Author's note: It has been a while, right? I've received quite a few messages regarding the finishing of this story. There is a lot happening in my life right now, but I AM going to finish this. Thank you so much for your support! Keep it coming! Also, please remember to comment and vote. :-)
Secrets and Magic: Chapter 4 -- Enemies and Resolutions
Aden was tired. Whatever kind of slumber he'd been in had drained him of everything. Waking up had been sudden, as if someone had walked in and doused him with cold water. One second he was unconscious and the next he just... wasn't. As soon as he gathered his wits about him, it was clear something was wrong. His door was sealed shut; something Merced would only do under the direst of circumstances. Before he thought about it, he was up and out of bed prepared to fight off anyone who would dare threaten him and those placed under his protection. Without bothering to unseal the door, he merely blew through it. A few steps and the scene that greeted his eyes had his warrior-side seeing red. Merced's limp form was lying in rubble and Jack was being manhandled by someone he hadn't seen in a long time. Zechariah Stone. Without hesitation he sent the man flying. Fury filled every pore of his body and he seethed as it grew. This man would dare enter his home by force, attack his bodyguard, and put his hands on the woman he — Aden stopped his train of thought as Zechariah got to his feet. "I see my information was wrong, unless..." Zechariah straightened his robe and rested his black eyes on Jack, "she healed you." He brought his gaze back to Aden, maintaining his air of neutrality though nothing was going according to plan. It hit Aden then. She had healed him. He was walking, without pain, and without the slightest bit of protest from his muscles. He was beyond pleased and a little surprised, but wouldn't allow himself to feel anything more than that. Not until the current situation was dealt with. He chanced a glance at Jack and found her watching him with wide eyes. She was breathing rapidly and shaking slightly. Something was wrong with her. Settling his attention on Zechariah once more, his eyes narrowed. What had he done to her?
"So this is your politics at work, Zechariah? Intrigue? Assassination? You would have us battling in the streets like animals?" Aden asked with a deceptive calm. The man had been a thorn in the side of the throne for years and now he knew him to be responsible for everything: the unrest, the fighting and ultimately... his injury.
"You misunderstand, my Prince," the use of his title sounded more like an insult, "I would have us breach the very limits of what we thought possible."
"Your eyes show you to be half way there. Dark Magic asks a lot of its user, does it not?"
Zechariah smiled, "A small consequence for less than favorable actions."
"Just how far have you gone?" Something in Aden clenched.
A wrinkled appeared in Zechariah's brow as he feigned concentration. Then, as if sudden inspiration struck, he responded. "Do you know what makes the perfect exchange? Living human tissue." As if what he said was perfectly normal, Zechariah went on, the pride evident in his voice, "Animals work, but they're not equal so the power is not as potent. We started small at first -- a finger, a toe -- small steps on a long journey. And if the person had Magic of their own, well, the ecstasy was unbelievable... addictive."
Shards of ice pricked his spine, but Aden kept a tight lid on his emotions. What Zechariah was doing went past forbidden. This was why studies from home were always inconclusive. The residual Magic was too dark for anyone to recognize it for what it was.
Human sacrifice
. "I will put an end to you and your Shadow Mages. The kingdom will not fall prey to a bunch of monsters."
Zechariah laughed, "Monsters, indeed. You'd be surprised at the numbers who agree with me," his lifeless eyes narrowed in a shrewd glance, "Perhaps your blind faith in loyalty to the crown is misplaced. Those killed during the fighting were no strangers. They were
your subjects
."
"And as duty demanded, they were brought to justice -- as will anyone found willfully violating our laws."
"Ah, spoken like a true leader," Zechariah studied Aden a moment, "I imagined our meeting going much differently, you know, but I suppose improvising never hurt anyone."
Aden drew himself up, heightening his guard, "What are you talking about?"
