Hall of Games [ REWRITE ] | The Varya Chronicles #1

Chapter Thirty-Three

Cadence rolled out of her bed, daggers in hand. Under the weak lamplight, she made out the faint silhouette of a person.

The silhouette didn't notice her presence. It shuffled into the room, growling softly under its breath. Its growls reminded Cadence of threatened wolfs that crawled the mountains of Azrapol. She held her breath as the silhouette drew closer to the bedroom and unfurled its massive, feathered wings.

Holy Dewas.

She dropped one of her daggers in shock. The Celestium connected with the hard ground, letting out a melodious 'clink!'

The silhouette stiffened. Cadence held her breath as it sniffed the air, making wet, grunting noises.

Dipping its head, it hissed.

"Who trespasses my territory?"

Cadence kept her mouth shut.

"I know you're there, I can smell you." It sniffed again, shuffling from his position.

Cadence scrabbled back, one hand trying to find her fallen dagger and the other holding out her remaining dagger. The silhouette took a couple steps forward before its knees buckled and crashed into the table.

"Damned Valador," the silhouette swore. "This couldn't get any worse."

Cadence decided to risk everything. She stood up, held her dagger in front of her chest in a defensive pose and stepped into the light.

The little flame was blinding in the darkness. Heart in her mouth, Cadence walked over to the fallen table to find a most peculiar creature sprawled on the floor. He was covered from head to toe in shimmering black scales. A mighty pair of black, feathered wings protruded from his back. This creature was large, even more so than Ales. Twin horns curled from the side of its head, poking through its dark curls. Smoke curled from his nostrils as it glared at her out of its luminous amethyst eyes.

Rakasha.

She fled to the other side of the room and pressed her back into the wall, trying to put as much space as possible between her and the Rakasha. The Celestium blade grew heavy in her sweaty palm. Ales had trained her for this. He had trained her the ways to take down Rakasha—a clean cut through the throat or stab it through the heart. Yet, here in this moment with a deadly killer less than several feet from her, she was too scared to move.

The Rakasha sighed and placed his head between his hands.

"Great, thank Valador for his amazing sense of irony. Just as I thought this day couldn't get any worse, he went and dropped a stupid Varya right into my lap!"

It was then she noticed the arrows sticking out like pokers from his shoulders. The area where the arrows had embedded was peppered with pustular lesions, as though fire had corroded his skin. His left wing hung at a strange angle, and he was clutching his arm as if it was about to fall off.