking thing I’d ever experienced… here it was. The part of me that had been ripped from my own body. Right there with Corvin’s magic.
Both the keys to making me whole again.
To restoring me permanently.
