9. Saoirse

Saoirse

I should have been scared as I watched Vane transform, but instead through the haze of agony the blade in my leg caused, all I felt was impressed.

He was incredible.

It began with a ripple of darkness that seemed to emanate from his very core, spreading outward in undulating midnight waves, glimmers of golden magic tracing throughout. His body elongated and twisted, shadows wrapping around him like a cocoon. As the darkness deepened, it shimmered briefly, a dance of stunning hues that held my gaze captive.

His form grew and shifted, the shadows transforming, coalescing into a sinuous, almost fluid-like mass. He stretched, his fingers lengthening into razor-sharp claws that glinted in the forest. They sliced through the air with a lethal whisper, their edges catching the faintest glimmer of Jephyr's flared hands, who was too shocked to do anything but gape.

If he were smart, he'd attack now while the Darkwing was transforming, but there was nothing intelligent about that man.

His face was the last to change, the human features disappearing, giving way to something far more ancient and fearsome. Lengthy jaw, teeth transforming into a sharp row of gleaming fangs that curved inward like crescent moons. His eyes, black and warm when I had first met him, became pools of pure rage, devoid of pupils, the flaming red filling his face with a haunting, unnatural light. They glowed brightly, piercing through the darkness and staring into my very soul.

Wings unfurled from his back, vast and magnificent. They were crafted from the same shadows that consumed his body, their membranes thin and translucent, barely looking corporeal enough to actually support his weight through the night sky. When he stretched them to their full span, an impressive feat in the small clearing, they cast a deep shadow that consumed us all.

Where man had once been, now stood a dragon, a beast straight from my nightmares, made only of shadows that swirled and writhed around him, almost in tune with the slight breeze that flirted through the night air. I scanned for any sign of the injuries Jephyr had inflicted on him, but I could see none. My eyes were only able to focus on the dragon's face, the rest of his body constantly moving as shadow for skin.

The transformation was seamless, a fluid magic that left no trace of the man who had stood there moments before, fighting for his life. For my life. Now, he was a dragon of pure shadow and the embodiment of darkness.

A creature of legend brought to life.

The air around him vibrated with energy, a tangible power that made the hairs on my arms stand on end. The shadows that had once cloaked him like a second skin now flowed freely from his dragon form like living tendrils, curling and twisting in the air like they had a mind of their own. They reached out, almost caressing the ground and the trees, leaving a trail in their wake as they rocketed toward their target .

Jephyr seemed to realize it at the same moment that I did, the shadows reaching out toward him like fingers as the dragon merely watched, taking only one small step forward. Panic bursting in his eyes, Jephyr backed up a step, before turning completely around, running toward the opposite direction, all semblance of fighting gone.

But he was too slow.

The tendrils caught him, wrapping around his ankles with an iron grip, deceiving of their wispy integrity. He struggled against them, but it was futile as they continued to climb his body, halting him where he stood. They almost seemed to feed off his fear, tightening their hold as they lifted him off the ground. Screams filled the air, his this time, a sound of pure, uninhibited terror.

"Saoirse, please," he cried, as the dragon prowled forward until he was standing just in front of the immobile man. "Make him stop! It was just a joke. I don't want to die!"

Tears streamed down his face, streaking through the blood and sweat that had steadily dripped down from his earlier fighting. Our eyes met, and in that moment, I felt nothing. He'd been a plague on my life since the first day I'd met him. I don't know what I expected to feel, staring into the soul of someone I knew was about to die, but there was no pity, no mercy left in me for him.

Instead, I felt something much more wicked, a whisper from the shadows of my own upbringing. The promise of violence called to what lived inside of me, the part of me that had been shaped by years of unrelenting cruelty and pain.

The dragon paused, crimson gaze turned to me, and my breath caught in my throat as he looked at me. His head cocked slightly, the tiniest of movements, but the unspoken question was obvious. If I said stop, he would stop. My tongue darted out to wet my lips, a grimace of pain shooting through my body as I shifted slightly, trying to alleviate some of the agony. Sweat dripped down my back, soaking into the tattered fabric of my dress, and the fresh trauma burned deep against my soul. No, I wouldn't stop this.

I would watch this man die, and I would relish it.

I made no move, gave no confirmation, and yet Vane understood, turning back to face his prey. The shadows began to move again, and this time they didn't stop at his limbs. They slithered over his body, creeping up his neck toward his face. I watched with an equal mix of horror and fascination as the tendrils forced their way into his mouth, then his nose, and ears. His eyes bulged with terror, his screams becoming muffled gurgles as he choked on his karma.

The dragon's tendrils invaded him, tearing him apart from the inside out. His body convulsed violently as the shadows wreaked havoc within him, ripping through flesh and bone with merciless efficiency. It was horrifying, and yet strangely poetic—a fitting end to a man who deserved nothing better.

Blood poured from his orifices, the shadows emerging slick and red, stained with the essence of a lost life. Jephyr's body went limp, his eyes rolling back into his head as the last drop of his soul left him.

Never again would he harm another.