Each kill stays final. Each anchor locks death into place without struggle. We move through territory that would have been suicide a week ago, and the only resistance we encounter is already failing.
By the fourth nest, the remaining monsters stop advancing.
I notice the shift before Soreia does—the way creatures in our path hesitate instead of attacking. The defensive postures replacing aggressive ones. They can’t retreat; the compulsiondriving them forward doesn’t allow genuine withdrawal. But they’re afraid.
Fear looks different on constructs designed for a single purpose. It’s not the wide-eyed terror of prey recognizing a predator. It’s hesitation. Delayed reaction time. Mistakes that wouldn’t have occurred when they believed themselves immortal.
“They know.” Soreia’s voice carries quiet satisfaction. “They can sense what’s happening to their kind.”
“Divine constructs share awareness with their creator. The god who made them is feeling every death that sticks.” I watch a scout freeze mid-charge, its body trembling with conflicting impulses. “It’s hurting them.”
“Good.”
She doesn’t elaborate. Doesn’t need to.
I kill the hesitating scout with a single strike. Watch Soreia anchor its death without pause. Another true ending. Another piece of their power extinguished forever.
The satisfaction singing through me isn’t precisely bloodlust. It’s older. Purer. The certainty of apex predation—the knowledge that nothing above me exists. Nothing can stand against us.
Not these monsters. Not their god.
Nothing.
We findshelter in the ruins of what was once a farmhouse.
The walls provide cover from observation. The roof, mostly intact, blocks any diving attacks from above. The interior smells like rot and old death, but it’s defensible. That’s all I require.
Soreia moves through the space with practiced precision—checking sight lines, identifying potential breach points,calculating escape routes. Skills she’s developed through weeks of running. Skills I didn’t teach her.
My mate learns quickly.
“This will work for the night.” She turns to face me. “The deeper nests are two miles east. We can reach them by mid-morning.”
“Assuming nothing attacks before dawn.”
“Assuming that.” Her mouth curves. “Though based on their current behavior, I doubt the remaining creatures are eager to engage us.”
She’s right. The fear response we observed in the outer nests will only intensify as we move closer to whatever the gods are protecting. Their monsters know what we represent now. Know that facing us means ending.
I close the distance between us in three strides.
Soreia doesn’t retreat. Doesn’t flinch. She meets my advance with the steady gaze that first caught my attention in the ravine—the look of a woman who has seen predators before and refuses to be intimidated.
“We’re done talking.”
I back her against the wall with controlled pressure. Her pulse accelerates under my hands. Her breath catches—not fear, anticipation. She grips my arms with strength that’s increased since the mating, her body already adapting to what the bond has made her.
“Floor.” My voice has dropped to a growl. “Now.”
She doesn’t argue.
Afterward,we lie in the darkness with her body curved against mine.
The ruins smell no better than they did before. The distant sounds of corrupted wildlife filter through cracks in the walls. Tomorrow will bring more fighting, more death, more elimination of threats that stand between us and the god responsible for this nightmare.
None of it matters as much as the weight of her against my side.
“What happens when they’re all dead?” Her voice is quiet in the dark. “The monsters. The god. All of it.”
