A Clash of Storms (A Shade of Vampire #50)(47)

Azazel cocked his head to one side, an arrogant half-smile stretching his lips.

“If you wanted to kill me you should have just let her do it,” he said. “Sure, she would have killed all of you in the process, too, but it just goes to show that none of you were made for war. Because war means sacrifice. And now you will all regret it.”

I heard growling behind me as swords clashed again. The fighting had resumed, and, judging by the amount of blood spilled and the number of Destroyers collapsing, we were getting closer to a victory against Azazel’s forces. I glanced around briefly, enough to see Aida, Field, Hansa, Jax, Anjani, Jovi, the young Druids, and the shifters taking on Destroyers in teams of two, while Thadeus and Patrik continued to fight one another with tortured expressions.

We had to do something. We had to move this along before more innocent creatures were killed. But we had to chip away at his morale first. We needed him to falter, open himself up to mistakes before we could go all in. We weren’t even seeing the full extent of his force yet – and we couldn’t beat something we couldn’t comprehend.

“You’re all overestimating yourselves and putting away the only effective weapon you have.” Azazel straightened his back, several vertebrae crackling in the process. “And you’re about to pay the price for your hubris. You know… pot, meet kettle.”

He looked around, his lips pressed tight at the sight of his remaining Destroyers falling one by one. Reinforcements weren’t coming anymore. The booms and shrills from below indicated that the allied forces had finally taken control of the castle. His empire was collapsing, and I could almost sense the frustration oozing out of him—dark, toxic, and thirsty for revenge.

His eyes burst into green flames, the fire of Asherak raging with more intensity than ever. I held my breath and took a step back.

The tension from Viola’s energy was swiftly replaced by something vile, heavy, and suffocating. My pulse raced, and I could feel Draven’s frayed nerves as he watched Azazel quietly. The Prince of Destroyers grinned as he looked at us, two pools of green fire replacing his eyes, his tongue flitting in the air. He inhaled deeply and raised his arms out from his sides.

“Can’t you smell your own impending deaths? Because I can!”

The wind howled around the platform, blowing harder and nearly knocking me off my feet. Something was coming out of Azazel—an energy like I’d never seen before, pure black and vicious and eager to slice and chop and kill everyone standing in its way.

It was ancient and evil. It wanted blood and destruction.

It was Asherak.





Serena





“Come out, milord,” Azazel called in a thunderous voice.

The darkness inside him swelled like a river after a monsoon, his muscles bulging and his veins throbbing as they lit up green. He grunted as his body amplified its own mass. Azazel was growing taller and bigger before our very eyes, and the dread coming over me was becoming difficult to put into words.

We had known this would come. We had known he wasn’t using the full potential of Asherak’s soul because, according to the old manuscripts, it was far too powerful and destructive to be wielded so loosely. Azazel was a proud monster and had relied on his skills and dirty tricks to defeat his opponents. Asking Asherak for help must have come at a great price for his overinflated ego.

“I have to let the Master of Darkness get involved now,” Azazel growled. “Because you’re all too stupid to understand that I cannot be stopped. We. Cannot. Be. Stopped!”

His lips continued to move, but I couldn’t make out the words. His whispers unraveled into the wind and spread out above, gathering thick black clouds. The sky turned the color of charcoal as thunder roared through the dark billows converging over Luceria. Gale-force currents circled the top of the castle, sweeping discarded weapons and shields away as the last of Azazel’s Destroyers fell over to their deaths.

Patrik and Thadeus were at a standstill behind me.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Thadeus gasped, clutching his sword, his face covered in sweat.

“Me neither, Thadeus, but my body won’t listen,” Patrik replied before he launched another attack. Their blades collided once more. I prayed we’d finish this soon enough to free the two Druids from Azazel’s blood spell.

Everyone else looked exhausted, but still standing. Their chests swelled with heavy breathing as they moved against the strong winds crashing into them. Jax, Hansa, Anjani, and Jovi were the first to come closer, followed by Aida, Field, the young Druids, and the three shifters as they tightened the circle around us.

They all watched as Azazel revealed the peak of his power.

I could tell from the consternation on their faces that they could feel him—Asherak, the disease that had been plaguing Eritopia for centuries, tucked away inside Azazel. He was impossible to ignore. His strange whispers trickled into my head.

I shook the goosebumps away and drew my sword, both hands clutching the hilt as I took my fighting stance and carefully measured my breaths.

“I promise you this will be over soon,” Azazel said, his voice different, scratchy and sharp, like that of a creature that hadn’t used his vocal cords in eons.

That wasn’t Azazel talking anymore. It was Asherak.

He lifted his arms above his head and moved them in a pulling gesture, and the black clouds spiraling above his head tightened into a column and came down, answering his call. The shifters growled behind me and stepped back, genuine fear imprinted on their faces as they morphed back to their original forms and hid behind two columns.