BLOODLUST - DARK SOULS (THE CURSE OF THE BLOOD SERIES #1)

part two

She was just a street child.

An orphan, worthless than anything in this unfinished war. Yet it wouldn't be the reason she had to die in vain. Perhaps it was the clanking sound of the reaper's scythe that kept her running from the inevitable death. She couldn't remember all. Only flashes of dim memories sunk into the core of her mind. She had nowhere else to go since Daye was destroyed in a single frost blast. The result of fire and ice met by force, with the innocents trapped in between. How would she know that the huge smoke had flooded the entire continent? She was six when she hurdled from the magistrate's back door and hopped into a wagon full of Daye refugees.

The hatred gleamed in the elder's eyes as he kept her closer to his fire. She was too young to train her gift back then, and the endless winter would kill her. That was when he taught her the first thing to survive. Always know when to use the fire. Among For, only Ren was able to sense immediate heat, he said. Make sure no one was around. After two days, he disappeared. So did the other refugees. But she had escaped. Somehow, she had slipped from all the people who'd love to have her head split from her body.

Breath.

Light surged through her golden eyes, but everything was bright. A halo. Her body felt cold. That voice. Deep, husky.

She remembered this.

She gasped, but her body felt numb. A shadow stood between the halo of the light, darker, frozen, but then left. All she saw was pure light. Was it another torture? She didn't want this. She didn't want to be here. Why wouldn't they let her go?

She's hopeless, can't you see?

Another voice. Softer, but stiffen as brick and stone.

It's the drug.

The shadow appeared back when all the light faded from her sight, yet she could feel its cold breath breeze on her cheeks.

Remember. Stay alive.

The last voice she remembered, before her path was darkened.

She had promised to never use the fire inside. To protect herself. She made a promise. To who?

Keep the fire hidden. Find her way out. Escape.

Every time she had to use them, the dark presence came in and galloped her fire, making her feel hotter. But she was at the mercy of it as a ball of frost landed on her jaw. The force that came within the harnessed frost pushed her back and her body crashed to the icy ground. Cheers and applause rose and echoed throughout the arena, braided with curses. The praise, however, was not for her; it was for the man in front of her. Full of armed, defending himself with a sword. Huge mistake for him to think that he would be safe in his metal shield.

She barely contented herself as his frost struck her again; this time, on her chest. The attack hauled her to the corner of the arena. She stood up. Heat poured into her lungs. Hands trembled. Don't show them. Don't let it out.

She raised her hands. Fire rose from her palms, and she poured it down to the cold ground of the arena, letting it flow on the ice, just like how she wanted it to. The audience was once again hyped up by her action, as their voices shook the ground like an earthquake. The fire immediately circled her, ready to burst at her order. The rage snatched away her sanity, all she could think of is to shut his breath. Suddenly, her mind blackened, a heavy, gray mist fogging her eyesight. But no one seemed to notice it as if it was only on her head.

Kill him.

The whisper. It came again, tempting as if it begged her in the softest tone she'd ever heard. Half conscious, she didn't even realize the unknown voices already gripped her. Suddenly, everything around her went quieter, calmer.

Kill him now.

The flame rose higher than her head. It felt like floating. The thirst for blood seeped through every inch of her body, making all her pain go away, the sadness and loneliness she felt, all fled. She was—delighted.

Something inside her somehow jogged her sanity back, and all of sudden, the joy she felt vapored, leaving her trembling in the mix of cold and fear.

The fire she built; towered and rose the same high as the seats of the arena. She never grew it this high before—it might collapse and devour her instead.

She tried to smash the rising flame away, but the attack shifted from her control. The once-circling fire burst and rushed toward its prey.

The man dodged to his right but stopped when the flame greeted him in every direction, seizing him like a flock of eagles. Then, his sight disappeared along with the cheering and noises.

In a second, a massive frost dashed to the attack. In a single blast, the typhoon of heat vapored and exposed; leaving an almost burned-alive man, crashed to the ice ground. His pupil dilated, but she was sure he was still alive as she noticed a slow wave of the tide on his chest, desperate for air. Then, she saw Zaph, in the corner, with his hand covered with frost. At that moment, the arena sank into a deep silence. She looked up, scanning, hoping for mercy in every darkened eye that glared at hers like an arrow aiming at its target. Their disbelief looks mirrored everything; the obnoxious scene of a filthy Invera that killed a For in a single blast.

Filthy fireling!" Zaph grunted, his eyes burned with ice and rage.

Laith spun her head only to witness two guards walk in towards the lying body and dragged it away.

What was happening to her?

Suddenly, strong palms grabbed both her wrist and the back of her head before shoving her head to the ground. Her movement was blocked in a flash. "Lock her in the chamber."