My blade jabbed into his chest, cutting deep into his heart.
His eyelids flew wide as he grunted. First confusion filled them, as if he wasn’t sure what was happening. Then face relaxed, mouth going slack, like he was experiencing immeasurable relief.
I yanked the blade out and Xander stumbled backward, hand gripping the wound in his body. Bright red blood covered his hand. Xander fell to the ground, dead.
The onslaught of abrasive energy disappeared, as if I’d been standing in a nuclear reactor that had been shut off. The silence, the sudden absence of his energy was deafening.
My body was drained, like I’d just been through a battle. I took a deep breath, trying to steady myself. The job was done, but the weight of it remained heavy on my shoulders.
I turned and marched to the elevator, my mind reeling with a mix of emotions. Guilt and regret were already creeping in, as I thought about the life I’d just taken. The elevator doors closed, and I hit the button to go up.
As the elevator ascended, I couldn’t shake the unsettled sensation in my gut. I’d just killed a god, and it didn’t feel like a victory. It felt like a tragedy. The world had been stripped of a powerful presence, and it felt as though, in fulfilling my duty, I had somehow hollowed out a piece of myself.
ChapterFour
THE BEAST
Oblivion. Bliss. At last. Death swallowed me whole into nothingness, bestowed by the dark angel with the face of a seductress and the scent of bergamot and lavender soap. Her eyes, her eyes were the last, most devastating beautiful thing I’d see.
But then, cold seeped into the skin on my back, and I blinked.
I blinked again, and reality hit me like a ton of bricks.
“Fuck,” I grumbled, the ceiling of my cage creeping into my vision, each cold and uncaring line a mocking reminder of my unending torment. My powers buzzed under my skin like a swarm of hornets, their relentless sting eroding the last vestiges of my sanity.
I sat up, gripping my hair as I set my elbows on my knees. Then I screamed. “Fuuuck!”
My cries of despair bounced off the confining bars, creating a symphony of agony as I convulsed, teetering on the edge of sanity. Death had briefly cradled me in her arms, a fleeting respite from my torment. Each shuddering breath felt like inhaling shards of glass, the pain a cruel reminder of the life I was bound to.
I had died, but only briefly. The wound on my chest had closed, and I had healed entirely. I had survived the Blade of Bane, something no immortal had ever done before.
To have come so close to what I wanted so badly made the failure a thousand times more painful.
I blinked back the wetness stinging my eyes, clenching my jaw so hard that I threatened to break some teeth. But they always grew back.
Staggering to my feet, a surge of raw emotion ripped through me, each pulse of my power a white-hot needle threading insanity into the fabric of my existence.. My senses were a cacophony of torment: the sight of my captivity, the taste of stale air, the rough coldness of the bars against my skin – all were sharp, maddening reminders of my reality. I stood at the precipice of my own mind, teetering on the edge of a freefall into the abyss of berserker rage
For once, I welcomed it. I wanted to lose myself to the oblivion of white-hot power searing through my brain, driving me right out of my mind. A roar of agony exploded from me, and the bars of my cage rattled.
Still, my frustration did not tip me over the edge. Hell, my surge of anger didn’t even affect the lights. Normally they’d pop, spark, and plunge me into darkness.
Then I noticed it. A bit of my power was gone. It was as subtle as a missing spark from an inferno of power. Yet it was enough to keep me from losing control. A glimmer of hope dared to ignite in the black abyss of my despair.
And I did find oblivion, at least for a little while.
Excitement welled up inside me almost as fiercely as when I learned the Blade of Bane had resurfaced. This wasn’t over. No, this was just the beginning. A grin curled on my face just as the elevator opened.
They revealed the impeccable silhouettes of Grim and his aide, Timothy.
Like Grim, Timothy donned exquisite suits, though his were always tinged with an extra flare, reflecting his taste for the theatric. His jet-black hair stood up in a perfectly gelled coif, offset by the deep purple suit he wore.
Grim had kept his tawny colored skin and strong Egyptian features, while Timothy spent many hundreds of years in China until he adopted Asiatic characteristics himself. We tend to adapt to whatever environment we immerse ourselves in. Down here, I grew pale, not having felt the kiss of the sun for I don’t know how long.
Timothy’s shrewd eyes narrowed when he saw me.
Grim looked surprised as well. “We thought you were dead.”
“Yes, I was here to make plans for the body,” Timothy announced in his uptight British accent. He fiddled with the cufflinks on his velvet, paisley suit.
