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Like with the Underworld, it had to be done. Only then could the restless agony roiling inside her be set free.
Sol jerked his head toward the hallway. “Follow me, then.”
“To Apollo?”
He fixed a flat stare at her. “To your room. Your tantrum will only take you so far, my lady.”
Tantrum. What was she, a screaming toddler?
Her hands balled into fists as he chuckled at her scowl. She had a fierce desire to punch him directly in his perfectly shaped nose. It would look so much better if it were a bit more crooked. And bloody.
Before she could, however, Sol turned on his heel and strode down the hall. His long legs kept a brisk pace, and she hurried after him, muttering curses under her breath.
CHASM
CYRUS
Cyrus was consumed by darkness and nightmares. A dizzying array of horrifying images flooded his mind: dismembered body parts, Prue’s lifeless body, a feral caged animal with blood dripping from its mouth…
Screams rang in his ears. He was nothing but a disembodied spirit, floating aimlessly, with no direction or control.
Am I dead? he thought. He must be.
Either that, or Tartarus had completely taken hold of him.
“Prue,” Cyrus moaned, his voice a weak rasp.
The rumble in his throat and the sound of his own voice in his ears sent a bolt of clarity through him. Followed immediately by the most intense pain he had ever known. An anguished scream ripped through him as white-hot fire pierced his flesh, boiling his blood and tearing him apart from the inside. His skin felt like it was melting off his body, his bones weak and fragile, leaving nothing but broken shards within him.
He was dying. Surely, he had to be.
Each second was torture. Pure agony. He tried to move, but even the mere thought of motion sent a fresh wave of pain through him. For several long, tedious moments, he did nothing but exist in this space of misery. No movement. No thoughts.
He was nothing. He would never be anything ever again.
“Prue,” he said again, his throat dry and numb.
The thought of her broken body, her severed limbs, her horrified scream…
I need to move, he thought urgently. Now.
Another roar of fury burst from him, but this was filled with determination instead of pain. He would do whatever it took to get to Prue—even if it meant ripping himself apart.
Gradually, feeling returned to his body, but gods above, it was the most exquisite torture he had ever endured. His limbs weighed down heavily, his skin burning, his insides throbbing…
Then he realized why. There was, quite literally, a heavy weight pressing him down.
Boulders. Rocks. Dirt, dust, and granite.
He was buried.
He blinked, the particles stinging his eyes, but he still saw nothing but darkness. How far deep was he?
And where was Prue?
“Prue!” he bellowed, his voice echoing in the vast chasm.
Gods, please answer me. Please tell me you’re still alive.
