Aleksander rushed through the halls of their hideout. The large mansion was practically a ruin, stone crumbling, windowless walls greyed by dust and time. It had been a safe place for them for a while. But now, it was devoid of life. All Grisha had fled before their shelter could become a death trap.

And right now, he needed to buy them some time to escape the clutches of the kings fast approaching army.

It wasn't too late for them. He could still save them.

A sharp jab tore through his chest and he stopped in his tracks to take a breath, fists curled at his side. Luda.

Gone. Just like that. He had not been able to save her. There hadn't been time. The weight of guilt was suffocating him, but he couldn't afford for it to consume him right now. He would avenge her. Being feared and hunted, because of what the Grisha were, the killing and bloodshed. It would end. Now.

He stood tall and lean, all clad in black and dark grey. His shoulder long hair had a raven-black shade, matching the colour of his large, exceptional eyes. Concern was edged along the corner of his lips. He had conjured merzost mere minutes ago, after he found Ilya Morozovas journals. It was an abomination to wield the dark magic, but it was his last resort, it had to be done. Uncertain about how it would affect him, if he would be able to endure it, he had absorbed it, let it become part of him, let it merge with his Grisha power of summoning the darkness and he had not wasted a thought about any possible risks he was taking. He did it for his people. To bring peace.

What he had not anticipated was the infinite flow of a vigorous power unlike any he had ever felt pulsing through him. He could not quite estimate its potential yet or how he could call upon it to do his bidding. But he surely did not have time to figure it out. The kings soldiers were here.

Slowly, he stepped outside and onto the terrace. Taking tentative steps towards the stairs leading into the garden of this once beautiful and thriving mansion, he could see that the soldiers were taking their position in a semicircle around him. They were heavily armed, their crossbows aimed at him and the majestic gargoyles standing on either side of his tall frame, giving him a mysterious and dangerous aura.

Aleksander took deliberate steps down the stairs, observing the scene before him. They were afraid, he could tell. Hiding behind their weapons, ready to shoot at any moment. He wasn't afraid anymore. Not after he had lost Luda, after getting his mother and friends to safety, he would gladly become a martyr to serve a greater cause. Or let himself become something else entirely. Something that resembled Ilyas fate, he hoped.

"You're surrounded." The leader said. "If you cut me down, my men have order to spare no one inside. You'll kill everyone. Including your mother."

Spare no one…

They hadn't spared Luda when they had bound his hands behind his back, when he had begged them to leave her alone.

And they knew what he was capable of, that he could summon the cut from darkness and they were afraid of him. After the king saw how he defeated their enemies in the war, he started to fear him, his power and what he could potentially do. Become a threat to the throne. And they knew how protective he was of every every Grisha and every friend he had. What they didn't know was that the place was empty and he was the only one left, ready to face and fight them.

"The king wants you in custody. We know you lost your Healer."

Aleksander tried to conceal the anger rising within him. He already had to concentrate immensiley on keeping the dark power within him in check, he could feel it swooshing through him in huge waves, begging to be released.

"Hold your arms wide. I know how your Small Science works. Your hands have to touch first."

Aleksander slowly raised his hands. Dirt was streaking his handsome features, the angry red cut along his hairline looked all too present on his pale face. His appearance betrayed the raging, burning storm inside him. He looked calm, he felt calm. The merzost inside him was not. It was chaos, mayhem, death. And it was having a violently passionate dance with his Grisha power. They were fusing and melting into one another, tearing at his insides and his mind. He could barely take it.

The leader addressed his soldiers: "If he moves his arms, shoot him."

The ones who feared him called him The Darkling. It was time to show them the true meaning of that name.

Inhaling sharply, he started to call upon his newfound power, murmuring an incatation in Old Ravkan. The soliders were immediately alert, stepping closer and drawing their swords. One bow released and the arrow found its target, hitting Aleksander in the right shoulder. The Shadow Summoner jerked slightly at the impact but remained standing with his fists raised on either side, his eyes closed and so deeply drawn within himself that he had not felt the arrow tearing through his flesh. Black blood seeped from the wound, running down his woolen coat as black veins crept up his neck.

He raised his head and looked at the soldiers defiantly, stating: "I have no army to fight yours. So I shall remake yours as my own."

"SUBMIT TO ME!"

The soldiers were suddenly forced to their knees by an invisible power. Their features contorted, molding into something starting to resemble the winged monster statues around them.

Aleksander felt the dark magic forcefully pressing against his will like a huge tide. Panting with the effort of trying to conceal it and to use only a small portion of it, he felt the wall within him break. His eyes grew even larger when the onslaught of dark power hit him with full force, rushing passed his inner barrier. He was overwhelmed by it, like a drowning man going under the huge wave which broke over him. He could hardly breathe. His head tipped back and all he could see was the blue sky above him, which promptly disappeared in a swirl of darkness which had erupted from him -from him - now spreading with mighty roaring into all directions, like the black death, like a desease spreading and bringing nothing but hopelessness and misery. But to him, this may well be the only hope he has. Like Ilya, he had made something.

He could not say how long this lasted or when the spreading of darkness had stopped, but as fast as it had overpowered him, it suddenly retreated. The black veins on his neck disappeared, he grew even paler and his strength was leaving him entirely. Everything around him was pitch-black. And so, he gave into the darkness himself. He closed is eyes and passed out.