Bren felt the surge of power in him die out, shock and fury making him tremble as he stared down at the dissipating smoke. He reached out toward the remaining listless swirls, the light of his magic fading as the blaze of lightning and fire burned out to mere sapphire embers. His hand felt numb, unsure if the coin was even still there or if it had disintegrated completely. He didn’t care. Instead Bren slammed his fist into the ground, feeling it throb as his tears choked him. Somehow he barely felt the pain and it was nothing compared to the emotion clawing at him from the inside.

There were footsteps and a hand on his shoulder, a warm golden glow illuminating a small space as Archer reached his side. “Brennon…” He sounded scared, his voice wavering as he said his brother’s name.          

Panting for breath, Bren ignored the stares and whispers of survivors as they slowly came to and got up from the floor. Instead, he let go of his failure and rushed with Archer to where his mother was, only a few steps away. He was already trying to swallow his sobs as Archer’s light revealed the thick pool of blood puddled around her, soaking her fine dress. She was so pale she looked like a corpse, but she was breathing, shallow and ragged as she stared up at Bren.

She was reaching out blindly for something beside her, Bren’s free, shaking hand going over his mouth as he saw…it was his father. He couldn’t look at his face, his scream of terror frozen in time, glazed eyes still open in horror. Instead he reached out to help his mother, seeing she was trying to grip a small, leather bound book in his father’s breast pocket. 

Bren grasped it, holding it out for his mother only to have her shake her head and shove it toward his chest. “You…” she gurgled, blood trickling from the corner of her mouth as she continued to try and speak, “This book…is…for you, Brennon.” She coughed, blood bubbling up and staining her skin; it made her look so much paler, like she was a ghost. 

“I… I don’t understand.” Bren pleaded, trying to stifle his sobs as he clutched the book in his fingers, gripping it like somehow it would save her life…or his. She pushed against his hand, Brennon following her gesture as he slipped the small leather tome into his own breast pocket, clutching her hand in return. “Mother I’m so sorry, please, who was that woman? How do you know her?”

“Find… Ryva.” His mother choked out, her voice barely more than a whisper. Her lips quivered as if to wrap around the words again, but all that came out was a feeble, fading, “Find…” 

And then she was gone, too. 

Bren’s voice was a choked cry of agony as he braced himself on his hands and knees over his mother’s lifeless body. Lightning crackled over his hands and up his arms, lancing his nerves with sharp, electric pangs. He could hear voices murmuring in the dark, the guests whispering around him. 

Not one person moved to help, all of them giving him a wide berth as they remained huddled on the floor or in small groups standing as useless witnesses. “Did you see that?” he heard someone hiss in a whisper, the mixing voices reminding him of the woman that had caused his mother’s death…his parents’ death. 

“They’re dead.”

“Who killed them?”

“...He’s an Umbra.”

Brennon flinched, his eyes snapping up to stare at the crowd through his tears, a blend of misery and rage expelling from him. He pushed himself to his feet, glaring through the dark at the cowardly shadows. He watched them scuttle back away from him, like beetles under a light, wishing desperately he could make them care… But Bren let them go. 

They didn’t matter anymore.  

Trembling, Bren looked down at his closed fist, realizing he couldn’t feel the connection to the coin anymore. He didn’t know if it was because his palm was numb with burns or if the magic had simply stopped. Turning over his hand, he pried open his tight, sore fingers, rigid from the force in which he’d used to grip the coin. 

The vessel was completely charred, black and smooth, void of any embossment or etching. Laying in the flat of his palm, Brennon watched it crumble into black dust against the peeling blisters of his skin; it was as if his own strength had kept it together and now that he was letting go…there was nothing left. 

There was a moment of abject horror as he let the sparkling, inky sand trickle out of his palm, dissipating before it even reached the ground… 

And then he felt it. 

Bren jolted forward, his arms so tight with pain and pressure he thought his bones would snap. They were shaking uncontrollably, Archer rushing to his side as he held his brother’s shoulders, trying to keep him still. Bren could feel everyone staring at him in the dark, people slowly beginning to get to their feet and make a run for it as if they thought Brennon was the next monster they’d have to face…and maybe he was. 

His arms turned completely black, his flesh taking on a velvety, smooth texture. His fingers lengthened with splintering cracks, spiked with thick claws as they transformed into something eldritch and otherworldly. Quills pierced through his skin, drawing blood that flowed down his arms from the punctures in his flesh; the droplets fell to mix with the pools of blood his mother had left behind. 

