Chapter 13

Thirteen

T he Wrathforge's pit arena loomed like a jagged mountain on the horizon, but the ground shivered from its pulsing red wards long before they reached the gates. Demons surged toward the arena from every direction in the capital, forming a chaotic river that flowed into the open maw of the structure. Aric strained to catch a glimpse of the arena floor, but it was lost in the sea of bodies roiling around them.

"Stay close," Malekith said, his breath hot against Aric's ear. "This is only the beginning."

A low growl of warning built in Aric's throat, but he forced it down. He'd faced down demon assassins, power-mad mages, and a host of other terrors in his time, but the crowd still made his skin prickle with unease. He felt the eyes of a thousand strangers on them, and while most of the demons seemed too preoccupied with the spectacle ahead to pay them any mind, Aric knew that could change in an instant.

Malekith's hand settled on the small of Aric's back, a warm anchor in the cold tide of the crowd. Aric tried to focus on that touch, on the steady presence at his side, and not on the doubts that nipped at his heels. He was a stranger in a strange land, and despite everything that had passed between him and Malekith, he still didn't know where he truly stood.

The air sizzled with power as they passed beneath the arena's wards, a tangible force that made the hair on Aric's arms stand on end. It was a heady, intoxicating scent, laced with promises of secrets and knowledge waiting to be unveiled. Aric inhaled deeply, trying to ignore the thud of his heart in his ears.

The closer they drew to the arena's entrance, the more the air hummed with dark magic, like the steady pulse of a distant war drum. It was a living, breathing thing, coiling around them and seeping into their skin. Aric's heart raced as he tried to steady his breathing, his senses hyperaware. He felt like he was teetering on the edge of a yawning chasm, and with each step, the void threatened to pull him in.

He risked a glance at Malekith, but the demon prince's face was a mask of calm. Only the tightness in his jaw gave him away, a rare sign of the tension that coiled just beneath his controlled exterior. Aric's fingers itched to reach for his hand, to offer some kind of reassurance, but he kept his arms firmly at his sides. Malekith had brought him here for a reason, and Aric would see it through, no matter what.

They reached the gates, twin slabs of obsidian that glowed with eldritch runes, and the crowd around them fell silent. The guards on either side of the gates loomed over Aric, their scaled faces carved into expressions of pure malice. With a hiss of approval from Malekith, they pushed the gates open, and the crowd surged forward into the arena.

The interior of the Wrathforge was a vast hollow chamber, carved from the living rock of the mountain itself. Molten streams of lava flowed down the walls, casting a hellish red glow across the seething crowds that packed the space. Malekith led the way, his posture ramrod straight and his movements precise, a living shadow parting the writhing mass of demons. Aric did his best to mimic his stride, but he couldn't shake the sense of unease that coiled in the pit of his stomach.

Finally, they reached a dais at the far end of the chamber, and a group of lower-ranking demons scurried forward, their heads bowing low. Malekith said something to them in the harsh, guttural language of the demons, and the smaller creatures chattered in response. Then they turned and hurried deeper into the mountain, leaving Malekith and Aric alone.

"What was that all about?" Aric asked, keeping his voice low.

Malekith's lips curved in a sly smile. "Merely making the necessary arrangements for your trials. If you'll come with me."

He held out a hand, and Aric took it, the warmth of Malekith's palm sending a jolt of heat through him. Malekith led him up a narrow staircase that wound around the side of the dais, giving them a vantage point over the roiling crowds below. Aric's breath caught at the sight, the sheer scale of the arena unlike anything he'd ever seen.

"This is where the trials will take place?" he asked, his voice hushed.

Malekith nodded. "Each one is a test of a different aspect of your being. Mind, magic, loyalty. Succeed, and you will prove yourself worthy in the eyes of the demon court."

"And if I fail?" Aric asked, though he wasn't sure he wanted to know the answer.

Malekith's grip tightened on his hand. "You won't."

The smaller demons reappeared, bearing an ornate casket carved with twisting runes. Malekith nodded to them, and they scurried forward to present it to him. Malekith opened the casket with a soft click of metal on metal, revealing a set of ancient-looking tools, a vial of inky black liquid, and a bundle of silken cords.

"Take him to the preparation chamber," Malekith said, his voice cold and imperious. "And begin."

