… Is this it? … he heard a voice say. Won’t you fight back?...

  How can I fight back? ... Tell me how, Pandora…

  By not giving up… don’t give up, Jerome. Don’t give in to the emotions it’s feeding you. The battles you’ve always fought were physical. Now it’s time to fight one that’s emotional, one of will power. Face your fears, Jerome. And win … face your fears. Remember all your victories … you are not just anyone, Jerome … you’re the Dark One … the Dark Lord.

  Pandora’s voice left him and he pondered her words. He was cold, tired, and hungry. It felt like he was mortal again, suffering like one. His consciousness floated inside all of the beast’s emotions, buried in a suffocating void of rage and bloodlust. He could feel everything the beast felt — its euphoria at being released at long last, its insatiable hunger for death. They were so powerful that they drowned out his own thoughts. His will to resist was a flickering ember against the inferno of the creature’s dominance.

  He tried to fight. He pushed against the immaterial walls of his own mind, screaming for control, clawing for a grip on his own body. But it was like grappling with a storm; the beast was a force of nature, unstoppable and unyielding. Through the haze of its rage, Jerome caught flickers of clarity. He saw Milena, her black hair matted with blood, her black leathers, torn and scorched. She fought valiantly, her dagger a blur of steel as she held her ground against him. Through the beast’s senses, he could perceive the Authority of her blade, a force even the beast dared not go close to.

  Milena’s face was twisted in rage and determination, determination to end him. The cries of the denizens of Alvion pierced the darkness, like a sliver of light cutting through the void to reach him. Jerome grasped at it, holding on with everything he had left. But the beast was relentless. It swatted his feeble attempts aside, roaring in contempt.

  His mind was drowned again. The snarls of the beast resounded all around him, its control tightening around him like a vice. Jerome’s vision blurred as its rage surged, consuming him once more. The flicker of hope he had felt was extinguished, replaced by the overwhelming tide of the beast’s fury.

  When he resurfaced, it was to the sight of Milena’s pulsating neck. The life-giving liquid hidden beneath the flesh beckoned him. He only needed to lean forward a bit, to pierce the skin with the protruding canines in his mouth, to enjoy the heavenly nectar present therein. But he fought, he fought with all his might. He felt Nyx calling out to him, felt the dragonkin’s words caressing his senses but heard nothing.

  An explosion of light and sound overpowered his senses and all went blank again.

  ~~~

  Time lost meaning. Jerome drifted in and out of consciousness, the battle fading into a distant hum. He floated in a sea of darkness, the weight of the beast’s emotions crushing him. He didn’t know how long he had been there. Hours? Days? It was impossible to tell. But in the depths of the void, a voice called to him.

  … Jerome …

  It was faint at first, like a whisper carried on the wind. But it grew stronger, more insistent.

  … Jerome, wake up …

  The voice was familiar, warm and steady. It was his own voice, but not the one consumed by fear and rage. It was the voice of the man he used to be. The voice of the man he wanted to be again.

  You can’t let it win, the voice said. This is your body, your soul. Take it back.

  Little by little, he rose, remembering every battle he had ever fought. He remembered his time in Pilgrim’s Keep. the battle with the Ice Saber. How it clawed into the back of his neck and how, with unnatural strength, he crushed its paw. The beast purred his approval but Jerome pushed it away. True that victory could only be attested to the strength of the beast.

  His mind went back to his battle with Hedon, then to their second battle in Terra Praeta where he made a fool of the Alvric. His battle with Muna was a powerful one and he had succeeded in defeating a being that was equal in power to a Sage, and maybe even more powerful. His confidence rose as he remembered his victories.

  You’re the one who won all those battles, the voice said. You broke into the First Heaven and undid the work of The Devourer of Men. you’re powerful, Jerome. Beyond what you may think of yourself. And it’s time to walk in the consciousness of that strength.

  Strength surged through Jerome’s spirit. Light glowed from within him, reminding him of the white light that glowed from within him during his time in the First Heaven.

  Ascended energy, he thought at first but concluded that it was the light of his soul. He could feel the bonds of the beast’s control, heavy and oppressive, but not unbreakable. He focused, channeling all his will into a single, powerful push. The darkness around him rippled and cracked. White blue light seeped through the fractures, blinding and pure. The beast turned on him, the oppressiveness of its presence suffocating. It roared in fury, its presence looming over Jerome like a towering shadow.

  It bellowed, its voice a clap of thunder that shook Jerome to his core. Jerome instinctively understood its intent: You are nothing without me! I am your strength! I am your power!

  “You’re a parasite!” Jerome retorted, his voice steady despite the tremors in his soul. “And I will not let you destroy everything I care about!”

  The beast lunged at him, a maelstrom of claws and fangs. But Jerome stood his ground. This was a mental plane. The beast could do little to harm him as it was a part of his soul. He reached deep within himself, drawing on memories of those he loved: Ms. Tara’s unwavering faith, the pride of his teammates, Ash’s laughter and innocence. These were his anchors, the ties that bound him to his humanity.

  The light within him blazed brighter, forcing the beast to recoil. With a final, desperate cry, Jerome surged forward, driving the creature back into the depths of his soul. The darkness shattered, and Jerome’s senses returned.

