8. Vane

Vane

T he sorry excuse for a man stood slowly, relinquishing his hold on Saoirse as he turned his dead eyes toward me. His hands flared, illuminating the forest with a golden glow as he straightened. Her eyes were glazed, sweat beading on her brow as she lay on the ground, a knife protruding from her thigh as blood flowed from around the wound.

Rage churned in my gut. Would he have killed her as well? It didn't matter that I didn't really know this woman. He would pay for what he'd even considered doing, whether the attempt was successful or not. He would have left her to die, broken and alone.

Men like this did not deserve to live.

"Get out of here while you still can," he warned, his thin body shifting into a fighting stance. "Or I'll kill you."

I eyed him from head to toe, unimpressed. A sign of a Lightlace's power was just how bright their flare could be, and his were medium at best. With his blade stuck inside of Saoirse, he was at a disadvantage, and he was too stupid to realize it. I said nothing, only watching him as my shadows begged me to release them. Not yet , I soothed.

With a war cry that would have made only a child envious, his fists brightened, the golden light launching at me in sporadic bursts, like tiny little fireballs. I sidestepped them easily, almost laughing out loud at his attempts.

"Well, this is boring," I told him, faking a yawn. My mother always told me my attitude would get me in trouble one day, but what was the point of life without having a little fun?

"You're dead!" he shouted at me, reaching out to grab a new blade from his boot, charging forward.

I dodged swiftly, reveling in the grunt of frustration he released as he recovered, squaring off toward me again. I held out one hand in a placating gesture, my shadows lifting off my skin, swirling in the air like a hazy cloud. His eyes widened as he finally realized what they were, his brow knitting in confusion. "What are you? You're not a Lightlace."

"Definitely not."

His eyes narrowed at my borderline cheerful tone, his frustration growing when I didn't offer anything further. He had all the information he needed to figure out what I was. It was his own fault if he couldn't piece together enough brain cells to comprehend.

"Maybe this will help," I said as I drew the shadows from my eyes, letting the full force of my crimson gaze alight on his face. My identity was a secret that must be protected at all costs, but I wasn't worried about this one. He wouldn't be alive long enough to tell anyone.

"D-Darkwing?" the idiot said with a stutter. "You don't exist."

"I can assure you that I do." I splayed my arms out to punctuate my point, letting my shadows drift from my skin, making inky tendrils that reached toward him ominously .

He blinked rapidly, before shaking his head, tightening the grip on his dagger as he resolved himself to make the decision I knew he would.

Men like this were entirely too predictable.

He lunged, his free hand blazing with light as the blade glinted in the dimming sunlight. I dodged again, my shadows floating further from my skin, cloaking my movements as I pivoted around him. His frustration grew ever larger, and he swung wildly, sloppily, as he lunged at me.

"Don't be a coward, fight back!" he screamed at me, his voice filled with hate. Ignoring his words, I focused on the fight instead. With a swift movement, I struck him, my shadows lashing out like whips as he lunged past me again. He staggered back, clutching his cheek where a deep gash had opened up, eyes wide with rage as the blood dripped down his chin.

"Enough of this," he growled, charging at me once more.

We clashed, light versus shadows, the forest around us bathed in a surreal dance of heated blasts and eclipsing darkness. Cracks were beginning to appear in his defense, a spot open here, a shot I could take there. It was clear he'd never fought someone with powers like mine before, and a deep sense of satisfaction brewed in me as I toyed with him.

I could easily end it now, but I waited, wanting him to suffer first.

This was a man who went after weaker opponents, the kind that couldn't fight back. I spared a glance at Saoirse, her wide blue eyes staring at us as we fought, clutching the blade that was embedded in her body as she tried her best to crawl backward, a trail of blood in her wake.

My lapse in attention was the opening he needed, and he landed a lucky blow, his dagger embedding itself deep into my side. His hand, blazing with its golden light, seared into my exposed arm, and I grunted with the pain as I pivoted away, his dagger following me as I used my shadow whips to create distance. Pain nagged at me in protest as I moved, and I stumbled, my shadows reaching out to brace me against the nearest tree .

"Not so tough now, are you?" he said, smirking. "I knew you weren't as strong as the stories say."

My irritation snapped like a burning log on a raging fire, at my own show of weakness against a lesser opponent. How had I let myself get so distracted that I hadn't been able to block that pitiful strike?

I growled, ignoring the pain as I stood to my full height. My shadows surged, ecstatic at the chance to fully extend their power. I let all my restraint fall away, the familiar icy burn welling deep within my chest as my shadows took over.

Death was coming.