The sound was sickening, a loud hiss as flesh met enchanted metal. White smoke rose from Bruce’s skin, smelling of burnt copper and salt.The crowd leaned in, waiting for the scream. They wanted to hear him howl. They wanted to see him break. But Bruce Thompson did not scream.He bit his tongue so hard that blood filled his mouth. He squeezed his eyes shut, his entire body shaking with the agony of the purple fire searing into his very soul. It felt like a thousand needles were being driven into his nerves. The Brand of the Void was trying to lock his soul, trying to shut the door to the supernatural world forever.“I will not give you the satisfaction,” Bruce thought through the white-hot pain. “I will not scream for you.”Hestia held the iron there for ten long seconds. When she finally pulled it away, a glowing purple mark was burned deep into Bruce’s shoulder. The jagged symbol pulsed with a dim, dying light."It is done," Hestia panted, her eyes wide with a strange kind of trium

The silence in the Great Plaza was not a peaceful one. It was the kind of silence that happened right after a lightning strike, before the thunder broke the sky.Bruce Thompson stood in the center of the ruin. Rain still fell, but it didn't touch him. The heat radiating from the Ashen Seraph created a dry circle around him, turning the falling water into thin, ghostly steam. Behind him, the six-winged creature held the Silver-Gale Falcon by its neck. The majestic bird, which had been the symbol of Nicholas’s pride, looked like a broken toy in the angel’s silver grip.Nicholas was on his knees, clutching his chest. His face was a mask of pure agony. In the world of Oakhaven, a sorcerer and his spirit were connected by an invisible cord of light. Whatever the spirit felt, the master felt."Please..." Nicholas gasped, a string of bloody saliva dripping from his lip. "Bruce... it hurts... tell it to let go..."Bruce looked at his cousin. He remembered three winters ago, when Nicholas ha

The golden light of the Inquisitors was not warm. It did not feel like a summer sun or a cozy hearth. It felt like a desert at noon, harsh, blinding, and thirsty for blood.High Inquisitor Bontus sat atop a horse made of solidified sunlight. His armor was so polished it reflected the chaos of the plaza like a thousand tiny mirrors. He raised a flaming sword, and the tip pointed directly at Bruce’s heart."Heretic!" Bontus’s voice was like a clap of thunder. "By the decree of the Order of the Solar Flame, you are found guilty of summoning a Forbidden Entity. Surrender your soul to the fire, or be erased from existence!"Lady Hestia was laughing now, a shrill, hysterical sound. "Kill him! Burn the bastard! See how his 'angel' fares against the light of the true gods!"Bruce felt the heat of the Inquisitors' presence pressing in on him. His heart pounded in his ears. He was one boy against an army of holy hunters. He looked at the Ashen Seraph. The creature was calm, its six wings pulsi

Bruce Thompson felt his heart stutter in his chest. It felt like a small, tired bird hitting its wings against a cage. The silver needle Mike had jabbed into his neck was small, but the poison inside was powerful. It didn't just hurt; it made him forget how to breathe.He slumped onto the dusty bed. The smell of his mother’s old lavender perfume was the last thing he expected to sense before he died."I’m sorry, Bruce," Mike’s voice drifted from the shadows. It sounded far away, like someone speaking from the bottom of a deep well. "In this world, being a bastard is a crime. Being a powerful bastard is a death sentence. I'm just the one who carries out the punishment."Bruce’s eyes began to roll back. He saw the Ashen Seraph, his magnificent, terrifying protector, begin to flicker. The angel’s six wings, usually so strong and radiant, were becoming translucent. Its skeletal mask was turning into smoke. The bond was breaking because the master was dying.“Is this it?” Bruce thought.