ALISTAIR CARNADE
Time seemed to crawl, and the air thickened like syrup around me as the angel's spear glided cleanly through my torso. I clutched at the gash in my abdomen,ineffective in staunching the flow of blood that came out in spurts with my faltering heartbeat.
Magic quickly started to code my Aphenes, racing through my body and flooding toward the wound. I clenched my teeth, forcing every shred of focus into controlling the flow. Dark metal shimmered into existence, creeping like liquid shadow around the gash, sealing it shut and halting the blood that gushed free seconds before.
The angel's killing intent was suffocating. It swelled just front of me, and I knew what was going to happen, If I didn't act quickly. A sob shook my entire body, and the healing spell faltered.
I pictured my father's face, imagined him giving me that nonchalant smile—the one that always made me feel like everything would be alright—and then scooping me up into his arms like he used to, spinning me once, just enough to make me laugh. But then, like wet clay collapsing in the rain, those features began to shift. His smile stretched—too wide, too still—his eyes sinking into something evil and haunted. Even in the safety of memory, blood clung to him like a second skin, black and crimson smearing the edges of his jaw and dripping from his fingertips. He wasn't crawling back to protect me—he was dragging himself forward, grinning, rising from a field littered with skulls like a god of rot.
My eyes refocused on the fallen angel. He looked so much like that—the one who had been stained by the very essence of evil.
"Boy! Are you alright? Hope I'm not too late"
My head snapped to the side, instinct more than thought. The debris—the shattered remains of the auction house, I realized belatedly—was being swept away by forceful gusts of wind, The words came from a figure silhouetted by the storm of dust. His massive wings, layered with thick feathers, beat once—twice—sending violent gusts outward that scattered the dust and rubble like dry leaves in a storm. I made out only his sharp features, dark brown hair, eyes deep crimson, and a sword in hand before he was moving.
It took you that long to break a little mind control? I almost laughed despite of my condition. Maybe I was stronger than you after all and where the hell are the two boys?
I was unsurprised as I'd already assumed Rubert Taylon could use Aphenes and magic. Anyone who knew the Sovereign's truths would.
I blinked hard against a sickening ringing in my ears and suppressed the bile creeping up the back of my throat. My wound ached. I looked around, trying to get my bearings; I was standing, barely, one hand gripping the twisted frame of a fallen chandelier for support. My legs trembled beneath me, slick with dust and blood, and as I looked past the wreckage toward the edge of the dais. I saw nothing but debris—splintered wood, shattered stone, and the broken bodies strewn across the floor like discarded dolls. Pools of crimson blood spread out in slow, widening circles, glistening beneath the fractured light.
With a deafening cry that tore through the thick air, the Taylon launched himself at the dark angelic figure, a blur of motion and rage. His feet left the shattered floor in a burst of force that cracked the marble beneath him, sending fractured veins spiderwebbing across what was left of the auction house. In an instant, both he and the angel were in the air, wings and weapons colliding like thunderclaps.
They soared higher, entangled in a deadly ballet, sword and spear clashing, each strike echoing with enough force to send shockwaves rippling downward. Chunks of debris were shaken loose from above, and each missed blow that arced through the sky found its consequence below—columns shattered, what little remained of the once-grand structure reduced further with every exchange. Taylon twisted midair, driving a punch toward the angel's ribs, only to be met with a blinding counterstrike that sent feathers cascading like rain.
Their battle painted the sky with fury, each movement so fast I could barely track them—only the destruction left in their wake told the story.
I tried to move, to fight, but my head swam dizzily and I nearly retched. The world seemed to tilt, and there was an ear-splitting crack from above. I fell into myself, as the shadow of the stone ceiling descended on me. Dust swallowed me, but a metallic structure, fluid and unnatural, flowed up around me like liquid steel come to life. It curved over my head and shoulders, shielding me in a cocoon of glinting armor just as the debris crashed down. The debris struck with a thunderous crash, but the metal held, adjusting under the weight.
I gasped, as I felt the aphenes within me erasing—each second of protection draining more and more of the magic empowerment I'd fed them.
Someone cursed from my side, a deeper voice gave a pained grunt from the steps at my back. There are still people alive .I realised.
I wanted to help them, but…
I made my way towards the remnants of the once-grand dais. The scene that greeted me at the top hollowed something out of my chest. One of the corpses—One of the assistants?— had been so violently disfigured by the angel's wrath that no trace of who she'd been remained. Her body lay twisted at an unnatural angle, limbs bent where they shouldn't bend, her torso torn open in a gaping wound that pumped blood in thick, pulsing gushes. Several dark, jagged rods—metal or bone, I couldn't tell—pierced her body from multiple angles, jutting out through her limbs and chest like cruel stakes driven in without mercy.
Nearly against my ear, I heard the Taylon's gruffy voice, "You, vessels of sovereigns—how dare you lay siege to my house?" Vessels? some distant corner of my mind wondered. Those words echoed in my mind yet again…again?
"Taylon! I'm casting a spell" I dropped to my knees, the impact jolting through my bruised body as I pressed my blood-slicked hands against the cold, unforgiving floor. Stopping him was all that mattered now. Nothing else—not the pain, not the fear, not the thoughts and not the shattered bodies around me.
