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https://www.patréon.com/emperordragon
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Chapter Twenty-Nine: Thunder
I couldn't feel my legs. Or maybe I could—maybe the sensation was there, but it was so thoroughly drowned in agony that I couldn't separate pain from numbness. It was as if my entire lower body had been submerged in a river of fire, every muscle and nerve ending screaming in protest. My head was a drumbeat of pain, pounding in time with my racing heart. My vision pulsed at the edges, flickering with bursts of color and darkness, threatening to collapse into nothingness. My gut felt hollowed out, as though someone had scooped my insides away and filled the space with burning coals.
But beneath all that—under the pain, beneath the exhaustion and agony—something else moved. Something I couldn't name or understand. It was a spark, a flicker of energy that seemed to dance just beneath my skin, most of all between my claws. It was alive, wild, and utterly unfamiliar. Yet, somehow, I knew it belonged to me. It was mine.
I gritted my teeth, jaw aching, and pressed one trembling, clawed hand against the cold, unforgiving stone beneath me. The rough surface scraped my palm, drawing blood, but I barely felt it through the haze of agony. My muscles protested, tearing and stitching themselves back together as I forced myself to move. Every inch of my body screamed in defiance, but I pushed anyway.
My legs buckled beneath me, threatening to collapse and send me crashing back to the ground. But I refused to give in. With a guttural growl, I forced myself upright, swaying unsteadily on trembling limbs. My breath came in ragged, shallow gasps, each inhalation a battle. Every step forward was a war against my own body, but I fought on. My vision doubled, the world spinning around me, but I could still see him—Richard. And I could see Henry, too.
Henry had already reached Richard. His arms were raised, claws gleaming with lethal intent, poised to strike. One blow, and the man who had saved me, who had trained me, who had become something like family to me, would be gone forever.
But Richard wasn't defenseless. He moved with a speed and precision, flicking something small from his coat—a glass vial, no bigger than a thumb. It spun through the air in a perfect arc, catching the dim light of the cave, and shattered against Henry's chest.
The moment the glass broke, a thick, choking purple mist erupted, enveloping Henry in a swirling cloud. Even from where I stood, the scent hit me—sharp, acrid, unmistakable.
My lungs seized at the mere whiff of it, my spine locking rigid, my blood roaring in protest. Wolfsbane was death to us, poison in its purest form. Henry inhaled it fully, the mist curling into his mouth and nose.
For the first time since I'd met him, Henry looked weak. His skin blanched, turning a sickly, ashen shade. His breath rattled in his chest, each exhale a struggle. His hands shook, claws trembling as if every nerve had been set on fire from within. He staggered, dropping to one knee, and in that moment, I saw death clinging to him like a shadowy cloak.
But Henry refused to succumb. With a guttural, animalistic roar, he slammed his fist into his own chest, again and again, as if trying to beat the poison out of himself. His body convulsed, shuddering violently, and then he coughed—expelling thick clouds of purple mist from his lungs and nose, like smoke from a dying fire.
Slowly, painfully, he rose to his feet. He moved slower now, but his eyes burned with a rage that seemed to set the very air alight. He locked his gaze on Richard, teeth bared in a snarl, every muscle coiled and ready to kill.
But before he could take a single step toward Richard—
There was no time to think, no time to breathe or hesitate. Instinct took over. The world blurred around me, the wind howling in my ears as I launched myself forward. My claws extended, sharp and deadly, forged from the raw fury and desperation that burned inside me.
My right claw plunged into Henry's back, slicing through flesh, muscle, and bone. I could feel the resistance, feel the struggle as I pushed deeper, searching for the beating heart I knew was just out of reach.
But it wasn't enough.
Henry turned his head, lips twisting into a grotesque smile—a mixture of laughter and a snarl. "You missed," he spat, his voice thick with venom.
But then—something changed.
The spark inside me flared, growing into something far greater. It wasn't just a spark anymore.
Lightning surged down my arm, wild and uncontrollable. It built in my core, gathering strength, and then erupted through my claw with the force of a god's wrath. The cave was suddenly filled with blinding blue light, searing and pure.
Henry didn't scream. His body convulsed, every muscle seizing as the electricity tore through him. It was as if every cell in his body was being electrocuted, not just by lightning, but by my very soul. The bolt found his heart, and it didn't just kill him—it unmade him. Every corrupted drop of blood turned to ash, burning away the darkness that had claimed him.
Henry's body crumpled to the ground, lifeless. The stench of scorched corruption hung heavy in the air, a final testament to the battle that had just ended.
I pulled my claw free, stumbling as my strength left me. The world tilted, spinning out of control. The electricity vanished, leaving me empty and drained. My knees hit the stone, hard, and my breath caught in my throat.
Everything faded to black.
But as I fell, I felt something new. Not pain. Not fear. Not even pride.
Just a quiet, undeniable truth.
That power—it came from me.
And I knew, even as darkness claimed me, that it wasn't finished yet.