When all the doors are locked, humans will find a window—or invent one.
Spell of Agony
My eyes snapped down, watching as crimson welled up from the wound. Rolo's hand shook, trembling like a leaf caught in the wind, and the other was pressed hard against his mouth, as if to smother the scream that threatened to break free.
His eyes, wide and glassy with tears, stared at me in horror—frantic, pleading, drowning in desperation. They said everything without words: he was sorry, he was begging for forgiveness, and he was utterly terrified by what he'd done.
The pain flared, a searing heat that radiated outward from the wound, tightening my chest with every beat of my heart. Behind my mask, a thin stream of blood slid from the corner of my mouth, burning hot and unrelenting as it trailed down my chin.
Yet, amidst it all, I felt no rage. Only understanding.
His blade—it had come so close to my heart. I couldn't help but wonder. Did Rolo stop himself, pulling back just before the strike would have been fatal? Or was it Simon? Was it his ghostly, freezing touch that had restrained him at the last possible moment?
The power that erupted from me was not planned, not deliberate—it was instinct. My aura surged outward, a violent wave of pressure so thick and bloodthirsty it felt like the battlefield itself buckled under its weight. The apprentices froze mid-charge, their coordinated movements faltering. One by one, most of them crumbled to their knees, their faces pale with terror.
I barely registered the gasps of my friends as the air around me shifted, sharp and suffocating. The weight of my presence blanketed the field, a raw and unrelenting force that screamed of carnage and dominance.
My friends hadn't noticed what happened at first, but now they stared, wide-eyed. For a moment no one knew what happened and what to do. I pushed back the agony and reached for Rolo's shaking hand, closing my fingers around his.
"Rolo," I whispered, my voice low but unwavering.
With a shudder that echoed through both of us, I forced him to pull the blade free, the sound of it scraping against bone punctuating the silence around us. He gasped, eyes wide with horror and disbelief as I hit the weapon from his hand in a single, fluid motion.
Rolo's breathing was ragged, his chest heaving as his body trembled. His nails lengthened, blackening and sharpening into claws that gleamed like obsidian in the pale light. His wide, terrified eyes met mine, pleading.
"Shay..." he choked, his voice trembling. "Please... stop me."
Without hesitation, I grabbed his clawed hand before it could lash out, gripping it tightly despite the sharp edges biting into my skin. Blood welled from where his claws dug into me, but I ignored it.
His other hand moved. Rolo's claws slashed through the air, inches from my face. His sobs cut through the chaos around us, raw and desperate. Tears streamed down his face, mixing with the blood spattered across his cheeks and onto the bone mask.
"Shay!" he cried, his voice hoarse and breaking. "I can't stop it—I can't! The spell won't end unless... unless he decides it!"
I sidestepped another feral strike, my movements fluid, and deliberate. His claws raked empty space.
"Even if I lose consciousness," he gasped, while his hand clawed at the air. "It won't stop... You have to—"
"Don't," I snapped, cutting him off.
"You don't understand!" he sobbed.
"Idiot," I said, voice dangerously cold. "You think I can't break one cursed spell without ending you?"
Rolo's eyes filled with tears again.
"Alex!" I barked, my voice cutting through the tension like a blade.
Alex appeared at my side in an instant, his gaze a mixture of shock and worry.
"Hold him down," I ordered, my voice low and commanding. "Don't let him move. No matter what."
Alex nodded, stepping forward. "Got it."
As I passed Rolo into Alex's arms, I turned my gaze to Mose, who had been standing nearby, frozen in place.
"Mose," I said, locking eyes with him. "Protect them. No one gets close."
Mose hesitated for only a heartbeat before nodding, stepping closer to shield Alex and Rolo with a defensive stance.
"Shay..." Mose began weakly. "You okay?"
"Yeah," I nodded without looking at him. "This is just a scratch."
