In the dim, swirling ether between worlds, where light refracted off shards of memories and shadows danced as faint reflections of reality, Malakar Vynthar’s awareness slowly sharpened. He was waiting—had been waiting, perhaps, for centuries. But time in the void was an illusion, a thin veil that barely held meaning for someone like him. Malakar’s patience, however, was a thing of vast endurance, and if he was anything, it was determined.
The memories were always with him, layered beneath the sharp edges of his thoughts, reminders of what had been taken from him. Of what had been lost. Even now, as he drifted, fragments of his past clawed at his mind.
Once, he had been a devoted disciple of the Leviathan, carrying out his duties with fervor. It was more than a god; the Leviathan was the primordial essence of the seas, vast, all-encompassing, a deity that claimed no mastery over mortals but demanded respect from those wise enough to give it. Malakar had served it with a loyalty that ran deeper than any mortal vow. And it had been a time of purpose, one where his life had thrummed with a single, resounding clarity—until Marcelline.
Her name was like a wound that refused to heal, a shadow that lingered just out of reach. Malakar knew she was there, even now. Marcelline’s influence was woven into the world of the living, her machinations reaching out to touch Udanara and anyone unfortunate enough to be caught in her path. They had been close once, bonded by a shared understanding of power and the ambitions that came with it. Yet, in the end, that same ambition had marked his ruin. She had contracted him, had held his life in her hands—and then used him until his very soul had been stripped to fulfill her goals.
He had trusted her. Malakar’s fists clenched in the void as he remembered the look in her eyes the day she’d betrayed him.
He was not yet a soul leech then, though he suspected Marcelline had sown the seeds of it through her actions. Their relationship had started as one of respect and partnership, business-minded, yes, but with an underlying tension that suggested there could have been more. They shared a mutual interest in the artifacts of the Leviathan, rare objects infused with ancient power that held pieces of its essence. She had always looked upon them with an avaricious hunger, but Malakar had tried to trust that she saw their sanctity as he did.
He had been wrong.
A bitter chuckle echoed within his mind, bringing him back to the present. It was hollow, barely even a sound in the void, but it was there—a faint reminder of his former self. Because he was no longer the man he’d been. Malakar Vynthar had been betrayed, cast out, and ultimately, cursed by his own fury. Now he was a soul leech, bound to the existence of others, feeding off their life, biding his time until he found a way to exact the vengeance he had vowed upon Marcelline.
When Evan had arrived, newly called as a Fallen Star to Udanara, Malakar had seen an opportunity, a way to escape the nothingness of the void. But their union hadn’t been a simple one. It had been an unexpected struggle, a battle of wills that nearly obliterated them both. Evan had arrived with a will as stubborn as Malakar’s, his own desires to survive somehow matching the rage and cunning Malakar had accrued over centuries. Their souls had collided, their thoughts merging and clashing like titans, each unwilling to concede control.
That confrontation between them was almost too close to recall without Malakar feeling the shiver of something close to fear. He’d never encountered resistance like Evan’s, not even from Marcelline herself. Evan had shown a tenacity and strength in those moments, wielding his will like a weapon, something Malakar had not anticipated. And in the end, the struggle left him barely able to latch onto Evan’s essence, just enough to secure his existence. He had lost much of himself in that clash—his physical form among the casualties—but somehow, Evan’s presence had tethered him to this world. Yet the circumstances of his return were... different than he had hoped.
Malakar was no longer a man of flesh and blood but a skeleton held together by the faintest tether of magic and the remnants of his old soul. It was a cruel irony—here he was, back in Udanara, yet robbed of the vitality he once held. The body Evan had taken hold of, his own body, was a shell, a husk, and now it was their shared vessel, bound by their fates.
Still, even if this form wasn’t what Malakar had desired, he was free. Free from the void. And freedom, he reminded himself, was only the beginning.
As Malakar reflected on these thoughts, his awareness drifted to the present—a dim echo of the world he now observed through Evan’s experiences. He had found himself bound to this young soul’s existence, sensing his thoughts and feeling his emotions as though they were his own. And currently, Evan was embroiled in something that Malakar would never have entertained: a flirtation.
