The Ascended — Chapter no 15

Chapter 15

The Damned

"AGAIN."

Xül's voice cut through the salt-heavy air, bored and dismissive. He hadn't moved from his position against a jutting rock on the black beach.

The harsh sun carved sharp shadows beneath the high planes of his cheekbones as he turned a page of whatever he was reading, long fingers gliding across the page. Golden rings caught the light in his dark braids, and his shirt hung open at the collar, revealing bronzed skin and the strong column of his throat.

I paused for a moment, catching my breath. "This isn't exactly what I expected when you said training. How does any of this help me during the Trials? And speaking of which, am I supposed to go into them completely blind?"

Xül glanced up, a flicker of annoyance crossing his perfect features.

"The Aesymar prefer their contestants ignorant and afraid. It makes for

better entertainment."

"So, there’s no way to prepare then?"

His eyes returned to his book. "We will receive correspondence before

each trial detailing the parameters."

“How many trials are there?” I pressed.

With a sigh that suggested I was testing the limits of his patience, Xül marked his place in the book and set it aside. "Four Trials before the forging itself," he continued as if explaining something painfully obvious.

"The Forging?"

"Yes, starling," Xül said. "Where mortality burns away, and what remains—if anything remains—becomes divine."

"Sounds pleasant."

"It isn't," he replied bluntly. "But then, neither is what comes before it."

"That’s a given. Unless there’s some secret meaning behind your riddles?"

"I mean watching the people you've come to care about die." His gaze sharpened on me. "A word of advice—don't make friends with the other

contestants. It's not worth it."

"I wasn't planning on it."

"Good. Using people as a means to an end is a different story entirely— that I encourage. Just be cautious of who you trust." His eyes returned to his book, a clear dismissal. "Now, again."

I turned back to the relentless training course he'd set out, my mind processing his warning. Not that I needed it. I hadn't come here to make friends. My brother and our mission had to come first.

My muscles screamed in protest, but I didn't let him see me winded.

Didn't let him see the way my lungs burned or how my legs trembled from hours of relentless conditioning—not when he sat there with that infuriating air of elegant composure, angular jaw set. It was midday now, and all morning he'd had me swimming laps in the dark waters, running sprints across the black sand, doing endless exercises that would have broken a lesser person.

Which was only mildly infuriating, considering I was already in excellent shape. This wasn’t exactly the training I’d had in mind. My chest burned with power, begging for release.

"Clearly endurance isn't an issue for me," I growled, wiping sweat from my brow with the back of my hand. "I could do this in my sleep."

"You're not tired yet? That's unfortunate, as I was hoping you'd be exhausted enough to give me a semblance of peace this evening. So I guess we aren't finished."

The subtle cruelty in his voice made my blood simmer. "Why don't you join me then?"

"I'm not competing for my life. You are."

"I bet I could best you in a race." The words tumbled out, and I knew I sounded childish. But it infuriated me, seeing him standing there doing nothing while I'd worked my ass off for hours.

Xül considered this, and slowly, a curious smile spread across his face.

"Well, let's test that theory then."

We walked down the beach until he pointed to a distant outcropping of black stone. "There. First one to reach that point wins."

I crouched into a starting position, muscles coiled and ready. When he said go, I took off like a shot, tearing across the black shore as fast as my legs could carry me. Sand flew up in dark clouds, and my heart hammered.

I didn't see Xül behind me, didn't even sense his presence, which only made my smile wider with satisfaction.

I reached the outcropping with lungs burning and triumph singing in my veins—only to find Xül already there, leaning languidly against the stone as if he'd been waiting for hours. The air around him still shimmered with the aftereffects of torn reality.

"Well, that's cheating," I panted, hands on my knees.

"And there's the lesson," he said smoothly. "I can do that, but you can't.

In the Trials, nothing is fair, and you're a fool if you think you can predict what someone else's next move will be."

I glared at him, fury and grudging understanding warring in my chest. It made sense, but I sure as hell wasn't going to say that out loud.

"So how much longer do I have to run around this beach before you're satisfied?"

Xül studied me for a long moment, his gaze traveling over my sweat- dampened skin. "I suppose we can make it a bit more interesting. But just remember—you asked for it."

"Now we're talking." Relief flooded me as we walked back down the beach to where we'd started.

"Draw down your star," he commanded, settling back against his rock.

"Forge your weapon."

I reached up toward the sky, feeling for the familiar pull of celestial energy. It was harder in daylight—the stars were there but distant, their light overwhelmed by this domain's strange sun. But I found one anyway, pulled its essence down into my hands until starlight condensed into something solid. The sword that formed was smaller than the one I'd created in the Proving, less dramatic, but no less deadly.

I looked at Xül expectantly, hefting the star-forged blade. "What, are you fighting with your hands?"