The dias stood out high in the auction hall and from here, I could make out all the metal present around me—steel support beams hidden behind the drapes, brass railings along the artifact trolleys, the silver clasps of handbags, polished belt buckles, the delicate filigree of earrings and rings, even the screws in the wooden display—as the lines in my palms. This was the perfect spot to cast the spell I intended would work against our impending enemy
The chant poured out of me, and magic surged in its wake. Around me, the world raged—distant cries of pain, the clash of steel against bone, the groan of shifting rubble, the thunderous beat of wings cleaving the air. Taylon's gravelled voice cut through it all, rough and furious, barking defiance as he battled the enemy in the sky. But I shut it all out. Let it fade. I anchored myself in the rhythm of the spell, letting go of every sound, every scream, every shiver of fear—losing every detail of my surroundings as I poured everything I had into the incantation.
From the wrecked place, black tendrils of liquid metal began to rise, like summoned beasts awaiting command. They floated, suspended in air like droplets caught in a freeze-frame. The power was responding, resonating. My magic had finally reached the threshold—and the spell was about to activate.
My eyes snapped open, blinking away the dust and blood. My throat constricted. I choked on my own words, swallowed heavily.
Far above, suspended in the night sky as if the heavens themselves dared not touch him, floated Zinph. His body, twisted and corrupted, gleamed like rusted iron under the pale light, each jagged contour a testament to power long since unclean. His eyes—cold, ancient, merciless—stared down upon us with the detachment of a god surveying dust. Behind him, wings once divine now festered with decay, their yellow-stained feathers spread wide like a blight upon the stars. And beyond even that, the full white moon hung quietly in the void, casting a ghostly glow across his features, as if even the celestial bodies had bowed to illuminate his return. "Tainted angel" was too lowly a name. Zinph had become something else—something more. A god, unchained. A force the world had never known... not until now.
Taylon had fallen behind me—wounded, but alive. I didn't even notice when it had happened, only that the moment I looked back, he was down on his back, his breath ragged, blood trailing down his side. He couldn't fight anymore. He had reached his limit. And yet, the fallen angel—Zinph—stood tall above the chaos, his body unmarred. What is the extent of his power? I questioned to myself as I hurried to complete the incantations.
"Neodymium Prison!" My voice rose, hoarse and defiant.
At once, the battlefield responded. Every shred of metal in the ruined auction house quivered violently, then shot toward him in a blinding storm. The air howled as the pieces spun and crashed together, drawn by my will alone. In seconds, they spiraled around Zinph like a hurricane of metallic fluid, faster than the eye could follow, and then—closure. A massive shell formed in midair, a seamless, shining cocoon of dense silver and grey, locking him inside. It pulsed once, then solidified into an unbreakable metallic egg. The weight of it thudded into the silence, and for a moment, I dared to breathe.
I closed my eyes, rolled over, and sank into the dust. For a moment, time itself seemed to freeze—the clash of metal, the howls of the wounded, the crumbling stone—all of it faded into silence, replaced only by the harsh, ragged sound of my own breathing.
The Neodymium Prison…
I knew it wouldn't hold that thing for long. But still, I clung to the hope that it would buy us even a sliver of time. A moment's breath. A chance to escape. I didn't believe it would last. Not truly. But it had to. Because there was no other option left.
Knowing I didn't have much time, I forced myself upright, dragging my weary legs toward the fallen eagle. A shallow crater spread around him, torn into the floor by the sheer violence of his fall. Blood soaked the cracked stone beneath, its thick, metallic stench curling in the air.
One of his wings had been completely severed, the raw stump on his back still oozing blood. His body was mangled with gashes and punctures, but none more horrific than the gaping hole in his chest—a hollow wound I could see clean through. Snow-white feathers, now matted with blood, were strewn all around him like the aftermath of a butcher's table. The resemblance was grotesque, almost symbolic—he looked eerily like the eagle etched into the Taylon family crest.
His gaze tracked me in silence as I drew near. I knelt at his side, extending trembling hands to assess the fragile remnants of his condition.
Choking on the blood pooling in his mouth, he croaked, "Hur...rry up, boy! R-run away! You... you can't save me... At least save yourselves... be...fore he—"
The rest never came. The pain stole the words from his lips, but I didn't need him to finish. I already knew. I gripped his trembling hand tighter, grounding him even as the life inside him slipped away.
I didn't know him. He wasn't someone I'd fought beside before, nor someone I'd loved or mourned. Just another life lost. Another face swallowed by the tide of battle. That's what I told myself.
But then—
"I... I have a son... your age..."
"Just like you... brave... strong..."
I froze.
His lips twitched into a smile, as the light faded from his eyes. Lifeless eyes stared up at me, with a quiet blend of pity and hope. As if, in his final moment, he believed I was his son—there with him, holding his hand at the end.
I let go of his hand, and rose unsteadily to my feet. My eyes fixed on the gleaming metallic egg that encased Zinph like a polished tomb. As I watched the fractured remains of the auction house in its mirrored surface, a hairline fracture split across the metal shell. I didn't wait to see more. Wasting no more time, I turned and walked away, wiping a single tear that somehow slipped down my dirt-smeared cheek.