The sounds of the demon army surged forward, a wave of darkness and malice. Vizra roared as she urged her fellow demons forward. “Move!” Malekith shouted, his hand closing around Aric’s arm in a vise-like grip. “It’s time.”
Aric’s heart was pounding in his ears as he allowed Malekith to guide him forward, Malekith parting the sea of demons with the sheer force of his presence. He conjured a skeletal steed that surged up beneath them, allowing them to ride as one on its ungainly back. Aric wrapped his arms tight around Malekith’s waist as he hung on for dear life. They were far from the front of House Ixion’s forces—General Vezara was leading the charge—but still Aric braced himself for a strike.
The rift was an all-consuming maw now, hungry and vast, and the stench of sulfur was overpowering, burning the back of Aric’s throat. The ground trembled beneath his feet as they made their way toward it, and the air was thick with raw, searing power. The other demons surged forward, a relentless tide, and Aric was swept along in their wake, Malekith and a group of elite guards surrounding him on all sides.
The rift was pulling at Aric, drawing him in with its siren song of darkness and power. Despite the danger, despite the stakes, there was something undeniably thrilling about being so close to it. He could feel the raw magic of the void, taste the power that pulsed within it. It was a heady, intoxicating rush, and for a moment, Aric understood the demons’ hunger for this—this raw, unfiltered force that promised to reshape the world.
Aric stole a glance at Malekith’s face, but it was a mask of icy composure as he studied the rift. Aric wished more than anything that he could hear Malekith’s thoughts, know what the demon prince was planning in this moment.
Before he could fully comprehend the magnitude of what was happening, their steed galloped into the rift.
And his world exploded into chaos.
The air around him fractured and splintered, shards of raw magical force ripping through the space between one second and the next. The rift howled, a maddening cacophony that tore at his mind and shredded his thoughts to ribbons. Blinding light seared his eyes, but when he looked away, an impenetrable darkness swallowed him whole. He was being stretched and compressed, pulled in a hundred different directions at once, and for a horrifying moment, he thought he might tear apart at the seams.
He lost all sense of up or down, the ground vanishing from beneath his feet. He was weightless, adrift in a sea of chaos, his senses overwhelmed by the roiling maelstrom around him. The stench was a noxious cloud that clung to his skin, and the air was so thick with dark magic that it was hard to breathe.
Through it all, one thing remained constant: the steady presence of Malekith before him.
It should have been a comfort, a lifeline to cling to in the midst of the storm. But Aric knew that Malekith was the architect of this chaos, the mastermind behind the illusion that now threatened to tear the demon army asunder. He had staked everything on this plan, on weakening the portal enough that the humans could easily collapse it, and Aric only hoped they could make it through safely before they did.
With a jolt that knocked the breath from his lungs, Aric and Malekith emerged on the other side. He lurched forward, nearly falling sideways in the saddle, and felt Malekith’s steadying hand on his arm. As his vision cleared, Aric took in their surroundings. They’d emerged in a narrow valley, steep cliffs rising on either side. Dense forests crowned the ridges, providing ample cover. To an untrained eye, it might seem the perfect place to stage their assault on the human town.
But Aric, with his knowledge of human defensive strategies, immediately recognized it as a potential deathtrap for the demon armies.
Vizra strode forward, her face alight with triumph, and the other demons parted to allow her passage. She climbed a rocky outcropping, and her form was silhouetted against the stormy sky as she gazed out over the valley. The other demons gathered at the base of the cliff, their expressions a mix of awe and fear as they took in the otherworldly landscape.
“Behold!” Vizra’s voice boomed, laced with dark magic that carried to the farthest reaches of the valley. “The perfect staging ground for our assault. The humans will never expect us to strike from here.”
Aric’s pulse hammered in his ears as he watched from his place at Malekith’s back. Malekith’s face was maddeningly calm, but his grip on Aric’s arm was like a vise, the sharp points of his claws digging into Aric’s flesh. He was coiled tight, every muscle in his body tensed, and Aric could almost hear the wheels of his mind turning, calculating, plotting.
Malekith’s guards fanned out around them, forming a protective circle as Malekith and Aric joined Vizra at the overlook. The valley stretched out before them, a vast expanse of rocky terrain and twisted forests. And at the pass’s base lay the town of Drindal, a dim smudge of light in the gathering darkness.
