A Shade of Vampire 50: A Clash of Storms

by Bella Forrest

  I could see genuine fear in his yellow eyes, before they flickered black and flared up green. There was an internal struggle going on there, and I had a feeling it was taking place between Azazel and Asherak.

  “Don’t do something you’ll regret, sweetheart,” Azazel muttered, raising his hands in a defensive gesture.

  It didn’t faze Viola. Instead, the pink light emanating from her body increased its intensity, so that I had to squint in order to see what was happening, as if a bright pink star had just descended on the platform.

  “I have no choice but to destroy you, Azazel,” Viola’s thousand voices boomed, piercing through the sky above and echoing inside my head. “Your reign of terror ends right now. You have caused irreparable damage to Eritopia, and I shall not let you do any more harm…”

  She took a deep breath, then looked at me with a pained expression.

  I’m sorry, Serena. I could hear her gentle voice, loud and clear, in my head.

  “What… What do you mean, you’re sorry?” I croaked, and got up, my knees still wobbly.

  She focused her attention on Azazel, the light emanating from her growing brighter. The air vibrated around us, and the uneasiness in my stomach became stronger and heavier as the realization kicked in:

  Vita’s first vision was coming true.

  “Don’t… Don’t do this,” Azazel said suddenly, laughing nervously.

  Viola didn’t listen.

  Dread came over me, swallowing me whole and freezing the blood in my veins. I glanced at Draven and saw the horrified look on his face. He knew what was coming, too.

  “Wait, Viola, no,” I croaked. “You don’t have to do this!”

  She wasn’t listening. She’d tuned us out.

  Azazel muttered something under his breath and sent out several invisible pulses to stop her, but she didn’t even budge. Instead, she took a few steps forward, closing the distance between them. The energy she was summoning illuminated her even more.

  This is it…

  But this can’t be it. This can’t be how it ends…

  We’d already changed the future, so how was this still happening? Had we somehow reversed it in getting Nova out, or at some other point along the way?

  My ears rang as the intensity of her very being began to expand, like a star about to explode, raw energy causing friction and heating everything up. My blood simmered and my heart thumped, and Draven and I held each other’s gazes, as if preparing ourselves for what was to come next. The end.

  “No!” Phoenix’s voice shot through the buzz.

  I turned my head and saw him running up behind Viola. He pulled her into his arms and held her tight.

  “Don’t do this, Viola,” he panted, his eyes glassy. “We found another way… A better way…”

  The Daughter wasn’t immediately responsive, and I quickly looked around and noticed that the fighting had stopped. Destroyers and our fighters alike were stunned, gaping at Viola as she prepared to blow us all to pieces, waiting for her reaction.

  “Don’t do this, please… I love you, Viola…”

  She blinked a couple of times, as if pondering the information he’d just presented.

  “There’s another way?” she asked in multiple voices.

  “Yes.” Phoenix sighed in his embrace. “Yes, we found another way. You don’t have to do this. I don’t want us to die, Viola… I want us to live and be together…”

  Viola gave him a soft sideways glance before she relaxed, the pink light gradually dimming. I felt the atmosphere cool down around us. Phoenix didn’t let go of her, holding her close as they took a few steps back.

  Azazel cocked his head to one side, an arrogant half-smile stretching his lips.

  “If you wanted to kill me you should have just let her do it,” he said. “Sure, she would have killed all of you in the process, too, but it just goes to show that none of you were made for war. Because war means sacrifice. And now you will all regret it.”

  I heard growling behind me as swords clashed again. The fighting had resumed, and, judging by the amount of blood spilled and the number of Destroyers collapsing, we were getting closer to a victory against Azazel’s forces. I glanced around briefly, enough to see Aida, Field, Hansa, Jax, Anjani, Jovi, the young Druids, and the shifters taking on Destroyers in teams of two, while Thadeus and Patrik continued to fight one another with tortured expressions.

  We had to do something. We had to move this along before more innocent creatures were killed. But we had to chip away at his morale first. We needed him to falter, open himself up to mistakes before we could go all in. We weren’t even seeing the full extent of his force yet – and we couldn’t beat something we couldn’t comprehend.

