─── · 。ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───
"There exists a tipping point between gods and monsters."
─── · 。ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───
I WAS death and wind and night. And I could not be stopped. I did not care. I did not feel. I simply existed. My very being honed into a weapon sharp and deadly and unbeatable.
Darkness was my song; death was my melody; wrath was my rhythm; revenge, my refrain. A cacophony of hundreds of sounds and instruments coursing through my thoughts to fuel my one basic instinct. Rage. A cool, icy rage that spiraled in my veins and lit with a frozen fire.
Madness. A state of mind resulting in an undeniable state of frenzy and chaos. Currently I found myself ruling on an iron throne beside that very feeling. Reigning over each and every one of my other emotions and cutting them down one by one if they stood in my way.
My feet carried me, swift and silent as I ran across the branch below me. Such a silky movement that it scarcely rustled the wood at all.
The midnight black leathers that adorned my body made no more than a whisper of sound, blending in with the night winds rolling past. Roaring in response to the magic I had let loose. Screaming. Tearing through the world. Searching. Scouring.
Words. Infinite words. And yet no words at all.
I jumped. Folding myself into starlight and shadow, winnowing from the air wrapping around me the second my feet left the branch. Finding purchase on the tree across from me not a millisecond later.
Tree to tree, I winnowed, no more than a blur of white hair. Moving so fast even the beasts and monsters on the forest floor could not find me. My eyes had adapted to the dark. Seeing as clear as if it were day with the small bit of magic I had used.
I leapt through the trees, shadow and night until I was on the outskirts of the place we'd been attacked, all the while tugging on that bond, searching for that familiar wall on the other side of it.
My eyes searching the clearing. Pausing as I searched for a single trace of Rhys or where they had taken him. I yanked the arrow that had shot me from its place on my belt.
I purely animal sound ripped through me. As I studied the green coating covering it. Bloodbane. Damn Bloodbane mixed with ashwood. A deadly poison that killed you slowly, weakening your immune system until there was nothing left to weaken and eventually your body simply succumbed to it.
One dose was enough to kill you. One dose was enough to send you to your knees. I hadn't even been able to count how many arrows Rhys had taken. How many he'd shielded me from.
I shoved the arrow back into its place and continued on. No time. No everything. I circled the area until I spotted a new arrow. I picked that one up too. And another. And another.
Until I discovered the place where the pine-branches were broken and shattered. Finally, I smelled Rhys and the trees around me glimmered with sparks of electricity. Zapping in the air and creating a soft buzzing sound.
I spied his blood splattered on the branches. On the ground.
Again the world shook in my wake. The ground rumbling beneath my feet as though some ancient, primal being had been woken. Risen from a long sleep only to shred reality apart with its power.
An ambush had been waiting. And unleashed hail of of hundreds, too fast for him to detect or avoid.
I sensed them. Their roiling presence throughout the forest. Gathered at odd ends to throw me off. Because they knew. They knew I could sense their very essence of life and wanted to throw me off.
I narrowed. Focused on the only presence that mattered.
I winnowed in bursts through the site, mindful of the creatures that lurched just over my shoulders.
He'd fallen hard, the tracks told me enough. And they'd had to drag him away. Quickly.
They'd tried to hide the blood trail, but even without his mind speaking to me, I could find that scent anywhere. I would find that scent anywhere.
They might have been good at concealing their tracks. But I was better.
I continued my hunt, my daggers now flipping in my hands as I went.
At least two dozen had to have taken him away, though more had been here for the initial assault. The others had likely winnowed out, or took to a designated place—either way it would have left behind limited numbers to haul him toward the mountains—toward whoever might be waiting.
They were moving swiftly. Deeper and deeper into the woods, toward the slumbering giants of the Illyrian mountains. His blood had flowed all the way. And my fury flowed with it.
Alive, it told me. He was alive—though the wounds weren't clotting...The ash arrows were doing their work.
And through that merciless, unyielding rage, I decided that if Rhys was not alive, if he was harmed beyond the world...I think I very well might tear apart the world.
They were all dead. No matter what or who they were. I would kill them all.
Tracks veered from the main group—scouts probably sent to find a spot for the night. I slowed my winnowing, carefully tracking their steps now. Two groups had split, as if trying to hide where they'd gone. Rhys's scent clung to both.
