Lucky for you. They could have sounded the alarm…
A mistake made by eagerness, but one he wouldn’t repeat. Keaton regulated his breathing, all his senses tuned to what the dungeon lord was doing and where his attention was focused. Time seemed to slow to a crawl and Keaton swore he could hear the rhythmic rush of blood; the dungeon lord’s heartbeat.
Soon it would cease, and he would relish that silence; relish the blood on his dagger, the last, sputtering gasps of a man who didn’t deserve to live.
“Ah, I knew you were the perfect choice. Quite the savage killer, aren’t you?”
The daemon’s voice flowed around and through him and Keaton gripped his dagger more tightly, biting down to avoid letting out a sound of surprise. He ignored her, preparing to do the task he was sent here to do, but she spoke again.
“I’m afraid the normal way of doing things won’t be enough here, darling. That crystal protects him.”
Keaton’s gaze moved to the pulsating crystal. Of course, that was why it seemed like a heartbeat. It was connected to the dungeon lord’s.
“You must strike the core and poison it with your own life force. Only then will you be able to kill him.”
6
The moment those words reached him, every shred of Keaton’s common sense told him it was a terrible idea. That crystal was obviously magical, and who knew what attacking it would do? Maybe if he was any kind of a Manipulator he’d have half a chance of understanding and controlling it, but the best Keaton could do was to literally just stab the thing and try to shatter it. What was that even going to accomplish? Would the energy spew out into the cave like toxic sludge? Would it disintegrate him the moment it flowed over the floor?
And none of that was even mentioning the fact that the daemon wanted him to use his life force. There was something deeply wrong about all of this, just as he knew there would be. But if the crystal was protecting the dungeon lord, what choice did he have? There was no way to kill him in the traditional sense. He had to be weakened, and for that Keaton had to destroy the crystal.
Can she really do worse to me than whatever’s going to happen when I touch that crystal…?
The answer came like an ethereal whisper on the wind. “You know the answer to that, darling.”
Keaton felt ghostly fingers caress his face and he shuddered. He was getting the impression that this assassination was the least vile thing she was capable of doing to those who backed out on her deals; practically a mercy killing.
He truly had no choice. He’d known that, but some part of him still bucked against it. For all the problems in his life, he’d always had free will; had always been in control of his own destiny. Now he was just… what? A puppet on this daemon’s string?
It sure seemed that way.
Drawing in a breath, Keaton squared his shoulders and considered the dagger in his hand. Life force. He wasn’t a Manipulator, so the only way he knew to access his “life force” was through his blood. That should count, right? Without blood in his body, he wouldn’t live. Unless life force was something used to create life, but there wasn’t a force in the world that would convince him that was a good idea right now.
So he lifted the rusty dagger and cringed as he drew the edge of the blade across his palm, closing his fingers around it. Warmth seeped from beneath the heel of his palm, the coppery scent of blood fresh in the air. The pain was sharp, like fire licking across his nerves, but only at that spot, and only when he applied pressure. Once he let off, the pain mostly subsided.
Lifting the dagger, he looked at his handiwork. It was coated in his blood now, red making its way into every little crevice. There was something darkly fascinating about it, but he wasn’t here to admire the tool of his own destruction. He was just here to use it.
Creeping out from behind the stalagmites, Keaton kept his eyes on the dungeon lord. He almost didn’t notice the way the dragonkin’s eyes widened. Lifting a finger to his lips, he jerked his head toward the crystal, hoping this man didn’t have her so under his thumb that she’d warn him.
But she looked away, attention returning to her captor, and Keaton crossed the last stretch of cave to reach the crystal.
The moment he stepped into range of its aura, he felt it. There was something so ominous, so menacing about it, his stomach dropping all the way to his feet. Yet it also felt incredibly… empowering. It beckoned him closer, leaving Keaton momentarily transfixed.
“You’re losing time,” a voice hissed in his ear, far less sweet than what he’d heard from the daemon previously.
Gritting his teeth and gripping hard around the hilt of the bloodied dagger with both hands, he plunged it into the crystal.
That first shatter of the glass-like surface was expected. Reflexively his muscles jumped, urging him backward, yet Keaton couldn’t move. He was frozen there, stuck with his blade driven into the beating heart of the crystal.
And it was a beating heart. Encased in the hard outer shell was a fleshy mass that writhed in time with a human pulse. The flesh squelched as his dagger sank into it, blood spraying upward to speckle across his face and chest, gradually building up a layer that stained his skin and tunic crimson.
Are you fucking kidding me?!
Keaton couldn’t pull away as the “heart” beat faster, then was still. He let out the breath he’d been holding, drawing back. The deed was done, yet before he was completely free of the crystal, he felt something start to surge through him; some inexplicable force that caused his own heart to beat with an echo before that second thump joined the first.
Any time he might have had to wonder what was happening to him was interrupted by an angry, fearful voice.
“You will pay for that,” the dungeon lord snarled. “Guards! Seize this man immediately!”
Words Keaton had heard many times in his life. Words he’d always been smart enough to answer by beating a fast retreat. The job wasn’t done, though. He still needed to kill the dungeon lord, which meant running just wasn’t an option.
Shaking out the tension from his shoulders, Keaton stood to his full height and faced the man. Even now his hand was still wrapped around the chain binding the dragonkin, and that was enough to fuel Keaton’s righteous fury. It pulsed through him, activating groups of muscle he’d honed over the years, that burst of adrenaline making him feel as invincible as a first shot of high-quality spirits.
He could probably kill this man before the guards arrived, yet even that didn’t seem to be cause for concern. The dungeon lord looked around frantically, but no guards came. In fact, Keaton couldn’t even hear the distant sound of feet thumping against the cave floor.
Had they sensed the change in the wind that quickly? Tough break for this dungeon lord, if so, but Keaton didn’t make a habit of feeling bad for assholes.
He strode toward the dungeon lord with a confidence he rarely felt in face-to-face conflicts. The hand holding the dagger practically itched to use it, as if the weapon itself was eager to taste more blood. Considering where he’d found it, he wouldn’t doubt that. He’d have to burn or bury the thing after this. Maybe both.
Of course, the dungeon lord wasn’t simply a bystander to his own demise, though that would’ve made Keaton’s life easier. He finally cast his pet aside and lifted that strange, gauntlet-clad hand, his fingers appearing almost skeletal as he wove magic through the air, pulling at the strands of Anima Keaton could only assume were all around them.