  “You’re all overestimating yourselves and putting away the only effective weapon you have.” Azazel straightened his back, several vertebrae crackling in the process. “And you’re about to pay the price for your hubris. You know… pot, meet kettle.”

  He looked around, his lips pressed tight at the sight of his remaining Destroyers falling one by one. Reinforcements weren’t coming anymore. The booms and shrills from below indicated that the allied forces had finally taken control of the castle. His empire was collapsing, and I could almost sense the frustration oozing out of him—dark, toxic, and thirsty for revenge.

  His eyes burst into green flames, the fire of Asherak raging with more intensity than ever. I held my breath and took a step back.

  The tension from Viola’s energy was swiftly replaced by something vile, heavy, and suffocating. My pulse raced, and I could feel Draven’s frayed nerves as he watched Azazel quietly. The Prince of Destroyers grinned as he looked at us, two pools of green fire replacing his eyes, his tongue flitting in the air. He inhaled deeply and raised his arms out from his sides.

  “Can’t you smell your own impending deaths? Because I can!”

  The wind howled around the platform, blowing harder and nearly knocking me off my feet. Something was coming out of Azazel—an energy like I’d never seen before, pure black and vicious and eager to slice and chop and kill everyone standing in its way.

  It was ancient and evil. It wanted blood and destruction.

  It was Asherak.

  Serena

  “Come out, milord,” Azazel called in a thunderous voice.

  The darkness inside him swelled like a river after a monsoon, his muscles bulging and his veins throbbing as they lit up green. He grunted as his body amplified its own mass. Azazel was growing taller and bigger before our very eyes, and the dread coming over me was becoming difficult to put into words.

  We had known this would come. We had known he wasn’t using the full potential of Asherak’s soul because, according to the old manuscripts, it was far too powerful and destructive to be wielded so loosely. Azazel was a proud monster and had relied on his skills and dirty tricks to defeat his opponents. Asking Asherak for help must have come at a great price for his overinflated ego.

  “I have to let the Master of Darkness get involved now,” Azazel growled. “Because you’re all too stupid to understand that I cannot be stopped. We. Cannot. Be. Stopped!”

  His lips continued to move, but I couldn’t make out the words. His whispers unraveled into the wind and spread out above, gathering thick black clouds. The sky turned the color of charcoal as thunder roared through the dark billows converging over Luceria. Gale-force currents circled the top of the castle, sweeping discarded weapons and shields away as the last of Azazel’s Destroyers fell over to their deaths.

  Patrik and Thadeus were at a standstill behind me.

  “I don’t want to hurt you,” Thadeus gasped, clutching his sword, his face covered in sweat.

  “Me neither, Thadeus, but my body won’t listen,” Patrik replied before he launched another attack. Their blades collided once more. I prayed we’d finish this soon enough to free the two Druids from Azazel’s blood spell.

  Everyone else looked exhausted, but still standing. Their chests swelled wi
th heavy breathing as they moved against the strong winds crashing into them. Jax, Hansa, Anjani, and Jovi were the first to come closer, followed by Aida, Field, the young Druids, and the three shifters as they tightened the circle around us.

  They all watched as Azazel revealed the peak of his power.

  I could tell from the consternation on their faces that they could feel him—Asherak, the disease that had been plaguing Eritopia for centuries, tucked away inside Azazel. He was impossible to ignore. His strange whispers trickled into my head.

  I shook the goosebumps away and drew my sword, both hands clutching the hilt as I took my fighting stance and carefully measured my breaths.

  “I promise you this will be over soon,” Azazel said, his voice different, scratchy and sharp, like that of a creature that hadn’t used his vocal cords in eons.

  That wasn’t Azazel talking anymore. It was Asherak.

  He lifted his arms above his head and moved them in a pulling gesture, and the black clouds spiraling above his head tightened into a column and came down, answering his call. The shifters growled behind me and stepped back, genuine fear imprinted on their faces as they morphed back to their original forms and hid behind two columns.

