Birthright - Book 2 of the Legacy Series (An Urban Fantasy Novel) (23 page)

More power
.

Roots
.

Those words echoed in my head, bouncing from one corner to another. I felt something warm curl around my body. Branches — mangrove roots. I realized I had delved into my inner world and was, once again, inside that mangrove cocoon. They squeezed tighter and tighter, until they merged with my body.

I let go completely. I had nothing else left to lose. Absolutely nothing.

Gil was dead. Mom was dead.

And soon, I would join them.

If this cocoon could make things any better, it was more than welcome. At least I wouldn’t have to look at Dad’s ugly mug.

So, this is it, huh
? I remember thinking to myself.
This is how it ends. Back in the roots. Kinda poetic I guess.

I chuckled. It would be the last time I would chuckle. At least I would go down with a smile. No expression of fear or horror.

Just a smile.

I’m sure my mother would appreciate that
, I thought as I became one with the darkness.

The father stood there watching as his son stopped breathing.

Dead, he thought. Good — one less to hunt down.

He turned and lightly kicked the Athame at his feet. It may have been bound to his son, but the father was still an Ashendale – a proper warlock. The weapon had responded to his magic as well. Maybe instead of giving it to Crowley, he would simply kill the little bug. He had never planned to share anything with him in the first place

He made for the door when he heard soft growling come from the direction of his deceased son.

Erik’s body was a mass of obsidian power which was arcing around him like a current. The father heard bone snapping and popping. Bone jutted from the boy’s extremities, elongating his fingers into claws. His knuckles were covered in thick, white bone, as were his elbows and knees. His eyes glowed red, and orange and red veins snaked their way around his body before a cloak of shadows, darker than black, enveloped him. With every exhalation, steam emerged.

The father, the Warlock, heard a rumble and realized that it was the boy’s breathing. The stakes pinning him to the wall eroded into fine dust and the Warlock’s eyes opened in wonder.

“Life magic,” he found himself saying aloud. “You possess Life magic.” A smile spread across his lips. “So, that’s the big mystery? A magic so potent it could break the barrier between life and death. Is this the power of a god?” His heart skipped a beat. He would soon have that power. Soon, he would be able to kill and resurrect at his own volition. Soon, he would be a god.

No,
the
God.

The boy slumped down and gazed at his enemy. Erik Ashendale was no longer conscious, not in the way people usually define it. He was still present in mind, but his thoughts were mere impulses of instinct. The figure in front of him was the enemy.

Destroy, whispered the voices in the boy’s mind.

Destroy him.

Destroy everything.

The shadows moved like scythes. They sliced at the Warlock, who dodged and fired his own spell. The lance of pure energy struck Erik in the chest. It would have killed a normal man. But Erik was never normal, and was far from it now. He simply brushed the energy aside, as if swatting a fly, and disappeared.

He reappeared beside the Warlock and smacked a fist into him. The man bent over in pain. Erik maintained his assault. His claws sliced open recently healed wounds. His blows struck new ones on the Warlock’s body.

But it was not enough destruction. Erik’s heart was too full of hatred and pain to be quenched with only a few blows to the man responsible for such horrors.

He spun, and the shadows extended like tendrils. Whatever they touched they corroded, leaving a trace of destruction and rust in their wake. The shadows sent the Warlock flying.

Something caught Erik’s eye.

It was Djinn. Erik did not see the weapon for what it was. Instead, he saw a sliver of azure energy that was a part of him.

Mine. That is mine - that was his one and only thought. And that was all he needed to claim dominion over it.

The weapon flew toward its master and the blade exploded into wild azure fire. It elongated, surpassing the largest broadsword in both length and width. He swung it high, unleashing a massive wave of energy from it. The walls were scored with deep groves, and furniture was pulverized on the spot.

Erik heard the cries of creatures as they died. Creatures trapped in cages, locked up tight in walls, using some kind of dimensional magic. He hated them

There was no reason. There was just hate and rage.