Flames danced in the eyes of the smaller demons as they bowed low, and Aric felt a shiver race down his spine. They hustled Aric away, leading him to a small antechamber off to the side. The space was dimly lit, the air heavy with incense that stung at Aric's eyes. A stone altar dominated the room, its surface etched with a tangle of arcane symbols, while the walls were lined with an array of wicked-looking instruments.

The attending demons fidgeted as they approached. "You are required to wear the ceremonial garb for the trial," one of them said. He sounded like he was reading the line for the hundredth time, and must have been very tired of it by now. "We are forbidden to brand or bind you, per the Sovereign's command." The two lesser demons flanked Aric, their claws twitching, and they were utterly unable to hide their distaste at the situation.

Aric quirked a brow at the other demons, then turned away to hide a smile. "I think I can manage that."

The other demons grumbled to themselves as they shuffled aside to give Aric some semblance of privacy. Aric peeled off his tunic and trousers and pulled on the simple dark robes, their gauzy fabric surprisingly soft against his skin. As he tied the sash at his waist, his hands shook, and he struggled to center himself.

Aric squared his shoulders and turned back to face the demons, doing his best to ignore the way they eyed him like a juicy slab of meat. "I'm ready."

The smaller demons exchanged a look, then one of them picked up the vial of black ink and stepped forward. With a few deft strokes, he painted a series of sigils on Aric's bare chest, the cool substance sending a shiver through him. The other demon unraveled the bundle of cords and began to braid them together, his claws clicking against the beads. Once the vial was empty and the braid complete, they stepped back and bowed.

"The ceremony is concluded. You are prepared for the first trial."

Aric turned back to Malekith, forcing a confidence he didn't feel. "Then let's get on with it."

Malekith's expression was inscrutable as he nodded, but his eyes . . . There was a storm in their depths, a roiling darkness that made Aric's breath catch. Malekith reached out, his fingers grazing the cords that bound Aric's chest.

"Remember what I taught you," Malekith said under his breath. "Your mind is your greatest weapon and your strongest shield."

Aric nodded, his throat too tight for words. Malekith's fingers lingered on the cords for a moment longer, and then he cupped Aric's face in his hands, his touch surprisingly gentle.

"I have every confidence in you," Malekith said, and then he was kissing Aric, a fierce, searing promise that left Aric's head spinning.

When Malekith finally pulled away, Aric's head was spinning, his skin on fire. "I won't let you down," he said, the words a soft prayer.

Malekith's gaze held his for a heartbeat longer, then he stepped back, his mask of indifference firmly in place once more. "I know you won't."

The guards unlocked the massive doors to the trial chamber, the metal groaning in protest as they pulled the heavy slabs open. The air inside the chamber stank of molten fire, and the room was shrouded in shadows, the only light coming from the pools of lava that dotted the space. As Aric's eyes adjusted to the dimness, he could make out the hulking forms of the demon court gathered in a semicircle before him, their eyes glowing with curiosity.

Aric stepped forward, trying his damnedest to keep his breathing steady, his mind a blank slate. He was ready for whatever test awaited him, ready to prove himself to the demon court and, more importantly, to Malekith.

Tiered seating rose up on all sides of the arena, the shadows playing tricks on Aric's eyes as he tried to make out the figures that filled them. Demons of all shapes and sizes clustered together, watching him with undisguised avarice, with hunger that made Aric's head swim.

At the highest point of the arena, a temporary throne had been erected, its obsidian frame jutting out against the roiling lava flows. Sovereign Zaxos sat upon it, his blackened skin gleaming in the eerie light. His eyes, like molten gold, fixed on Aric with a predatory interest that made his skin crawl.

Sylthris stood at Zaxos's right hand, her silver hair shimmering in the harsh light. She met Aric's gaze with a small, secret smile, and a shiver raced through him. What game was she playing, and whose side was she truly on?

A hush fell over the crowd as Malekith led Aric into the arena's heart, the stone floor cool and smooth beneath Aric's bare feet. The cords bound around his chest tugged at his skin, and he fought to keep his posture rigid, his expression blank. He was a mage, a warrior, a protector of his people. He would not show them the fear constricting all around him, though he knew it would be all too easy to fail.

At the center of the arena stood a shimmering, semi-transparent structure, its walls twisting and shifting. The magical maze. Aric's pulse quickened as he caught sight of it, a surge of raw power radiating from the arcane construct. Surrounding the maze were a circle of demon sorcerers, their hands already weaving complex patterns in the air, their voices a low, guttural chant that set Aric's teeth on edge.

