Chapter 87 The Trophy pt2
“Melt my armor!” I beg, digging my fingers into his arm as I desperately try to hang on.
His eyes flash with understanding. I feel my armor melt away, my daggers disappearing, the gems falling into the holsters as if no longer supported. My hairpins melt, my hair cascading down my back in a horrid tangle.
“You’re doing it!” I encourage him.
Slowly his armor melts as well, his dual swords disintegrating. With a final effort, Zaries hauls me up onto the narrow beam, his arms wrapping around me with a strength born of desperation and determination. His breath comes in ragged gasps, mingling with mine in the tense chaos that surrounds us. Pressing his head against mine, he holds me close as if shielding me from the tumultuous storm raging both outside and within.
Together, we cling to each other on the precarious ledge, our bodies trembling with exhaustion and relief. The air crackles with residual energy, the remnants of our dissolved armor swirling around us like a fleeting memory of protection sacrificed for survival.
“Close your eyes,” he orders, and I do.
Wind whistles around us, the sound of things zooming past me too fast pricking my ears.
“Whatever you do, don’t move, don’t open your eyes.” For some reason, I sense his lips twitching up. “Although, if you could call a whirlwind…”
I nod, pulling together the very last of my will. The zipping sounds past my ears become louder, faster, the wind I called ripping my hair wildly around my head.
The screeching wyvern start screaming. Thunking sounds of metal against flesh overpower the sound of everything else.
“Holy shit, it’s a sword tornado!” Sylvain cries.
Against my better judgment, I open my eyes and let out a cry of my own.
All around us, remnants of our armor have transformed into lethal slivers of spinning metal within the whirlwind. They streak through the air like deadly darts, impaling anything unfortunate enough to cross their path. The once protective shields and plates now serve as weapons in their own right. And the wyvern are their targets.
“You never listen,” Zaries says with a chuckle.
I look into his dark eyes, his arms finally around me again.
And kiss him. Hard.
Our lips collide with an intensity that matches the chaos surrounding us—the screeches of dying wyverns, the whirlwind of metal shards, and the adrenaline-fueled rush of survival.
For several breathless moments, our mouths move in sync, a desperate affirmation of life amidst the carnage. The world around us dissolves into insignificance, leaving only the sensation of Zaries’ warmth and the taste of his passion. His tongue dances against mine, fiery and insistent, while his hands grip me with a strength that anchors me in the midst of turmoil.
“They’re dead now!” Oberon shouts across the abyss.
As our kiss breaks, our powers drop at once.
What once was our armor and blades fall like slivers of discarded metal into the blackness below.
Zaries presses his head to mine once more and kisses me lightly before helping me to my feet.
The path is wide now, wide enough for us to walk side by side as we take the last several steps across the darkness. As we reach the others, I register that no one is wearing armor. Each of us in only our underclothes. All of us unarmed.
“I sincerely hope that was the end of the Gauntlet,” Oberon grouses, grabbing my hand and pulling me away from Zaries. He doesn't, however, pull me to his own chest.
Probably the smartest thing he’s ever done.
I brush my lips with my fingertips, the gloves I've been wearing now worn away at the fingers. The memory of the kiss still lingers there, and I know my skin is as flushed as his as we turn to face the light leading out of the passage.
We walk, rising steadily, toward the light.
I can feel the wind of freedom, the scent of rain and steam.
It’s over.
We made it.
We exit the cave and step foot into the mouth of the volcano. I recognize it, and as I look slowly over to Malachi, I know I’m right.
His eyes are glued to the other side of the massive lava pit, where an outcropping of rock boasts a dark red smear where Cinder once stood. Malachi’s lips peel back from his teeth, and he turns his hateful gaze on me.
He’s even uglier now, with the marks from the cat so fresh and raw, his missing eye a pit of blackness in his face. “I guess it’s my turn,” he snarls, curling his hands to fists at his side.
“Is that an egg?” Oberon mutters, pointing toward the center of the lava.
There, on a large boulder, is a nest.
At its heart lies a large, obsidian-black egg. Its surface shimmers faintly, catching the ambient light from the molten river below, casting an eerie reflection of fiery orange hues across the cavern walls.
“Thorne said there would be something at the end that would set us apart,” Sylvain whispers, her eyes on the egg filled with the desire to be finished with all this.
We all turn to it, each of us knowing this is the last challenge. Whoever gets that egg will be chosen by Thorne as a leader.
We all want the glory that will gift.
Not only a dragon slayer, but a captain. A slayer with power.
A slayer with authority.
A slayer who will command others in their quest to avenge Elysandra’s death.
Malachi lunges, leaping onto the lake of lava surrounding the egg and not stopping. With each step, the molten rock hisses and recoils, momentarily cooling under his weight, only to resume its restless churning the instant his foot lifts.
“You fucking shit!” I scream. “You could have gotten us past the first challenge, I can’t believe—”
“Fend for yourself, assholes!” he screams over his shoulder, grinning victoriously.
All eyes turn to me, everyone knowing in an instant that only two of us are capable of passing the lava.
Malachi.
And me.
I leap toward the lake of fire, watching what Malachi does and repeating it.
The first few steps burn my feet, seeming to melt my boots on contact. The initial agony almost overwhelms me, but with each step, a growing resolve steadies my stride.
I call upon my powers, every resource, everything I have.
I feel my mentor lend his strength, flooding me with power beyond anything I’ve ever felt.
The wind surges around me, propelling me faster across the molten expanse, leaving Malachi's enraged cries trailing behind. As I approach the nest on the large boulder, adrenaline pulses through my veins, sharpening my focus.
With a swift, sure motion, I scoop the large black egg into my arms, feeling its sharp scales digging against my skin
I lift it above my head.
Turning to face the others, I allow the elation and excitement and euphoria of every dream coming true to swallow me.
And scream in victory.