The Final Pawn

The air in the cramped bedroom was thick with unspoken words and suffocating tension. Zel, eyes burning with a manic desperation, clutched the small, wicked-looking knife, its blade glinting ominously in the dim light. He swung his right hand determinedly toward Ren, intending to kill him. Zel didn't speak. He moved. A blur of motion, he lunged across, aiming the knife low at Ren's gut. Ren jumped to the side. He could barely use his power without tearing apart the room and drawing attention to themselves.

Zel took advantage of Ren's restraint and cut his upper arm, staggering Ren backward. He hit the dresser with a thud, scattering a few trinkets. But he didn't fall. Zel was faster than Ren remembered, fueled by something primal.

Ren backed away, trying to create distance between them. To hell with the room and the soldiers outside, he thought.

Zel responded with another attack, a low sweep that forced Ren to leap onto the bed. The mattress sagged, throwing his balance, and his cheek pressed against the dead body. Zel was beneath him in an instant, the knife flashing upward, aiming for his leg. Ren twisted, a low grunt escaping him as the blade scraped his thigh, a shallow but stinging cut. A small amount of magical energy slammed into Zel's shoulder.

Zel cried out, a sound of pain and fury, but the impact only spun him around. He used the momentum, swinging the knife in a wild arc that caught the edge of a hanging blanket, ripping it to shreds. Ren saw the desperation in his friend's eyes, the complete loss of the person he once knew.

"Zel, I don't want to kill you!" Ren yelled.

"That's good, because I want to kill you!" Zel's words were met with another, more savage lunge. Zel was no longer fighting with skill, but with the raw, untamed force of a cornered animal.

He bravely sent a series of magic missiles at him, but Azazel didn't care. Like a wild beast, he endured the incoming attacks and came on relentlessly. His only goal was clear: to kill Ren, even if it meant his own death.

Azazel broke his hand. Ren wanted to scream out in pain, but his constricted vocal cords wouldn't allow it. His vision began to darken. He concentrated his magical power in his brain to stay conscious for longer. He clenched his remaining good hand into a fist. The pleasant humming sound of magic filled and echoed inside his head. The bone shifted, a dull, sickening grind of resistance, but Ren refused to let go of his focus.

"Die!" Zel shouted up close, spitting on the other boy's face with every word.

Ren's last attempt was to try to reach him from below, but Azazel broke his hand. Ren wanted to scream out in pain, but his constricted vocal cords wouldn't allow it. His vision began to darken. He concentrated his magical power in his brain to stay conscious for longer. He clenched his remaining good hand into a fist. The pleasant humming sound of magic filled and echoed inside his head. The bone shifted, a dull, sickening grind of resistance, but Ren refused to let go of his focus.

Zel began to cough, then coughed up blood. His grip on Ren's neck weakened, allowing Ren to gasp for air finally. He gulped the air like cold water. Then Zel's grip loosened further as his coughing became heavier and louder. Thin streaks of blood welled up at the corners, tracing scarlet paths down his temples.

"Sonja..." Azazel choked out alongside the blood, his eyes wide with a final, horrified clarity. "I lied. Actually... You... killed her."

His body went limp, sliding down to the floor in a crumpled heap, unconscious. Ren stood over him, breathing heavily, his own hands trembling, the taste of ash still in his mouth. The room was still intact, but the silence that followed felt louder than any blast. Azazel died. The King is dead.

Ren felt strange. Experiencing something he hadn't throughout his entire time here. The magic didn't transfer like a smooth current but like a rock trying to shatter his bones—a dizzying, dark, forbidden power that didn't resonate with him.

The power was cold and alien, a sudden, unwanted guest in his veins. He could suddenly "see" the magical residue of Azazel's attack on his body—the invisible outline of the burn on his shoulder, the lingering echo of pain from his broken hand. He didn't just feel stronger; he felt polluted, haunted by the raw magic of the boy whose life he had just ended.