The scent of blood, dark and metallic, pricked at my senses. I shifted my focus, the pulse of power buzzing in my veins as I searched. My eyes darted through the throng of apprentices until they landed on him—the Blood Mage. He was draped in crimson robes that seemed to bleed into the darkness around him, a mocking figure hiding among the trembling students.
Des was at my side before I could take a step, his hands reaching for me with a desperate urgency I hadn't seen in years. "Shay," he breathed, his voice tight with worry. "Let me see the wound."
"It's nothing," I muttered, brushing him off, but Des was relentless.
"You're bleeding—badly—and it's not healing." His fingers were already pulling at the torn fabric around my chest, exposing the gash Rolo had inflicted. His eyes widened, even though I couldn't see his face, I could imagine the shock and fear warring on his feautres. "This... this should've closed by now. What's wrong?"
I clenched my jaw, my gaze fixed ahead on the battlefield. "It's fine, Des. It's just slowed down. I'll deal with it later."
"It's not fine!" he whisper-yelled, his voice cracking. "Your healing's never slowed before. Shay, this isn't—"
"I said later," I growled, the edge in my voice sharper than I intended.
Des froze but didn't back away. Before he could argue further, Lil appeared beside him, her hands glowing faintly as she approached. "Let me try a healing spell," she said softly, her eyes darting between me and the wound.
"No." My voice was firm, cutting through her concern. "We don't have time for this." I stepped back, pulling myself out of their reach.
"Shay," Lil protested, her tone thick with worry. "If that mage cursed you—"
"He didn't," I interrupted. "Focus. You have a mission."
My gaze flicked to the huddled apprentices still kneeling under the weight of my aura, their trembling forms a stark reminder of the chaos that still surrounded us. "We finish this first. Des, Lil, focus on the remaining apprentices. Leave the Blood Mage to me."
Lil hesitated, her glowing hands faltering, but Des's stance hardened into one of grim determination. "Fine," he muttered, stepping back. "I finish this quickly."
I didn't respond. My focus shifted back to the Blood Mage, who was watching from the edge of the battlefield, a smug grin curling his lips. I could barely hear Des's footsteps moving away and Lil herself giving orders to Flamma.
The Blood Mage's smile was thin as he held up Rolo's blade, its edge slick with my blood, gleaming in the dim light. He twisted it between his fingers, tilting it to catch the glow of the fire. A sickening thrill danced in his eyes as he inspected the weapon, praising it like a collector admiring an expensive toy.
"Such a perfect piece," he said, voice dripping with mock admiration. "The way it cradles your essence, drinking deep from every cut... it's almost poetic, don't you think?" He glanced at me, his smile spreading into something sharper.
This was how he was able to get Rolo's blood. Even if Rolo gathered most of it some must have remained inside that damned blade.
He chuckled, and the sound clawed through the air, a taunt and a promise. "A king's blood. Now, what shall I do with such a delectable gift?" he thought, not even pretending to mask his amusement.
"No more games, mage," I whispered, my voice low but cutting. The fury inside me trembled like a caged beast, and for just a moment, the world seemed to hold its breath.
The Blood Mage's grin deepened, cruel and jagged. He tilted the blade, watching the blood drip from its edge, then, with a twisted sort of reverence, brought it to his lips and tasted it. His eyes rolled back in mock ecstasy as he savored the touch of my blood, his tongue darting out to lick away the last traces from his chin. The sight was enough to make bile rise in my throat.
"Oh, I've only just begun," he said, voice thick with glee. The air grew colder, charged with his presence as his eyes locked onto mine, sharp as broken glass.
"Obey me," he commanded, his voice smooth and venomous, slithering through the space between us. "Kill for me. Kill everyone for me!"
It was a command. He reached out, fingers twitching as if weaving an invisible thread, and I felt it, that faint tug at the edges of my mind, trying to twist my will. The whisper of his magic slithered into me, icy and unwelcome.
I clenched my jaw. The cold began to seep through my body, chilling me from the inside out, but I didn't yield. I couldn't.
