Grave Intentions (Darkling Mage 3)

It was dark out. Night had fallen, and whatever else the creature was, it was cunning, sprinting straight into the woods near the community. I ran after it, keeping my eyes focused on the pallor of its skin, and on the strange glimmer of red that shone from somewhere inside its hand. Had these things learned to use magic? Was it an artifact? Didn’t matter. I wanted it dead.

My lungs heaved. I skidded to a stop, the dry, dead leaves carpeting the earth rustling as my shoes disturbed them.

I stalked through the darkness, the starlight showing that there was nothing around me but trees. That, and more dead leaves, and dirt, and dry twigs that snapped underfoot. I knew it was stupid, giving myself away like that, but I was far too angry. Then something dropped out of the night and threw me to the ground, knocking the air clear out of my lungs.

The homunculus straddled my chest, grabbing me by the lapels and slamming me into the earth. Every blow pushed more of my breath out of me, and as soft as the ground was the creature still assaulted me with enough strength to leave me weak, winded.

The thing at the warehouse had come at me from behind, from out of the darkness. It knew my moves, how I liked to attack. And this one dropped on me from out of a tree, the way I’d recently learned to literally get the drop on my enemies. It was clever. It had my memories.

Its fist slammed into my jaw, and I grunted, tasting blood. So it also liked to punch. It struck again, this time with its other hand. Something rattled and clinked as cold, serrated metal cut into my cheek. It was the chain of an amulet. The red glow from the thing’s hand was the garnet set into a verdigris pendant.

A verdigris amulet. Where did the homunculus get that? It attacked dad. Which meant –

The homunculus raised its fist, its breathing labored from the effort, and from the soft laughter it issued each time it struck. It poised to punch again just as I thrust my arm out, slamming my open hand against its face.

I summoned the flames.

The homunculus reared back, shrieking as amber fire burst from the palm of my hand. Maybe I didn’t understand the physics and arcane intricacies of throwing fireballs yet, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t fuck something up by touching it. The creature broke away from me, scrabbling across the ground. The joy of burning the thing, the sheer ecstasy of incineration swelled in my chest, singing like a battle cry.

The confusion was all I needed. I couldn’t tell you how I truly felt to see my own face consumed by flames. Half of it was charred, melted, the other half still grinning and leering at me with its remaining black eye. It was taunting me. I leapt for its throat. We both came crashing to the ground, but this time, I was on top.

“You can come for me all you want. But you do not come for my family.”

“My family,” the thing burbled through its half-ruined mouth. “My family.”

“You do not. Hurt. My family.” Each time I paused, I struck the homunculus in the face. Each blow ruined it more, twisted the same features I saw each time I looked in the mirror. And with each punch, the thing underneath me quaked, and groaned, and laughed.

“My family,” it gurgled.

I grasped it by the throat, pressing my thumb far too hard against where its voice box would be. The thing gasped, then chortled. This was it. I’d been made into something that was now only half human, and that other side of me that was something else, that was other, it longed to rear its head.

The craving for violence felt far too familiar. The Dark Room’s occupants rallied behind the scar in my chest, frothing and fighting to escape so that they could rend, and flay, and smother. And when they dealt the killing blow, I knew I would feel their same grisly satisfaction.

“I’ll send you to hell,” I sputtered through gritted teeth, my grip tightening around the thing’s neck. “Then I’ll find Thea. I’ll find your mother, and I’ll kill her.”

I’ll kill her, I thought, my insides blooming with preemptive delight. I’ll fucking kill her.

“Mother,” the thing laughed. “Mother.”

Something in me knew to stop choking the homunculus, to ease the pressure on its throat long enough to let it get some air down, to let it breathe – and to let it believe for long enough that I was going to allow it to live. My scar burned as I lifted my head to the stars, as I searched the night sky for the last traces of my humanity, of mercy.

A glorious warmth spilled down my chin as the wound raked into my cheek bled freely. It was the price that the Dark Room demanded each time I brought it into our world from out of the gloom. And with the woods around me plunged into shadow, the stage was set for my impostor’s absolute evisceration.

I hissed at the pain and pleasure of my wound opening and bleeding. Six huge spikes burst from the ground, gleaming and velvet-black, solid blades of shadow sent from the Dark itself. I felt the warmth of flesh as they pierced the homunculus through its limbs, its chest, its throat. I felt every rivulet of its artificial blood as it ran down the spears and spines that were as much a part of the Dark Room as they were an extension of me. The warmth brought me comfort. The warmth brought me rapture.

The homunculus shuddered, choking and gurgling its last. Then it went still. I curled my fingers through the dead thing’s hair, staring into the scorched face of the brother I had slain. This was better than sex. It was better than redemption. Nothing in that moment could have pleased me more.

I watched as the homunculus dissolved into gore, as the red-rust slime of its body seeped into the earth. I threw my head back and sipped in the night air, clawing at my chest, fighting to keep down the howl that threatened to escaped my throat.

I raked at my hair, thrumming from the pleasure of the kill. The stars sang to me as they watched. The stars whispered. Murderer, they called me. Sinner. I dared to look back at the stars, and from deep inside of me, I laughed.

Chapter 17

“Sit still,” Herald grumbled.

I winced at his touch. He was a lot cruder than Asher, tugging on my jaw to align it as he cast his spell, but beggars can’t be choosers. My cheek still fucking hurt, and I was happy to take all the restorative magic I could get. He frowned harder, pulling on my jaw roughly when I accidentally let my head loll off to the side.

“Fucking ouch,” I mumbled. “Your bedside manner needs some serious work, Igarashi.”