With almost imperceptible movement, Zechariah formed a sphere with his hands then hooked his thumbs together. A string of unintelligible words sprang from his lips and thick plumes of black smoke billowed from his fingertips. Aden reacted immediately by conjuring a shield, but it did no good. The scent of rotting flesh filled the room, nearly turning his stomach. Cracks began to form in his defense and before his very eyes the protection shattered. Foul tendrils forced their way into his nose and throat, burning and choking him. Alarm flashed on his face as his hands helplessly grasped at his neck. He coughed. Once. Twice. This did nothing to dislodge the obstruction. It began to pulse and pull at the power flowing through him, attempting to bend it to its will. He staggered as the edges of the world turned black. Jack screamed as he fell and Zechariah stood a silent witness not bothering to hide the immense pleasure on his face.
He was going to die.
Aden closed his eyes and fought to gather the last of his strength. He, the First Prince, was lying on the floor at the feet of the man he'd just vowed to kill. It would not end like this. It couldn't. Losing was not something he did graciously and though he didn't fully understand what was happening to him, he resolved to use his last seconds wisely. Exerting a control unknown to most, he quieted the inner panic.
Fear is admitting you have already lost
. Allowing his body to go limp, Aden internalized his last vestige of life and concentrated. He could see the bands of Zechariah's attack wrapped around his power, but the hold was tenuous. He focused on the source and through sheer willpower expanded his Magic. It grew stronger...brighter, potent enough to rip the dark bindings to shreds. With great force the blackness was expelled from his body and precious air filled his lungs. Nearly lightheaded, Aden rose to his feet panting as his veins crackled with vitality.
Zechariah looked aghast as the Prince overcame an attack that would have killed anyone else. The spell was designed to go after a user's Magic and turn it against them. When he saw the way Aden had choked and slipped to the floor, he'd been sure triumph was on the horizon. "How did..." Zechariah's heart roared in his ears, "It's not possible."
Aden stood with his head bowed, loose strands of hair obscuring his face. There was something in the air around him -- an almost tangible echo of fortitude. Without looking in Zechariah's direction he raised his arms to his sides, forming a perfect 'T' with his body. In a perfect dance he brought his hands together in front of him with the open palms facing Zechariah. A spiral of bright green sparks were released spanning from him to his opponent. Zechariah cursed out loud as he tried to block, but only succeeded in receiving a burning cut on his chest. He glanced down and saw the torn part of his robe where the strike had cleared through to his flesh. Seeing the coils retract to come in again, he was galvanized into action. Whispered words tumbled from his lips and seconds later the entire house shook. Leathery black vines broke through the floor and wrapped around Aden's legs. They traveled up his body to encase him, ending his assault. A heavy moment of silence passed as Zechariah breathed a sigh of relief. The vines were beginning to sprout evil-looking thorns and he knew it was a matter of time before Aden suffered multiple stab wounds from an extremely debilitating poison.
Again his arrogance was short-lived as the vines exploded from the inside out.
Aden made nary a sound as he fell into position. His blood pumped fiercely through his system as the pool of Magic within him intensified. He could feel the rage beating within him, mixing with the gift of unlimited stamina. It felt good. It always felt good. He didn't fight it as a little of his control slipped and changed his eyes to onyx like Zechariah's. Once more he formed a cross with his body and let loose twin green tornadoes that whipped a path from him to Zechariah.
Debris was flattened in their wake, tossed around from the force of the conflicting winds. Zechariah managed to evade one, but could do nothing against the other. He was swept up inside of it with a loud holler and whirled around until brutally slammed to the ground. When everything stilled the blonde man was now the one on the floor, gasping in silent horror at his severed arm a few feet away. A trickle of blood slipped down the side of his mouth and fell to his lap in a fat drop. He had vastly underestimated the man. How could he have bested him with all he'd done? He needed more power. He had to have more.
He spoke through gritted teeth, red spittle flying in the air, "You bastard..." Zechariah grunted in pain, "I will make sure you pay for this. If I have to murder everyone you hold dear... you will pay."
