Obliteration

by Zoe Parker

  He’s also not the only Feyrie there and what pisses her off the most is that they aren’t prisoners. They’re traitors. She’s already got it in her head that any Feyrie not in chains or looking starved to death is going to die. Rather bloodthirsty of her, but in this case a necessary thing. I have no doubt that the innocent ones will be obvious to spot. With or without Magiks.

  At the edge of town, Iza motions for me to stop and hops out of the truck. She disappears into the woods. Parking at the side of the road, I leave the keys in the ignition and head around the opposite direction from her. We’ll meet in the middle and go in together.

  ‘These ones are much more prepared than I expected. The place is crawling with mages. Have you seen any Feyrie yet? I can feel them but I haven’t spotted any.’

  As she asks a small group of people come into view. Silently, I creep closer to them, letting my shadows brush against the shield protecting them. This one will take a little finesse to get into without sounding the alarm. Not only has it been cast in triplicate but they’re actively keeping it up. Blood Locks are using Light Magiks to feed the power needed to maintain it. That’s where some of the Feyrie will be, and I tell her so.

  ‘They’re using Feyrie as batteries.’ Her anger washes over me and I catch myself smiling. No harm in riling her up before we go in. It’ll only make her hit them harder. The added bonus is, I like it when she hits hard.

  As I stand there, hidden by the shadows of the tree, their conversation reaches my sensitive ears.

  “They’re saying that bitch hit the West camps. Do you think she’s heading here?” Rickher asks the overweight Feyrie sitting beside him. Rickher I know, so I ignore him for the moment and focus on the Feyrie. He’s short, heavy, and looks as if he hasn’t bathed in a few weeks. His clothes are as fine as any other Aristo I’ve seen but are ill fitting and stained.

  His dark hair is long and stringy, tied with a large, green bow.

  ‘He looks like a Christmas ornament. One that’s wallowed in sweat and dogshit a few times.’ Iza says from close by.

  ‘This is the one you’re looking for?’

  ‘Yes. I don’t need to let the Magiks touch him to know. I can tell by looking at him. He’s comfortable with them, friendly. While the two Feyrie kneeling at his feet look like they haven’t eaten in a month and have their heads shaved.’ The anger in her voice has an almost aphrodisiac effect on me. This side of her will always draw me in and there’s no shame in it. ‘People like him piss me off. I think I might strangle him with his hair bow. It’s big enough.’

  He will be her first target. Her intent is like static electricity through our bond. I can feel her fidgeting and itching to get in there.

  I shall oblige her.

  With surgical precision, I push my shadows into the weakest spot of the shield in front of me. Carefully, I tear pieces out, waiting several seconds in between to confirm no one is onto us. Within a few minutes I have a hole big enough for both of us to get in.

  The group in front of us are sitting in the backyard of what was once someone’s home. There are discarded toys in the backyard, and blood on the patio beneath Rickher’s feet. The smell of decay and filth leak out of the hole I created.

  No one in that house is alive anymore. At least, no one that called it home.

  Iza creeps up beside me and after shocking me by running her hand down my arm, darts through the hole. Regaining my composure, I quickly follow. Their screams begin before my entire body is even through the hole. I look up to see Iza fling Rickher across the yard into the fence, that crumples beneath his weight. Turning immediately to the traitorous Feyrie, she stalks towards him.

  Turning to the traitorous Feyrie, she stalks towards him, deadly a thundercloud in her eyes. The Feyrie scrambles upright, fear leaking through his pores in patches of sweat that soak through his fancy clothes. He trips over his own feet in the haste to get away from her, and instead falls backwards. Tangled up in the chair he landed on, he fights to right himself but the blood on the floor from his previous victim prevents him. Breathing heavily, he lays there, watching death approach him. Iza climbs over his prone, shaking form and perches on his ample stomach to look down into his purpled face. A wide, toothy smile splits her lips and the genuine glee in it makes the Feyrie wet himself.

