The Shadow Realm (The Age of Dawn Book 4) by Everet Martins Page B

their names etched in his spirit. He would not rest until they bowed before him. Lies. They would tremble beneath his boots.
    “The dual-wielder’s rage fuels my princess!” the Shadow god squealed.
    He forced his eye open. He forced himself to watch Asebor pounding away at his beloved, the Shadow god looking on as if observing a tavern game. Something changed underneath his ribs and a strange warmth filled his limbs. A manic smile tore across his lips.
    They split from their original concept of the self.
    “Their empathy and compassion dies,” he whispered, finishing the words of the voice in his head.
    In his mind he heard a crack like shattered glass, eyebrows bobbing up in surprise. The Dragon sprang free, roared in his chest, tunneled through every cell in his body. It was a tidal wave of rage, unlike anything he’d ever felt before. His body spasmed with enough anger to shatter the world. Chaos reigned in his soul, muscles singing with fire. He started laughing at its glorious return. The Phoenix was there too, buried deep, a star in the Dragon’s roaring furnace.
    A few demonic eyes peered at him. The rest were engrossed in the main show.
    “Die!” Walter roared. His eyes burst alight with white Dragon fire, a thick jet of flame blasting out from his mangled arm. He laughed as he cut white lines through the demons, blood pouring out from them like black rain. He gripped his ruined forearm with his other hand, every ounce of his being fighting to control the torrent of flames.
    “The false gods cannot touch this domain,” Asebor hissed, as if by stating a thing would make it true.
    “No! It can’t be—” The Shadow god cut off as she threw herself into the blood, avoiding Walter’s whirling death. Her hair-snakes pressed themselves against her neck, hissing. The few snakes that had stood in defiance were cut down, their heads plopping into the blood like pebbles. The Shadow god shrieked, her hand reaching towards the severed snakes.
    “You are not a god!” he screamed.
    The Shadow god vanished in a puff of smoke, briefly warping the air. His white fire cut a diagonal line through the giant’s arm jutting out of the lake. It screamed like thousands of rusted hinges as the arm started sliding apart.
    The Shadow princess vaulted into the air, screeched like a dying pig as her wings created a gentle breeze.
    Asebor turned on him, shadowy prick glistening and bulging with winding purple veins. Walter stared at it and a jets of flames erupted from his eyes. “Bastard!” He bellowed. “Burn!”
    Walter saw the twinge of fear, then shock touched Asebor’s eyes for the first time. It was a moment he would never forget. Asebor rolled through the blood, which was now a puddle, his chains sprouting to life in the air. His twin beams of fire burned a pair of holes through a fish-headed creature behind, slumping into the bones.
    A beast like centipede rose up, tall as the Midgaard palace. Walter directed the endless torrent roaring out his arm up, cutting a vertical slice through its towering body. The beast shrieked as it was torn apart, bursting into flames. The acrid stench of its roasting flesh only made him laugh harder. The scent of agony was intoxicating, sucking it in hard through his nostrils.
    His laughter pounded in his skull, swelling with the radiant warmth he felt at watching their flesh burn. Their pain fueled his hatred. Wherever he pointed the torrent, fiery death followed. They would come to know pain, know it like he knew it in his arm, eye, back, mouth, knees and soul. That blind rage freed him from fear and caution.
    He saw Asebor’s chains in flight, moving as slow as a sunrise. His neck prickled at their gleaming blades. He wondered for a second where his lightning quickness had gone. Was this a trick? He welcomed the great emptiness now.
    He opened himself to the full strength of the Dragon. The rage and chaos of the world burst through his flesh, skin splitting apart like desiccation