The Truth

The ground shuddered again, harder this time. Dust rained from the ceiling, and the floor rippled beneath their boots like the skin of some enormous beast.

“Back!” Oliver shouted, grabbing Lilith’s arm as a crack split open between them and the throne. The Plague King’s rasping breath filled the chamber, each exhale carrying the smell of rot and smoke.

Mali didn’t move. She stood before the throne, her silver hair stirring in the rising heat. The green light from the veins crawled over her face, giving her features an inhuman gleam.

“Tell me what she did,” she said to the creature.

The Plague King lifted one trembling hand. The motion made the crown’s thorns bite deeper into his scalp. Green fire bled from the wounds, running down his face like tears.

“She fed on me,” he whispered. “Drained the marrow, the magic. I am her vessel. Her chains. I see through her eyes.”

Oliver’s heart pounded. He wanted to drag Mali back, to make her stop, but he couldn’t move. Every word the Plague King spoke seemed to thicken the air, heavy and electric.

“Melovala is near,” the creature hissed. “Her shadow walks your path.”

“Then it’s true,” Mali murmured, almost to herself. “She is here and has chosen the old way.”

Lilith drew her blade. “You seem awfully calm about that.”

“Calm helps me think,” Mali replied without turning around completely ignoring the threat Lilith was trying to convey.

The Plague King’s voice broke into a low moan. “End it. I beg you.”

Mali reached out, fingers inches from the crown. The light of the thorns pulsed brighter, reacting to her presence. The green hue bled across her skin, seeping into her veins like ink.

“Mali!” Oliver shouted. “Stop! You don’t know what it’ll do!”

“I do,” she said. Her voice had changed. It took on a deeper, resonant, carrying something that made the walls tremble. “I know exactly what it will do.”

She grabbed the crown.

The Plague King screamed. The sound tore through the chamber, shaking the pillars and splitting stone. Oliver stumbled backward, his vision flashing white. For a moment he thought Mali had exploded into light, but then the glow condensed, twisting, folding into her body instead of bursting outward.

When his sight cleared, the Plague King slumped forward, his crown gone. The green light that had burned in his eyes flickered and died. Mali stood behind him, her hand still raised, her eyes now glowing faintly green from within.

“Mali,” Oliver whispered.

She turned toward him slowly. Her face was expressionless, but the light in her eyes wasn’t human anymore.

“It’s her magic,” Fernwyn breathed. “That crown’s power, she absorbed it.”

“That’s impossible,” Lilith said though her voice carried a tremor of fear that Oliver had never heard before.

“No,” Mali said, her voice distant. “I took back what was mine.”

The words didn’t make sense. What the hell was she talking about? Mali wasn’t a peasant. She must have been one powerful mage. Oliver stared, trying to understand. “What do you mean, yours?”

She met his gaze. “The crown was made from my sister’s gift. The same power she used to bind him.”

Lilith stepped forward, sword raised. “Your sister?”

Mali’s expression didn’t change. “Melovala.”

The name hit Oliver like a hammer. The chamber’s light flared in response, as if the place itself recognized it.

“That’s impossible,” Lilith said. “You’re saying you’re—”

“Yes,” Mali finished for her. Her tone was flat, factual, almost bored. “I am of the Blight Sisters.”

Silence followed. The only sound was the soft hiss of dying veins along the wall.

Oliver felt his throat tighten. “You said you were helping us.”

“I am.”

“By lying?”

“You are alive, are you not?” Her voice sharpened, a flash of emotion breaking through. An emotion of irritation which Oliver did not want to see on her face.

Oliver blinked and his heart sunk deep into his chest. Mali’s skin seemed to darken, veins glowing faintly green beneath the surface. Her eyes burned with emerald fire, and the shadows around her thickened, curling and stretching like living tendrils. A low hum resonated from her chest, vibrating through the ground beneath them. Wings of silvery rot sprouted from her back flapping a few times to adjust her position. Mali was gone. Something else stood in front of them.

“Mali’thra!” Lilith’s scream tore through the chamber. “You monster!” she charged forward, sword raised blazing with magic. Fernwyn followed without hesitation, her expression grim, determination hardening every line of her face. Oliver’s stomach sank. He wanted to step between them, to plead, but he knew better. They could not win. Not against this.

Oliver launched himself after them, feeling the futile pull of instinct. He could not let his friends be destroyed, not like this. Yet every strike that Lilith and Fernwyn landed on Mali’thra barely stirred her. She moved with a grace that was both terrifying and casual, her emerald eyes flicking over them like a predator watching vermin. When she extended a hand, a wave of force knocked them back without touching them directly.

Oliver’s chest tightened as Lilith roared, fury fueling another attack. Fernwyn followed, relentless, her aura flaring with every ounce of her resolve. But Mali’thra danced through their strikes, the green veins along her limbs pulsing brighter with every dodge, every step, every glance. It was not a fight.

It was a demonstration.

Finally, Mali’thra stopped. The air shivered around her as she lifted her hands, weaving a pattern of light and shadow that spiraled outward. In an instant, Lilith and Fernwyn were caught, suspended in a web of energy that sizzled and hummed, their bodies frozen yet unharmed, eyes wide with frustration and disbelief. Oliver skidded to a halt, his chest heaving.

“You cannot defeat me,” she said, her voice both familiar and utterly alien. The emerald fire of her eyes burned straight through him. “Now that my power has returned, only the Mirror Seed can stop me. Only it can contain what I am.”

She turned, wings of dark, veined energy unfolding from her back, and lifted effortlessly from the ground. Oliver felt the wind from her passing ruffle his hair, the light fading in her wake.

Soon he was standing there alone.

‘Shit.’