Filed To Story: Cursed Legacies Series Free PDF by Morgan B Lee
I never lost.
When I was young, I never let anyone see me cry about what they were turning me into—not even Lillian. Over the course of months and years, I grew to love the combat and crave the adrenaline of a good fight. The buzz of death became a siren call. The blood and gore became nothing to me.
This arena made me who I am today. Being down here, knowing I’m about to step into the citadel to face Amadeus again…
My heart begins to pound with unfamiliar strength inside my chest. When I was very young, my so-called “father” terrorized me. He was cold and inhuman. Brutal. Merciless.
Naturally, I admired him.
Before I ever learned about the humans being treated like animals in the Nether, I only knew that I wanted to survive—and to survive, I needed to impress Amadeus. So I trained and fought and killed and turned myself into a monster for him.
Out of all that bloodshed, the most unearthly father-daughter relationship was born. He was proud of me, in his own warped way, and I equally feared and even respected him.
And then he ripped out my heart.
I suppose it’s about time I returned the favor.
Taking one more breath of putrid nostalgia, I stride past the cells where I used to hear other children and monsters snarling and weeping. I ascend the ancient stairs to the blood-soaked trap door and fling open the wooden door, emerging into the dim light of this world I once called home.
For one split second, all I can see is this colossal arena that I spent so much time in. Rows of concentric audience stands rise up on all sides to leer over the massive blood-stained dirt floor. Multiple tall columns made of bones and skulls rise up, lit at the top with green flames to illuminate this space despite the Nether’s perpetual darkness. On one side of the arena, Amadeus’s ornate balcony looks out—and there, perched at the edge with the best possible view of the gory fights held here, is his throne made of bones.
He’s not sitting in it right now.
In fact, I don’t see the king of the Undead anywhere as I blink out of my reminiscing and finally register the chaos I just stepped into. Human and legacy Reformists, dozens of tangible ghosts, and hundreds of ravens are attacking ghouls, Undead, demons, Nether monsters, and other hellish creatures all around the arena. The sheer volume of the battle is staggering and tells me the fight extends outside this arena, probably all over the citadel. The air is thick with death and electric with the adrenaline of battle.
High in the dim, grayish sky of the Nether, three golden dragons soar past overhead. One of them lets loose a spine-
tingling roar before breathing down blinding royal blue fire somewhere outside the arena. Instinctively, I know that one is mine. Seeing my dragon in action and not feral puts a smile on my face. I withdraw both Pierce and Cuttrina, my blood already pumping with the excitement of combat.
Barely ten seconds into this battle, I roll out of the way of a massive, lumbering ghoul and simultaneously slice across the tendons in the backs of its ankles. It falls with a garbled cry, crushing an enemy incubus on the way down.
Maven. Fucking gods, I can finally see you, Everett says, his voice pure relief.
I see a blast of ice streak through the raging battle somewhere near the top of the arena, freezing enemies in a wave. My gaze locks onto the white-haired elemental who is quickly making his way to me. A changeling that looks just like me is sticking to his side, defending every attack that comes their way as it holds a simple dagger.
She’s on the battlefield? Fuck yes, Baelfire cheers through the bond.
My mate’s about to take names and kick some Nether ass.
As I dodge the magical attack of a lich several paces away, I still can’t help smiling—because gods, I love hearing their voices in my head again.
As the lich calls another spell to its skeletal hands, one of the ghosts I made tangible passes through it. The lich shrieks and collapses as if it’s choking, only to get stampeded over by a group of enemy Undead racing toward me.
Rolling my shoulders back, I let my instincts and training kick in as I take on the Undead. I dodge, dip, slash, and dismember until pieces of the living dead are all over. Just as I turn to face the last one, it gets frozen solid.
Everett is suddenly at my back, wielding a sword made of nevermelt, but he spares me a soft blue glance. “You took a while to get up here,” he points out, having to raise his voice over the sounds of shrieks, thuds, wails, and shouts surrounding us.
“Something came up,” I tell him, deciding that the news about Heidi can wait until we’re not surrounded by so much death and violence.
The last thing I need is him getting distracted and injured. I am so fucking not going through that again.
Spotting a demon wielding an adamantine mace as it races toward us, I fling Pierce as hard as I can so it sinks deep into the monster’s skull.