Grunting out a scream, Bren leaned into Archer, pain flaring through him as his limbs were ripped apart by dark magic, undoing everything his parents had done to heal him.  

His skull was swimming with his racing pulse, blood pumping in his ears as the sounds around him distorted. His knees buckled, almost giving out as he panted, sobbing into his brother’s shoulder as the transformation finally seemed to stop, leaving Brennon with inhuman arms.

He looked up through the pain and anguish as the sound of footsteps echoed around them. There were distant screams and shouts, everyone trying to leave before they became the next target…  

A loud bang echoed through the room as the grand doors were swung open, colliding with the walls. More shadowy figures entered the ballroom from the broken glass exterior as they evacuated guests and patrons. With a golden glow that grew like a perimeter of magic around the room, Brennon saw an army of prosecutors clad in red, covering every conceivable exit. “There’s the Umbra! Everyone, high on alert! Evacuate the Manos!” Though there was no blaring alarm this time, he saw them each raise their weapons and point them at him, magic suffusing the firearms as ammunition. “Don’t move! You’re surrounded!” 

They all marched closer, closing in around Brennon who straightened to stand his ground. The shadows in the room were thick and eerie, but even through them, Bren could see fear on their faces. Even those sworn to protect Vitalos were afraid of him. 

Though Brennon wanted to run, this time he held his arms up in surrender. He heard faint gasps as the prosecutors saw the state of his limbs, but still, Brennon stood his ground, praying they wouldn’t pull the trigger—at least not yet. “I mean to cooperate!” Bren said, calling out to the uniformed officers. 

“Brennon…” Archer’s voice was a whisper, filled with a desperate plea…as if he were asking him to run instead. 

But Bren couldn’t run, not without paying a price. He had to cooperate. Though he wanted to sound brave and sure of himself…he had no vessel. Any magic he used would only corrupt him further and spread its poison through him, slowly turning him into a creature of the dark arcanis.

Trying not to sound choked and feeble, Bren stated loud enough for all to hear, “This wasn’t my doing. There was a woman—an Umbra—who attacked the celebration. She injured the Warden and killed—” Bren’s voice caught in his throat, swallowing hard past the sore and swollen lump formed by tears and emotion. He cleared his throat, sucking in a deep breath as he said, “She killed my parents. Please, ask anyone, I can help you find her—”

“No.” The lead prosecutor answered, cocking his weapon. There was an echoing chorus as all the other officers followed suit, readying their weapons as the glow of their magic grew, charging for fire. 

Archer’s hand reached out to him, clutching his arm as he said low through gritted teeth. “Brennon, get out of here.” It was a stupid thing to say, there was nothing he could do and Archer didn’t have enough magic of his own to get them out either. 

“Please,” Brennon begged to anyone that would listen, his arms still up by his head in surrender, trying to show them he wasn’t a threat. “She’s a murderer! She murdered my—”

“It doesn’t matter.”

Brennon froze, blinking up at the prosecutor who had spoken. There was no sympathy on his face, his weapon glowing as he took aim, finger threaded over the trigger. “You’re an Umbra.”

Unbridled rage filled Bren, lightning crackling between his fingers. It hurt, sharp, stabbing pains jolting through the nerves in his hands as he used his magic freely, unflinching. “You’re right,” Brennon seethed, narrowing his piercing eyes at the prosecutor. “I’m an Umbra.” 

The prosecutor pulled the trigger, a series of flashing lights discharging around the room as the officers all fired their weapons at him…but they were too late. 

Pain ripped through Brennon as shadows and smoke erupted from his monstrous hands, surrounding him. He felt Archer cling to him tighter, the room quaking just like it had when the other Umbra had used her power. There was a pulse of pure energy, surging through the room as it pushed back every charge of magic and sent each prosecutor to the ground. The smoke filled his lungs, wrapping around Bren like a shield as it coated his form and swelled with a cold that made his whole body ache.   

The rush of air deafened his own screams, Brennon delirious as he felt his body being violently torn apart, dark magic shattering his very being. A black void edged his vision, Bren wondering if he would pass out…but then he saw the room disintegrate. 

The Gate opened into nothing, Brennon letting out a final breath as he closed his eyes in relief. The world seemed to stop as he tipped back, falling through the null as he heard his mother’s voice ringing through his mind…

Find… Ryva.

And then the shadows took him.