He would kill them all and put them out of their misery. He stabbed the sword into the wall and channeled power. Veins of blue snaked around the wall before exploding. The resounding explosion sent Erik flying backwards, forcing him to stab the blade into the ground to halt his momentum. The wall was in smithereens, and he heard no more cries of agony from prisoners.

There were none left.

Erik felt the ground beneath him rise. He saw the Warlock with his hands on the floor. The small patch of ground where Erik stood rocketed toward the ceiling, and he understood that the Warlock meant to crush him. It wouldn’t work, of course, but this was a matter of power.

Overwhelming power versus a small, insignificant rodent who had made him suffer for years.

The shadows at his feet shot into the raising ground and spread apart. The rock crumbled into dust, and the spell was over. But it wasn’t enough.

Erik swung his sword, and a crescent wave of energy streaked toward the Warlock. He managed to dodge, but the spell sliced into the ground, tearing a cratered slope in the sediments.

As Erik landed, a shockwave sent everything flying around him. The Warlock flew against a wall that differed from the others. It was a wall of steel and lead, sturdier than the rest. Pushing forwards, Erik unleashed his shadows against his father, all the while driving both of them inside the Arena.

One of Erik’s tendrils struck a switchboard, and the doors of the Arena closed. The platform levitated into a sealed containment room where father and son fought with a savage brutality.

The Warlock gathered magic and shot a blast of power at what used to be his son. Erik swung his sword down on the beam, bifurcating it. He inhaled deeply and let out a jet of brilliant, yellow flame. His opponent channeled the air, parting the flames, and squeezing the current around his son. Erik’s shadows elongated into tendrils and expanded into all directions. They tore up the air currents – no, they tore up the magic channeled into them – and a towering wave of darkness descended on the Warlock. He managed to block the worst of it.

Erik swung his sword backward, while the Warlock was busy guarding himself. Erik had no such qualms — nothing could possibly hurt him. Djinn’s empowered blade penetrated the steel wall without Erik ever noticing.

He forced all his power into the sword.

Djinn’s fiery blade exploded into a titanic broadsword, its width stretching from the Arena’s top to bottom. The wall in which the tip was embedded exploded. The blade was made out of compressed energy and now expanded in an arrowhead-shaped weapon that glowed deep azure.

With a roar that shook the entire mansion, Erik swung his weapon upwards, slicing through the Arena’s ceiling in the process, and brought it crashing down on the Warlock.

Energy and power exploded everywhere, cracking walls and sending bolts of lightning zigzagging across the room.

Three sounds filled the room – the Warlock’s scream of agony, followed by Erik’s roar of victorious rage.

And then, silence fell.

I found myself in a gray room. It looked vaguely familiar, but I couldn’t quite place it. I was more distracted by the carcass of my father lying a few feet away from me. He looked like he had fallen into a blender. A massive wound cleaved him from shoulder to hip, and the rest of him was either burned away or smashed into goo. I would have thrown up had I not been too busy looking at myself.

I was covered in blood, and I wasn’t sure whose blood it was, his or mine. Djinn lay on the ground beside me, steam billowing from it as if it had been freshly forged. Tingling, like static, danced all over my body.

What the hell had happened?

One moment I was crucified to a wall, slipping into unconsciousness or death. Now, I wake up here, in this room – this very familiar room.

The Arena.

Everything clicked in my head at once, as if someone had pressed the play button on a recoding. I caught various flashes of shadows and fighting with my dad. I was so powerful, so invincible. But at the same time, that wasn’t me. It was too… primal. Too wild. Like a beast let off its chain.

Was it still inside me?

I tried delving into my own power, but found nothing except the usual emptiness, that lacking of something that should be there but is now gone.

“Erik.”

Gil and Mephisto appeared at the entrance of the arena, the spot where monsters usually appeared. Guess Mephisto had bypassed it. Whatever, I had no time for little details.

“Gil,” I said, relieved to see her alive. She hung onto the demon to walk straight, like a crutch.

“Erik, what did you do?” Her voice shook with fear.

“I – I don’t know,” I said, looking at my blood-drenched hands. “I just don’t know.”

I looked up, hoping she would say something but instead, she swung to one side and fell unconscious into the demon’s arms.