  “Hello, Damon. You don’t know me, but I know you—very well. There was this little girl in a van that introduced us. Do you remember her?” He shakes his head fervently. “No? Let me remind you.” Her dagger appears in her hand and she stabs down into his right shoulder. Pulling it out, she stabs again in his right side—then again in his chest. Placing her palm on the handle of the knife she leans some of her weight on it, twisting it as it sinks slowly deeper into his body.

  “Now do you remember?” He screams incoherently. “You raped her then stabbed her to death before cutting her up and trading her body parts to Blood Locks for a few hundred human dollars.” She smiles and puts her face closer to his. “Do you want to know what I’m going to do with your body parts?”

  The screech of something large in the house draws her attention.

  ‘He has a drake caged in there.’ Although technically Feyrie, drakes are more animal than most others. To explain them in human terms, it’s like a tiger with the IQ of a child. They’re smart, deadly and rare. I’m not sure how the Feyrie—Damon, got one but it must have cost a lot of lives in trade.

  She hits the knife with her fist and pins him to the ground with it before standing up and walking into the house. Minutes later she comes back out with an emaciated drake trailing behind her. She’s an adolescent in drake years and probably an orphan too. To get to the babies you have to kill the adults. If Iza wanted a pet, this would be a perfect one for her.

  The drake gives me an interested look but when Damon cries out, her green eyes zero in on him. Her emerald scales glint dully in the sunlight as she creeps towards him, her mouth open in anticipation of a meal.

  “Hey, good news Damon. I figured out what I’m going to do with your body parts,” Iza says, smiling viciously as she crosses back over to him and rests her foot on his chest. “They’re going to give your little friend here enough energy to get someplace safe. Doesn’t that sound awesome?”

  Damon starts to sob and beg, making wild promises and excuses; predictably, it falls on deaf ears.

  Rickher starts to stir at the broken fence, drawing Iza's attention.Looking at the malnourished drake, Iza smiles and nods towards Damon encouragingly, and then dismisses both of them from her mind as she walks towards the Schoth who went out of his way to hurt her. The drake doesn’t hesitate; lunging straight for Damon’s face, she cuts off his scream before it can reach full volume, filling the air with the wet sounds of flesh being torn from bone.

  No one has come to check the noise yet, they’re normal sounds for Schoth—they probably believe it’s one of the Feyrie cowering against the back of the house. As much as I want to watch her be the monster she is, there are other Schoth here requiring my attention. I’m going to let her have uninterrupted fun. I can deal with the closest lot while she’s dealing with Rickher.

  12

  For all the bluster and bravado he showed while I was a prisoner, he ain’t showing any of it now. This is the third time I’ve made him cry like a baby—with only a slap. It didn’t start getting good until I broke a finger, then he started yelling every slur and name he could come up with at me. I’m a lame brained boggart turd, with the face of a troll’s ass. I also have a cunt like a dried up mud hole. I genuinely laugh at that one, not the least offended. He did try to get into that mud hole if memory serves me right.

  When I break a second finger he starts begging for mercy, praying to a god that isn’t caring enough to listen. The thumb is the kicker; that’s when he starts spilling secrets. Not that I needed him to talk, in this case. Phobe can get in his head a lot easier than this. I just like breaking his body parts. When he starts going on and on about Arick I get a bit bored. Poor R
ickher doesn’t know his hero is dead.

  I can’t leave him in suspense like that. “Phobe ate Arick about four hours ago. After he cried a lot and shit his pants.” Rickher’s eyes widen, and I think for the first time he realizes how alone he is with me. “Aww, were you two boyfriends? That’s so cute. I had no idea you liked taking it in the—”

  Chills skitter across my skin. Ducking to the side, I barely avoid the fireball that breezes by me. If I’d stayed still, it’d have hit me in the back of the head. That’s what I get for standing there running my mouth instead of killing him and being done with it.

  Fun’s over.

  Rolling to the side and jumping to my feet, I nearly cleave Rickher’s head off in one blow. The drake, interrupted from her meal, screeches at the two male mages that are preparing to hurl more fire at me. I catch the glow of an amulet on their necks. Shit, two of them. The fiends make their grand entrance but are stopped a few feet from the mages. Roaring in frustration they tell me that they can’t get through the shields.