The girl’s name was Yucca, and Evan was clearly smitten. They had met only recently, yet Evan’s every thought seemed to circle back to her, a source of distraction that Malakar could only tolerate with a grim sense of humor. She was a Magist, one of considerable power, he noted. And though her magic held no connection to the Leviathan, Malakar felt a grudging admiration for her skills. She had an affinity with fire and sand, manipulating glass and heat in a way that bordered on artistry.
As he observed their interaction, he could feel Evan’s eagerness, the flurry of thoughts clouded by attraction and nervousness, as if the boy were still a human teenager. It was almost amusing.
“Are you quite finished?” Malakar’s voice echoed within Evan’s mind, sharp and sardonic. “Or must I endure this interminable display of your affections for the girl?”
Evan paused, taken aback by the sudden interruption. He hadn’t grown entirely accustomed to Malakar’s presence, but by now, he knew better than to ignore him. “Sorry, do you not know how this works, bone man?” Evan replied, a bit of cheekiness edging his tone. “I’m the one with the body. You’re just along for the ride. Thought we came to that conclusion.”
“Along for the ride,” Malakar scoffed, his tone like iron. “I once held sway over the seas and bent the tides to my will. Now I’m forced to reside within the mind of a child who fancies himself a charmer.”
“Not really my problem, is it?” Evan muttered under his breath, only half-aware that Yucca was giving him an amused, slightly curious look.
Malakar ignored him, turning inward as his memories resurfaced. He had once been respected, feared even. His very presence commanded loyalty from those who revered the Leviathan. That was before the accusations, the false claims that had painted him as a worshipper of Poseidon, the ancient rival of the Leviathan. The two god and titan were eternally at odds, their domains clashing like violent storms. And in a realm where loyalty was paramount, Malakar’s perceived betrayal had been damning.
Marcelline had been there, of course, a silent witness as he was stripped of his position, his powers suppressed by the enchantments woven around him. His reputation tarnished, his allies lost. It was a trial that had been orchestrated in secrecy, and Marcelline had offered no defense, no protest. He had been alone, sentenced to servitude, his life at the mercy of his contract with her. Yet the accusations were lies, twisted truths manipulated by those who sought to tear him down.
It had been a cruel twist of fate. He had devoted his life to the Leviathan, had honored its power and respected its will. And yet, his loyalty had been questioned, his faith turned against him. The trial had marked the beginning of his descent, a path that led to his eventual death and transformation into a soul leech. His final moments had been a curse—a vow of vengeance that bound his soul to the very world that had rejected him.
When he had spoken those words, he hadn’t anticipated the strength of his own hatred. It had tethered him, held him in place even after his physical body had fallen. His soul had clung to the remnants of his life, refusing to fade. And now, centuries later, he was here, a specter within Evan’s mind, waiting for the day he would see Marcelline again.
Evan’s voice broke into his thoughts, pulling him back to the present. “You’re awfully quiet,” he remarked, his tone a mix of annoyance and curiosity. “What’s got you so moody?”
Malakar hesitated, a rare moment of silence stretching between them. He wasn’t inclined to share his past with this boy, this untested Fallen Star who barely understood the weight of the power he now possessed. And yet, some part of him wanted Evan to understand, to grasp the depth of his hatred for Marcelline, the reason he remained bound to this world.
“There are... debts that must be paid,” he replied finally, his tone measured. “And they are long overdue.”
Evan was silent for a moment, a flicker of something like understanding in his thoughts. “You’re talking about the big wig everyone else has been talking about huh? Marcelline, aren’t you?” he guessed, his voice softer, almost contemplative. “She did something to you.”
“She did everything to me,” Malakar replied, his voice laced with a venom that even he could feel. “She orchestrated my fall, manipulated events to ensure my ruin. And when she was finished, she cast me aside like a spent tool.”
Evan’s thoughts turned thoughtful, a sense of empathy mingling with his curiosity. “So… you were like, her ally or something? And then she just… what, betrayed you?”
Malakar’s grip tightened within Evan’s mind, his memories flashing like shards of broken glass. “I was her partner, her confidant,” he admitted, his tone bitter. “But in the end, I was nothing more than a pawn. And now, I am bound to this form, forced to watch as she rises to power once again.”