  I looked back up and noticed green lightning striking down through the swirling column of clouds. It shot right into Azazel’s head and ignited a sheet of bright green light that expanded, and I knew it would bring us instant death. The pit in my stomach convinced me of it.

  Just as Azazel roared, preparing to deploy that destructive force, Draven dropped his sword and charged ahead. He rammed into Azazel and broke his contact with the green lightning. Azazel cursed as they fought one another, throwing punches left and right.

  The cloud column retracted slowly, but the sky remained blanketed in darkness. Fear squeezed my heart as I watched Draven tackling Azazel, who was easily three times his size. Yet Draven held his own.

  Azazel drove his fist into Draven’s side. Draven grunted from the pain and came back with a brief succession of right and left hooks, finishing with a decisive uppercut before he jumped back, doubling over as he heaved and brought a hand up to his ribs.

  Draven’s lip was split, blood trickling down his chin. He wiped it off with the back of his hand, then straightened his back and breathed in deeply.

  He’d bashed Azazel quite well. Red bruises were swelling his right eye and the corner of his mouth.

  “Did you really think a physical fight would bring me down?” Azazel sneered in Asherak’s voice, turning his head to one side as he spat out some blood and a tooth.

  Draven shook his head with a satisfied smirk.

  “That wasn’t my intention,” he replied dryly.

  Azazel’s grin faded, his eyes still burning green as he glanced down and instantly patted his chest. His pendant was gone.

  I exhaled sharply, noticing the snake medallion glistening in Draven’s hand as he lifted it to show Azazel exactly what he’d meant. I couldn’t help but stifle a grin.

  “Nice,” Jovi muttered behind me.

  I glanced at Ori, who nodded briefly. He moved his lips, whispering a spell as he stepped forward. Azazel was livid, baring his fangs at Draven.

  “You must be joking,” Azazel muttered, his hand touching the patch of his chest where he’d always felt the pendant.

  The young Druids summoned their energy, glowing all white as they transferred it to Ori, whose palms lit up as he fashioned a long broadsword out of thin air and darted toward Azazel.

  The sharp weapon looked solid but incandescent, and Ori jumped and swung it down with all his might. The move caught Azazel by surprise. He was still reeling from the shock of losing his precious medallion. Ori’s blade hit Azazel’s neck with a spine-tingling clang but bounced back, as if he were made of steel.

  “Oh, please,” the Prince of Destroyers snarled, and swatted Ori away with a bright green pulse. The young Druid gasped as he fell backwards and banged his head against the stone floor. He rolled over to the side, grunting from the pain and blinking fast as he tried to stay conscious, while his sword dissolved into white sparks and vanished.

  That wasn’t the outcome I’d been hoping for.

  The young Druids were as shocked as the rest of us, except for Draven, who kept his emotions to himself. He was even trying to shut himself off from me, but I knew exactly what he was going through. Our connection ran deeper than anything we’d had before, despite his efforts.

  The look he gave me, however, told me more than words could ever convey. A pang in my stomach warned me of what was coming next.

  “I seem to keep asking these rhetorical questions today, but did you really think you could defeat me if you just took my pendant away?” Azazel asked, his fingers touching the part of his neck that had rejected Ori’s blade.

  “One can only hope.” Draven muttered his response, the gold snake restlessly moving in its eight-loop, hanging from the broken chain wrapped around his fist. Its ruby eyes shimmered green as Azazel looked at it, a muscle twitching in his jaw.

  “Asherak and I are bound for all eternity, little Druid,” he said, his voice low and cold. “His power flows through me, and it isn’t bound to an object anymore. It hasn’t been for centuries. That being said, I must commend you for your efforts. I can see you put some work into this pathetic strategy of yours. It’s a shame you didn’t think of joining my ranks, instead of getting yourself and your friends killed here.”

  Draven glanced at me again, and my heart tied itself into a painful knot. His gray eyes flickered black. I felt his anger, his grief and his despair. I shook my head slowly, my eyes wide. I understood what he was about to do.

