Page 56 of Demanding Discord
“Your mind never ceases to amaze me.” I pressed a kiss to the top of her head.
She drew in a breath to respond when the air around us crackled. The tulpas dissolved into smoke, the last echoes of their voices fading like laughter down a long hall. Then, silence.
Once again, too still. Too quiet.
“Cinder,” I said, scanning the shadows, Ruin’s energy vibrating around us. “Stay behind me.”
“Not a chance.” She lifted her chin. “If he’s finally done hiding, I want front-row seats.”
A rumble shook the ground, deep and guttural. The walls warped, and the air thickened until the pressure made my ears pop. The remaining smoke congealed into a mass of writhing shadow, limbs unfurling, eyes—hundreds of them—blinking open one by one.
“Ah,” came the haunting voice, smooth and mocking. “The prodigal prince and his little flame. You’ve made quite the mess of my garden.”
“Enough tricks,” I said. “Face me as a demon, not a shadow.”
“As you wish.” Ruin stepped from the darkness, his true form towering, more nightmare than flesh. His skin glistened like liquid obsidian, veins of red light pulsing beneath. Horns coiled backward like a ram’s, and his grin was more sinister than I’d ever seen.
He lunged.
I met him head-on, hellfire igniting in my fists. His claws scraped against my forearm, splitting skin as I shoved him back, the impact rattling my bones. He countered, landing a blow that sent me skidding across the floor.
“Discord!” Cinder’s voice cut through the haze. She hurled a ball of witch fire, searing the air between us. It struck Ruin square in the chest, but he only laughed as the flames slid across his skin.
“An admirable attempt,” he said, “but your mortal tricks don’t work here.”
“I can do a lot more than put on a smoke show.” Cinder smirked. “Can you?”
I rose and stepped forward, placing myself between them. “You were always more bark than bite, Ruin.”
He laughed, rows of fangs glinting like daggers as he towered above us, a mass of slick muscle and molten veins. “I’ve missed this,” he said, and he inhaled deeply. “The smell of fear.”
I growled low in my throat, loath to admit it wasn’t just Cinder’s fear tainting the air…it was also my own. My body ached, bruised and beaten. My lung had barely healed, and the rips in my flesh stung as if filled with salt and spirits. Alone and in my weakened state, I was no match for the fiend standing before me.
But I wasn’t alone. Not anymore.
Ruin lunged. I tried to dodge his advance, my shoulder taking the brunt of the hit as I crashed to the floor. My ribs protested. Breathing hurt. Everything hurt. He was stronger, faster, and I was trapped in this damned human shell.
He caught me by the throat and lifted me like I weighed nothing. “You’re weak, Discord. Defanged. Declawed. Reduced to a man.”
“Maybe,” I rasped, “but you should know better than to underestimate a man with something to lose.”
Cinder hurled another fireball, hitting him in the side of the head.
“Pathetic,” he said, turning toward her. “Did your little prince not teach you that witch fire doesn’t hurt demons?”
“It might not hurt,” she said, arching a brow, “but it does distract.”
I wrenched free, sucking air through my bruised windpipe and plunging my knife into his side.
He jerked it out, sneering as his taloned hand heated, glowing first blue, then white, melting the blade and disintegrating the handle. “You’ll both die screaming.”
“You first,” Cinder said, her eyes narrowing before she looked at me and tilted her head, mouthing the words what’s the plan?
I raised my brows, hoping to convey that I was working on it, though my thoughts currently bounced between agony and profanity. Then I remembered what lay behind Ruin. I jerked my head, and she followed my gaze before looking into my eyes and nodding.
No hesitation. No question. The plan was in place, and we only had to execute it.
Ruin swung. The wind of it alone sent dust spinning around our feet. Cinder ducked, skidding beneath his arm and slicing her knife across the back of his knee. He roared, lashing out. I moved in from the other side, slamming into him with everything I had left. It felt as if I were tackling a wall of fire and iron.