"Not today," I spat, my voice raw with a fury that snapped through the mist of his power. My eyes met his, two flares of blue burning in the shadowed field. He looked surprised for a fleeting moment, then his smile returned.
"Ah, the mighty Hueless King," he whispered, taunting. "You won't obey easily, huh? You think you're free from my reach?"
"I am a king," I said, voice low. "No one orders me."
The air between us twisted, raw, and electric. Before he could react, I moved, a blur of motion and muscle. My claws flashed out, cutting through the air with a scream of steel. They met his flesh, tearing through his robes and slicing into the skin beneath. He flinched and winced but still stood there, a cruel smile curled on his lips.
The wound I'd inflicted on him reappeared on my own chest, blood seeping out through the fabric in a dark, slow line that traced the curve of my muscles, a trail of crimson that burned like fire. I staggered back, my vision swimming with red. But the Blood Mage was standing, his skin behind the shredded clothes untouched, his grin only widening as he stepped closer, eyes gleaming with delight.
I felt the burn in my chest begin to heal, muscles mending and skin closing, only for the sensation to vanish like a dying ember.
The Blood Mage stood before me, an enigmatic predator whose blue eyes glimmered with cruel amusement. "You're nothing more than a puppet on strings, a king who can't control his own fate," he sneered.
Before he could say another word, I lunged at him. My fist connected with his face with bone-shattering force, a sharp crack splitting the air as his jaw crumpled beneath the blow. He gasped, eyes wide with disbelief, the pride slipping off his face like a mask being torn away.
He staggered back, eyes wider now, the cruel amusement replaced with something resembling shock. For a brief moment, he winced, the pain crawling across his features. The next second, his skin smoothed over, the injury disappearing, but he was slower this time, less confident.
I felt the same agony erupt in my own jaw, the joints grinding out of place. I spat blood, the metallic taste sweet in my mouth. I moved my jaw back into place.
Of course, I realized that every wound I inflicted on him was transferred to me. The monster in me growled with disdain. The Blood Mage was no ordinary opponent. His techniques were as varied as they were dangerous, blending elements of precision, creativity, and raw power.
A mage with this level of versatility and imagination was a rarity, a fighter who could adapt to the flow of battle and keep his enemies on edge. Was he the strongest I had ever faced? No, but he was uniquely difficult. If he gets your blood he becomes the master of his own game. A fight like this? Worthy of respect, but also endlessly irritating.
He lashed out, a crimson whip of blood slicing through the air toward me. I dodged, narrowly avoiding its razor edge, and countered with a quick, precise strike at his side. The moment my claws bit into his flesh, I felt the same agonizing pain bloom in my own ribs.
"Annoying," I muttered, spitting blood to the ground. "You're good," I admitted, my voice cold and steady. "One of the few mages worth fighting."
The Blood Mage sneered, his confidence unwavering. "Flattery won't save you, Hueless King. You've already lost."
I tilted my head, a ghost of a smile tugging at my lips. "Have I?"
The next attack came faster, stronger, a blur of claws and fists. The Blood Mage's self-assured smirk melted away with each blow I dealt. His once-fluid movements turned sluggish, not even able to see some of my attacks. Every punch and slash I inflicted was deliberate and cruel—designed not just to wound, but to cause the most pain possible.
The pain rippled through my own body, searing through my muscles and bones, but my healing was faster, brutal in its efficiency. Each injury became a weapon.
He staggered back, blood streaming down his face, teeth bared and jaw shattered, eyes wild with the first hint of true terror. I watched as the air between us shifted, the once-undaunted mage starting to tremble, his fingers clutching at his side as if trying to hold himself together. Then the next moment his injuries transferred to me.
"W-what are you?" he rasped, the question filled with awe and dread.
A sharp, searing pain bloomed in my face, my jaw tightening as the sensation of tearing flesh reached my awareness. I felt the delicate weave of healing struggle to mend the damage even as it spread.
I tilted my head, a slow smile spreading across my face. "The Hueless King," I said the simple declaration. My voice, cold and mocking, cut through the air between us.