They'd taken his clothes. Because they'd damn well known I'd track him. Seen me with him. They had known I would come for him. No doubt it was a trap.
They'd have to do so much better than that.
I paused at the top branches of a tree overlooking where the two groups had cleaved, scanning the ground. One headed deeper into the mountains. One headed along them.
Mountains were Illyrian territory—mountains would run the risk of being discovered by patrol. They'd assume that where I would doubt they would be stupid enough to go. They'd assume I'd think they'd keep to the unguarded, unpatrolled forest.
I weighed my options, smelling the two paths.
They hadn't counted on the small, second scent that clung there, entwined with his.
And I didn't let myself think about it as I winnowed toward the mountain tracks, outracing the wind that roared in my wake. I didn't let myself think about the fact that my scent was on Rhys, clinging to him after last night. He'd changed his clothes that morning—but the smell on his body...without taking a bath I was all over him.
So I winnowed toward him. Toward me. And when the narrow cave appeared at the foot of a mountain, the faintest glimmer of light escaping from its mouth...I halted.
Twisting my body so that I was just around the corner, I clung the rocky side of the mountain. Dirt stuck to my clothes, but that was beyond my mind.
Listen. Assess. Move.
I opened my ears, every crack and rustle coming from the forest running through my mind as I analyzed every bit of it.
A whip cracked.
And every word, every thought and feeling, eddied from me. Every bit of tactic and training flew out of my mind, swept away by a single need. Another whip—another.
I clenched my jaw, my body shaking with the restraint it took not to barrel into that cave and kill them all in one fell swoop. But that is what got you killed and I would not let my emotions rule over my head.
They'd picked a cave with a narrow entrance that opened into a wide, curving tunnel, setting up their little camp around the bend to avoid distraction.
The scouts at the front—two High Fae males with unmarked armor stood at the caves entrance. Standing guard. The worst part was I couldn't tell if they were from Hybern or the Flame.
I could sense two other scouts out of range of sight, patrolling just inside the cave mouth, watching those at the front. And there were more deeper in the cave. With Rhys. About...seven more give or take.
And with that final bit of information I sheathed my daggers into my sides.
I stepped from the side of the cave, coming into the view of the guards. The pinnacle of calm and collected as I straightened the sleeves of my leathers, pulling them down slightly. And that small motion not only settled my attire, but revealed the iron points of my nails.
The guards went on high alert at the sight of me. Their hands going to their swords on instinct. Ready to draw them in seconds if need be. They would not get that far.
I stepped closer, coming into the light the cave casted dimly over the entrance. The guards drew their swords half way. Acting in synchrony as though they had done this thousands of times before.
"Who are you?" the male commanded. But that was not his question. No, I saw his true words in his eyes. 'What are you?' they seemed to speak. 'What are you?' they screamed, both of their eyes scrutinizing every part of me. And they should. They should wonder what monster had come for them.
My canines were drawn in sharp points. A predator's teeth. Nails of pure iron. Strong as the most durable of steel. I had released the dampen I put on my power and the full force of my magic flowed freely in the air. Thickening the oxygen around us like wading through water. Flying free through the world for all to see as it was all they could do to watch.
They should be scared. So very scared.
I cocked my head, a maniacal smile tugging at my lips. "My name is Danika." I said, teeth gleaming in the light. "But you can call me death."
And then I lunged, my arms reaching out in a barely detectable motion as I reached for the first male's pretty little neck. Before he even had time to process I had moved, my nails slashed across his throat, blood spilling to the forest floor as he dropped without so much as a scream.
And then I was on the next male, picking up the fallen Fae's sword and plunging it through his chest without a second thought. He made a gargled sound, dropping to his knees as blood forced its way up his throat and spilled from his mouth.
The soldier looked down at the sword protruding from his chest, and then back to me with a wide-eyed look. A silent plea in his eyes.
I laughed as I yanked the sword from his body and watched him topple over. With a sigh, I tossed the sword to the side. The metal clattering to the rocky floor with a clang.
And then I waltzed into the cave as though I owned it. Guards had already gathered, their own swords drawn and ready to attack as they bustled toward me.
I held my hands out at my sides, a sick grin on my face, "Please," I dared, "be my guest."
And then they were upon me. And then they were dead.
Blood spilled. Tattered bodies. I killed each and every one of them without remorse. Without regret. The only thing that mattered was getting to Rhys.
