The din of the battle raged against his ears, but Kahel fought in a daze. Every time he swung his sword, every time he dodged one attack then another, he felt it: Keryth, with every beat of his heart running through his body, a second heartbeat.
An itch that crawled beneath his skin, quickening his speed, his strength, and it felt so wrong.
Another goes down, and Kahel struck a little bit stronger than he intended to; the figure flew off. Kahel just stared at his hands in shock. That wasn’t Viera.
“Kahel!” Seren’s voice cut sharply through the confusion wrapped around his brain. She was fighting to hold Caius upright, the creatures closing in upon them. “Help us!”
Lurching into motion without a thought, his body quicker than it had any right to be, Kahel carved through the creatures in a blur of color, the sword moving through the deformed bodies of the creatures as if they were made of air. And with every stroke, the darkness within him pulled harder.
He felt it, Keryth churning within him like a tempest.
It was growing. Marakor watched from the shadows, eyes agleam with amusement. “You see it now, don’t you? Power that has lain within you all the time. It is only a matter of time before you give in.”
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Kahel’s lips tightened, his hands shaking with the power inside him that instead of aiding seemed to devour him. His head was a whirlpool of indecision torn between the comfort he knew with Viera and the cold, insidious pull of Keryth. “No,” Kahel said again, softer, his head shaking. “Won’t.”
But even as he spoke the words, the power surged again, harder this time. Blows fell fast, hard, and with each one, he felt himself slipping further toward the dark.
“You’re using it already,” Marakor sneered in a low and jealous tone. “And soon enough, you shall be unable to stop.”
The final creature fell to the ground at Kahel’s feet, crumpling its body into the dirt as his chest heaved in exhaustion. His sword was trembling in his hand, his body weighted, heavy in some sort of way.
“You’ve done well,” Marakor’s voice slithered through the clearing. “But you are fighting the wrong battle.”
Kahel stared hard and his heart thundered. “I’ll never be like you.” Marakor chuckled and stepped closer. “You don’t have to be me. You only have to embrace the power inside you. You felt it, didn’t you? The power, the strength. Imagine what you could do if you stopped fighting it.”
Kahel’s hands were trembling, his mind racing. He had felt it: the power, intoxicating, overwhelming, each moment harder to resist. Yet every time it surged through him, it left behind a shadow, something dark and twisted.
He looked at Seren, still propping up Caius and staring with eyes wide with fearful reliance—she was relying on him. They all did. But what if this power made him a danger to them?
“You cannot forever resist either of them,” Marakor said now almost soothingly. “The more you fight, it gets stronger.” The muscles of Kahel’s chest constricted. He wanted to, but it was surging in strength. The darkness was already inside him. And part of him was terrified it was already too late to stop it.