Still, just the sight of a mace makes me grin. I don’t know when maces went out of style as weapons in the mortal realm, but I intend to bring them back.
The vampire drops dead just behind Everett, who hasn’t even bothered looking over his shoulder as he scans our surroundings for threats to me. Meanwhile, the Fake Maven beside him has begun attacking a nearby banshee with a fervor I actually appreciate.
I catch a glimpse of another lookalike to me racing through the arena in the distance. There are twelve of them, scattered around this battle—and I’m sure wherever Amadeus is, it’s irritating him.
I just need him to appear. Then I’ll put an end to all of this.
Silas?
I check in, realizing it’s been too long since I’ve heard from my blood fae necromancer.
There’s no response, which makes my already pounding heart grow painful.
I hear a dragon roar again before Baelfire lands on the edge of the massive arena, a changeling that looks like me riding on his back. Even despite the dim lighting, my dragon’s golden scales gleam as he bites a ghoul in half. He swings his tail to knock over another lich before it can throw an attack at more
Reformists who are pouring in through the massive entrance on the opposite side of the arena.
Si, Baelfire also says through the bond.
Earth to Silas. Hello?
There’s still no reply. Panic tries to creep into my veins, but I focus on fighting. Still, I’m relieved when Crypt joins the telepathic manhunt.
Wherever you are, Crane, answer our keeper or else I’ll have no choice but to drag you by your pointed ears to her side. The survivors are safe, love, and I’ll be there any moment, he adds.
“Survivors?” Everett asks, cutting down a banshee before he peers at me curiously.
“Later,” I promise, yanking Pierce out of the dead demon and twirling it in my hand. We’re surrounded by so many shadow fiends that all of my instincts are almost painfully heightened, like pinpricks dancing over my tensed nerves as I rejoin the fight.
This battle has turned into unmitigated, gruesome chaos. Aside from the growing concern over Silas’s lack of response, I’m enjoying every minute of it as we continue to defend ourselves from countless fiends. It’s also nice that I’m no longer a fucking revenant, so no matter how into the battle I get, I don’t have to worry about losing myself berserking.
I’m also keeping an eye out for Amadeus. I spot a necromancer or two, along with liches and now and then even wraiths, but there is still no sign of Galene’s once-upon-a-time prophet.
Incoming, Baelfire warns.
But don’t worry, these rotting corpses are friendly.
On cue, dozens of Silas’s Undead pour through the entryway into the arena at top speed. Instead of attacking the Reformists who are fighting for their lives, these corpse-like allies fling themselves at monsters, banshees, liches, demons, and other
Nether creatures. I catch the barest glimpse of several ghosts clapping nearby before they pass through me, becoming tangible and joining the mounting battle once again.
A second later, I’m beyond relieved to see my blood fae appear, strolling through the midst of the living dead. His intense red gaze scans the slaughter until it lands on me. But just as I step in his direction, Silas lifts his blackened hands and sends a powerful blood magic spell careening toward me.
What the?—
“Fuck!” Everett shouts, tackling me out of the way just before the blood magic decimates the changeling beside us.
What the hell just happened? Baelfire barks through the bond just before I see him arch his draconic neck to set a barreling wendigo on fire.
Rolling to my feet, I break into a run toward Silas. He’s already preparing another attack, this time some kind of necromantic hex. But before I can pin him to keep him from being a danger to himself or anyone else, Crypt drops out of Limbo and twists the fae’s arms back, taking him down.
Silas doesn’t even struggle against the incubus as I reach them. A nearby demon takes advantage of our distracted struggle, and I hiss when a blade grazes my side. I kill off the annoyance quickly before crouching beside my fae.
He’s gone insane again, Everett scowls, freezing several enemies on the way to us.
Overhead, I hear another one of the Decimuses roar before an explosion goes off somewhere outside the arena. I also hear the alarming song of a harbinger distantly and hope no ally tries to kill it off—I explicitly told Brigid Decimus and the other Reformist leaders to instruct their troops not to kill harbingers to avoid their retroactively lethal swan songs.
When Silas slowly tries to aim a deadly magic spell at Crypt, I use one of the few holy magic spells I’ve mastered to block his attack before I grip his chin and squint, trying to make out his eyes. This isn’t a changeling, which I’d already guessed thanks to how fucking powerful he is, but I see how widely blown his pupils are.
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