Mephisto put her down gently. “Master Erik. This is quite impressive. I could feel your power from miles away.”

“Just what the hell is going on?”

“All in due time, Master Erik,” he replied placidly. “But for now, you must flee.”

“What?”

“Leave,” he insisted. His yellow eyes glistened.

“Why?”

“Alastair Crowley is after you. He will hunt you down like the animal he is. By staying here, you will be endangering your sister, too.”

“Bullshit,” I shot back. “If we are together, we can take him. United we stand and all that. What happened to the teamwork you were always preaching about?”

Mephisto glanced at Gil. “There can only be one Master of this house, Master Ashendale,” he said calmly and deliberately. “By all rights, it should be the firstborn, but in your case, you are no longer able to use magic. You are no warlock, Master Erik, and this family needs a warlock to lead it. You have a predator on your heels, and you have just committed patricide, a most horrific crime within our community.”

“What are you talking about?” I shot back.

“We have laws, Master Erik!” Mephisto’s patience seemed to have run out. “Authorities, some of whom are far more dangerous than your father, will come to investigate. There will be an Ascension ceremony and a
warlock
will undertake it.”

He closed his eyes and calmed himself. “Flee, Master Erik. Until the manor is rebuilt and until Crowley is forever destroyed. By staying here, you are endangering all of us — from Crowley, from the authorities, and most of all, from yourself.”

His voice dropped into a whisper. “I saw what you did. I saw all of it. How you lost control. What do you think will happen to Miss Gil if that were to happen again?”

My heart thumped even harder, and a lump rose to my throat. He was right. I was a monster, no different than the ones we hunted. Just more powerful and dangerous. Everyone around me was in danger. What’s more, he was right about Crowley. One look at that creep was enough to tell me I had piqued his interest, and not in a good way. He wanted my power, and his deal with Dad had now gone south. He’d come looking for blood, and I couldn’t risk going wild again when Gil was around.

Without thinking, I bent down and grabbed Djinn. I spared one look at my sister and turned around. The wall behind me was a gaping hole – completely destroyed and half the roof gone with it. The Mansion was permanently destroyed. Mephisto was right – I was too dangerous.

So, I clutched my sword even harder, closed my eyes and ran as fast as I could, as far away as I could. I didn’t care where I went.

Just as long as it was far away from Gil.

Gil woke up to a gentle breeze. She was still in the same position, slumped on the floor where Mephisto had left her. She sat up to one side and gently stood up. Her head felt clearer.

The room around her was a macabre mess.

“Where’s Erik?” she asked the demon in front of her.

“He left,” he replied. “Your brother couldn’t bear what he did and what he had become. He left before he could bring any harm to you. Be it himself or Alastair Crowley.”

Gil’s expression clenched at the sound of that name. “I should have killed that rat when I had the chance.”

“It’s no use crying over spilled milk,” said Mephisto. He placed a hand on her shoulder and gently turned her to face her father.

The man was a bloody mess, nearly cut in two. Gil saw the extent of the damage to his internal organs. They had begun rotting from the inside out. No doubt a side effect of all the drugs he had injected.

“But you can do something about him,” whispered Mephisto in her ear.

She saw her father’s chest heave slightly and she realized that he was still breathing. Her father was still alive!

“He killed your mother. He twisted me into torturing you all those years. He wanted to defile your mother’s corpse for a dark ritual. He sent Crowley after Erik and he nearly killed you. He drove Erik away from you. Master Gil, he is the one responsible for your sadness. Because of his actions, you are truly and utterly alone.”

She stood there shivering while the demon whispered truths in her ears. Her contempt for this man swelled until it hurt her chest.

“Kill him and liberate all of us from his diseased existence. Kill him, Master Gil, and relish in the closure. Kill him and Erik shall come back.”

She bent down and picked up a large shard of glass. She had no idea how all the debris and furniture had gotten into a sealed area like the Arena. It must have been during the battle between her brother and father. A battle she should have joined. Maybe she could have saved Erik from whatever happened to him. But she was too weak.