Resurrection (Book Three of the Soul Forge series)

Watching Elda, Julian and Gira beat at the monolith while the Soul Forge sat on the ground made him feel useless. His vision was starting tunnel, each breath harder than the last.

Hang on a while longer, Vel demanded. Even his mental voice sounded weak.

It was too hard to reply. Sypher sat and looked at his gloved hands - so numb they might as well belong to someone else. They rested limply in his lap, his fingers barely responding to the signals from his burning brain.

It was so hot. His pale hair was damp, sweat beading on his skin beneath his armour. It felt like someone had lit a fire in his chest, blistering heat radiating outwards and frying everything it touched.

Another raspy breath, another heartbeat closer to death. Edward hovered nearby, one hand clasping the dagger Sypher gave him until his knuckles turned white.

If you die down here, I will find you wherever we end up and murder you, feathers.

“You take the reins then,” Sypher rasped, happily relinquishing control to Vel.

At the sight of the switch, Edward blinked. “You okay?” he asked warily.

“Nope.” Vel staggered to his feet, knowing that moving was the only thing keeping him alive. “But if I sit there I’ll die.”

Edward followed his every step, but didn’t stop him. The fever left him coated in sweat, but his insides felt so dry, like all the moisture inside him was being drawn out of his pores. It made his muscles tighten, each step getting harder.

But he reached Julian and took his sword back, feeling the faint zing of recognition the ancient weapon sent out at his touch.

An idea blossomed in the back of his mind. The Soul Forge had no magic, but his blade did.

“You should be resting,” Elda admonished, taking in his pale skin and drooped wings.

“Tried that,” Vel grunted. “It makes me die faster.” He peered at the rock through blurred eyes. “Stand back.”

The others obeyed, watching him remove one glove with his teeth and reach out, hesitating for just a second before laying his palm against it. His sword warmed in his other hand, sending a vibration through him that he could feel even with his numb fingers.

“What are you doing?” Elda asked.

“Channeling. I don’t have magic anymore, but I still know how to direct it. My sword didn’t lose its power when I did, so it’s capable of storing energy.”

“Why isn’t the monolith corrupting you?” she frowned, staring at the hand he had pressed against the stone.

“Because I’m not stealing power from it. I’m redirecting it.”

The elf watched his sword glow, her brows rising when she finally understood. “The soul fragment inside the monolith knows you won’t be able keep its power.”

“I’m already dead,” he nodded, gritting his teeth against the energy coursing through him when it turned the fever into an inferno. “Therefore I’m not a threat.” He was starting to falter, his pulse stuttering in his chest. “Both of you gather as much power in your next strike as you can stand. Do not release it until I say so.”

Gira and Elda obeyed, the atmosphere in the room becoming charged with ancient magic. Elda’s arrow glowed like a small star, illuminating every inch of the cavern, and the air around Gira’s sword began to ripple.

Vel’s whole body burned with a slow, deep, molten agony that burrowed into his bones and squeezed his heart until he was certain it would burst. But he kept letting the monolith pour power through him and into his weapon until the pain brought tears to his eyes.

He raised the sword at last. “Now.”

Elda startled at his grunt, shaking her head. “You’re in the way! You could die!”

“If you don’t fire that arrow, Ember will die. Please. I can’t take my hand off this thing with so much power diverted.” His left leg threatened to buckle. “I’m begging you, varro.”

Her hand shook. He could see it trembling around the grip of her bow. Gira was staring too, his face conflicted.

“I can’t,” Elda sobbed, but that arrow stayed pointing at the monolith, and Vel knew she could. In the back of his mind, Sypher smiled with pride

“You can. The moment my sword touches the stone all that power will be released. You need to hit it at the same time.” He swallowed, tasting blood on his tongue. His ears were ringing. “If you can get clear before the monolith explodes, do it.”

Julian looked on from behind them, sensing the urgency in Vel’s tone and guiding Edward, Clover and Brady back towards the entryway. Vel watched him swallow, watched him cross a fist over his chest in a salute.

“Now,” the demon whispered, and swung his sword with whatever strength he had left.

The power of Aetheria and Irileth struck the marbled monolith at the same moment, and Vel bit down on a scream. In the corner of his fading vision, an arm reached for Gira and Elda, yanking them back into the shadows and away from the blast.

