Page 130 of Rose and Shadows
It wouldn’t be enough, though.
Not even close.
Neither would me finding myself tied to a wrought-iron chair with magical binds that were part chain, part rope, my hands confined to the arm rests.
I was in a dark room, just the chair barely visible from the lone lightbulb in the stone ceiling. I couldn’t see beyond the heavy shadow, but I could feel how expansive the space actually was. Along with the chill rolling through me from both the lack of heat,andthe fact that I was shirtless and barefoot.
Lovely.
Straight out of a horror scene and quite the intimidating setting in which to wake up lone and bound in.
Well, to most.
I didn’t exactly operate within the norm.
And that had played to my advantage in a lot of cases—if not all.
I ground my jaw at the audacity of it. Them coming at me. The kidnapping. Restraining me now.
I’d fought through more pain, more offensive spells and attacks, more brutality and damage, than most beings alive—or fucking dead.
I went to call my power. I could call it through anything.
A lesson I learned long ago? Arm yourself first, assess the situation second, then react accordingly.
“I really wouldn’t advise that, boy.”
I stiffened, just a hair’s breadth away from calling my power as that nasally voice rang out.
The air rippled in front of me, the sign of an illusion being tampered with.
And then sparks of gray light erupted and Morien passed through, the rippling ceasing as the illusion was solidified.
With my magic not called and me also compromised by the mental acuity dulling ofSomnoria,I couldn’t see through it.
Yet.
His red velvet cloak had the hood flipped down so I could see his full face and all the black veins and cavernous rot plaguing it, his sunken eyes that pulsed red. His magic had once been that color too, like mine. But years of intense black magic usage had turned it into that gray with black flecks state. Gray as a color of magic was fine on its own, but not for a necromancer like him. His dark straggly long hair hung brushed his black shirt beneath the open cloak. There were bloodstains marring it, along with his ill-fitting pants. It even dripped from his boots.
Likely the result of either torture or black magic rites involving blood sacrifice.
If the latter was the case, he would be at a supremely heightened state of power. For a black magic user, that was much like a vampire who had just fed a great deal.
“Offering fatherly advice? At this stage of the game? I think we’re just a tad beyond that, don’t you?”
His lip curled. “Suit yourself. But before you do, at least let me inform you that the chair you’re bound to is one such device used byPuritason their hybrid victims. Atorture chairis the unflattering pedestrian term they use.”
“What?” I ground out, looking down at my hands bound to the arms of the thing.
Specifically, the binds themselves.
Flowing with magic, yes. But… not just in service of restraining me.
Fuck,they were seeking out magic usage. My magic usage in this specific case. And they were prepared to react to it the moment they registered a spark.
“These devices are rather ingenuous. The brainchild of Gregor himself. In essence, they turn a supernatural being’s magic and abilities against them. In the most painful way imaginable. The effect varies depending on one’s abilities and, of particular note for you, their power levels. For example, if aCelestial being attempted to invoke their power while attached to this device, agony akin to the flames of Hellfire would rage through their veins.” He cocked his head to the side. “And let us use an actual hybrid as an example. Your lover, Lazriel Thaine.”
I growled low in my throat and he grinned at getting a reaction from me.