His smile was nothing but a wicked promise. "If I even have to lift a finger, something's gone terribly wrong."

The ground beneath my feet began to tremble.

Then I saw them. Fingers, pale and grasping, breaking through the black sand like grotesque flowers blooming. Arms followed, then shoulders, bodies twisting and morphing as they dragged themselves from the earth.

The faceless beings moved with unnatural grace, each clutching weapons that gleamed with their own dark light. They surrounded me in a perfect circle, at least a dozen of them, their eyeless faces turned toward me.

"What—what is this?" I asked, trying to sound more confident than I felt.

"The damned," Xül said, smiling. And then one lunged towards me.

Starlight met corrupted metal, the impact ringing through my arms and into my shoulders. Where our weapons touched, sparks of white-hot energy crackled and hissed. My feet slid backward in the sand as the thing pressed forward—gods, it was strong. My blade trembled against its dark steel as I fought to keep it from my throat.

Movement to my left. I threw myself sideways just as another blade whistled through the space where my head had been.

Xul cocked his head to the side. "And trust me, you'd rather be fighting these than the corpses buried deep beneath this beach."

I parried a strike, barely. "There's a difference?"

"Oh, starling." He sighed. "The smell alone. These—" he gestured at the soul constructs, "—are far more civilized."

"You're a necromancer!" I gasped between strikes. "Aren't corpses your thing?"

"I'm the Warden of the Damned," he corrected. "Souls are elegant.

Refined. Corpses are… messy. I only raise the dead when absolutely necessary. When the situation is truly dire."

"A demonstration in sword-fighting could have been beneficial before this!" I screamed at Xül, barely getting my blade up in time to catch another

blow.

"What do you think this is?"

I managed to dodge another strike, then spun to avoid a third. The constructs moved with uncanny coordination, like extensions of a single will rather than individual entities. I slashed at one, my blade cutting

through its torso. But instead of falling, the form simply resealed itself, dark energy flowing to repair the damage.

"They can't be killed," I gasped, backing away as they advanced again.

Xül made a small gesture with his hand, and the dark figures froze mid- step. "No. They cannot."

He walked toward me, passing between the motionless figures as if they were merely statues. "What you're facing isn't truly alive, so it cannot truly die."

"Then what are they?" I demanded, still holding my sword at the ready.

"When I say they are the damned, I don't mean wandering spirits or souls as you might imagine them." He reached out and touched one of the figures. Under his fingers, the form rippled like dark water. "When the most corrupt and malevolent souls die, their energy doesn't transition normally through the afterlife. It remains… tainted. That energy becomes trapped in Draknavor's prison."

"So these are… people?" I asked, revolted.

"No." He shook his head firmly. "Not anymore. What you see is death magic in its purest form—the residual energy of what once was a soul, now stripped of consciousness, of identity, of anything resembling personhood."

His fingers passed through the construct's chest, and it distorted like smoke.

"These are merely vessels I've shaped from that raw energy."

I lowered my sword slightly. "So they're not… aware?"

"No more than the water in a river is aware of flowing downhill," he said. "They are forces of nature, channeled through my will."

And suddenly, they were attacking again.

A soul's blade scraped down mine with a shriek. I stumbled back, my heel catching in the soft sand. Off balance. Vulnerable. The soul pressed forward, its weapon raised— I swung wildly, putting every ounce of desperation behind the strike.

My blade passed through it like a brand through water, sizzling and steaming as it cut, its form dissolving into shadows.

My sword was already moving, muscle memory I didn't know I possessed bringing it around to block the next attack. The clash sent vibrations through my bones and left burning white streaks across my

vision.

"Is this a light show, or a fight?"

Fuck him. Fuck his commentary. Two more souls circled me. My lungs burned. Sweat stung my eyes. The star-sword hummed in my grip, eager for more destruction.

The one on my right feinted left then came in low. I saw it coming this time, sidestepped, brought my blade down in a vertical cut that burned through its neck. The head hit the sand and rolled, trailing wisps of smoke, before dissolving.

"Is that all you got?" I panted, awaiting a response that never came.

And then, three bodies were racing towards me simultaneously.

Well, fuck.

I dove left, sand filling my mouth as I rolled. I came up swinging. My blade carved through the first soul's chest, leaving a line of fire.

Steel whistled past my ear. So close I felt the wind of it. I spun— Fire exploded across my back as a blade found flesh. The pain was immediate, blinding. I pitched forward, hot blood soaking through my shirt.

Behind me, I could hear the soul drawing back for another strike.

"That’ll probably leave a scar,” Xül mused.

But there was no time for me to think of something cutting enough to say back.

I threw myself around, my sword slicing through the air. Starlight seared through the thing's neck, cauterizing as it cut. Its head tumbled into the sand even as its body took another step forward before collapsing in a heap of dissolving shadow.