Malekith led Aric to the entrance of the maze, the cords bound around Aric's chest tugging at his skin with each step. The stone floor of the arena was cool beneath his bare feet, but the heat of the demons' stares made his skin prickle. A demon official, his skin a mottled red, stepped forward, his eyes gleaming with malice.

"Human," the demon said, his voice a harsh rasp. "You will enter the maze and navigate its twists and turns. The sorcerers will attempt to cloud your mind, to lead you astray with illusions and false paths. You must resist their manipulations and find your way to the maze's center. If you succeed, then perhaps you can earn your freedom amongst us yet. If you fail . . ."

The demon's lips curled in a cruel smile. "Well. Let us hope for your sake you do not fail."

As Aric stepped through the shimmering barrier, the demons' screeching and jeering fell silent, the air around him thick with magic. The whispers of the demon audience faded away, replaced by an oppressive silence. The only sound was the thud of his own heart in his ears, the only movement the shifting of the maze's walls.

Aric forced himself to take a deep breath, the cool, sulfur-tinged air stinging his lungs. Center himself, as Malekith had taught him. Reach out with his senses, but be wary of what he found. The sorcerers surrounding the maze were already weaving their spells, the air around them shimmering with power. Illusions. Tricks to cloud his mind, to lead him astray.

The first rule of the maze was simple. Nothing was as it seemed.

Aric closed his eyes, blocking out the distractions of the arena, and focused on the steady thrum of his magic. It was there, a flickering flame deep within him, waiting to be called forth. He drew on it, coaxing it to the surface, and felt the heat of it wash over his skin.

Let the magic guide you.

With another steadying breath, Aric opened his eyes and stepped forward into the maze.

The world around him wavered and shifted as soon as he crossed the threshold, the twisting corridors coming to life. Visions flickered at the corner of his vision—taunting shadows, fleeting glimpses of figures darting just out of sight. The air was thick with the scent of brimstone, the acrid taste of it burning the back of his throat.

He focused on the path unfolding before him, the cool stone beneath his feet, the walls of the maze as they shimmered and warped. The first turn came up quickly, a tangle of pathways stretching out before him. He used his dulled magical sense to search for the threads of magic that would point the way.

There. A faint shimmer in the air, a subtle distortion that marked the path's true course. Aric fixed the image in his mind and stepped forward, ignoring the illusions that danced at the corner of his vision. The stone floor echoed hollowly with each step, and the labyrinth's walls groaned as they shifted, but he forged ahead.

The first illusion hit Aric like a physical blow.

One moment, he was navigating a narrow corridor, the stone walls of the maze closing in around him. And then, with a sickening lurch, he was somewhere else entirely. The world around him rippled and shifted, and suddenly he was standing in the ruins of Drindal, the stench of smoke and blood thick in the air.

He stumbled back, his heart racing, as figures moved in the shadows, taunting him, beckoning to him. The dead walked the streets, their eyes empty, their flesh rotting away. Aric's breath caught in his throat, a wave of nausea and dizziness washing over him.

"You've betrayed everything we stand for." The dead figure in the distance resolved into Olaya, her face a mask of disappointment, disgust. "You've betrayed your people."

"Please, Olaya." Aric stood his ground, hands at his sides, though golden light danced at his fingertips. "Please see the purpose behind what I'm trying to do. You always understood me better than anyone."

Her mouth opened, but only silence came out, the sorcerers unable to wrench a proper retort from Aric's mind, no doubt.

And that was the key, wasn't it? He wasn't fighting against the illusions themselves, no. He only had to understand the limitations of the spells being woven around him, of the sorcerers weaving them. One by one, he quieted each illusion, with a flicker of flame or a few sharply placed words.

Once more he tore through the false images, the twisted corridors of the maze melting away. The demon howled in outrage, the sorcerers redoubling their efforts, their voices rising in a frantic chant. But he ignored it all, his focus singular, his purpose clear.

The first few turns were simple, the path yielding before him like a ribbon through the shifting stone. Aric's confidence swelled with each step, his magic guiding him true. He ignored the whispers that echoed in the maze's depths, the shadows churning around him like a gathering storm. They were only illusions, after all.

But as he delved deeper into the maze, the illusions became more intense, more personal. The shadows took on familiar shapes, the voices his own. They whispered taunts, his deepest insecurities laid bare.

You are betraying your people.

You are a fool to trust the demon.

You will fail, and all will be lost.