Evan was quiet, his thoughts pensive. Malakar could sense a flicker of understanding, a recognition of the betrayal that had shaped him. Yet, even with this new knowledge, Evan’s thoughts soon drifted back to Yucca, his mind once again preoccupied with the girl who had captivated him.
Malakar felt a surge of frustration, a reminder of his own helplessness. Malakar remained silent in Evan’s mind, simmering in an eternal state of vexation as Yucca turned to leave. Her instructions were precise, her tone almost dismissive.
“Stay outside, alright?” she told Evan, a flicker of something in her eyes that even Malakar couldn’t quite decipher. “You can hang around the cathedral. It’s big enough that no one’s going to notice you anyway. I’ll come find you after everything.”
She flashed Evan a small smile before disappearing into the crowd heading toward the grand cathedral doors. Evan, with his usual carefree smile, nodded. “Sure thing. I’ll…uh, keep busy. This place is like an art museum and a city all in one.”
Malakar’s bitterness was a steady undercurrent to Evan’s almost ridiculous level of enthusiasm. She’s leaving him here, like the lackey she thinks he is, Malakar thought, disdain lacing his every internal word. Even without being able to fully read Evan’s thoughts, he knew the boy’s mood well enough. Evan was charmed, simple as that. And Malakar? He’d seen this game before. Yucca and Yasmin, with their butterfly wings and advanced magic, were undoubtedly setting Evan up for something. Just like everyone else.
He scoffed in the shadows of Evan’s mind. “You’re no better than a child, lad,” he muttered to himself. “She’s using you, and you’re all too happy to be useful. She’ll toss you out the second you’re no longer convenient.”
But Evan, of course, wasn’t listening. He was already in awe of the cathedral’s vastness, its arches that soared high above and stained-glass windows that told the tales of Valarian’s mythos and of the Leviathan’s legacy. Every carving, every etched line, each brushstroke of paint stirred something in him—awe, curiosity, wonder. It made Malakar sneer, even if it was only a whisper of disdain within Evan’s awareness.
What was the lad even thinking? Here they were, in a world of power and manipulation, of schemes, of war, and Evan’s biggest interest was... sightseeing.
Malakar felt every fiber of his being strain against his intangible bonds. All he wanted was his body back, his strength, his power—and his revenge. With Evan’s casual meandering, with his lack of ambition, that seemed increasingly impossible. Evan was a liability, plain and simple. He wasn’t... hungry for it. No thirst for power, no drive to understand the intricacies of Udanara’s political landscape, no sense of survival in a world that preyed on weakness. How had he, Malakar Vynthar, a former lord and faithful servant of the Leviathan, ended up sharing a soul with this... this airheaded skeleton?
Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.
And to make matters worse, it seemed Evan knew this perfectly well.
“It’s a cathedral, sure, but it’s also like a giant fish museum.” Evan whispered aloud as he wandered around, taking in every detail with a wide-eyed fascination that set Malakar’s teeth on edge—if he’d still had them. “Look at this, Malakar. This carving of the Leviathan here, and those soldiers... What’s that about? And is this real gold in the mural? And what about these swords on the wall, were they used in some legendary war or are they just decor? And what’s this statue supposed to be, a weird turtle or something?”
Malakar’s groan could practically be felt as a low rumble in Evan’s bones. The boy was rambling on about artwork and architectural choices when there were critical matters at hand. Like, say, survival. Or power. Or even a modicum of self-preservation.
In the Void, Malakar had been so sure of himself, so certain that Evan’s will would be no match for his own. Evan had been called into Udanara as a Fallen Star, just like all the others who were blessed with extraordinary strength and powers. But when Malakar had confronted Evan’s soul, he’d expected a straightforward, one-sided struggle, a mere act of dominance over a newcomer who didn’t yet understand the world he was entering.
But instead, Evan’s soul had been like a blade, sharp, cutting, and unyielding, something Malakar had never expected from the awkward, wide-eyed man. Their souls had clashed like steel on steel, and every attempt Malakar made to subdue Evan’s will was deflected and returned with almost absurd strength. Over and over, he’d felt himself ripped through by Evan’s relentless resistance.