  My worst nightmare was coming true.

  “I doubt it’s pathetic,” Draven retorted. “But you’re right. I did put in some effort. I even learned the Soul Fusion spell for this.”

  Azazel, with all his might and amplified size, stilled at the mention of Asherak’s final spell. The ritual through which his soul could fuse with that of another Druid. The same process through which the ancient dark Druid had merged with Azazel.

  Judging by the speed with which the color drained from his face, Azazel hadn’t thought about another Druid doing the same. After all, there weren’t supposed to be any Druids left, and, besides, who would be crazy enough to take on the curse, anyway?

  Deep inside, I knew the answer.

  I shook my head.

  I wasn’t ready for this. I’d known, deep down, it might happen, but I’d prayed to all the powers out there, including the Daughters, that it would not come to this.

  “No, Draven, don’t!” I darted toward him, but I was pulled back. Phoenix had come around, his hand gripping my wrist. His face was ashen, and confirmed my worst fears—that he was ready to let Draven do this. But I wasn’t.

  “Let me go!” I growled, yanking my hand back.

  His arms quickly wrapped around my waist, holding me tight.

  “I’m sorry, Sis. We have to,” he said.

  “No, no, you—”

  “You… You know about Soul Fusion?” Azazel asked, his voice barely audible, but loud enough to distract me for a second.

  “You must’ve thought you burned everything down when you first invaded Calliope, but you consistently underestimated my father,” Draven replied, an eyebrow raised.

  Despite his cool demeanor, I knew he was in tremendous pain. Just like he knew I was already tearing up, unable to hold it in anymore. I struggled against Phoenix’s hold and pushed out a barrier. He grunted, but he didn’t let go.

  “Dammit, Phoenix, let me go,” I snarled, then looked at Draven. “Don’t, Draven! Don’t do this!”

  “It’s the only way, Serena,” Phoenix insisted, but I couldn’t accept it. I’d rejected the premise from the very beginning.

  The others watched quietly. The somber looks on their faces, the glimmers of sadness and grief in their eyes told me everything I needed to know. They knew. And, like my brother, they were ready for it
.

  But I’m not!

  “Your father,” Azazel muttered, squinting at Draven as he started to figure out his familiar features.

  “Almus.”

  Azazel’s eyes widened, the green flames burning bright with recognition. It was all there for him to see. The physical features. The relentlessness and brilliant Druid skills. Draven was the best of both Genevieve and Almus, and it was something that even Azazel couldn’t deny.

  “It’s been a long time… I’d almost forgotten what Almus looked like. You survived. Funny enough, that little silvery worm Sverik never told me who you were. He only gave me a name. I’ll have to rip his entrails out for not divulging this little morsel of information.” Azazel nodded slowly, pursing his lips. “Looks like your father decided to bother me after all, from beyond his shallow grave.”

  Sverik hadn’t told him - why was that? It came as a surprise, but then, combined with the fact that Jasmine had stopped the information flow from the mansion, it all suddenly made sense. Azazel clearly hadn’t known who Draven was up to this point. I had a feeling that, had he known he was dealing with Almus’ son, he would’ve been even more brutal, more vicious and relentless in his quest to stop us.

  “All the forbidden manuscripts were saved. All the Druid archives,” Draven said. “He kept everything secret, hidden far away from you or anyone who served you. Everything. Including the Soul Fusion spell.”

  “Don’t be stupid, little Druid.” Azazel scoffed. “It takes a Master Druid such as myself to withstand the strength of Asherak. And you need his consent. He will never leave me for you.”

  “I wouldn’t be so sure.” Draven smirked and brought the snake pendant up to his lips.

  Azazel froze, and so did I.

  “Draven!” I screamed. “Draven, don’t! Please! There has to be another way!”

  Both Jovi and Phoenix were now holding me back. I pushed out one barrier after another, but I was getting so weak, they barely felt them. They weren’t letting me go.

  “Serena, we’re sorry, but you know it’s what needs to be done!” Jovi grunted, but I wasn’t listening.