Another was coming for me, black blood streaming from the burning gash across its chest. I stepped inside its clumsy strike, grabbed its wrist, and drove the star-sword's crossguard into where its nose should have been.

Light flared on impact, and I smelled burning tar. As it staggered back, I opened its throat with a cut that left a trail of blazing silver in the air.

The last few came faster now. Hungry. My feet found their balance in the shifting sand. The starlight sword moved where I wanted it to go instead of where panic took it. I caught one's thrust, used its momentum to spin it around, and drove my blade through its spine. It arched backward before crumbling to ash.

Another came high. I went low, sweeping its legs and finishing it with a downward thrust that pinned it to the beach.

The final soul circled me, weapon raised.

I didn't wait for it to decide. I rushed forward, my sword coming in at an angle it couldn't quite block. Starlight sliced through shadow and whatever passed for sinew in this place, leaving nothing but the smell of rot clinging to the air. The soul folded in on itself and was gone.

Xül was watching me with those unreadable eyes, his expression searching in a way that made my skin crawl.

"I didn't realize mortal food provided such sustenance," he said slowly.

My blood ran cold. Because I recognized the tilt in his voice. Suspicion.

Curiosity. I forced myself to shrug, wiping blood from my blade on my ruined shirt.

"Hard work builds muscle," I said, hoping my voice sounded steadier than I felt. "You should try it sometime."

But I could sense his eyes burning holes right through me. The last thing I needed was for Xül to suspect anything was off about me. He'd been half- divine himself before ascension—he knew exactly what that kind of power felt like, how it moved through mortal flesh.

I'd have to be more careful.

For a moment, I thought he might call it a day. My muscles ached, my back burned where the soul's blade had found its mark, and exhaustion was starting to creep in around the edges. I took the moment to catch my breath.

"I think you can go another round," Xül murmured.

I wasn't so sure, but I wasn't going to say that out loud.

"Bring it on."

His smile made every instinct I possessed scream in warning. There was wickedness in it, a promise that I was not going to like whatever came next.

The ground began to tremble again. I raised my hands, calling starlight back into sword-form as another being clawed its way up through the dark sand. I braced myself for another faceless soul, another mindless opponent

to cut down.

Except this time, it wasn't faceless.

This time, it was my brother.

The weapon almost slipped from my fingers. I knew it wasn't him— knew it couldn't be him—but the wrongness of seeing Thatcher standing before me, looking exactly as vibrant and alive as the last time I'd seen him made my blood thicken in my veins. Every detail was perfect. The way his dark hair fell across his forehead. The hint of a smile bringing out his dimples. Even the way he held himself, that easy confidence that had

always made people gravitate toward him. But his eyes were empty. Cold.

Dead.

"You're disgusting," I spat, the words aimed at Xül like poisoned arrows. The thing wearing my brother's face advanced toward me, and I stumbled backward. My sword trembled in my grip. I couldn't do it. It didn't matter that he wasn't real. I couldn't bring myself to raise my blade against that face.

"Learn to put your attachments—your emotions aside," Xül said conversationally. "It’s the only way to survive."

"If I have to kill Thatcher, then I guess we’ll both die."

"And you've proven me right. This is exactly what I thought of you."

His voice was filled with cold satisfaction. "I've wasted my time."

Rage flared in my chest, hot and sudden. "Is every mortal emotion simply drained from you the second you ascend?"

I couldn't understand how someone with a mortal mother, who had been mortal himself, could be capable of such cruelty.

"I'm the better for it."

"Have you never loved anyone? Never cared about anything other than yourself?" I was nearly screaming now, any residual feelings of desire I'd felt the night before completely evaporated. They were monsters. All of them.

Xül stayed quiet, watching me with that same amused detachment.

"How does your mother even look at you?" I hissed.

The smirk dissolved from his face slowly. His eyes went dark. And in an instant, Thatcher was coming at me, no warmth left in those features. Its sword whistled through the air where my head had been a heartbeat before.

I threw myself to the side, sand flying as I rolled and came up in a crouch.

Thatcher followed, moving with unnatural speed. "Fight me!"

The words didn't come from my brother's voice. Instead, a thousand whispers intertwined, pouring from his mouth like smoke. The sound was wrong—a chorus of souls speaking in unison, their voices layered and discordant, scraping against my ears.

I parried desperately, our blades meeting in a shower of sparks. It was stronger than the other souls had been, faster, more skilled. Every attack came with brutal force.

"I can't," I screamed, even as my sword moved to block another strike.

"I can't do this."

"Then die."

Again, that terrible hiss of whispers emerged from my brother's lips.

The disconnect between Thatcher's face and that chorus of voices made the situation somehow worse—a perversion of everything he was. Shadow leaked from the corners of his mouth as it spoke, tendrils of darkness that dissipated in the air.

