90. Danica

Danica

90

O r does it have to be? The Atherite stone. It failed with Adrain—I can use it to bring Emily back. But how does this damn thing work?

"Seraphina!" I scream, my voice tearing through the air like a wounded animal. "Help me, goddammit!"

Silence—deafening, soul-crushing silence. Rhyland crumples to his knees behind me, his heart shattering in tandem with mine, our souls bound by an unbreakable thread of love and agony.

His arms reach for me, but I flinch away, my words a broken whisper. "No. I need to bring her back."

Rhyland's hands fall to his sides, understanding etched in the lines of his face. I lower Emily to the grass with trembling fingers, my hands resting on her motionless chest. I close my eyes, diving deep within myself, grasping for the power that pulses through my veins like molten gold, the essence of Aetheria.

It surges through me, a searing warmth that starts at my fingertips and rushes through my body like wildfire. It pours into Emily, a blinding light that seeps into her very pores.

Sweat drips down my face, my brow furrowed in concentration, my jaw clenched so tight I feel my teeth might shatter. The energy courses through me, a raging river of light and life, a bridge between worlds, between life and death.

Sable's gasp shatters the air, her eyes wide with awe and disbelief as she watches the impossible unfold before her. Emily's burns fade, knitting together charred flesh, replaced by smooth, unblemished skin, the flush of life returning to her cheeks—breathing life into still lungs. And then, a gasp, a shuddering intake of breath that seems to still the very world. Emily's eyes fly open, wild and alive, darting around in confusion and wonder until they lock with mine.

A smile breaks through my tears, a profound joy that steals my breath from my lungs. I crush her to me, our tears mingling, our hearts beating.

I did it.

It worked.

Rhyland exhales, his hand clutching his chest as the ache that mirrored mine slowly fades, replaced by a warmth that spreads through him like the first rays of dawn.

"I'm so sorry—don't ever leave me again," I whisper fiercely into Emily's ear. "I can't lose you, not like that, not ever."

She gives a firm nod against my shoulder, the weight of her head a solid reassurance. "Next time, control your damn fire, pyro!" she quips, but her voice betrays the depth of her feelings, thick and rich with emotion. "I'm here, Dani, and I'm not going anywhere."

"Damn right, you're not," I laugh through my tears, pulling back to look at her. "I didn't just pull off the most epic resurrection in history for you to bail on me now."

Emily snorts, a grin spreading across her face. "Please, like I'd ever miss out on the chance to give you shit for the rest of your life. You're stuck with me, bitch."

"Wouldn't have it any other way, asshole," I retort, my heart lighter than it's been in ages.

Rhyland shakes his head, a smile tugging at his lips. "You two are something else, you know that?"

"You love it," I smirk, pulling him in for a kiss that sets my soul on fire.

The illusion of safety shatters as slow, taunting clapping fills the air. "Well, well, well... Bravo! Aren't you all just the perfect little team," Azrael's voice oozes into the moment like venom, its contempt permeating the air, causing my flesh to crawl with disgust. His words dripped with scorn and derision.

He's got another coven of witches behind him, at least a dozen strong.

We rise as one; an instinct and unity bind us. I shove Emily behind me, a shield against the oncoming storm.Rhyland, protective as ever, moves me further behind him, assuming the frontline role.

The sight that greets us is a coven convergence—at least a dozenwitchesflank Azrael. His sharp and calculating gaze finds mine, his words laced with venom. "You know, I really despise it when insignificant pests like you stick your noses where they don't belong. And what you've done here? Not very polite at all," he scolds, his gaze boring into me like a drill. "Especially you, Doctor Pierce," he clicks his tongue, his voice dripping with false disappointment as if addressing a misbehaving toddler. "Slaughtering all thesewitcheslike cattle. My, my, whatever happened to that bleeding heart of yours?"

Rhyland's response shoots out like a shard of ice, barbed with venom for Azrael's hubris. "Fuck off, Azrael," he snarls, the growl in his voice a clear threat. His hand sweeps across the area, signaling a clear ultimatum to all the witches watching. "Unless you're itching for a repeat of the last witch bloodbath."

Azrael's face contorted into a mask of feigned distress, his voice dripping with sarcasm, "Ah yes, this little stunt of yours has certainly created quite the inconvenience for me. You see, Dani, you and your merry band of do-gooders just slaughtered over half of my precious witches. Now I'm left with a pitifully inadequate number to carry out my grand ritual."

Screw him.

"That was the plan, asshole." Lucian fires back.

Just then, my crown buzzes, the vibrations shooting down my spine like an electric current. It's like having a swarm of bees trapped inside my skull, their incessant humming drowning out everything else. I try to shake it off, to focus on the clusterfuck of a situation we're in, but it's like trying to think through a layer of thick, suffocating fog.

Azrael andRhylandare going at it like two alpha dogs fighting over a juicy bone, their voices rising and falling in a symphony of testosterone-fueled bullshit.

I catch snippets of their conversation, something about needinga very strong vampireto complete the ritual, but it's like trying to piece together a puzzle with half the pieces missing and the other half covered in glue. My head is so fogged with this incessant humming that I can barely string two thoughts together, let alone make sense of their macho posturing.

The pain in my head is excruciating, like someone's taken a jackhammer to my skull. I press my fingers to my temples, trying desperately to massage away the pressure, but it's like trying to stop a tidal wave with a paper towel. The humming in my crown pulses in time with the agony, a twisted symphony of torment that threatens to split my head in two.

