Chapter 49: The Blood Battle

 

"Sister?" The word felt like a drop of acid on my tongue. I looked at the witch—her eyes were a toxic emerald, her lips curled in a mocking sneer that mirrored my own features in a distorted, haunting way.

"I have no sister," I spat, pushing Nyx deeper into the pillows and stepping in front of her.

"Our mother was a queen of the void, Elena," the witch laughed, her voice like wind through a graveyard. "She chose a weak human and a life of hiding. I chose the Coven. I chose power. And tonight, I'm taking what’s ours."

She raised her hand, and the shadows in the room—usually so loyal to Nyx—suddenly turned jagged and sharp, lunging toward us like black spears.

ROAR.

Killian didn't hesitate. He didn't just fight; he became a hurricane of golden fury. He intercepted the shadow-spears with his bare hands, the Alpha energy radiating from him so hot that the darkness sizzled and evaporated on contact.

"You will not touch them," Killian’s voice was no longer human. It was a dual-tone growl that vibrated the very foundation of the palace.

His skin began to crack, glowing with an intense, molten light as he forced his power to overlap with the shadow realm. He was burning his own soul to create a barrier of pure light around me and Nyx.

"Killian, stop! You're hurting yourself!" I screamed, seeing the shadow-bruises spreading up his neck.

"Stay... behind... me!" he gasped, his muscles bulging as he held back the collective weight of twelve witches.

Mord, the Iron Guard, moved like a ghost. He wasn't as flashy as Killian, but his rusted blade was a nightmare for the Coven. He didn't cut flesh; he cut the threads of magic connecting the witches. With every swing, one of the green-robed figures screeched as their physical form flickered.

But there were too many of them.

"The girl!" the sister-witch commanded. "Bring her to the gate!"

Three witches bypassed Killian, their smoky forms flowing through the cracks in his light barrier. They reached for the bed. They reached for Nyx.

I grabbed the fruit knife I had used earlier, my heart pounding. I was just a human-blooded vessel, but I was a mother first.

"GET AWAY FROM HER!" I lunged, but a wave of green energy slammed into my chest, hitting the black rune.

I fell, the air knocked out of my lungs. I watched in horror as a witch’s clawed hand touched Nyx’s shoulder.

Then, the temperature in the room didn't just drop—it vanished.

Absolute Zero.

Nyx’s eyes didn't open. She stayed asleep. But the shadows beneath the bed didn't rise this time. They imploded.

A massive, clawed hand—made of solid, obsidian shadow—erupted from Nyx’s chest. It was five times the size of a human hand. It grabbed the nearest witch by the face and crushed her skull like a dry leaf.

The other witches shrieked, recoiling.

“You woke me up,” a voice whispered. It didn't come from Nyx's mouth. It came from the shadows themselves. “I was dreaming of a world without noise. And you... are very noisy.”

Nyx sat up, but she wasn't Nyx. Her hair was floating in a gravity-less void, and her eyes were two endless pits of violet starlight.

She looked at the witch who called me sister.

"You're not my auntie," Nyx said, her voice sounding like a thousand children speaking in unison. "You're just... food."

Nyx opened her small mouth, and the shadows in the room rushed toward her like a vacuum. The witches were dragged across the floor, their screams silenced as they were literally inhaled into the dark void radiating from my five-year-old daughter.

One by one, the Coven vanished.

The sister-witch managed to grab the doorframe, her face twisted in terror. "This... this is not possible! The ritual wasn't finished!"

"Go back to your bone-gate," Nyx said, pointing a tiny finger.

A spear of pure darkness shot out, impaling the witch and throwing her out the window, disappearing into the purple night.

The room went silent. The purple moon faded. The shadows retreated.

Nyx blinked, her eyes returning to normal. She looked around the wrecked nursery, her lower lip trembling as she saw Killian collapsed on the floor, his skin smoking from the effort.

"Daddy?" she whimpered, the 'Destroyer' vanishing as the little girl returned.

Killian looked up, his face covered in shadow-scars, but he smiled. "I'm... I'm here, Princess."

I rushed to Killian, but as I touched him, a sharp pain shot through my palm.

The bandage fell off. My wound wasn't healing. Instead, the blood was turning black, and a new rune was forming next to the old one.

The Mark of the Devourer.

Nyx hadn't just saved us. By using that much power, she had accelerated the pact. And the cost was no longer just Killian's life.

It was my humanity.