  ~~~

  The sounds of the forest filtered in gently, pulling Jerome from the depths of his slumber. The soft rustling of leaves, stirred by a lazy morning breeze, mixed with the distant chirping of birds greeting the day. The earthy scent of moss and damp soil filled his lungs as he took his first deep breath, his body aching with pain and soreness. He groaned, trying to turn away from the sunlight piercing through the canopy above in fragmented rays.

  His eyes fluttered open, causing him to blink against the harsh light of the sun. Jerome found himself lying on a cold rock in the forest. His body ached, every muscle screaming in protest. His body felt so heavy and unwilling to move. The metallic taste of blood lingered in his mouth, and his hands were stained red. Blood trailed out of the cuts and stab wounds he had suffered as he shifted to his side.

  The fabric of his long coat tore, and chunks of it fell off. At the back of his mind, he thought of how that shouldn’t be possible but was in too much pain to care at the moment. Its fabric was smeared with blood, streaks of dirt, and the ashen residue of soot that clung to him like a shroud.

  He groaned, trying to lift himself, but his wounds protested

  “Jerome?” Ash called out, sniffing away tears. “Are you awake?”

  “I’m sorry,” he muttered, lying back down. “I couldn’t hold it back, didn’t expect it to take over.”

  Someone caressed his blood-matted hair. “It’s okay,” Nyx said. “We should have stepped in the moment she came after you.”

  Jerome sighed. “It wouldn’t have mattered. The beast took me by surprise. It waited for the perfect moment to strike. That dagger Milena used, it’s just like Ivar’s blade. It was consuming the essence in my body at a rapid rate similar to those divine essence crystals the Church has.”

  Footsteps crunched in the soil, walking towards them. “We should move,” Sheela’s voice reached him. “They’ve sent out search parties.”

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  “Jerome?” Ms. Tara said. “Can you reach out to your stone dragon? It would be best to have it carry us north. And I hear you have to visit the Itakars.”

  He grunted again while sitting up and this time, ignored the pain. Why was there so much pain? He closed his eyes and reached into his mind for the connection to the golem dragon. It was still there, but the dragon was caged behind myriads of runes, it would be a chore to break it out of them.

  “It’s best to destroy the golem dragon and make a new one,” he said, raising his hand but pausing, said, “On second thought, I have no idea how long it’ll take to destroy the binding in it. It’s the same binding used to make Layla’s computation gem and I wouldn’t want them to see it, lest they do everything in their power to take” — Layla walked out from behind a tree, startling him.

  “I’m sorry, Jerome,” she said with unshed tears in her eyes. “If I could take back all my mother did, I would.”

  Jerome sighed. “It’s okay, Layla. I don’t blame you, and neither do I blame her. She was doing what she thought was best for her daughter.” He held her gaze for a few seconds and smiled lightly at her.

