Married To Darkness - Chapter 493
Chapter 493: Beast book
Sebastian’s breath misted as he lowered his staff. “Scouts. The smallest of what slipped through.”
Alaric wiped his blade against his cloak. “Then we press on.”
The sky darkened suddenly, though no clouds moved overhead. A chill swept across the clearing as a shriek pierced the silence, high and harrowing.
“Eyes up,” Heappal warned, shield raised.
From above, wings blotted out the weak sun. The beast descended—a horror of leathered wings, its body like a wyvern but corrupted, its head split into three snapping maws. Spittle rained down as it shrieked again, circling.
“Hold formation!” Alaric barked.
The beast dove, talons outstretched. Heappal braced, his shield catching the strike, though the force nearly drove him to his knees. Alaric leapt, swinging upward. His blade sliced across one wing, tearing through sinew. The beast howled, banking clumsily.
Sebastian raised his staff, chanting words that made the air tremble. A spear of fire shot upward, striking the creature’s belly. The smell of burnt flesh filled the forest. But still, it fought, circling for another dive.
“Again!” Alaric roared.
It plummeted. This time, Alaric rolled beneath it, slashing deep into its thigh. Blood gushed, hot and thick. Heappal threw his shield like a hammer, slamming it into one of the maws, shattering teeth. Sebastian unleashed a blast of wind that drove the beast crashing into the trees.
It screeched, thrashing. Alaric sprinted, vaulting onto its wounded back. With both hands, he drove his blade down the spine, ripping through until the beast shuddered and fell silent.
The forest trembled with its death.
But silence did not last.
The earth quaked, and from the deeper mist came a sound no man wished to hear—a guttural bellow that seemed to crawl under their skin.
It stepped into view, towering as high as the trees. Its body was a mass of flesh and shadow, eight limbs moving like a spider’s, though each ended in claws. A long neck jutted forward, a skull-like head dripping tar. Tentacles writhed from its belly, slapping the ground.
“Gods…” Heappal whispered. “That’s no beast. That’s war itself.”
Sebastian’s face paled. “A Ghor’thuun. An eater of worlds. It should not be here. If it anchors, it will draw more through.”
“Then we end it.” Alaric lifted his blade, though his arms already ached.
The monster charged.
Heappal met it first, shield raised. The impact sent him flying against a tree, armor dented but not broken. Alaric ducked beneath a swinging claw, slicing one limb clean off. Black ichor sprayed, hissing as it hit the ground.
Tentacles lashed at Sebastian, who countered with a dome of shimmering light. Sparks flew as the abomination’s strength clashed with ancient wards. Gritting his teeth, Sebastian thrust both palms outward—chains of lightning erupted, wrapping around two of the monster’s arms. It screamed, staggering.
“Now!” the wizard roared.
Alaric sprinted up its limb, boots slipping on ichor, until he was on its back. With a battle-cry, he plunged his sword down again and again, hacking through thick hide. The beast bucked, shrieking, but Heappal returned with a roar of his own, driving his spear straight into its belly, twisting until black blood gushed.
Still, it did not fall.
Sebastian’s voice rose to a scream, chanting a forbidden word. Fire erupted from the earth itself, engulfing the monster’s lower half. It shrieked, thrashing wildly.
Alaric leapt, dragging his sword across its throat. Heappal rammed his shield into its skull. And with one final surge of magic, Sebastian unleashed a storm of lightning that ripped the creature apart in a blinding explosion.
When the light faded, the abomination collapsed, its body dissolving into ash and smoke. The ground quaked once more, then stilled.
The three men stood, battered and bloodied, surrounded by the ruins of their battle.
Heappal spat blood into the dirt. “If that’s the filth sneaking through the veil these days, I want my pay doubled.”
Sebastian leaned on his staff, trembling. “Pray it was the last. If a second Ghor’thuun crosses… even we may not survive.”
Alaric only wiped his blade, his chest heaving. His thoughts drifted back to Salviana, to her laughter in the halls, her softness in the bed he had abandoned before dawn. She did not know that while she sipped tea among princesses, he was here—covered in blood and ash, keeping their world intact.
It was always his burden. His cross.
He sheathed his sword at last. “Come. This fight is over. But Wyfn-Garde is never clean. Tomorrow, it might bleed again.”
And so they marched out of the smoking ruin of Wyfmoor, three silhouettes against the rising sun, warriors of a kingdom that would never know the depths of their sacrifice.
Back at the tea party earlier,
The clinking of porcelain and the gentle perfume of steaming tea continue to fill the salon. Afternoon light spilled through gauzy curtains, turning every dust mote into gold. The princesses had long run out of polite topics — they had gossiped about gardens, jewels, and gowns — until one voice broke the circle of courtesy.
“I read a book yesterday,” Princess Christina said suddenly, twirling her spoon with too much thought in her eyes. “About a princess who married her beast brother and something is stuck in my head.”
Several fans fluttered open at once. “Not the fact that he is a beast?” Abigail, the third princess asked.
Christina rolled her eyes at that question without answering.
Jolene, the youngest of the unmarried ladies, leaned forward like a moth to flame. “And? What stayed in your mind?”
Christina hesitated, biting her lip before whispering, “The way he—pardon my words—took her.”
A ripple of shocked laughter went around the table.
“Ohhh…” gasped Jolene, half-horrified, half-fascinated.
Princess Irene covered her mouth with her handkerchief, eyes gleaming. “Christina, saints preserve us—what sort of book are you reading?”
“The banned kind,” Beatrice murmured, sipping her tea with a knowing smirk. “But I’ll admit I’ve heard of it. The writer hides under another name; my maid smuggled a copy once. It’s scandalous.”
“Scandalous?” Florence asked softly, her round belly hidden beneath folds of pale silk. “Or simply honest?”