My dagger hurled through the air, finding purchase in the stomach of the only male left. The one holding the whip. And I would by far make his death the worst. The most painful.
With an agonizing slowness, I stalked toward him, cocking my head and watching him fall to him knees before me. Clutching his bleeding stomach where the dagger had embedded itself in his body. And it was there that he began to weep. The bloodied whip dropping to the floor beside him as he begged me to spare him. Begged for mercy.
He stayed on his knees, his neck slowly tipping back as I got closer and closer. Looking up at me. Tears streaming down his cheeks. Let him cry.
With a faux sympathetic look, I shook my head. As if ashamed by the damage I had wreaked. I was not.
"Please," I purred, my hand grasping the dagger in his stomach, "send your commander my regards." relief washed through his face. But I grinned, "Actually, that might be a tad hard to do when you're dead." I drew the dagger up, successfully gutting him as I tore through muscle and rib. I yanked my dagger from his flesh. And with a soft flick of my finger I sent him falling onto his back. Dead.
This blood...the red that coated my hands. This blood I savored. Blood for blood. Blood for every drop they'd spilled of his.
"A shame," I sighed without remorse. I didn't waste time, looking over to the scene mere feet from me.
I stopped breathing.
Rhys was bound in strange chains of bluish stone to spread his arms, suspending him from either wall of the cave. His body sagged from them, his back a ravaged slab of meat. And his wings...
They'd left ash arrows through his wings. Seven of them.
I winnowed in front of Rhys. I gripped his face. Pale—too pale.
But his eyes opened to slits and he groaned.
I didn't say anything as I lunged for the chains holding him, leaving bloody handprints on them as I gripped the cool stone. The chains were like ice—worse than ice. They felt wrong. I pushed past the pain and strangeness of them, and the weakness that barrelled down my spine, and unlatched him.
His knees slammed into the rock so hard by breath hitched, but I rushed to the other arm, still upraised. Blood flowed down his back, his front, pooling in the dips between his muscles.
"Rhys." I breathed. I almost dropped to my own knees as I felt flicker of him behind his mental shields, as if the pain and exhaustion had reduced it to window-tinness. His wings, peppered with those arrows, remained spread—so painfully taut that I winced. "Rhys we need to winnow home."
His eyes opened and he gasped, "Can't."
The Bloodbane. His magic. The arrows. Even if I was the one to winnow us, he was too weak to withstand the entire way back.
But we couldn't stay here. Not when the other group was nearby. So I said, "Hold on." and gripped his hand before I threw us into the night and smoke and ash.
Not far. Just far enough.
Winnowing was so heavy, as if all the weight of him, all that power dragged me back. It was like wading through mud, but I focused through the forest, on a moss-shrouded cave I'd seen earlier that day while slaking my thirst, tucked into the side of the river bank. I'd peeked into it, and nothing but leaves had been within. At least it was safe, if not a bit damp. Better than being in the open and it was our only option.
Every mile was a conscious effort. But I kept my grip on his hand, terrified that if I let go, I'd leave him somewhere I might never be able to find, and—
And then we were there, in that cave, and he grunted in agony as we slammed into the wet, cold stone floor.
"Rhys," I pleaded, stumbling in the dark—such impenetrable dark, and with those creatures around us...
My power wrapped around the cave, tendrils of soft light weaving on the cave's ceiling. Just light enough to cast an over glow, but not so much that it would draw anything near.
He was so cold. And still bleeding. My breathing came in ragged, panicked, spurts and I felt as though my chest was constricting. My lungs collapsing as I took in the scene before me.
Focus.
Focus. Focus. Focus. Focus.
The lashings across his back kept dribbling blood, but the wings... "I have to get these arrows out." I muttered
He grunted again, hands braced on the floor. And the sight of him like that, unable to even make a sly comment or a half-smile...
I went up to his wing, drawing a bloodied dagger from one of the sheaths at my side. "This is going to hurt."
"Do it." he panted, his voice hoarse.
There were seven arrows in total: three in this wing, four in the other. They'd removed the ones from his legs, for whatever reason—the wounds already half-clotted.
Blood dripped on the floor.
I lifted the dagger, studying the entry wound before I gently gripped the shaft. He hissed. I paused.
"Do it." Rhys repeated, his knuckles white as he fisted his hands on the ground.
