“No.”
He laughed. “No? You don’t get to tell me no. Because here, now, is where your story ends. Not with a happily ever after. But with the destruction of all you’ve held dear.”
I stood slowly, turning toward him.
He smiled. “Good. This is good. You’ve done well, Sam. I’m sure they’ll sing songs about you. The young wizard who fought boldly until the end when his magic was consumed.”
“It won’t happen,” I told him quietly. “You won’t win.”
“This was never about heroes and villains. It never has been. You are the final step needed to realize the new world order. My world order. Because once I have you, I will have the dragons, and my reach will extend far beyond the borders of Verania. It will—”
“You’re monologuing.”
He looked startled. “Excuse me?”
“You’re… monologuing. Just like always. You fucking villains. You never change. You never change.”
He didn’t like that very much. “I am nothing like the others you’ve—”
I laughed harshly. “You’re exactly the same. Oh sure, you’re stronger than anyone I’ve faced. You’ve gotten a little further. But in the end, you are exactly like the others. And you know what happened to all of them? I kicked their fucking asses.”
His gaze narrowed. “Who do you think you are, boy?”
I grinned rakishly at him. “I’m Sam of Dragons.”
I moved then. In that alleyway. I ran toward Myrin the Bright Star, feeling the scars along my chest crackle with electricity. A crack of thunder burst overhead, and then a flash of lightning arced down from the sky and slammed into my raised hand. It crawled down my arm and wrapped around my heart, the green and gold bright against the blue electricity that rolled through me. I moved quicker than I ever had before, like I was lightning, striking out at Myrin before he could even—
A hand closed around my throat.
I was lifted off the ground.
My feet kicked.
“We’ve been here before,” Myrin snarled up at me. “Did you really think I’d fall for this again, you little shit? The time of Sam of Dragons is over. You have lost.”
Lightning racked through me and onto him. The muscles in his arm twitched, the hairs standing on end, but his grip only tightened. I pushed as hard as I could, but it was no use.
He opened his mouth wide.
And that horrible pulling that I’d only felt a fraction of in Mashallaha began again.
His eyes were dark as he began to consume my magic.
It was a terrible sensation, like I was being drained from the inside out. I felt it being pulled toward him, like I was caught in a storm I couldn’t escape. I screamed in his face, unable to—
And then it lessened. It just… fell away. All of it.
He said, “How are you doing that?”
I struggled feebly in his grip.
He said, “How are you making your eyes change colors? What is this?”
I felt them.
Black. And blue. And red.
And white. So much white.