Chapter 232 Rot Controlled

Chapter 232 Rot Controlled
We left the ruined Imperial garrison behind us, leaving the melted iron gates and the dissolved remains of General Draven’s vanguard as a dark, rotting monument in the dust. The dry, howling wind pushed against our backs, driving us straight toward the southern border of the dead lands.

I walked at the very front of the column.

I wore a pair of heavy boots Klaus had fashioned for me during the night. He had stripped the thick, cured leather from the discarded saddles of the Imperial warhorses and bound it over multiple layers of clean linen. They were stiff and awkward, but they protected my healing, blistered heels from the sharp edges of the cracked earth.

More importantly, they were entirely clean.

I was not leaving a trail of black, hissing sludge in my wake. The pale grey powder beneath my heels remained grey.

I kept my hands curled into tight fists at my sides. The dark magic, the toxic rot that used to leak freely from my skin, was pulled deep into the center of my chest. I held it there, coiled tight like a heavy, freezing spring. It took a massive amount of physical focus. My jaw ached from clenching my teeth. A cold sweat gathered at the nape of my neck, sliding down my spine despite the freezing chill of the wasteland air.

"You are locking your knees," Klaus said.

He walked less than a foot to my right. His broad, heavily scarred chest broke the worst of the crosswinds. He wore a heavy, dark wool cloak scavenged from the garrison stores, leaving the front open. His bright sapphire eyes tracked my rigid movements, reading the deep, tearing strain in my posture.

"If I relax my muscles, I lose my grip on it," I answered, keeping my voice low. "If I lose my grip, I melt these boots into the dirt."

"You are treating the magic like a wild beast you have to wrestle into a cage," Klaus murmured. His deep voice was a calm, steady vibration in the cold air. "The cage will eventually break, Nerissa. You cannot just hold the pressure inside your veins forever. It will tear your heart apart."

"I am not going to poison my own army," I shot back, a flash of defensive heat rising in my throat. I did not look back, but I could hear the heavy, rhythmic steps of the Outcast warriors marching behind us. Riven led the first rank, his cracked bone spear replaced by a solid steel halberd taken from the dead soldiers.

"You are not going to poison them," Klaus agreed smoothly. He reached out, his large, calloused fingers wrapping firmly around my upper arm. "Stop walking."

I halted immediately. The entire column of Outcast refugees behind us stopped a second later, the sudden silence heavy and thick.

Klaus turned to face the vast, empty expanse of the basin to our left. About fifty yards away, a massive slab of dark, petrified rock jutted from the flat ash, standing alone in the grey dirt like a broken tooth.

"Riven," Klaus called out, his voice sharp and carrying clear authority. "Hold the line here. Let them rest their feet."

I looked up at Klaus's sharp, bruised face. "What are we doing?"

"We are going to bleed the pressure," Klaus told me. He did not let go of my arm. He guided me away from the resting hybrids, walking me directly toward the isolated slab of petrified rock.

The wind whipped my dark, tangled hair across my eyes. My chest heaved. The freezing, heavy weight of the rot inside my ribs throbbed, eager to escape, pressing against the mental dam I had built to contain it.

We stopped five feet from the massive stone.

"The Emperor taught you that your magic was a leak," Klaus said, standing directly behind me. The heat radiating from his massive body soaked into my shivering shoulders. "He taught you it was a disease that just happened to you. But in the courtyard, when you melted the statue, you pushed it outward on command."

"I was angry," I whispered, staring at the grey rock. "I just wanted to break it."

"Then learn how to be angry with precision," Klaus ordered.

He stepped closer, closing the final inch of space between us. His broad chest pressed flush against my back. He reached around my waist with his left arm, anchoring my hips tightly against him. He raised his right hand, covering my trembling right hand with his hot, rough palm.

He lifted my arm, pointing my hand directly at the center of the petrified stone slab.

"Do not just let it spill into the dirt," Klaus murmured. His breath fanned hot across my ear, sending a sharp, grounding shiver straight down my spine. "You are not a broken cup, Nerissa. You are a weapon. Aim it."

I stared at the rock. I closed my eyes, focusing entirely on the freezing, toxic weight coiled in my chest.

I took a slow, deep breath, pulling the cold air into my lungs. I stopped fighting the magic. I stopped trying to crush it into a tiny, hidden corner of my body. Instead, I grabbed hold of it. I channeled the dark, heavy energy down through my shoulder, past my elbow, and into my right palm.

I opened my eyes. I pushed the rot forward.

The magic snapped out of my hand like a physical strike. I did not touch the stone. I threw the decay across the five feet of open air.

A thick, violent streak of black sludge hit the center of the petrified rock. The stone shrieked, a deafening, wet hiss tearing through the wind. The black decay did not spread wildly into a messy puddle. It bored directly into the rock, eating a perfectly round, hissing hole straight through the dense center of the slab.

I gasped, my fingers curling inward. I cut the flow of magic off instantly.

The hissing stopped. The black rot smoked faintly in the cold air. The massive stone remained standing, but a dark, hollow tunnel was carved entirely through its thickest point.

"Look at that," Klaus breathed, his grip tightening proudly around my waist. "You did not poison the ash. You hit exactly what you wanted to hit."

My heart hammered a frantic, heavy rhythm against my ribs. The crushing, exhausted tension in my muscles vanished completely. The freezing weight in my chest was gone, replaced by a dark, intoxicating rush of pure power. I was not leaking. I had fired a bullet of pure decay.

"I threw it," I whispered, my voice shaking with sudden, intense clarity.

"You are a sniper," Klaus corrected, his lips brushing against my temple. He lowered my arm, his large hand sliding down to interlace his thick fingers with mine. "The magic is yours. It serves you. It does not control you."