My skin pulled painfully but my smile widened despite the sting. The expression could have been a horrific sight—blood still dripping from my chin, my half-healed face distorted by a smile that was anything but kind. He was lucky I was wearing my mask.
"Tell me, mage," I continued, voice as lethal as the bite of my claws, "which of us has more power left? Your magic or my healing?"
The question pierced him like the first wound, leaving him breathless. His eyes widened, flickering with that same realization, that glimmer of uncertainty that often decided the winner in a fight. I stood there, the weight of my monstrous aura pressing him down, reminding him that he never had a chance to win.
A cruel smile twisted my lips, sharp and cold. "You know, I'm glad you're not so easily broken. It means I get to beat you to a pulp a hundred times before death finally takes you." The words dripped with venom, each syllable laced with the promise of relentless torment.
I let out a low, mocking laugh, the sound echoing with a chill that cut through the battlefield. "Yes, death will be a mercy for you when I'm done. But it's going to be a long, agonizing road to that release."
The Blood Mage's eyes narrowed, the last vestiges of his arrogance slipping away, replaced by an unspoken fear. He realized then that I wasn't just fighting him—I was savoring every moment, every wound inflicted, knowing he'd feel a second of it.
Mages were always weak to pain.
There was a rare moment of silence on the battlefield. Before, I could hear the echoes of the sound of Des's blade slicing through flesh and bone, leaving the apprentices slumped lifeless in his wake. Des finally approached, his figure was bathed in the faint light of the fires still burning in the distance, and his eyes met mine.
"I've finished them," he said simply, his tone cold, detached.
I parried the Blood Mage's next strike with a flick of my wrist, my blade meeting his blood whip with a sharp metallic screech. But then I stopped for a moment. A faint scent reached me—blood. Des's blood.
I turned slightly, catching sight of him out of the corner of my eye. The monster in me stirred, growling possessively at the scent, its instinct to protect and covet clashing with the rationality I barely held onto. My gaze flicked to the shallow cut across his shoulder, just above the place where his arm used to be. The sight of it made the monster both growl in warning and sigh, frustrated by the bittersweet truth that this tempting, potent blood belonged to one of its own.
The Blood Mage's laughter broke the moment. Harsh and grating, it dripped with arrogance.
"Ah, so you've noticed," he sneered, his crimson-streaked face twisted in triumph. "I have your brother's blood. Do you understand what that means, Hueless King?" He spat the title mockingly. "Every injury you inflict on me will now be transferred to him. Can you fight me, knowing you'll harm your own flesh and blood?"
I froze, the realization hitting me. The Blood Mage thought he'd cornered me, that he'd turned my bond with Des into a weapon against me.
Des met my gaze, his expression hidden behind the bone mask, but in his eyes, I saw the glint of something cold and calculating. He shifted his stance slightly, his hand brushing over the old injury where his arm had been severed.
I smiled, a slow, cold expression. The Blood Mage thought that I was his most dangerous enemy. He must have been certain that a king would be the greatest threat to his life.
"You're so dead."
Before he could react, Des moved. His blade cleaved through the air in a blur of precision and fury. The Blood Mage's eyes widened as his arm was severed cleanly at the shoulder, the limb spiraling across the battlefield before landing with a sickening thud.
The mage staggered back, clutching at the stump where his arm had been, blood spurting in thick, rhythmic pulses. His expression twisted from triumph to sheer panic.
Des's voice was calm, almost bored, as he wiped the blood from his blade. "You can't transfer injuries to something that's already gone."
The Blood Mage's screams filled the battlefield. I watched my brother circle him, his steps deliberate. Des moved with the ease of someone who had lived in battle for far too long, his body a testament to his trade. Hunters often lost organs and limbs in fights against monsters; Des was no exception.
He was the Thirteenth Paladin for a reason.
Des wasn't just seasoned—he was relentless. A fighter who had faced down beasts far stronger than himself and walked away the victor. He hated non-humans, that much was no secret, but his disdain for smug mages who thought they were invincible burned even brighter.