  I tell them to stop beating themselves uselessly against it, and watch them fade away with a clenched jaw. These two mages are going to be troublesome for me. At least twice as strong as the others—maybe even more. Elemental golems spring to life around me, closing in on me in a circle. There are times when I’m full of bluster; this isn’t one of them.

  Phobe is coming, I can feel him like a bad storm heading towards us, fast. Except, he can’t touch these two until I get those godsdamn amulets off them. Both daggers form and lengthen into swords. “Fuck it,” I grumble under my breath and run at them.

  I know its a mistake the minute I get close to them and the one, the Schoth dressed in all white, smiles. The fireball catches me in the chest and sends me back into the same position that Rickher was in not too long ago—except still conscious. Groaning, I climb to my feet. Man, that shit hurts.

  The drake starts to rush them but I call out to her. She’s barely more than a baby and they’ll kill her, I know it. She growls at me and then turns and runs, doing exactly what I wanted her to do.

  Physically shaking myself, I turn to face the mages. Hardening my resolve I plan my steps carefully.

  Okay, time to start the party—Feyrie style.

  Somehow, I’m on the ground again. I’ve spent a lot of time on the ground in my life, usually bleeding—but this is different. My insides feel like they’re on fire, it’s so bad that the Sidhe is getting injured through me. Thankfully, this won’t kill it though; it will take a lot more than two suped up mages to destroy something as old as it is. Honestly, I’m not even sure someone like Phobe or his not-brothers would even be able to do it. The Sidhe is that ancient.

  ‘Iza, lure them into the field and keep some distance between you.’

  ‘I get the distance thing but why do I feel intent from you?’ He’s up to something, I swear. I don’t know what—wait. ‘Phobe I know you can destroy the amulets when I get them off, but what happens if you get hit by one while they’re wearing them?” I know other than using someone else to hit someone—like he did with the Guide for the first time—he can’t touch the user directly. Throwing dead bodies was good one time, can’t count it on it working again.

  ‘When I destroy them, it weakens me… temporarily.’ Weakens? Shit, why the hell didn’t he says that? That’s not good at all, and it's the last thing we need right now. In fact, we need the opposite—he needs to be stronger. So strong that he can take on that psycho, Light. But with these amulets, we don’t have any other choice. I don’t like it but Phobe will have to take the hits from it. Unlike me, he can survive them indefinitely.

  Slowly but surely, I lead them to the field behind the house.

  Dodging another fireball I manage to get my hands on one of the chains holding the amulet around the neck of the one dressed in jeans and a button up shirt. The Light Magiks instantly set my hand on fire; still I pull until it snaps from around his neck and falls to the ground. Scooping it off the ground I throw it behind me, confident that Phobe will snag it. It has to be destroyed, we can’t leave it loose.

  Sorry about the pain, Phobe.

  As I dodge another attack, I shake my hand to try and get the pain to lessen. This time around I didn’t even bother with the fiend armor; the Magiks go through it, and the energy it requires to maintain it isn’t worth it. The wounds aren’t healing correctly and burns are my least favorite injury. Phobe comes out of nowhere and tackles the man in jeans, rolling them both across the ground. When Phobe is once again on his feet, the mage is gone. He has the audacity to smile at me and the distraction of his grin costs me; there’s no way I’ll move fast enough to avoid the Magikal lightning net spinning towards me.

  Still I try. Running for all I’m worth I almost make it out of range when the end of it catches me, and the entire thing wraps around me like I’m the catch of the day. Yelling, I stumble and fall, trying in vain to fight my way out of it. The smell of burnt skin fills the air as I roll around on the ground trying to shake it off. Like any spell, unless it’s constantly fed it will dissipate, but the damage this one can do to me before it does—I might be seeing dad sooner than expected.

  Strong arms lift me and the net is ripped from my body, tearing clothing and skin with it. The relief of the searing pain is immediate and I send out a prayer to Phobe. Staggering, I barely remain standing—if not for Phobe supporting me, I’d be on my face again. Maybe for a while this time. I look up at him and watch him fling the dissolving net away and then turn to look at the mage. His mouth is gaping open and another fireball is sitting, unthrown, in his hand.