Aric lifted one brow as he realized what Malekith had done. At first glance, the high ground of this valley just outside the border city of Dindral was the perfect vantage point for the demon army to launch a devastating attack on the human city. If the demons seized this position, they would have the high ground, and the humans would be utterly unprepared for an assault from that direction.
And then Aric remembered the truth of the valley’s geography, the narrow pass that would make it a death trap for the demon army, and he felt a surge of hope. Malekith had done it. Now the demon army was walking straight into his trap.
Vizra’s smile was positively feral, and it made Aric’s skin crawl. She was enjoying this far too much, showing off for her fellow demon lords and basking in the adulation of her armies. She had no idea that she was marching them straight into a slaughter.
“The positioning is flawless,” Vizra said, her expression triumphant in the fading light. “The humans will have no idea what’s coming for them.”
“Forgive me, my lady, but there are a few concerns I must raise.” Malekith’s voice was like a velvet blade as he spoke, his tone oozing with false deference. “If the humans are able to block us at the pass, we could find ourselves in a vulnerable position.”
Aric had to give Malekith credit. He was playing his part to perfection, his face a mask of barely concealed frustration as he raised token objections, each one carefully crafted to make Vizra dismiss them out of hand.
“I have already taken the eastern flank into consideration,” Vizra said, her voice hard. “Our scouts have reported no human activity in the area, but we will of course keep a close watch on that sector.”
Malekith bowed his head, a lock of midnight hair falling loose from its intricate braid. “As you wish, my lady. I only seek to ensure the success of our campaign.”
Aric’s stomach churned with a mixture of admiration for Malekith’s skill and a twinge of guilt for their manipulation. Vizra didn’t deserve an ounce of his respect. But this was the only way to end the war, to minimize the bloodshed on both sides. That was what Aric had to keep reminding himself, the weight of their actions sitting heavy on his conscience.
Pride swelled in Aric’s chest, despite the nerves that threatened to consume him. He and Malekith had come so far, from enemies to . . . something else, something Aric wasn’t quite ready to put a name to. But in that look, that silent exchange, he knew that Malekith understood. The risks they had taken, the dangers that still lay ahead. The unspoken bond that bound them together, stronger than any magic.
Vizra turned to address the gathered forces as they continued to pour from the portal behind them.
But Vizra’s moment of triumph was short-lived.
With a deafening crack, the rift wavered, its edges fraying and tearing asunder. The air around them vibrated with a low, ominous hum, and the ground began to shake. The humans had detected their approach, their wards resonating with power as they scrambled to mount a defense.
“Rally the troops!” Vizra bellowed, her voice laced with dark magic. “Hold the line!”
But it was too late. With one final groan, the rift collapsed in on itself, a blinding flash of white light swallowing the valley. The ground buckled and heaved as the raw magical energy of the rift’s destruction rippled through the air. Demons tumbled over one another, their bodies disintegrating into ash as they were wrenched back to the void. The magical stench in the air turned acrid, laced through with the sharp crackle of ozone. And all around them, the sounds of battle gave way to panicked screams and the anguished cries of the dying.
Only about half of the demonic forces had made it through the rift before it collapsed, and Aric’s heart ached for the thousands of demons who had been left behind. But there was no time to mourn them, no time to dwell on the staggering loss.
Because down in the valley below, the humans were charging, their ranks a glittering sea of steel in the moonlight.
Five
Aric watched as Vizra took command of the demon forces, her honey-hued skin aglow with the baleful light of her magic. Even as the portal collapsed prematurely, cutting off a portion of their vanguard, she showed no signs of panic. She turned to the other demon lords, her voice a silky hiss that set Aric’s teeth on edge.
“Advance. We will crush these Drindal defenders and claim the territory in the name of our lord.”
The other demons howled their assent, surging forward for the pathway down the mountain in a tide of scales and claws and fire.
Aric tore his gaze away from them and looked at Malekith, really looked at him. There was a hunger in his eyes, a fierce, wild light that made his usually refined elegance into something sharper, something with teeth to it. He was a vision of dark beauty and terrible power, and in that moment, Aric understood the pull of him that affected more than just Aric, the dangerous and icy allure that so many other demon courtiers seemed determined to thaw, and had made no qualms about letting Aric know as much.
But more than that, Aric saw the raw, unshielded hope in Malekith’s expression, the yearning for victory and a homecoming that he had sought for so long. It was a vulnerability that caught in Aric’s throat, a fierce, possessive ache to see it through, to bring Malekith everything he desired.
