The momentum of the axe pulled me forward, bringing my body with it until I faced the trespassers and felt the tool wedge itself between the ribs of one of the men.
His eyes widened as he looked down at his chest, confused. After all, he’d been mid conversation. In a hurry, I placed a boot against his thigh and pushed off, dislodging the axe and coming down with it again, striking in the apex of his shoulder and neck. Blood sprayed everywhere.
His desperate sputtering became background noise as the second man tried pulling me from the handle, reminding me it was two against one.
I was no longer in my physical body. That woman didn’t exist anymore; she’d been sacrificed to keep me alive. What I was doing would leave a deep, unhealable wound. I was a murderer. Like my father. Something broken my magic could never mend.
I vaguely registered the sharp tip of a knife pointed in my direction. Its wielder didn’t do anything with it, too focused on removing my grip from the axe lodged in his rapidly dying friend. I held tight. Instead of peelingmeaway from the axe as intended, he freed the weapon from the other man. It swung freely in my hands once more.
I don’t know who slashed first—his knife or my axe. We both bled.
In the end, I was able to stagger back to that hatch and let Nurghle out before the daytime stars fully set on the horizon.
Empty.
Theo
I fucked up.Badly.
A long, completely preventable list of fuck ups had been tormenting me since I left Tesilvis. I shouldn’t have brought attention to her region. I shouldn’t have brought her to Drifael. I shouldn’t have let her walk the markets without me. I shouldn’t have left her alone. I shouldnothave waited until the end of winter to return.
And I certainly shouldn’t have ignored my handcuff-lacerated wrists and ankles.
If I had half a brain cell, I would’ve asked Dia to heal me. But I didn’t. Why acknowledge the bleeding handcuff wounds, when I could just let infection brew over the course of a cross-continental trip?
I was running on no sleep, high stress, and minimal food. Bleeding, feverish, exhausted, and starving. Scaling Cyciciah, my impending demise attracted a horde of hungry beasts. They watched my struggle from the shadows of the trees and root systems, waiting for a meal.
I’d ditched my boots hours ago. They hurt more than they helped. The leather had rubbed the inflamed gashes of myankles, the friction quickly becoming unbearable. But removing my shoes only fixed one source of pain. The infection had spread to my knee. White-hot fire screamed up my legs with every step. I couldn’t admit to myself I was in pain. That Ineededhelp. Vivian had worked so hard to convince me I wasn’t invulnerable, and that notion went flying out the fucking window the moment I panicked back into “handle it” mode.
The last mile of the mountain trek was steep, but that’d never been a problem. I historically had strong legs, good shoes, and was careful. None of that was true now. Rain poured, creating a familiar mudslide that my feet couldn’t grip. My legs trembled, threatening to give out.
I can’t make it.
That wasn’t an option. Vivian was up there and in danger. Gable wouldn’t let this opportunity go to waste. I didn’t know much about the “new field” startup process, but I knew the goddesses were always taken first. Why waste the battery life while you build an empire? They could be used to charge the very machines intended to destroy their homes.
Would he even bother sending a “recruiter” there first? Someone to gently coax her into their trap without risking any damage? Or did this situation warrant skipping straight to brute force to capture her? Mykie told me that’s how it happened with Faeryn. First they sent some asshole named Cassius. Then waves of random nameless grunts with rope and weapons and drugs to get the job done.
My stomach clenched at the thought of something so violent happening to Vivan.
While my mind wandered, I lost focus on my footing. I slipped and crashed to my knee, screaming out from sharp, searing agony. The lack of stealth wasnotideal if E.A.R.T.H. wasaround, but I couldn’t stop the noise. The sudden pang was like a hot knife sinking into my flesh.
I pushed my toes into the mud and tried to stand up, just to slip and fall back to my elbows.
I couldn’t even shift feral to give myself some extra strength—I couldn’t carry my own weight. A sad excuse for a Quadmos. But it didn’t matter what kind of a Quadmos I was. This was mymateon the line, and as long as my heart was beating, I would use every resource I had left to care for her.
I began to crawl.
I dug all twenty fingers into the mud, pulling myself up the incline. My wrists joined my ankles in their septic agony. Roots scraped across my belly. I watched the rain dilute the streams of blood and pus streaking down my arms from the cuff wounds on my wrists that looked more red, purple, and yellow by the hour. How did I have any blood left to lose? The hungry growls of the observing wildlife protested the crystal hanging from my neck keeping them at bay. I ignored them. They weren’t the real threats.
One limb at a time, I would drag myself to Vivian. I’d crawl to the ends of this gods forsaken planet to make sure she slept peacefully against my chest, blanketed by my arms, for the rest of our lives together.
Finally, feathery stalks of wheat began to crest over the hill. The mountain flattened and clover began to speckle the mud. I pulled myself to my feet and stumbled through the magical border, gazing across her field at our cabin.
There were no machines for bulldozing, wardens with guns, or architects mapping out a new facility. For the most part, everything was how I left it… except…
I squinted my eyes to read the large, drippy red letters on the front of the home we’d built together. Raindrops dotted my lashes and blurred my vision. But once I was close enough, the message written in blood was unmistakable.
FUCK OFF.
