Prophecy

Chapter 73: Battlefield

*Xavia's POV*

My father's eyes darkened; a sneer twisted across his lips, and as he spoke, malice laced his words, "Have it your way, a battle to the death then."

My heart pounded in my chest as I faced my father—the Devil himself. I could feel my breath quicken, adrenaline coursing through my veins, sharpening my senses. I readied myself for the fight of my life—the fight that would forever shape the world's course depended on two people—Grace and I. The roof of the tower—our battlefield—seemed to pulse with a life of its own as it expanded and shifted until it formed a vast, enclosed dome around us.

We were sealed off from the chaos below.

A swell of pride surged through me as the distant sounds of battle filled my ears—the clashing steel, guttural roars, and the unmistakable sounds of demons being cut down. Even amidst my current surroundings, I could still pick out the familiar rhythm of my companions' attacks—each swing, run, continuous blast of magick, various animal sounds times three, the whistle of arrows, bones snapping, and blood spilling onto the ground. They were holding the line just as they had promised, tearing through the countless legions of demons with unrelenting force.

The thought filled me with fierce gratitude.

They gave me the precious time I needed, keeping the enemy hordes at bay so I could press forward. I could already feel the energy of our combined strength coursing through my veins, the raw, undeniable power we would unleash.

The thought of it set my willpower ablaze.

One way or another, this battle would end with him destroyed once and for all.

Eventually, my father spoke again, his voice dripping contemptuously, "And now, we are all alone. You can't call for help. I will destroy both of you." His lips curled into a twisted grin as he continued. "I want to see how much you can handle before you die at my hands."

I stood tall.

This is it.

My gaze locked onto his, unwavering—a silent challenge simmering between us. I kept my hands hidden behind my back, moving with a careful precision that masked my true intentions. Slowly, I nudged out one of Grace's shurikens, its familiar weight resting against my palm. I drew the blade across my wrist with a quick, fluid motion. I felt the warm trickle of blood begin to pool at the wound as it welled up slowly, rich and ready.

It was an offering for Grace—an offering I'd happily give for the rest of my life.

My thoughts were solely on my mate... on the way my blood would help strengthen her and help her recover from all of her wounds. I could almost imagine how her eyes would brighten, the smile on her face, and how she'd feel the moment her strength flooded back. Not to mention how happy she'd be to taste it again; I knew how much she loved to drink from me. It was a quiet assurance to ensure that she would start feeling better soon, no matter what happened next.

"Grace," I called out to her telepathically, "please take as much blood as you need to heal yourself."

My father continued his verbal taunting, but I mentally grinned, holding my ground. I could feel Grace's immense strength starting to flow back into me as she took my blood through her telekinesis. My wings were suddenly regrown—strong, and I manifested each one, stretching them wide. The best part of this action was that they shielded her from sight as she kept healing herself with my blood.

When my father saw how fast my wings had returned since he had ripped them off, his expression was nothing short of utter hatred and shock.

He couldn't believe what he was seeing.