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The shadows tear me from inside out. I open my mouth to scream, but there is no sound—my entire body is completely wracked in agony, unable to process anything else under than the sheer wave of pain bowling me over.
Breathe, I tell myself. I'm breathing, but it's not helping. Pietists Above, it feels like... I don't know a proper comparison for this torture. I only know that it's threatening to bury my senses alive.
The shadows continue to flood my vision. Soon enough, I am engulfed in darkness, wrapped in a cocoon of magic and agony. I try to move, forcing myself to get a hold on my surroundings and escape this situation. But my blood anchors me to the spot. A small, conscious part of me screams in frustration.
Damn you, Maya! I think as the pain intensifies, ripping me apart.
Then just as suddenly as the shadows come, they meld away. The pain, the numbness—everything dissipates.
The magic that holds me in place releases me, and I collapse onto the ground face first, panting. It takes every single bit of energy I have left to open my eyes and observe the world. That's when I see that tendrils of black are smoking out of my skin, spiralling into nothingness.
No, not tendrils—shadows.
What did Maya do?
Slowly, I become aware that a new energy is filling my limbs, flooding me with vigour. But this vigour is not of my own accord, and I welcome and suspect it at the same time. I suppress a groan, pushing myself up on my elbows and forcing myself to get up.
"How do you feel?"
I cast a baleful gaze at Maya. She's stood up as well, the fire of the candles extinguished beside her. Her head is held high, her spine as straight as the shaft of an arrow. However, I sense a hint of weariness behind her poise. A small part of me softens in sympathy, but not by much.
"Tired," I say. I clench and unclench my fists experimentally; the strange energy that flows inside me seems to only grow stronger with each passing second. "Yet energised."
"That's all?" There's a note of incredulity in Maya's tone. I shoot her another suspicious look.
"No," I reply slowly. "No. I – I feel aware of my surroundings, more so than ever."
As the words spill out of my mouth, I gradually realise that images of the entire cathedral are being fed into my head. No, not exactly images—impressions. A vague outline of whatever resides within—the sparse decorations, the mice skittering across the floor, even the spiders spinning their webs above. And it doesn't stop there. I sense the people outside, kneeling on the floor and heads bowed in prayer. I sense Grand Seer Fabienne, lips moving in an incantation, one hand raised towards the Heavens; the other firmly clasped upon Gilbert, who can only stand taut with helplessness.
These impressions... Oh, Pst. Zorah.
The shadows are giving me these impressions. Wherever they touch, I can see. They now belong to me.
"What did you do?" I whisper, horrified.
"I do what past spirits tell me to do," Maya says calmly, seemingly oblivious to the fact that I am about to lose my nerve. "They only want to help."
"This isn't helping!" I snap. Everything that has just happened—Grand Seer Fabienne announcing my identity to her people, the fact that the Deathslayer has reawakened—it may put me in jeopardy. If my control over shadows are truly this powerful, then I can only assume that my necromancy has heightened as well. And that means that I'd be severely weakened under sunlight. And in turn, I can't keep up my façade as a true Champion of Pst. Bronicus. And that means...
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Legacy (Daughter of War #2)
Fantasy**ON HOLD INDEFINITELY** It's been two years since the great battle in the shrine. However, as Perinus strives to recover from its losses, shadows continue to grow throughout the land... A dangerous sickness is spreading throughout the country--one...