It hadn’t made sense. Evan hadn’t wielded his strength with any intention of malice or conquest; instead, his soul simply refused to yield, holding firm in the face of every attempt Malakar made to overpower it. It was instinctual, as if Evan’s very essence were infused with a raw, untapped power he didn’t even realize he possessed. The final blow of their struggle had nearly shattered Malakar’s spirit entirely, leaving him a mere shred, a lingering fragment hanging on for survival.
In that crucial moment, he’d felt the true scope of Evan’s power—the potential that lay dormant within him, waiting to be harnessed. It was something that Evan himself seemed almost oblivious to, as if he viewed his soul’s strength as no different from anyone else’s. But Malakar had felt it, the sheer force of will that could snuff him out with ease if Evan were only aware of it. And that had left Malakar wary, perhaps even a touch fearful, a feeling he’d long since abandoned.
What struck him even more was that Evan, with all his power and tenacity, had chosen to listen to him. After their clash, both souls left drained, Malakar had tried to force his way back to his own body, which had remained in Udanara, a lifeless shell. But in his weakened state, he hadn’t been able to muster the strength to complete the journey alone. It was Evan’s will, his powerful essence, that finally bridged the distance, carrying them both back to Udanara, back to Malakar’s body.
Except, when they arrived, it wasn’t the body of a noble warrior or a shining hero waiting to greet them. It was Malakar’s own decayed, skeletal form, preserved only by the ancient magics that had once bound him. And for reasons that Malakar still didn’t entirely understand, Evan had stayed. Despite the opportunity to break free and perhaps gain a new, more fitting form as a Fallen Star, Evan had anchored himself to the skeletal shell Malakar left behind.
Somehow, even now, Malakar feared that Evan would discover the truth—that he wasn’t in the body of a typical Fallen Star but rather in Malakar’s dead body, bound by the willpower Evan had unknowingly poured into it. If Evan ever realized the full extent of his strength… if he understood that his will alone kept Malakar here, he could annihilate Malakar’s soul entirely, wiping him out in an instant.
But Evan seemed oblivious, happy to ask his endless questions about cathedrals, tastebuds, and whatever else struck his curious fancy. And so, Malakar held his tongue, forcing down the fear that simmered beneath his surface, waiting, biding his time.
He could feel the ache of his own presence, reduced and constrained, but Evan had, unknowingly, saved him. Despite everything, Malakar was alive—sort of. And as much as he resented it, he was inextricably bound to this absurd soul and this decrepit body.
“Imbecile,” Malakar muttered under his breath, his words slipping out before he could stop them.
“Hmm?” Evan perked up, completely oblivious to the disdain in Malakar’s voice, his gaze snapping to the mural of the Leviathan above. “Did you say something?”
Malakar fought the urge to scream. He couldn’t risk goading Evan too far. The boy’s soul was unpredictable, and he sensed that if he pushed him to the breaking point, he could very well be snuffed out entirely. And then what? Then he’d be nothing—a disembodied wisp without a vessel, powerless to enact his revenge, to destroy the woman who had left him for dead.
Marcelline. Her name simmered in his thoughts, a curse upon his every waking moment. She had been his confidante, his partner, perhaps something more. She’d held his fate in her hands, and she had wielded it with cruel precision, twisting it until he was nothing more than a tool, a weapon to be discarded when his use had expired. He remembered the way she’d looked at him as they accused him of betraying the Leviathan, how she’d stood by silently as the council declared him a traitor, a follower of Poseidon—a claim as absurd as it was damning. She’d watched as they bound his powers, as they sentenced him to servitude, all with that cold, detached look in her eyes.
She had taken everything from him. And now, he would take everything from her.
The thought was interrupted by Evan, who had found yet another ornate display case and was leaning in close to examine the fine detailing of a sword.
“Do you know anything about this?” he asked, his tone bright, expectant. “Is it real?”
Malakar sighed inwardly, giving a begrudging response. “Yes, it’s real. A blade forged in the fires of the Leviathan’s breath, imbued with traces of its essence. It was once wielded by the First Champions of Udanara, in the wars of old.”
Evan let out an impressed whistle, oblivious to Malakar’s contempt. “Man, that’s cool. I’d love to see that in action.”
