Page 310 of The Edge of Darkness

First Saxon, now Remic . . .

My hands were shaking. A swarm of adrenaline twisted up my insides.

The slice in my shoulder no longer hurt. It was already almost completely healed. There was too much energy coursing through me to feel any of the pain from the wound. I was hurting for a different reason. Hurting because Remic had laid down his life for me. He’d taken seven arrows to his back. Seven arrows, the size of which I had never seen the likes of. They’d pierced his heart, and now, my own heart was drowning in grief.

And I wanted revenge.

Moments later, when Roirdan returned, I glanced at him—if only to acknowledge that Remic wasn’t with him. That he had deposited his body somewhere safe, where he could be at peace until this was all over and we could honor him properly.

Aremis had gone back to the carnage to find Niall and tell him what had happened. We would soon follow. But first . . .

“Those fuckers will pay with their lives,” Roirdan seethed.

They would pay all right. I would draw out their agony with my bare hands—agony a hundred times greater than what Remic felt—until they were nothing but a shell of themselves.

I scanned the horizon for those responsible for Remic’s death. There, across the field, on the ridge, several enemy archers were on the move.

The last of my tears dried on my cheeks as I cut a look at Roirdan. He nodded and unsheathed his sword.

Together, we ported right to the bastards. Our feet slammed into the ground before them. Six soldiers—creatures that looked eerily human, if it weren’t for their unnaturally pale skin and blackened eyes. They halted so quickly that a couple of them lost their balance.

I’d never once thought anyone could match the rage that poured off of Roirdan on the battlefield . . .

I proved myself wrong at that very moment.

The creatures instantly recognized who we were, but I did not afford them the chance to speak. My eyes lit from within, and all five beings went to their knees, convulsing in pain. I could feel my light creeping along every one of their corrupted veins, slithering and burning its way through their wretched bodies. I didn’t even have to concentrate on the command. My power operated for me, enacting vengeance the only way it knew how.

“You don’t know pain.” My voice was like gravel as I tore into them. “You don’t know what true pain feels like.” Light began to seep out from their pores like liquid as I drove my power deeper. “To hurt from the inside out . . . to have your heart ripped from your chest!”

Their eyes widened in terror as I pushed more power through them, until their screams were a symphony to my ears.

“How long?” I asked as I looked down on them. But none of the abominations answered, too busy burning alive. “How long is long enough to suffer for what you’ve done?”

Somehow, deep inside me, I knew I could keep them alive, suffering for as long as I wished. The longer my light scorched their veins and boiled their blood, the more I felt it also reforging the capillaries and sinew. A painful cycle of death and life. It was a delicate balance, but I didn’t give it a second thought. My vengeance was too bright before me as I stared at their writhing bodies and listened to their voices breaking under agony.

Their hands flailed, grasping for a reprieve that wasn’t there.

There would be no mercy.

They had killed Remic. And I would not let anyone else be taken from me.

I no longer saw six corrupted souls; I saw only Lyceius, and everything he was ripping away from my world.

I descended into blind madness, erupting with another unyielding wave of power, keen to let the beings linger on the brink of death—but only just. Their horror and misery excited me, and the longer I lingered in the throes of my power, the more I felt it show another facet of itself.

That’s it, a voice slithered into my mind. Make them pay, it coaxed.

I would make them pay. I’d make Lyceius pay for everything.

I reveled in their suffering for another moment before a twinge of warning sounded off in the recesses of my mind. The well of my power was cautioning me. I’d pulled from it more often than I’d hoped to in these last few hours, and it was now reminding me that there was still a major task ahead that was not yet complete.

But why stop? Why not give these bastards what they deserved?

Yes, why stop now? They’ve yet to learn their lesson.

Lyceius deserved the wrath of every human and fae a million times over. If I had to be the one to deal it all to him, so be it.

But . . . these creatures were not the fallen god. They were only doing his bidding.