Unable to control the emotions, Starriace’s concentration broke, forcing her to land at the foot of the mountains. Astonished and perplexed that she managed to fly, the revelation disturbed her more than the thrill. Once before she attained the unique ability, but for a moment. Now, she needed to discover how to tap into her hidden talent. Did the power manifest from the strength of her aura? Emotions? Thoughts? Passion made sense—her anger towards Fife still burned bright and hot.

  With her feet under her, she felt weak; her legs shook with fatigue.

  Her battle with the saricrocian in the swamp returned to her. Flying required a level of concentration akin to her training under Fife. Uncertainty shifted into resolve, her latest flight a testament to her abilities. The power was within her, of that she was certain. Now, she had to find the trigger and control the ability. That she knew, Judas couldn’t fly. Could anyone? Did it make her special? A swelling of pride rose in her, and she recited her mantra again.

  I will never be weak again. I will never be helpless.

  Her eyes drooped as hunger pangs gnawed her insides. She was drained from exertion during the flight and roiling emotional tides. Cold rippled through her body. With shaking hands, she pulled the ring from her pocket and moved to place it on her finger.

  “I found you, young one!” a cold, raspy voice said from behind her.

  She turned to see a wraith of shadow and smoke. Her hand slipped the ring back into her pocket. A feeling of déjà vu swept over her.

  The shadow that called to her at the graveyard! The creature that Judas fought. It found me!

  “Leave me in peace,” she demanded, panic rising.

  “Fool,” it hissed. The sound of sucking air echoed, continuous. “I have come on behalf of my master.”

  “I don’t care.” She backed away from the sheol. “I don’t want anything to do with you. Leave me.”

  “How did you manage to obscure yourself from him?” The wraith floated closer.

  I don’t need this. I’m too tired. Why does the flight drain me?

  “My master wishes your presence. If you do not come willingly, I am to destroy you.”

  “Why? What have I done? I am no threat.”

  “Xilor doesn’t believe so.”

  The mention of his name ignited her rage. The bodies of Wizard’s Pass flashed through her mind, reminding her of all his destruction. Her wand twitched, jerking up, but the creature was faster, materializing before her, its hand constricting around her throat. His icy touch sent shivers through her body, her aura forsaking her. In reaction, her hands clamped around his, trying to free herself. Through the fog of panic, the creature’s cold laugh washed over her.

  I’m going to die here!

  Cold skeletal hands tightened, leeching the life out of her. In her hysteria, her fury remained untouched, forgotten. In a premonition, realizing the sheol choked her and siphoned her life-force, she found her salvation. The rage flared, fueling her body, giving her the stamina she desperately needed. But fear motivated her into action, afraid of being weak, helpless, dying. Fear fueled the fire of her soul, unlocking all she once denied. She did not find a balance of darkness and light but a searing scarlet.

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  The heat rushed through her, sweeping from her stomach, ripping through her throat. An inferno ruptured behind her eyes, in the pit of her abdomen. The creature awakened something deep, forbidden, and terrible within her.

  “Xilor will reward me with your death.”

  She released the anger, the energy ripping free of her fragile control. A blood-curdling scream poured out of her mouth, a shrill ascending with her pain. Her eyes hurt, itched. Red and purple bolts flowed from her, tendrils arching through the wraith. Its grip slackened as it crumbled to the ground, writhing under the flowing plasma. It thrashed, convulsed, and shrieked.

  Stop this, she pleaded.

  It is only right to take his life, the dark voice soothed her.

  No, it isn’t, a part of her tried to appeal.

  Why shouldn’t you? What would you have me do, release him?

  Yes, this isn’t the way.

  If you release him, he is still a danger to you and others. He will try this again to someone else, maybe even you. The sheol will fulfill its orders and kill you. The other half of her consciousness agreed in silence. Kill him!

  “Fucking die!” Starriace screamed. Rage encouraged her to continue, the malice in her heart warned her not to stop; if given the chance, the monster would butcher her, and she had been prey long enough to her naive folly.

  The itch behind her eyes festered, smoldered, like the sharp, hot pain of immersing a hand in scalding water. The power wrenched free of her control, carrying her away, the agony rising to an unattainable crescendo. She sensed a pop buried beneath the pain, unnatural lightning, and screaming. Plasma gushed from her eyes, blinding her, her vision falling away. The whites of her eyes turned a brilliant red while the current circulated through the dying sheol.

  Her body hitched, the last of her energy depleted, the power faded in a sudden paroxysm. Where the heat once coursed through her, a hollow throb clung, her bones aching, an irritant akin to blistered skin. Without sanction, her knees buckled, and she tumbled to the ground next to the charred husk.

  Death was but a few breaths away. Now she understood why Fife thought she wasn’t ready for offensive magic.

  It drains you completely!

  HE IS NOT YOUR MASTER ANYMORE! the dark voice screamed.

  She lay there panting, blind, and frail. Movement pricked her ears—the creature stirred. It would be a race to see who would recover first and finish the other off.

  You know what must be done. Trust me to do it again.

  The memory of Fife fighting off the life drain flashed in her mind. Should she? It had been unintentional. But was it right? Moral? What would Judas say or do in this situation? Sheol were predators, subservient to none but one. She was dying and wanted to survive.

  Only the strong survive, and you are not strong.

  The sheol neared death, too. Pointless for both to perish.

  Do it!

  With a shaking arm, she stretched her palm toward the being, and a red glow swelled over her hand. The siphon enveloped the wraith. The last of the creature’s life-force leeched away and returned a trickle of vitality to Starriace. A handful of heartbeats later, the other no longer stirred.

  Emptiness filled her, sensing the creature’s end, but she buried the despair deep, not wanting to acknowledge what transpired, what she allowed herself to become.

  It was kill or be killed; there was no choice. I will never let that happen.

  With the declaration, her split consciousness was no more. Only one remained, the part of her that helped her survive. She prized the endgame: Xilor. She would be faced with the same choice soon enough: kill or be killed, survive or perish, enslavement or conquer.

  With decisive action she hadn’t known since entering the Corridor of Cruelty, she slipped on the ring and instantly pulled back to the temple in the City of Despair.