Page 408 of Commanding Blood And Bonds

Perhaps I had become lightning—through August. August, who unleashed his gift now, a storm unhinged, leveling demon after demon with bolts hurled from furious hands.

Clash. Clash. Clash. My blades rang again and again. And finally, they began to turn toward me. The covens knew better than to look directly, but some couldn’t resist flicking their eyes this way.

But it was Adrastos’ gaze that met mine—full of hate, of pain, of a fear I didn’t understand. This was his doing. This chaos, this carnage. There would be no redemption.

For Aren—Adrastos’ blood would paint the earth. His master’s blood would paint the earth. He seemed to recognize the promise in my eyes, slinking back into shadow like the coward he was.

Lana’s gaze met mine for less than a heartbeat before she returned to her furious hunt, a hurricane of vengeance. I wished—for once—that she could wield my fire, just to exact the retribution she deserved. Freya fought at her back. A lethal duet of rage and justice.

I kept clapping the blades as I stepped beyond the barrier of the shield. Carrion reek and the sound of a dying world hit me all at once.

I am your damnation. Look at me. Come to me.

My gaze snapped to the tormentors—their true forms towering over the last fleeing humans. My furious war cry bought them a moment.

Run, I commanded into their minds. Don’t look back.

Horse legs. Humanoid torsos. Antlers like crowns. Meant to strike fear in our hearts. And they did, for the mortals. But for me—they were just more demons. Just more monsters to hunt and destroy.

They would pay for what they’d taken.

For Ansel.

For the witches.

I would rain hell upon them before I met my own.

Clash. Clash. Clash.

And now, they ran.

Barreling toward me in a tide of snarls and claws. The distraction cost them—August’s lightning forked through half a dozen at once. But I didn’t feel fear. Not even facing my end.

I watched August fight, Alec at his back. I knew, then—there would be no escaping the vision.

The end was certain.

I would just make it worth it.

For Aren, I let my cruelest smile curl over my fangs. For Aren, I snarled a primal warning.

For Ansel, I held the line.

Hold. The Old General’s voice rang in my mind—hundreds of years of battle, shoulder to shoulder. When the tormentors and Renown were close, I bellowed my war cry⁠—

—and unleashed hell.

After our months with Kingsley, I no longer wielded fire.

I was fire.

There should’ve been nothing left in me—but I vanished into it now, consumed by the white heat. Even the crowned demons screeched to a halt as my body shifted, blue flame overtaking my form. I hurled whips of orange and livid red into their ranks.

They cracked as they struck—ripping flesh, beheading monsters.

I am the blade on which justice is found. I am the executioner the devil fears. I am death, given form. I will not be denied.

That icy calm rolled over me.