  “How are you feeling?” she asked.

  “Like shit, actually,” he said. “I don’t think my wounds are healing.” He reached out to stir the vital aura in the earth. Before long, green motes of light poured out of the ground and into him, relieving him of the pain a little.

  Layla shook her head. “The dagger that was used to give you those wounds is a Transcendent’s weapon.”

  “What?” Some of the other ladies said in shock.

  “I had my suspicions,” Jerome said. “Ivar also used the same kind against the Elite Judge.”

  She came closer and looked him over with concern in her eyes. “Jerome, these wounds are not meant to heal. They’ll bleed out until you die. The blade is ancient, I can’t even remember its name but it implies something like ‘The King’s Torture Blade’.”

  Jerome took off his coat and cuirass. He cleaned himself with water that Sheela conjured out of the air and observed his wounds. They truly weren’t healing. And with every tiny movement, they bled some more and caused him pain. “Does anyone know how to dress a wound?”

  They all shook their heads, except for Ms. Tara.

  “Really?” he asked, looking at Sheela and Layla. Layla most especially should have learnt something like this, being a spy in training and a physician for that matter.

  “We have our ways, Jerome,” she said, “and mortals have theirs.”

  Ms. Tara smiled at him. “There was not much we could use in the orphanage to treat you children when you came home bleeding, so we had to learn, and fast.”

  “I don’t think we can stay here for too long,” Jerome said. “We should find somewhere safe to do this.”

  “Achilleia has put up a barrier around us to block our aura,” Csala said from behind him. Jerome tried to turn around in his seated position to search her eyes but flinched in pain. She smiled at him and hugged him from behind. She whispered into his ear, “I’m sorry I ran away before. I had to deal with how I felt about you unexpectedly binding someone to yourself.”

  He held her arms close and breathed in her scent. “How many died?” he asked.

  No one spoke for a while. They couldn’t bring themselves to meet his eyes and he concluded that a lot of people must have died. Jerome sighed, his heart heavy with the weight of the deaths he had had a hand in delivering.

  “Three hundred and twenty-one dead, thousands injured, and property worth hundreds of thousands of mids destroyed — or at least, that’s what the reports say,” Achilles said, sounding very remorseful.

  This isn’t your fault, Achilleia.

  “This is no fault of yours, Jerome,” Nyx said as well, all cold and calculative. “But we need to get your wounds closed. When you’re done cuddling each other, get on with it, please.”

  Jerome sighed before releasing Csala. Over the next few minutes, he gave them orders on what to do. With Achilleia’s help, he provided them with a white sheet which they tore up into long, large strips to help dress his wounds. He had no iodine or alcohol to disinfect the wound. Even looking around he found no honeycomb. His next option was the water from the pool of Irithiya. It had magical purifying properties and could disinfect physical injuries as well.

  With careful movements so as not to irritate his wounds further, Ms. Tara helped him place one of her pots over each wound one at a time. With Achilleia’s help, she was able to relax the seal on the wooden pot, letting gravity take hold of the water inside. That way, they were able to disinfect his wounds. Ms. Tara helped him apply pressure with folded pieces and then she dressed the wounds next, winding the strips of white cloth around him in layers until everything was held firmly together.

  “I’d need to replace those strips from time to time,” she said.

  He nodded and tried to stand. His head swooned and he had to sit down again. They helped him to his feet but he wanted to get on a knee to place his hand in the dirt.

  “I need to make another golem dragon to transport us,” he said with a grunt.

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea, Jerome,” Nyx said. “You’ll put more strain on your wounds. And don’t think we’ve not noticed that you’re not wielding essence yourself.”

  “Yes, Xerae,” Achilleia said for them all to hear. “And besides, the weapon you were stabbed with was crafted using Authority. We don’t know all the effects those wounds might have on you if you tried to cast.”

  “Let me try first, will you?” he said. He placed a hand on the ground and activated his ring. Pain followed next. The freshly dressed wounds poured out blood and Jerome screamed in pain. He crumpled to the ground, weak and drained of all energy.