Is this some mystical migraine from what I did? A cosmic punishment for playing god?

My knees buckle beneath me, and I crumple to the ground, my body curling in on itself like a dying leaf. The conversation around me grinds to a halt, all eyes turning to me in a mix of concern and confusion.

"What is it? What's happening?" Rhyland's voice is laced with panic as he drops to his knees beside me, his arms wrapping around me like a shield. I can feel his desperation, his need to understand, to fix whatever's broken inside me.

But before I can form a response, all hell breaks loose. The witches, those manipulative bitches, seize their moment, their magic wrapping around Rhyland and his brothers like invisible strings. They jerk and twitch like marionettes, their bodies no longer their own as they're forced to march back behind Azrael, leaving me alone and writhing on the ground.

Necromancy.

"Baby, I—I can't fight them… " Rhyland's voice cuts through my thoughts, blending his pain and mine. " Fight, Angel…" he implores, a desperate whisper urging me to keep battling the darkness that threatens to engulf us all.

"Dani!" Emily shouts somewhere in the distance. I want her safe.

"Emily, GO!" That's all I can manage as I claw at my crown, my fingers scrabbling against the unyielding metal as I try to rip it from my head. But it's fused to me, the humming intensifying with every desperate tug, threatening to shatter my bones.

Through the haze of pain and the chaos that surrounds me, I catch a glimpse of Sable pulling Emily away, back toward the road. It's like a moment of clarity amidst the madness, a brief respite from the agony tearing me apart.

Good, stay alive, Emily. The thought flickers through my mind like a candle in the darkness, a desperate plea for the safety of my best friend. She's been through enough, seen enough, and the last thing I want is for her to be caught in the crossfire of this fucked-up battle.

"It's not working!" one of the witches shouts, her voice shrill with frustration.

"Don't you dare stop now! It will work; it must work!" Azrael shrieks, his voice cracking with a frenzied, unhinged desperation that borders madness. "Just offer it over, Dani, and we can stop the pain."

And then I see her, a blonde witch with eyes that glow an eerie green. She's young, too young to be caught up in this shitstorm, but her face is set with a grim determination as she reaches for my crown, her fingers crackling with arcane energy as she continues her chanting.

I try to fight her off, to summon even a spark of my power, but it's like trying to light a match in a hurricane. The pain is all-consuming, a white-hot agony that obliterates everything else.

"FIGHT!" Rhyland's voice in my head urging me not to give up.

I'm helpless, a pawn in a game I never asked to play, and as the witch's hands close around my crown, I feel a scream tear from my throat, a sound of pure, unadulterated anguish.

Is this how it ends? Am I destined to be another casualty in this war between gods and monsters? The thought fills me with a rage so potent it takes my breath away.

No. Fuck that. I am Danica fucking Pierce, Savior of the Seven Realms, and I will not go down without a fight. I summon every ounce of strength I have left, every shred of defiance, and with a roar that shakes the very foundations of the earth, I surge to my feet, my body moving on pure instinct.

The blonde witch stumbles back, her green eyes wide with shock and fear as I lunge for her, my hands closing around her wrists like vices. I can feel the crackle of her magic against my skin, the searing heat of it, but I push through the pain, my own power rising up to meet hers like a tidal wave.

"You picked the wrong bitch to mess with," I snarl, my voice barely recognizable through the rage that consumes me. "I am the fucking savior of the realms, and some two-bit witch with a god complex, will not take me down."

I can feel the crown on my head, the metal pulsing with a power that matches the rhythm of my heartbeat. I focus on that connection, I feel a surge of energy unlike anything I've ever known.

It's raw and primal, a force of nature that courses through my veins like molten lava. I channel it into my hands, into the grip I have on the witch's wrists, and I watch as her eyes widen in terror, her mouth opening in a silent scream.

"Release them," I command, my voice echoing with a power that seems to come from somewhere beyond myself. "ReleaseRhylandand his brothers, or I swear to every god in every realm, I will burn you all alive from the inside out."

Azrael holds his position, eyes locked onto me, scrutinizing every detail as if assessing a worthy adversary. "You're quite the slippery little eel, aren't you? No matter what obstacles I throw in your path, you somehow manage to wriggle your way through."

He's buying his time; he knows he can't lose any more witches and is unsure how to proceed.

The witch's face contorts in agony, her skin blistering and peeling as my power sears. I can feel her resistance, her desperate attempt to cling to her control, but it's like trying to hold back the tide with a sandcastle.

"By all means, darling, set them free," Azrael orders, his voice dripping with condescension and a hint of amusement.

She relents with a final, agonized shriek, her magic dissipating like smoke on the wind.Rhylandand his brothers stumble forward, their bodies once again their own, and I feel a rush of relief so intense it nearly brings me to my knees.

But I don't have time to savor the victory. The otherwitches and Azraelare not finished, their faces twisted with rage and hatred, and I know this fight is far from over.

I release the blonde witch, letting her crumple to the ground like a puppet with its strings cut, and I turn to face the rest of them, my body draining with a power that felt as ancient as the realms themselves.

"So, what's it going to be, Doc? What brilliant scheme have you concocted this time?" Azrael taunts, his voice oozing with derision. Each word is a stinging barb designed to inflict maximum pain and humiliation.

And then he strikes. Azrael moves with such blinding speed that I completely miss it.