The magic within
Daryl’s blade flashed up, slitting its throat — but instead of blood, black smoke poured from the wound, wrapping around his arms.
Varrow ignored the fight, stepping toward the door. “All these years,” he murmured, tracing the blackstone with one hand, “and I finally stand before the source.”
The voice from within the vault purred. “Varrow. The leech who drinks my blood yet fears my teeth.”
Varrow’s expression flickered — anger, then hunger. “We’ll see who fears who when you’re mine to command.”
Killian’s shadows lashed out, trying to drag him back — but Varrow turned with inhuman speed, slamming a talisman into Killian’s chest. It burned, magic locking his limbs as his knees hit the ground.
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