Novel & Cerita Shadowsinger Azriel Acotar

The floodlights had dimmed to half-power, casting long, jagged shadows that danced over us like they knew exactly what was coming next. Azrael leaned against a rusted crate, shirt still torn open, fake blood crusted dark across his pale skin. The cold didn’t touch him—he looked too alive, too hungry. His black eyes tracked me like always: slow, deliberate, like he was already undressing me in his mind, peeling away layers until I was bare and begging. Old habits. Dangerous ones that made my pulse throb low in my core.

“You cannot resist what was born with you. You will either destroy them… or destroy yourself.” Aiden’s chest tightened. “He’s not just fighting them… he’s fighting himself.” --- The Serpents’ Leader Emerges From the shadows, a figure emerged, larger than any other, clad in black and gold, carrying a staff tipped with a glowing blue crystal—the source of Darius’ command over the Serpents. Darius smirked. “Meet the master… the real puppet master.” Aiden’s stomach turned. “Who the hell is that?” The figure stepped forward. The energy around it was palpable, bending the very air. “I am Azrael,” he said. “And I’ve been waiting a long time for you, Luca.”

How could I know what was a lie when the foundation, something as simple as his last name, was a lie? The world around me crumbled. The room turned into just shadows of people, with whispers across the air. I felt a hand on my shoulder and my head snapped up to look at them; it was Cleo. I could see her lips moving but there was no sound. I looked over at the stage to see his eyes on me. He was still talking to the crowd, probably explaining everything, but I couldn’t hear anything that was being said. His face softened with apologetic eyes at me, and I wobbled to my feet. He twitched like he wanted to come to me but couldn’t.

“And you know we can’t let you live.” Eolan’s shadow surged, but the assassin was ready—throwing a small black vial that burst mid-air. A choking grey mist billowed out, clinging to Eolan’s shadow like tar. The connection faltered, his magic pulling sluggishly like it was moving through water. The assassin lunged. Arwyn blocked the first strike, steel screeching. “Move!” he barked. Eolan dove sideways, his shadow straining against the mist’s grip. It managed to catch the assassin’s ankle, yanking him off-balance. Arwyn didn’t hesitate—his sword drove straight through the man’s ribs.

“Did the little orphan fall down again?” Sierra didn’t speak. Didn’t breathe too loudly. She just watched the trio with lowered lashes. They stood above her like hungry crows: Elara – The Leader: Pale blonde, perfect lips, eyes like chipped quartz. Always smiling when it hurt most. Gloria – The Shadow: Lanky, wolf-eyed, knuckle bruises, laugh like shattered glass. Patricia – The Echo: Pretty brunette, fake pout, sharper tongue than blade. “Maybe she’s waiting for someone to help her,” the wolf-eyed girl said, crouching close enough for Sierra to smell her sour breath. “A prince, maybe?”

she nodded gently, her face so intently focused on him now, as he sighed again, struggling to answer her without saying too much. Lukas stepped forward, pulling up one of the chairs from the small dining table, and sitting facing her. "Very few know about us," he said softly, "but the ones that do, they call us 'Shadowsouled'." Jason could feel her apprehension growing, as she likely sensed his nervousness, her eyes drifting between the two of them now.

My eyelids try to close with all their might, but I resist and slowly manage to open them, although everything is blurry, I see that I am on the ground, lying. When I close and reopen them, Azael's face appears in front of me, watching me with a frown, with his piercings and his black shirt through which his tattoos peek out and spread across his neck. But when I blink again, there is no sign of him. As if it was part of my imagination.

“Sorry, luv. I didn’t mean to be such an arse about it.” Creighton clears his throat and moves towards a large table. “All bantering aside, why are you two here?” Azazel puffs out a breath and moves towards the table with a loose stride. “I’m here because my mate is the siphon that Marael is using to end the world.” My stomach tightens at his words. Even though I know that I’m the siphon, it still pains me to hear it. Azazel must notice my discomfort because he extends his hand towards me and gives me a gentle smile.

“Hold the territory. Keep our people safe.” “Aria, don't-” But she was already moving, her hybrid aspects fully manifesting. Power rolled off her in waves as she stood to face Azrael. And somewhere in the darkness, ancient seals continued to break. The air itself seemed to bend around Aria as she faced Azrael. Her silver markings blazed brighter with each step, responding to the dark energy emanating from his weapon. “Fascinating,” Azrael murmured, studying her like a scientist observing a specimen. “Four supernatural aspects, perfectly balanced. The prophecy was right about you.”

Not carefully channeled. Just pure, raw shadow power breaking through the cracks in my seal. My eyes must have changed because Azrael's expression shifted from confident to shocked. "Two bloodlines," he breathed. "Moon Blessed and Night Cursed. Impossible. The Goddess would never allow." I didn't let him finish. I moved faster than I'd ever moved before, the shadow power enhancing my speed beyond what moon power alone could achieve. My fist caught Azrael's jaw with enough force to lift him off his feet.