Chapter 16

Alastair replayed the final moment in his mind, taking delight in how the life had drained out of the man’s eyes. He could see the cords of pure violet light wrapping around the man’s body like two eager snakes, constricting the man tighter and tighter until he was struggling for air, his face nearing the hue of the glow given off by the spell. He could hear the bones in the man’s chest groaning and snapping under the pressure, hear the final wheezing breaths the man would take before falling silent, his head dropping against his chest, his hair falling to cover his face.

But more than anything, he could feel the rush as he snapped his fingers in an instant, watching how the man’s body erupted into vicious lavender flames that licked at every orifice as his flesh shriveled, his body curling into itself from the lack of moisture. The fire consumed him, it was hungry- and O’Leary was more than happy to feed it.

He had stumbled upon the man by chance entirely while making his way to the town where the festival would take place. The man was seemingly doing the same, but hesitated when they crossed paths and asked for directions. He seemed like a chipper lad, but O’Leary could sense something darker in him, reminding him of himself. In fact, he could feel the darkness in his own soul writhing to be released, pulsing underneath his skin and wriggling into his heart, pushing forward their own ideas into his mind.

Alastair had simply smiled, tilting his head quietly, taking the man into his mind as he listened to him talk, the sound grating and irritating on his ears. He shook his head as if to clear his mind, and then stepped forward. Without raising a hand, he muttered a single word underneath his breath. “Rapta.” Bind.

Violet cords shot out of the ground, twisting up the man’s body faster than he could react. The look in his eyes was that of a caged animal as he struggled against the bindings, but it was no use. He was held tight. He choked out a single word before he the ropes wound themselves around his throat- “Vandus.” Curse.

Slightly shaken, O’Leary took a step backwards, his fists tightening into balls. Who was this man, and how did he know the language of magic? In his whole life, he had only encountered a few individuals who knew how to use the words like he had. He gritted his teeth, only hesitating for a moment before finishing the man’s life.

“Cremo.” Burn.

Even now, as O’Leary soared on midnight wings towards the town that lay ahead, he was still radiating that feeling, floating on that high that came from killing. He hadn’t claimed another life in quite some time, not since that one jackass who decided that it was his job to try to find out the secrets of the Empyrium. Alastair had caught him, of course, and while the man tried to reason with him, his temper got the best of him. He still remembered the hysteria he felt as he pulled the man’s soul out of his body, the light swirling and shimmering with every color of the rainbow. “Encapto,” he muttered, grabbing onto the soul, only to find it slipping through his fingers like mist. Capture.

He forced the energy apart with the push of a breath, driving it to form into orbs in spite. He shaped them one by one, watching as they glowed with each individual shade, every color imaginable and more. When he was done, he straightened and willed the orbs to life. They rose from the ground, levitating in front of him, and began to surround him in a maelstrom of light.

He smiled wickedly and grabbed a lone creature in his hand as it lagged behind the others, staring into his own reflection in the shimmering surface. If he concentrated, he thought he could see his face morph into that of the man who he had just killed- the man who lay on the floor in front of him, looking small and empty and utterly devoid of life. He would have to clean up the body later, he thought.

For now, he would have to be content with the knowledge that the man who had tried to spy on him would be punished for eternity, spying for O’Leary instead. Waving his hand, he turned, watching as the orbs flew him down the stairs into his private workspace. He slammed the trapdoor behind them, snickering with mirth. That’s what a wicked man deserves.

O’Leary could feel his pulse racing even now as he thought about the dozens of other murders he had committed over the years, all stemming back to that first explosion, the fire that incinerated everything within a twenty foot radius, leaving the doctors that had delivered the terrible news reduced to nothing but a pile of ash. He had pushed the feelings aside at first, but he remembered something stirring inside of him that day, awakening, growing stronger with every life he claimed since.

One more life and it would be ready. One more life and it would emerge. One more life and he could have everything he dreamed of.

One more life- and he knew exactly whose it would be.