Cracks appeared in the stone spire, spilling blue light like an open wound. They seemed to move in slow motion, time slowing down as Vel tracked their paths from tip to base.

And then the whole thing blew apart and threw him off his feet, tossing him across the cavern and slamming his failing body into unforgiving rock. He hit the floor with a hard thud, shrapnel peppering his limbs. Blood bubbled up his throat, a thin trickle escaping to run down his cheek when he turned his head.

The monolith was gone, and in its place stood Hephaestus. The Spirit padded towards him on feline feet, dark tail swishing slowly back and forth. Vel watched him, unable to move, barely able to breathe.

“My gift to you is to see your dragon again,” Hephaestus said softly. “You will not die in the dark.”

The half demon groaned when his body was lifted from the ground, the motion sore enough that it broke through some of the numbness.

“Help…” he wheezed, forcing the words from ruined lungs. “…Ember.”

“I will,” Hephaestus promised, carrying the Soul Forge like he weighed nothing. The Spirit seemed taller after regaining his missing piece. “I am sorry for what is about to happen to you.”

In the back of Vel’s mind, Sypher stirred, disturbed by the apology but too weak to say anything. Was the Void waiting? Or something worse?

Sunlight interrupted his concern, so brilliant that he was blinded. The dank smell of the labyrinth vanished, a winter breeze whispering through his damp hair. Beside him, something dark and scaled shifted closer.

Nirheni, Ember sobbed, pressing her nose against his dangling hand. My nirehni.

The Soul Forge wanted to answer, to hug her, to do something, but his body was clinging to its last shreds of life. When Hephaestus laid him on the frosty ground, he could no longer feel the cold.

“Your bond will be severed,” the Spirit told the dragon, “and you shall live.” Ember only bowed her head, pressing her cheek gently against her rider’s chest. “I will spare him the pain of losing the bond by breaking it when he passes, but you will feel the separation. Do you understand?” Ember huffed in acknowledgement.

“El…da…” Vel rasped.

“She will be here in time,” Hephaestus promised. “But she will not be allowed to end you.”

The world seemed to still.

“W….why?”

“Because I still need you.” The Spirit cocked his head. “When you die, I will restore your power. You will remain dead and not dead.” If Vel’s heart were still capable, it would be thundering. “You will exist in undeath. Your restored immortality will stop your soul departing, but the necromancy will deny you life and agency.” The jaguar Spirit knelt beside Vel and touched his cheek gently. “I am sorry to shackle you again, but I will do what I must.”

Ember didn’t react to his promise, like she hadn’t even heard him speak, and Vel realised the Spirit had shielded the dragon so she wouldn’t tear Vel’s head off to save him from his fate. He was helpless, so close to death that even a whisper was too much.

When Hephaestus waved his arm and Elda appeared in the forest, backlit by a halo of fading sunlight, a tear slipped down Vel’s cheek. The barrier between himself and the Angel disintegrated entirely when she fell to her knees beside him, both halves staring up at her, unable to convey the trouble she was in.

He was going to turn. Worse - he was going to turn with his powers intact. He’d kill everyone. Level the city he loved. The future the Spirits showed him was going to come true, and he couldn’t tell anyone.

“I’m here,” Elda sobbed, pulling his head onto her lap and cradling him. “I’m right here. Please don’t leave me.” Her tears fell thick and fast, rolling down her cheeks to splatter on his chest plate. “Please don’t leave.”

“He really won’t come back from this?” Gira asked Hephaestus quietly.

The jaguar Spirit dipped his head. “He is mortal. Mortals die.”

Despite his tenuous grasp on life, the Soul Forge still had it in him to be angry. He looked Hephaestus in the eyes, holding his stare, and vowed silently to kill him. From the straightening of his spine, it was clear Hephaestus understood.

“I can’t believe you yelled at me for almost getting bitten and then went and got yourself scratched, you moron,” Julian mumbled, forcing a smile through his tears and kneeling beside Elda. “Take care of Yani for me.”

The half demon’s breaths became ragged, the spaces between them getting longer. He kept his eyes on Elda, all the colour finally sapped by the necromantic infection, until they couldn’t see anything at all.

Among the sobs and murmurs and the steps of a second dragon arriving to comfort his mother, Sypher and Vel heard their own heart take its last beat.

The world fell silent and dark.

Author note: I’m sorry, please trust me! <3