Pain lanced through me. My shadows recoiled, shredded by the light-imbued steel.
The cultist’s grin was manic beneath his hood as he pressed forward. “The High Mage spoke true. The Shadow bleeds.”
Snarling, I shifted, shadows surging from beneath me like serpents, wrapping around his legs. With a twist of my wrist, they yanked him off his feet, slamming him to the ground with a crack of bone.
But more were coming.
Three broke from the circle, their voices rising into jagged words of power. Sickly green light poured from their palms, slicing through the air. My shadows recoiled instinctively from the brilliance.
“Elena!”
She was already moving, her hands blazing with golden fire. With a cry, she hurled a burst of searing light that collided with the green magic midair. The clash erupted in an explosion of sparks, the chamber walls trembling from the impact.
I had fought alongside warriors before, centuries past. But never like this.
Elena was flame and light incarnate, every strike precise, every step a dance of fury. Her fire washed over the cultists, forcing them back, burning away their protective wards. I was her shadow, striking where her light blinded, my darkness curling around ankles, binding wrists, driving blades away. Together, we moved as though some ancient rhythm guided us, a harmony of sun and night.
Still, they pressed us.
A cultist lunged with a curved dagger, its blade glowing venomously. I caught his arm in a swirl of shadow, twisting until the weapon clattered to the ground. Elena’s hand flashed, and fire roared from her palm, engulfing him. His scream was cut short as he crumpled, smoking.
Another came at me from behind, but Elena’s cry warned me—“Left!”—and I spun, my shadows whipping upward to form a wall. The enemy’s spell struck it, searing holes through the darkness, but the instant it faltered, Elena’s light speared through the gap, catching him full in the chest. He dropped without a sound.
They were skilled. Too skilled. These weren’t mindless worshippers—they were trained, disciplined, and their magic was older than it should have been. I could feel it thrumming through the chamber, feeding off the altar, off the blood in the chalice.
The realization hit me cold. They were drawing strength from sacrifice.
“Elena,” I growled, deflecting another strike, “the chalice—break it!”
She saw it, too—the way the blood shimmered unnaturally, pulsing as though alive, tethered to every cultist in the room.
With a wordless cry, she hurled herself forward, light blazing around her like a second sun. Fire leapt from her hands, arcing toward the altar.
The cultists screamed—not in fear, but rage. Half of them broke formation, their voices rising in a frenzied counter-chant. Green light surged to shield the chalice.
I cut down two who tried to intercept her, shadows lashing like whips, tearing hoods from faces I would never forget—eyes black as ink, veins glowing green. Twisted beyond humanity.
Elena’s light crashed into their shield with the force of a storm. Sparks and fire exploded outward, scorching stone, filling the air with smoke and the stench of burning flesh.
For a heartbeat, the shield held. Then, with a crack like splitting bone, it shattered.
Her fire struck the chalice.
The blood within shrieked. I heard it—every voice of everysacrifice, a wail that split the air, reverberating through marrow and soul. The chalice toppled, spilling its contents across the altar. The liquid hissed as it hit the stone, burning like acid.
The cultists faltered, their magic guttering.
“Now!” I roared.
Elena and I moved as one—her fire a blazing arc, my shadows a sweeping tide. Together, we crashed into what remained of the circle. The cultists screamed, their magic flaring in a last, desperate attempt. But it was too late.
One by one, they fell—burned, bound, broken by the union of light and dark.
When at last the chamber stilled, silence returned. Only the faint crackle of dying fire, the drip of blood from the ruined altar, remained.
I stood panting, my shadows writhing restlessly around me, hungry still. Elena swayed, her glow dimmed, her chest heaving with each breath.
Our eyes met in the flickering torchlight.