Aric grit his teeth and forced himself to move, to push through the illusion. It wasn't real. It was just a trick of the sorcerers, a test of his resolve. With a cry, he lunged forward, and the illusion shattered.

But behind the lesser ones stood one more, looming larger than all the rest.

"Traitor." The hiss came from around a corner, and Aric stumbled back, his heart lurching in his chest. "Demon's whore."

The Illusion solidified before him—a twisted, wicked mirror of Cyrus Revenant. His cold, dead eyes stared into Aric's, and for a moment, Aric was sure he was looking at the real thing. The force of Cyrus's judgment, his disgust at Aric's betrayal, pressed against him, unyielding.

His hands shook with a surge of rage, the golden flames of his magic flickering to life. The Illusion sneered at him, a cruel, hateful grin. "Look at you. All it took was a taste of power, and you sold out your own kind. You're a disgrace, Solarian. A stain on everything the mages are supposed to be."

The words cut deeper than any blade, and Aric's nails dug into his palms. He was trying so hard to hold onto himself, to remember that the Illusion wasn't real. But the taunts, the doubts—they were.

A sign of weakness, Malekith had said. And Cyrus's Illusion knew it. Knew Aric's deepest fears, his most wrenching guilts. Lashing out now would only prove that the Illusion had power over him.

Aric's jaw hardened, grinding his teeth together as the golden flames rose up his forearms. He'd always seen Cyrus as the enemy, the embodiment of everything wrong with his people's doctrine. He was cruel and sadistic, his hatred so all-consuming that it left nothing but a withered husk of a man in its wake.

If he was to face this Illusion, he would do so on his terms. He would not let it break him.

Aric took a deep breath, the heat of his magic washing over his skin. He felt the flames burning within him, a coiled, seething thing that longed to be unleashed. He would need that power in the trials to come, but he had to be careful. He couldn't let it consume him.

Not now. Not yet.

With a supreme act of will, Aric forced the magic back down, locking it away in the deepest recesses of his soul. He held the Illusion's gaze, his voice steady.

"Shut the fuck up, you coward."

And then he turned and ran, the echo of the illusion's enraged howl spurring him forward.

He rounded the corner, and all at once, the maze fell away around him. He was staring into the eyes of Olaya once more, but she wasn't fighting Aric this time. Instead, she was in the clutches of a hulking demon brute, glancing at Aric as she pleaded for mercy.

"Aric, please–Tell them–"

But then the demon who seized Olaya took shape.

Aric cried out, stumbling back as her voice echoed in his ears, the flames in his hands sputtering out. He couldn't move, couldn't breathe, the blood rushing in his ears, drowning out all other sounds.

"You're nothing but a weak human." The illusion solidified before him, a sneer curling the Illusion's lips. It looked just like Malekith, but the real Malekith would never speak with such contempt, such disappointment. It was enough to shatter Aric's carefully composed shield, and his knees buckled from the weight of it. Callously, he tossed Olaya aside, and her body crumpled. "Did you really think you could ever be worthy of me?"

He was losing himself in the illusion's words, the taunts shredding his resolve. He was a failure, a broken promise, a disgrace to his people. The tears were streaking down his face now, the raw, painful sobs ripping from his throat. He'd tried so hard—sacrificed so much—and it still wasn't enough.

A wave of darkness threatened to swallow him whole, the bitter taste of his own failure. He was exhausted, his body aching and spent. And he knew he was only at the beginning of the trials Malekith had set for him.

How could he possibly continue, when he could barely stand to face himself?

Aric's hands shook as he pressed them to the cool stone floor, his breath coming in ragged gasps. The tears were still flowing, a steady stream of salt and shame. He was exhausted, drained, and this time, he wasn't sure he had the will to fight it back.

The Illusions had known exactly where to strike, their words like poison in his veins. His bond with Malekith, his desire to protect his people—it was all a lie, a delusion. He was nothing but a broken man, a puppet pulled in a thousand different directions. And in the end, he would only disappoint them all.

Aric crumpled to the ground, the stone cold and unforgiving beneath him. He was so tired of fighting, of holding himself apart. A part of him longed to surrender, to let the darkness claim him and be done with it.

But then he would be proving the Illusions right. He would be proving Cyrus right.

With a shuddering breath, Aric closed his eyes and reached for the calm center he had cultivated with Malekith's help. It felt like a lifetime ago, the night they had spent at the abandoned estate, wrapped in each other's arms. Malekith had shown him a side of himself he had long kept hidden, a softer, more vulnerable self. And for a brief, beautiful moment, he had been able to set his fears and doubts aside.