Malakar felt a pang of something close to despair. Here he was, a former lord reduced to a lecturer for an overgrown child. He wanted to strangle Evan, to force him to understand the stakes, to make him realize that his life, their shared existence, was teetering on the edge of a precipice. But he couldn’t afford to antagonize him—not yet. He needed Evan’s cooperation, however reluctant it might be. For now, he would bide his time, would wait until the opportunity arose to seize control, to find a way to regain his strength.
The hours dragged on, and Malakar felt his patience thinning with each passing moment. Evan continued his aimless wandering, his endless questions, his fixation on the beauty of a world Malakar had once sworn to destroy. And through it all, Malakar simmered, his rage held in check only by the faint, desperate hope that one day, he would be free of this... this farce.
Then, suddenly, everything changed.
The blast shook the building, throwing shards of glass and splinters of stone into the air. A corner of the cathedral tore apart, sending Yucca, Nathor, and Ayla sprawling outside as the force of the blast forced them into the open air. Evan stumbled backward, his invisible form steadying just in time to watch Yasmin’s magic flare like a violent, blooming flower, sparks and fire pushing their foes into the rubble. Nathor’s obsidian wings shielded the three of them, Yucca’s glass reflecting the brunt of the blast—but it was enough to force them from their positions, scattering them across the ruined ground.
Everything was chaos, the fight resuming without pause, but Evan's gaze caught on something else—someone else. Lady Marcelline emerged, stepping calmly from the wreckage, as if the violence around her was nothing more than an inconvenience.
The instant Malakar saw her, he screamed in Evan’s mind. "Run, you idiot! Get out of here now!"
Evan flinched, torn between the overwhelming desire to flee and his innate curiosity that kept him rooted to the spot. But as his eyes darted to Marcelline, a strange silence fell within him. Something… something felt off. Every ounce of Malakar’s anger and bitterness seemed to focus on that single figure, and as the realization hit, Evan felt a shiver trace up his spine.
In the heat of the ongoing battle, Marcelline was the constant. In his peripheral vision or front and center, her presence dominated, looming over the fray like an untouchable force.
Everyone fought around her, fierce and unrelenting. Paola, Yasmin, Yucca, Ayla, and Nathor—all of them locked in a brutal dance, bodies and magic colliding, leaving ruin in their wake. But to Malakar, nothing else seemed to exist. His gaze never wavered from Marcelline, the anger, the hatred, coiling inside him like a snake preparing to strike.
Evan, meanwhile, tried to track the battlefield, glancing from one clash to another, taking in every friend, every threat. But each time he did, Marcelline was there, lurking at the edge of his awareness. He couldn’t ignore her. He couldn’t escape her presence, even if he tried.
"Run, Evan!" Malakar hissed again. “She’ll see you! She’ll kill you without a second thought!”
But Evan didn’t run. He just stood there, his invisible form watching, waiting, uncertainty tugging at his heart.
And then, something changed. Paola broke away from the others, her focus narrowing on Marcelline, her expression hardened with determination. She tore through the wreckage, attacking Marcelline’s shield relentlessly, each strike echoing across the crumbling cathedral walls. Paola was close—so close to breaking through Marcelline’s barrier, each blow chipping away at the golden light surrounding the Lady.
As Paola’s relentless assault brought Marcelline’s shield to the brink, each strike chipping away at the golden barrier, Malakar went silent. The urge to shout at Evan to run, to hide, clawed at him, but something shifted within him, an insidious realization settling in. This—this exact moment, with Marcelline's defenses cracking and her attention fully on Paola—might be the only chance they’d ever get.
The hatred he’d harbored, the festering resentment over countless years, clouded any rational thought. His focus tunneled, zeroed in on Marcelline. She was vulnerable, right here, right now. Every ounce of anger, every betrayal she’d ever dealt him, every piece of himself lost in servitude, surged to the surface, blinding him with a singular purpose.
And in that chilling clarity, he knew. If he let this moment pass, he’d never get it back.
Malakar's voice shifted, no longer panicked but eerily calm. “Evan, listen to me. This might be the only chance. We may never get this opportunity again.”