I set the small bit of serrated edge against the arrow and began sawing as gently as I could. The blood soaked muscles of his back shifted and tensed, and his breathing turned sharp, uneven. Too slow—I was going too slowly.
But any faster and it might hurt him more, might damage the sensitive wing.
"Did you know," I said over the sound of my sawing, "that in the early days of my childhood, I was required to pick—and master—two different skills? By that time, I had already accumulated a love for all things music, so I chose that and dance. I had enjoyed both for as long as I could remember and I remember thinking 'why not turn this into the one good part of the academy? Why not make this the one good thing? I spent every waking moment I could spare, learning and improving. So much time and love put into it that when I was seventeen—on my birthday—my friends had managed to sneak me into the smallest theater in our village so that I could play for them." I smiled at the memory.
His breath heaved out of him, and I finally sawed through the shaft. I didn't let him know what I was doing before I yanked out the arrow head in one smooth pull.
He swore, body locking up, and blood gushed out—then stopped.
I almost loosed a sigh of relief. I set to work on the next arrow.
"Music was the only thing I had in an otherwise sorrowful life. And I began making it too. Composing different pieces of both happiness and joy, mournful and hope. I took everything I felt and put it into those sheets of paper. When..." I choked, "when Nesta and I were still close, she used to teach me how to dance and we'd glide along the floor as she taught me all these movements. And then she would dance to the music I made and sometimes Elain would join in and she and Nesta would swing Feyre in their arms while I bounded out these horrible, horrible notes that I thought sounded good at the time." I laughed a little, getting through the second arrow faster, and he braced himself as I tugged it out. Blood flowed, then clotted. I started on the third. "It was the only time in my life when I thought we might be okay after our mothers death...but then we lost our wealth and everything changed. We changed. Grew hostile toward each other." a soft sigh. "But I never stopped making that music." the arrow clattered to the ground and I ripped out the other end.
I watched the blood flow and stop—watching him slowly lower the wing to the ground, his body trembling.
"There were times," I said, starting on the other wing, "when my father was asleep, and the four of us were all huddled into that tattered bed upstairs in our small little hovel. All of us so tired that we just tried to forget. I would hum a tune, and Feyre would join in—she can't sing at all, by the way—and then Elain would start singing too, and Nesta would just listen until we all fell asleep." the only fond memories I had in that little hovel.
"And then during the day, I would do what I had to, working...killing, and then I would go to the music room, hidden in the Flame's base they used to teach other students. And I'd play, and play, and play, until it was dark out and I had to get home. There was thing one song...one song I was so proud of myself for writing and would just play it over and over again."
I finished the fourth and started on the fifth.
Rhys's voice was raw as he said to the floor, "What did it sound like?"
I hummed, drawing out the fifth and moving to the sixth before saying, "You should know." I said, moving faster as I drew out the sixth arrow and began on the seventh. "You sent it to my cell." He stilled. I went on, "We heard it on the streets, too. I'll never understand that." Pulling out the seventh and final arrow, the wood clattered to the ground and I sheathed my dagger. "I wonder if some part of me knew what was waiting for me. I wonder if, even in my despair and hopelessness, I was never truly alone. I wonder if I was looking for this place—looking for you all."
The blood stopped flowing and his other wing lowered to the ground. Slowly, the lashes on his back began to clot. I walked around to where he was bowed over the floor, hands braced on the rock, and knelt.
His head lifted. Pain-filled eyes, bloodless lips. "You saved me." he rasped.
"Of course, I did." I replied softly before looking away with a sigh. "Explain who they were later."
"Ambush." Rhys said anyway, his eyes scanning my face for signs of hurt. "Hybern soldiers, and a few...others with ancient chains from the King himself, to nullify my power. They must have traced the magic I used yesterday...I'm sorry." The words tumbled out of him. Slowly, hesitantly, I brushed back his dark hair.
"Sleep, Rhys." I said, and moved to retrieve the blanket from my pack. It'd have to do. He gripped my wrist before I could rise. His eyelids lowered. Consciousness ripped from him—too fast. Much too fast and too heavy.
"I was looking for you too." he murmured.
And passed out.
A/N: Guys, I just have to announce that according the Myers Briggs personality types, I have the same personality type as Manon Blackbeak, Eris Vanserra, Annabeth Chase, Kaz Brekker, Legend, and Tobias Eaton. Thank you.
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