He had believed, with all his heart, that he could be the man Malekith saw in him. A protector, a warrior, a lover. A man worthy of the demon prince's regard.

But the Illusions had torn that belief to shreds, leaving him raw and exposed. They struck straight at the doubts that still lingered in the darkest corners of his heart. And now, as he reached for that calm center, all he felt was a vast, empty void.

No. He couldn't give in to the darkness. He had come too far, fought too hard. He had to believe that the real Malekith was still out there, somewhere, waiting for him to succeed. He had to push past the Illusions, find his way to the maze's center, and prove himself worthy.

Aric's eyes snapped open, and they blazed with golden fire.

Aric pushed himself to his feet, the golden fire still burning in his eyes. He was tired of the Illusions, their lies and taunts. He was tired of doubting himself, of fearing his own power.

With a renewed sense of determination, Aric pressed forward, the golden fire in his eyes casting a harsh, flickering light over the stone walls. He used his bond with Malekith as an anchor, a lifeline to hold onto in the sea of illusions. It was the one thing he knew was real, the one thing he could trust.

The path unfolded before him, the shimmering walls guiding his way. He ignored the illusions that writhed and shifted in the darkness, the taunts that echoed in the cold air. He was getting closer, he could feel it in his bones.

The demon sorcerers redoubled their efforts, their magic crackling in the air. The darkness thickened, a noxious miasma that clung to his skin. The voices in his head swelled, a chorus of doubts and fears. But he pushed them all aside, his focus unwavering.

He would not be swayed. He would reach the maze's center, and he would emerge from this trial whole.

And then the maze around him began to shift.

The stone walls rippled like water, the air filling with a high-pitched keening that set his teeth on edge. The sorcerers were changing the rules of the trial, he realized with a jolt of fear. They were not going to make it easy for him to reach the center.

The path before him crumbled, the stone turning to dust beneath his feet. He leapt forward, his heart pounding in his ears as the ground fell away. The darkness swirled around him, thick and cloying, as he struggled to find his footing. He was so close, he couldn't fail now.

With a final leap, he landed on solid ground, the darkness parting before him. He had made it to the center of the maze.

But there was no time to savor his victory. The darkness coalesced before him, taking on a familiar form. Malekith's illusion sneered at him, the real demon's amber eyes burning with malice.

"You thought it would be that easy?" the Illusion said, and the world exploded.

The stone walls shattered, the shards raining down around him. The ground heaved, and Aric was thrown off his feet. He tumbled through the darkness, the howl of the wind and the stench of the Illusions filling his senses. He had to get up, he had to fight. With a cry of effort, he forced himself to stand, his muscles aching, his head swimming. The golden flames still burned in his eyes, they were flickering, fading.

The Illusion raised a hand, and the darkness gathered, coiling around him. Aric tried to summon his own magic, but he was drained, his well of power running dry. He had pushed himself too far, held on for too long. The darkness lashed at him, a thousand icy tendrils tearing at his skin.

You are nothing. A failure.

The Illusion's words were a knife to his heart, and Aric stumbled back, his vision swimming. He couldn't give in, he couldn't let the Illusion break him. But the darkness was seeping into his bones, a cold, numbing poison. He was so tired, so weary of the fight.

Just let go. Let the darkness claim you.

Aric's breath shuddered in his lungs as he fought to hold on. The bond between them was the one true thing in this sea of illusions, and he clung to it with all his strength.

The darkness surged, threatening to overwhelm him. But then, in the distance, he heard a voice. A whisper in the darkness, but it was real. It was his anchor, his lifeline.

With a cry of defiance, Aric reached for the golden thread of the bond, and he wove it into his magic. The flames surged to life once more, a brilliant, blinding light that cut through the darkness. The Illusion snarled, and the darkness recoiled, black smoke roiling in the air.

Aric's hands shook, his vision swimming, but he held on to the magic, the flames burning white-hot. He would not be broken. He would not let the Illusion win.

The darkness lunged, and with a scream, Aric unleashed the flames.

The golden fire exploded from his hands, a torrent of heat and light that consumed the darkness. The flames roared, a cleansing inferno that devoured the Illusion, the maze, everything in its path. Aric's vision went white, the heat searing his skin, but he held on, pouring every last bit of his strength into the magic.

The flames burned on, a beacon in the darkness, and Aric let himself be consumed.