And right now, Des was enjoying himself.
I felt the monster within me purr again, its possessive growl mingling with satisfaction as my brother drove his blade into the mage's side, the strike deliberate and precise. He punctured one of the mage's kidneys, and the scream that followed was raw, primal, filled with agony. The injury didn't transfer. The wound was raw, unyielding, untouched by his magic.
Of course not. You can't transfer damage to what isn't there. The mage had no way of accounting for Des's old injuries. No way of adapting to the reality that his stolen blood was powerless in the face of a missing link.
Des twisted the blade slightly before pulling it free. Then, without hesitation, he struck again, the same kidney. The mage howled, blood seeped through his robes, pooling on the ground.
"You like games, don't you?" Des said, his voice low and almost conversational. He punctured the kidney again, the blade sinking deep before pulling out in one smooth, practiced motion.
The mage writhed. The monster within me growled its approval as the scent of blood thickened in the air. Des was relentless, driving the blade into the same kidney over and over, each strike designed not to kill but to deliver maximum pain.
"Bet you didn't think this through, did you?" Des murmured, his voice almost taunting now. He stabbed again, and the mage screamed so loud it echoed across the battlefield.
The monster in me purred, its possessive growl vibrating through my chest. The Blood Mage's screams grew weaker, his strength draining with every precise strike from Des. The monster in me continued to purr, satisfied with the scene, until Des ruined the moment entirely.
"You dare to hurt my little brother?" Des growled, his voice vibrating with barely-contained rage. His blade drove into the Blood Mage's side with force, punctuating his words with a brutal stab.
"Do you know what happens to people who touch him?" Another stab, sharper this time, sending the mage into another fit of screaming.
"Not just touch him—hurt him?" Stab.
I felt the faintest flicker of discomfort crawl up my spine as I watched.
The Blood Mage whimpered something incoherent, but Des wasn't done.
"I've hunted things way nastier than you!" Stab. "I've gutted creatures twice your size for looking at him wrong!" Another stab, this one twisting for good measure.
The monster in me tilted its metaphorical head, caught between amusement and mild concern.
"You think you're clever?!" Des's voice rose as his rage spiraled. "Blood magic?! Transferring injuries?! Guess what—you still bleed like the rest of them!" Stab. Twist. Stab.
For the first time in years, I felt… uncomfortable.
"You think I'll stop here?" Stab. The Blood Mage was a ragged, trembling mess now, barely conscious. "You think hurting my little brother comes without consequences?!" Stab.
I glanced down at the mage, my thoughts momentarily drawn to the kidney Des had been relentlessly targeting. It must be minced meat by now, I mused, unable to suppress the faint grimace tugging at the corners of my lips. The monster within me was oddly satisfied, though it was hard to tell if it was from the pain we'd dealt to our enemy or the sheer spectacle of Des's fury.
Des, of course, wasn't done.
He leaned in close to the bloodied and trembling mage, his voice a low, venomous snarl. "Know what I'm going to do next?" he asked, his tone carrying the kind of malice that could chill even the most hardened heart.
The mage whimpered, unable to form words, his terror plain on his bloodied face.
Des tilted his head, as if in mock thought, then delivered his next line. "I'm going to feed you that mushy kidney of yours."
The monster in me purred, clearly entertained. It thrived on carnage, but it seemed Des's unique brand of unhinged zeal also hit just the right notes for it.
The mage, on the other hand, let out a strangled noise somewhere between a sob and a scream, as if sheer fear was the only thing keeping him conscious.
Des finally paused, his chest heaving as he looked at me. His eyes softened behind the mask—not in the usual way, but in a way that screamed, I'll kill anyone for you. Then he looked back at the miserable mage and stabbed again.
I sighed, pinching the bridge of my nose as I felt the faintest twinge of secondhand embarrassment. He was a seasoned hunter, a fearsome paladin—and an absolute brocon.
And people thought I was terrifying.