The false Thatcher's blade caught me across the ribs, opening a line of fire along my side. I gasped, stumbling, and it pressed its advantage.

Another cut across my thigh. Another along my shoulder.

"Please," I whispered. "Please don't make me do this."

But there was no mercy in those empty eyes. No recognition of our shared past or the bond that had defined my entire existence. This thing might have worn my brother's face, but it was hollow. It raised its sword for a killing blow. I finally snapped.

My star-sword blazed brighter as rage flooded me, white-hot and pure. I caught its descending blade on my crossguard, muscles straining. For a moment we were locked together, face to face. I could smell the dirt that

clung to its false skin.

"You're not him," I snarled.

And drove my blade through its heart. Its mouth opened as if to speak, but only shadow poured out, along with a final dying whisper that seemed to come from a thousand tortured throats at once.

The body began to dissolve around my sword, crumbling like ash in the wind. A tear ran down my face as the last traces of it scattered on the strange breeze.

It's not real. It's not real. It's not real.

Slow clapping echoed across the beach. Xül stepped into my field of vision, his face drenched in dark satisfaction.

"Now there's my killer," he said, and his voice held genuine approval for the first time since I'd arrived in this realm. The sound of it—the pleasure he took in what he'd forced me to do hardened my grief. I brushed past him without a word, heading back toward the castle. I couldn't bare to be near him for another fucking second. I reached out through the bond with Thatcher as I walked, feeling for that familiar presence. There—alive, safe, pulsing somewhere in Bellarium. I finally reached a shadowed corridor deep in the castle and collapsed against the wall, sliding down to the floor.

My knees came up to my chest, and I wrapped my arms around them, making myself as small as possible. I slammed my eyes closed, but it didn't help. I only saw my blade sliding through my brother's heart over and over again.

TEARS HAD DRIED on my cheeks, leaving behind salt trails that pulled at my skin. My throat burned raw from sobs I'd muffled against my sleeve, refusing to give Xül or his servants the satisfaction of hearing me cry This hadn't been about preparing me for the Trials. This hadn't been about survival or strength or any of the other justifications Xül had offered.

This had been about seeing how much pain I could endure before

shattering.

A test. An experiment. Entertainment.

I pushed myself upright, legs unsteady beneath me.

The corridors of black stone seemed to bend around me as I walked, my reflection fragmented in polished surfaces. I barely recognized the woman staring back—eyes too bright, jaw too tight, wildness and danger radiating

from within.

Good. Let him see what he's created.

When I reached Xül's study, I didn't knock. I simply pushed the door open.

He sat at his desk, not bothering to look up as I entered. "There are proper protocols for entering my private chambers, starling."

"Look at me." The words escaped through clenched teeth.

His eyes flickered up, assessing me. "You're upset. How predictable."

My composure shattered.

"Is that what you wanted?" I moved closer, my voice low and dangerous. "To tear me down?"

"You confuse necessary preparation with cruelty. The Trials will demand worse of you than anything I've required."

"This wasn't about the Trials." I slammed my palms on his desk, scattering parchment. "This was about you. Your sick need to control, to dominate, to make others suffer."

"You know nothing of me." His voice remained level, but his eyes held a threat.

"Let me take a wild guess, then." I leaned closer, refusing to be intimidated. "You hide behind that cruelty because you're terrified someone might actually see you. You push everyone away before they have a chance to reject you. You treat people like pieces on a game board because it's safer than treating them like people who might matter."

"Careful, starling." Each syllable cut like ice. "You tread dangerously close to insolence I cannot ignore."

"Go ahead." I spread my arms wide. "Punish me. Torture me. Kill me if that's what you need to feel powerful again. But we both know it won't fill that emptiness inside you."

He stood in a fluid motion, power rolling off him in waves. "You forget yourself. You forget who I am."

"No." I met his gaze steadily. "I see exactly who you are. Your perfect mask doesn't fool me because I've worn one my entire life. I know every crack, every seam where the truth bleeds through."

"I am death itself," he hissed, his face inches from mine.

"Perhaps." The words scraped past my lips. "But you’re also afraid."

His fingers twitched momentarily, as if he would grab me. But no. He stepped back as if burned.

He turned away—a gesture so uncharacteristic it momentarily silenced me.

"You think you know me." His voice was different now, stripped of its cold perfection. Raw. "You see fragments and believe you've assembled the whole."

"Tell me I'm wrong." I challenged, circling to face him.

He moved to the window, shoulders set in a rigid line, and for a very long moment, he didn’t say anything at all. "Report at dawn for training. We have work to do."

The dismissal was clear, but as I turned to leave, his voice followed me, carrying an undercurrent I couldn't quite identify.

"You're not what I expected, Thais Morvaren."

I paused at the threshold, not looking back. "Neither are you," I replied, and closed the door behind me.