I’m not.
I just refuse to go back there.
Bullshit.
“And what you’re not? Stop fooling yourself. You hated it there just as much as I did.”
It might be the only way.
“No. He’s dying. I feel it.”
He’s fucking playing with you! He’s one of the ancients—his power far exceeds yours.
“Who the fuck is it? Do you know his name?”
A full-body revulsion coils through me, deeper than flesh.
Wolf, Lazreth answers. I sense a wolf. Wepwawet… or Fenrir. And I’m telling you, you’re not winning this. I can feel him. His thoughts. The ego on this bastard—he’s already certain we’ll both be dead in the next two minutes.
“Seriously, you’re not fucking around?”
I guess we’ll find out, won’t we?
I pull then—from the deepest, raging depths of my fire, from Lazreth too—and I ignite.
The god’s power withdraws, then slams back twice as hard.
See? Told you so.
“Shut the fuck up.”
I don’t just draw from the power at my back anymore. I take it. All of it. Drag it into me, twist at the waist, and roar as I thrust my hands forward as far as they’ll go.
“Fuuuuckingggg. Diiiiieeee. You ancient piece of shit!”
That’s it. That’s it. You’ve shaken his certainty. He’s losing ground. Melt his fucking divine ass. Light him the fuck up.
“Ahhhhhh! Take that, you pitiful, blinking light bulb, glow-pony show-off motherfucker!”
You’ve got him. He’s dying.
The earth shifts.
My footing gives.
The ledge beneath my boot shears away, and I lose it—lose focus as my balance goes and the pull takes hold.
“Fuck! Fuck!”
Kahill!
And down I fucking go. Because the crack is a gaping wound now, and Hell itself has opened up to allow me easy entry and is seconds from swallowing me fucking whole.
Do you think we’ll get a warm welcome? Lazreth laughs as if he finds this entire thing amusing.
Fuck no.
I scramble for a handhold, a ledge—anything—because home may be calling my name, but if given the choice, I’ll call it a wrong damn number and hang the fuck up.
