Purpose Kills

Chapter Twenty-Three

  A knock at the door forced Desarae to look up from where she sat on the bed. Oliver leaned in the doorway of the room, an eyebrow cocked as his dark eyes bored into her. "Your little spectacle back there was rather charming," He commented, his eyes crossed, the cords of muscle straining slightly.

"I'm always charming," She retorted, interlacing her fingers. Her elbows rested on her knees, and she rested her chin atop her interlaced hands. He snorted from the doorway, but her eyes were no longer on him.

"Hardly," He informed her, before pushing off the doorway. The only way she could tell was by the groaning of the wood, then the soft patter of his feet as he made his way towards her. She shoved the coin back into her shirt, her gaze flicking up to him as he stopped in front of her.

"I can assure you, you will not feel when they die," He told her, his eyes piercing into hers. It was a strange feelings, having her eyes bored into, feeling like she was the one that had to drag her gaze away in submission. Her teeth grit together at the realization. "I'm sure you are quite aware of that, aren't you? But you'll cling to hope, if you have any of that left. I suspect you do. It's still rather early in your little expedition. If you had no hope, you wouldn't carry that with you." He chuckled softly, gesturing at her throat with a flourishing wave of his hand.

"Oliver, shut up," She lifted her head a bit higher, a muscle in her jaw feathering.

"You know the truth," He hummed, and before she could stop him, he hooked a finger in the necklace and tugged it back out of her shirt, inspecting the coin on the necklace. He ran his thumb over the carvings, as she had done before.

"Do not force my hand," She warned, grabbing onto his wrist, anger sparking in her eyes. Rage thrummed in her skull, causing it to pound behind her eyes.

"Or what? I'll lose mine?" He taunted, releasing the chain and stepping back.

"If you're lucky," She hissed, cramming the necklace back into her shirt and crossing her arms. "I need to leave soon. It's nice to have all this useless knowledge about my history-"

"It isn't useless, and you can't leave. Not yet, anyway. You need to learn how to control your little Lomatskan powers," He interrupted her, causing her to grit her teeth.

"I do not appreciate being talked over, Oliver," She hissed through clenched teeth.

"Shame," He said simply, before turning to his bed and sitting down on it, still watching her. She made a face at him, and he stuck his tongue out at her. She returned the favor, except with a certain finger in a vulgar gesture.

"Why is it that you care in the first place?" She hissed, her nose wrinkling. His eyes sparkled with amusement, her anger roiling.

"I was sent to find you. Make no mistake, Desarae, I was told to find you. I was told to look for the last Lomatskan, the one that will unleash the second prophecy to follow the first. It is our duty here," He leaned back on his hands, his face thoughtful.

"Prophecy," Desarae snorted softly, shaking her head and crossing her arms. She remembered her old friend Leah. The one that had gone to see the seer before, an oracle of sorts. Her throat tightened slightly, but she kept her face neutral.

"It states that the last Lomatskan will be found, and unlock their true potential. The tides of the war will change, there will be traitors. Blood will be spilled," He explained, waving a hand. She wanted to see this prophecy herself. There was no doubt she would find it in the library, and maybe more prophecies in those Lomatskan documentaries.

"Blood is always spilled in wars," She said blandly, looking at him with a bored expression.

"Precious blood. To the Lomatskan. You," He leaned forward, tilting his head to one side to watch her reaction. She slowly closed her eyes, remembering her empty camp, Ylovski's camp in flames and burned to ash by the Shades. Her heart slowed, her blood freezing in her veins. The memories made her frown.

"Teach me," Des interrupted her own thoughts, looking up at Oliver with wild eyes. The golden embers burning to the core, her fingers digging into the sheets on the bed. She could feel the invisible claws beneath her fingers. "Teach me how you fight. Get the Master to teach me how to control this. Then I will leave." He gave her a considering look. She stared into his eyes, her determination filling her spine with steel. Her fingers tightened in the bed sheets for every passing second he spent in silence.

"Tomorrow. Tomorrow morning. I will wake you, and we will begin. Six hours. Six hours with the Master. Then six more hours with me. You will train, and you will train hard. If you fail, you may continue your studies with the Master. In this war, you will need more training than what they taught you in those soldier camps. You will need an assassin's stealth, a gladiator's strength, and the swiftness of a bird," He stared back at her, his eyes just as intense. "We begin at dawn. I suggest you get rest. You will push yourself to new limits." He nodded at her, and she slowly nodded back in understanding.

"Good," It was the only response she could come up with as she pushed herself off her bed. His look turned to confusion as he watched her walk stiffly to the door, yanking it open and then shutting it behind her. She paused in the hallway, looking at the stairs ahead.

She practically ran for them, taking them two at a time until she got to the top. She passed members of the guild, retiring to their rooms after dinner. Some stopped to stare at her, especially after her spectacle at dinner. She paid them no heed as she pushed out the main entrance, crossed the courtyard, and easily scaled the wall around the perimeters. The two guards standing at the gate looked ready to stop her from going out the gate. She didn't bother to let them as her fingers dug into old stone, and she was dropping into the sand below barely seconds later. She marched through the sand, making her way away from the guild.

She was a distance away before she stopped. Not much time had passed, her determination quickening her pace. She dropped to her knees, breathing in the night air and the smells of the desert. Her fingers dug into the sand, scooping some up and allowing it to filter from her hands. She eased her breathing, her eyes closed. She felt her heartbeat slowed, and she could practically feel it thrumming through every part of her body. Her fingers tightened in the sand.

Her body ignited with flames- inside. No flamed showed on the out, but it boiled her blood and melted her bones and muscle. Agony ripped through her, and her throat felt raw as she screamed, embracing the pain. Delving deeper into it. The kernel of power that settled deep inside her, she speared for it, like an arrow ripping through the wind towards its target. She wrapped around it, curling into it. More agony spiked through her, and she felt unconsciousness tugging at her.

She did not allow it to drag her into darkness. She wanted to feel this shift, this change. She wanted to experience it, so that she knew how it felt. So far, it was nothing but agony. Her body crumpled against the sand, and her hold on the kernel began to slip.

It was as if she was falling from a high cliff, scrabbling at whatever she could to keep from falling. The pain was shredding her.

Her body ignited. She screeched as her limbs became covered in fire, singing her clothes. They turned to ash and floated on the breeze as she tightened her grip on the kernel. With a last yowl of effort, she slammed against the veil that kept her from her rightful form. The veil shredded, allowing her access. Her triumph spiraled through her as the flames around her skyrocketed, shooting into the air and seeming to burn the sky.

Her body began to snap, the pain of her bones shifting, growing, came fast and hard. Her onyx wings shredded the skin from her back as she grew, turning into the Lomatskan Dragis.

It was over. Her eyes could see farther, she could smell the remnants of food from the dinner at the guild. Her limbs were corded with muscle, and her skin was covered in scales harder than diamond. She screamed in triumph, her massive head lifting into the air. Claws gripped the sand, her knees bent, then she shot off into the air, giving one enormous flap of her wings. They seemed as if they were the size of two cottages side by side. The air barely brushed her, she couldn't feel it through the unforgiving black scales. She beat her wings until she reached the clouds, soaring through them.

Desarae was ready for this. Her molten eyes burned, as did the fire awaiting in her stomach.