The desperation in his tone caught Evan off guard. “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying… help her. Go out there and help Yucca,” Malakar insisted, his voice resolute. “Take down Marcelline.”
Evan balked, shaking his head, the fear rising in his chest. “I… I can barely summon the swords, Malakar. You know that! I don’t know how to fight with them—if I go out there, I’ll be dead in seconds.”
Malakar’s tone softened, each word careful, measured, as though trying to coax a wild animal from its hiding place. “Evan… if you let me take control, I can do this. I can end this.”
Evan’s mind reeled, his heart pounding as Malakar’s words sank in. He’d heard it all before—Malakar’s countless promises to leave, to abandon everything the second he got a chance at controlling the body. And if he let Malakar take over now, he could lose everything, including Yucca. "You've told me a hundred times that if you ever got control of the body, you'd just... you'd leave and never look back."
Silence met him, but Malakar finally spoke, his tone hard, clipped. “Then let them die, Evan. Let them fight and kill each other while you stand back and watch.”
Evan’s gaze strayed to Yucca, his heart twisting as he saw her struggling against Yasmin, every strike and counter-strike pushing them to the edge. Her glass shards whirled defensively, while Yasmin’s flames licked dangerously close to her. They were both holding nothing back.
“Is that what you want, Evan?” Malakar’s voice returned, his tone piercing. “To watch them die because you couldn’t make a decision?”
Evan’s hesitation lingered, his breath hitching. He could still feel Malakar’s rage simmering beneath the surface, the intensity of his desire to confront Marcelline. His instincts screamed to run, to get away from the chaos, but something held him back.
Malakar’s voice, steady and calm, broke the silence. “Do you remember… the Void?”
Evan frowned, the question catching him off guard. “The Void? What are you talking about?”
“Do you remember how we fought there?” Malakar pressed, his tone urgent. “Do you remember how close we came to… to obliterating each other?”
Evan’s memory stirred, the faint echoes of something dark, something powerful, but the details remained elusive, lost in a fog of confusion. “I… no, I don’t remember.”
Malakar’s voice grew strained, a rare hint of vulnerability slipping through his usual arrogance. “Your will is… stronger than you know. You could snuff out my soul in an instant, Evan, without a second thought. You have more control than you realize.”
Evan froze, his mind reeling as Malakar’s words sank in. He could feel the truth behind them, the weight of his own untapped power lingering just beyond his grasp. The realization left him shaken, uncertain, but the desperation in Malakar’s voice pushed him to consider the possibility.
Yucca’s voice pierced the chaos, her pleas barely audible over the sound of clashing magic. Evan’s heart clenched as he watched her struggle, the fear in her eyes clear as day.
Malakar’s voice returned, low and unyielding. “They’re all fighting to the death, Evan. Your friends… your allies. Is that what you want? To let them die because you were too afraid?”
Evan’s gaze flicked to Yucca, then to Paola, who fought with every ounce of strength she had, each strike against Marcelline’s barrier becoming more desperate. His mind raced, torn between his fear and the responsibility he couldn’t ignore.
“Fine,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “But… if you try anything, if you even think about betraying me—”
“I know,” Malakar replied, his tone deadly serious. “You have my word.”
With a deep breath, Evan closed his eyes, surrendering control, letting Malakar’s presence surge forward, taking over his body.
In an instant, Evan felt his consciousness recede, his awareness slipping to the background as Malakar’s essence filled the space. His body felt different, foreign, as though seeing the world through a new lens.
The skeletal form straightened, the hunched shoulders lifting, the movements smooth and precise, as Malakar took full control. He stretched, testing the bones, feeling the familiar weight of his urumi whips at his side, as if reunited with an old friend.
“Finally,” Malakar muttered, his voice a low growl, rich with satisfaction. He cast a glance toward Marcelline, his gaze hardening, his resolve unbreakable. This was the moment he had waited for, the moment he would finally reclaim what she had stolen from him.
His eyes narrowed, and with a fluid motion, he summoned the urumi, the whiplike blades unfurling from his wrists, the metal glinting dangerously as they extended to their full length. Each blade moved with precision, controlled and deadly, a testament to his skill.
And with that, Malakar Vynthar launched himself toward Lady Marcelline, his focus absolute.
It was time to end this.