  Ha, he wasn’t expecting anyone to be able to remove the spell.

  “I can’t take another hit like that,” I whisper. “Why couldn’t you eat that?”

  “I can’t absorb someone actively using his power like I can other Light Magiks.” Blue blood drips down his hand onto the ground and the wounds that are normally gone in seconds still remain.

  This is his kryptonite too.

  “We’re fucked, aren’t we?” I see the future of fighting this war and if a dozen mages had more power than these two, I won’t survive. Phobe won’t either, at least not in this persona.

  His burning eyes turn towards me and he leans down and gently kisses my mouth before moving his head further down to sink his teeth, lightning fast, into my shoulder. I hiss out in pleasure/pain and let him draw from me. He doesn’t need to do it this way, and that makes me think this is all for show. Holding the gaze of the mage slowly gathering his composure, and moving towards us, I push everything I have left into Phobe. Black spots tinge my vision and breathing is hard, but I’ll live. More importantly, it should give Phobe enough juice to knock the shit out of that asshole.

  The second his teeth leave my skin and he’s moving across the field, I fall backwards onto my butt, hard. Phobe goes right up to him and grabs the amulet; even at this distance I see the grimace tightening his lips. He rips at the amulet so viciously, he takes the mages head off with it. Turning towards me, he takes a step and almost falls. Whoa, he wasn’t kidding about the weakened thing.

  Climbing to my feet, I stand still until the dizziness passes and then slowly walk towards him. Eyes on me, he meets me in the middle and we stand there, both of us breathing heavy, both of us bleeding.

  “There has to be another way,” I say, fascinated by the wounds on his arms. They’re starting to close, but for him it’s super slow. Yanking my gaze off his arms, I meet his eyes. Despite the circumstances, there’s a light of amusement in them.

  “My Magiks can’t feed readily on this perversion of Magiks like it can others. Light’s Magiks are the direct opposite of mine, more pure than anything a Light Fey possess. When he gives it to them—even this tiny bit—and I feed upon it, mine has to fight against it and dominate it in order to absorb it. That takes time and energy. While that’s happening I have what you’d call a hangover.”

  “So you need a nap and some antacids. What else will he
lp?”

  “A way to burn some of the excess off.” His smile stretches his face and those dimples peek out at me. Phobe has a multitude of weapons at his disposal and that smile is one of them.

  Licking my lips, I take a deep, shaky breath. I’m tempted to offer sex. I want it, he wants it—the light in his eyes tells me that much. Unfortunately, I don’t think I’m in the best condition for it, but I will be soon enough. After I eat and take a long nap.

  Seeing everything as it is makes me feel stupid for holding out for something that’s right in my face. Sure, he’s not the exact man he was—but he’s still him. I’ve held myself back and suffered for no other reason than I wanted what was, instead of what is.

  Sometimes I’m the biggest pain in the ass to myself.

  His lips part and his eyes widen. Oh, he’s in my head. Any shields I’m trying to retain to keep him out drop. There’s no point in them anymore, not from him. The time of secrets is at an end.

  “I think it’s time we put everything on the table, yeah?” I suggest. He nods and rests his forehead against mine.

  “As much as it pisses me off to say it, I can’t stand against my brother as I am, Iza.” Raising my tired arms I cup his face, and look into his eyes.

  “I know.” He sighs and turns his head to kiss the palm of my hand. “We can run, take the Feyrie and go someplace else,” I suggest. I’m not entirely sure whether I mean it or not.

  “Will you condemn this world—that you’ve grown so fond of—to Schoth subjugation?” No, I won’t and that’s why he’s being the voice of reason and forcing me to face it.

  “What else can we do?” It’s my nature to fight, I’ve never been one to give up, but this isn’t only about me. There are people I care about whose lives are at stake. We can take out small outposts like this, if there aren’t too many amulet wearing assholes, but an army? It doesn’t matter how strong we all are, including Phobe—we’ll lose, and everyone will die.