  “Jerome!” the ladies called out in worry. They gathered around him and Nyx helped to turn him on his back.

  “I’m okay,” he ground out.

  “You’re bleeding profusely; you’re anything but okay!” she snapped. “Tara, redress his wounds. I’ll get us out of here.”

  “Got it.” Ms. Tara went through the process of redressing his wounds again. When she was done, she leaned his body against the rock he had been lying on.

  “You all might need to move back,” Nyx said.

  Jerome chuckled. “You should do as she says.”

  Everyone gathered around the rock in confusion. Csala looked scared and stayed close to Jerome. She was the only one who had an idea what was about to happen.

  “I can smell your fear, Csala, what’s about to happen?” Sheela asked her but she shushed the beautiful Shifter. They all focused on Nyx, whose aura was beginning to climb. It soon turned predatory and with an intake of breath she shifted.

  Her black gown seemed to melt around her as her body expanded. Obsidian-colored scales as large as his head rippled out of her skin and within two seconds, a gigantic dragon stood on all fours before them, blocking out the rays of the sun. She towered over the treetops and would most likely be seen by others from afar.

  The forest went deathly still in an instant.

  “Aaaaahh!!!” Ash said in a tiny voice, breaking the uncomfortable silence that had suffocated the atmosphere. So much awe was evident in her open-mouthed expression and her eyes were gleaming with excitement as she beheld the black dragon before them.

  “Don’t get used to it,” Nyx said in a more predatory, yet feminine voice. She turned her predatory gaze on them and the Sprouts among them gulped audibly, backing away in fear. “I’ll only do this until Jerome heals.”

  “You’re huge…” Ash said in awe once again, unafraid that she was in front of an apex predator. “Bigger than the one you came in!”

  “Help me up,” Jerome said in pain. “Before we go, I need to clear out my work—”

  “Already done, Xerae,” Achilleia said for all to hear.

  Nyx raised her long, thick, powerful tail and the air moved under the weight of her power. She flicked the spade tip toward Jerome and the wind stirred, picked him up and kept him hovering in the air. She went down and lowered her left wing for the rest of them to climb onto her back.

  Uhm, Nyx? He called to her through their bond. How have you been cycling all this while? There’s no darkness to draw from here. And the ring doesn’t have a drop of it in it.

  She snorted. Do I look like a Blank who can’t go a day without cycling? It’ll take years for me to ‘need’ to cycle. But even still, Pandora provides what I need. Thanks by the way, for giving her a name… for giving me a name.

  And of course, she’s spoken with you, he said sarcastically.

  If you weren’t so lame right now, I’d hit you on the head. I kind of miss that, now that I think of it.

  Okay, that was reason enough to stop the banter.

  “Very well,” he turned to Layla. “You should return to the city. You can’t be on the run with me.”

  “I’m not going anywhere, Jerome,” she said. “I’m a part of your team.”

  “I’ve searched her for anything that could be used to track her,” Achilleia said to him through their bond. “She was very thorough in getting rid of them.”

  “Then we will head to Iss Valor, the City of the Frozen North.”

  “No!” Nyx said, her voice coming with so much force that it shook the trees and branches around them. Leaves rustled in the wind and an ominous aura enveloped them. Jerome felt it in his bones. “We head to the Northern Mountains. You need to take care of yourself first.”

  “But…” He wanted to argue but she glared at him. Jerome looked away in frustration. She wasn’t going to take no for an answer. “Very well. To the Northern Mountains.”

  They all climbed onto Nyx’s back. She floated him to sit between her scales.

  “Hold on tight everyone,” Nyx said. “I’m about to take off.”

  She raised her wings and spread them majestically. The wingspan was unthinkable, covering everything in the forest below them. Jerome was reminded of how incredibly beautiful she looked as a dragon once again. Even his other teammates gasped in awe as they watched her wings rise into the air.

  She flapped once and the force raised a fierce wind that supported her push. They were in the air the next moment, flying north.

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