Kanna [https://shadowsprey.com/wp-content/uploads/story-images/01_36_Kanna-S9.png]

The darkness had always been waiting.

It dug its claws inside of her, clenching and retracting the sharp points of it. It bided its time and stewed in its neglect. It wanted her to give in, to let it loose, to become it.

Kanna’s echo had given her a name, and it had given her victories. A list of a life bathed in blood and the glory that it hailed. She knew what the darkness could do.

She didn’t trust it. But she needed it.

Isco was innocent in this, a pawn played and set by the governor. If he hadn’t tried to intervene the night they’d taken here he wouldn’t be here. She wouldn’t let him die because of a foolish mistake. Because of her.

The day was too long, the sun too bright, her limbs too slow. When she hit the ground, her options narrowed to two simple choices. She could lie there, or she could give in to the thing inside of her.

She let go.

It was easy once she freed the dark. All the pain she held, the fear she kept deep, became her. The feathered thing unfurled beneath her ribs and stretched into her veins, burning through what remained of the drugs in her system. Her blood ran cold under her skin.

The first two earth loas were too easy. The shadows danced at her fingers, raced to her call. The power was intoxicating. She knew without knowing how to bend it to her will, the same as she’d always known how to make men bleed.

The dark wanted the last one most. There was something twisted inside of him, and the shadows were hungry for it. She reached in, untangling the knot of it. His wife’s bruised eyes, his son’s fists against a locked closet, the kicked face of a young man in a dark alley.

He should suffer for it. The shadows told her how to make it so. She found the well of anguish inside of him and ripped it open. She yanked at the dark parts of his soul and pulled them free, dredging up his fears and digging into the memories of his own worst days. She brought it back all at once, a thousand times over.

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It was effortless.

The last of her challengers shrieked, his soul shredding beneath her onslaught. By the time she retrieved her knives and returned, there wasn’t much left of him.

When she plunged her blades into his neck she felt him slip into the Neither. She held onto the last trace of him, examined what was left. He wasn’t whole, not anymore. She bid the dark to release him, allowing him to join the gods. It was the only place beyond her reach.

In the silence, she breathed deep. She shut her eyes, enjoying the singular moment of peace.

It didn’t last.

She had awakened too much too soon. The shadows hummed around her, sliding over and through her skin.

She was Ananke Strepheim. She was the Harbinger, the Shadowed Sun, the Last Eclipse. She had finalized Solarian rule over Atarrabi, crushed the uprising in Gegenes at the battle of Ganglere, and brought about the downfall of the Cardea in Adur.

She was the frontline. She had killed thousands in the name of the Empire, for nothing more than power and control.

Her body was worn from the day, her mind bruised by the drugs. The darkness was angry, and she was tired of fighting.

Behind her, she heard the shouts of her companions. Isco, Astar, and Yassen called to her, but they seemed so far away. She turned, hoping to see them one last time.

They moved so slowly it was almost comical. She could see each beat of their feet against the ground, each breath they took. She could see all the parts of them, the hope and the sadness twisting in their bodies.

It was almost beautiful. Except.

In the lead was Isco. The dark hissed when he approached, shuddering in gleeful anticipation.

The shadows pulled her to her knees. Her chest tightened, and every lung full of air she took was ice. The scar on her side burned, the sharp pain trying to remind her. She braced her hands against the ground, clenching her fists as if it would help her hold back the dark.

It was too late for her. But not for the others. She could hold out, if only for a moment.

It would have to be enough.

She gathered the air she could and forced her throat to speak. “Go,” she grit out.

Isco was just steps away. He hesitated, lifting his foot to move again.

The shadows wanted him, and they yanked against her hold.

“No,” she said, “Run.”

The dark found its path. Like the night, it was inevitable.