Page 1 of Taming Winter

CHAPTER 1

100 Years Ago

THANE

I strapped the IED to the sleek red glass of the bar's exterior wall. The cacophony of drunken patrons inside vibrated through my ears in a calming, omnipresent hum. Residents of Zone 8 stumbled and clashed in a violent racket that would make Ares proud. The sound tumbled into the crisp evening air as the streets filled with the drunk and disorderly, ready for a street fight. I flipped the switch and checked to confirm the device countdown began before I faded into the shadows cast by the gleaming red skyscrapers on either side of me.

Twenty seconds until all hell broke loose.

The calculated detonation gave me enough time to reach the outskirts of town. I crept through the shadows with an exaggerated drunken amble to avoid suspicion and danced around the pools of crimson light cast by garnet lampposts that jutted from the ground like ornate, gnarled talons. Each one was carved with intricate battle scenes and bloodshed in honor of Ares, the god who ruled this brutal cesspool.

Ten seconds.

The last building cut off at a thin cobblestone strip that led to the Underbridge. A row of guards blocked the entrance to the elusive Zone 12. Some I recognized. They were the battle-hardened warriors of Ares from Zone 8, who survived the trials thrown at them by this godsforsaken city to win the honor of protecting our borders.

I knew the others from our brief clashes on past missions. Their pristine military jackets were the same shade of blue as the Anarro Sea, flecked with bright swaths of solid gold that the right Cabals would be ecstatic to get their hands on. Poseidon was as ostentatious as his brother, caring more for fashion than his soldiers' safety. I could grab a few pieces when I killed them; the extra paycheck would keep my stomach full and a bed beneath me for another night.

Five seconds.

I pulled the dagger from the folds of my trench coat, the hilt like the comforting touch of an old friend in my palm.

One second.

The explosion reverberated through the surrounding buildings as I lurched forward. The screams of shock and agony covered the gurgling sound from the first guard's throat. I dispatched a second before they could react to my onslaught. Disoriented by the chaos and reeling from my attack, the remaining guards stumbled to draw their swords. Lucky for me, I was ready. I came at them from the far-left side to make it difficult for them to face me as a group, and they stumbled over themselves in their rush to end me.

I darted toward the next soldier and pierced him through the chest, right next to a gold button. As the hilt hit his breast, I tore the button off and shoved him to the side. I didn't bother to use my blade on the next guard; I slammed my foot into his diaphragm, sending him into the chasm below. An echo of moans resonated through the cliff walls and joined the screaming symphony at my back.

Two guards left. They stalked toward me through the smoke. The last rays of sunset blended with the flicker of crackling flames consuming the nearby building, casting angry red shadows on their skin and gleaming off the gold decorations. I freed a breath and lunged.

The left guard parried my blow with his sword and shoved me back. I grimaced. Unaware victims were a far more efficient method of getting a paycheck. Battles were messy, and I didn't appreciate the disorder that came with them. Other residents of Ares’s domain loved bloodshed for the sake of chaos and glory, but I preferred the shadows. Yanking my short dagger from my waist, I dipped under his arm and parried his sword away with a firm smack. In the echoes of his confusion, I hurled my blade deep into his ribcage. The sharp crack of his breaking bones vibrated through my teeth.

"I'd tell you to pray, but we both know the gods aren't listening." I twisted my dagger deeper, earning a dull groan from my victim before pushing him away.

My last target was already running, turned coward when faced with the icy hands of death. I flipped my blade in my palm and threw it dagger-point first. It buried itself in his upper back and sent him to the ground with a shriek that was lost in the cacophony of wailing that continued to fill the air. I stalked after him to tear him from the stained cobblestones by his sweat-slicked hair. Despite his feeble attempts to stop my death march, I managed to drag him to the open maw of the Underbridge. I pulled my blade from his back before kicking him over into the blackened depths one hundred feet below. Glowing purple tendrils crept from the water and clung to his limp body like tar, dragging him into the depths of the River Styx. He would soon join the miserable wraiths that filled the churning tide.

My boots were silent on the polished concrete, something I had learned from years of practice. I paused for a moment and looked at the city that raised me in its toxic underbelly. A few silhouettes stood on top of a building, close enough they were visible through the smoke. I tipped my head to my cabal. It was a useless tradition, but the Boss insisted I give a farewell in case I didn't come home. A foolish notion. Death was not an option, though sometimes I wished for her frostbitten embrace.

I turned toward the Underworld, also known as Zone 12. I wasn't afraid of the prospect of killing the immortal who controlled the souls of the dead. We had done the necessary research.

As I set out on the mile walk across the Bridge of the Dead, I pulled my map from my trench coat to review the route I had spent a month memorizing. The Underworld was a perfect imitation of Olympiara herself, with the sprawling expanse of the Castle of Hades at its center.

The temperature dropped with each step, and a purple fog clung to the air. I shuddered, then scolded myself. There was no difference between this mission and others. The Boss was confident in his information on how to kill an immortal. Failure wasn't an option, and cowardice was unacceptable.

When I reached the far side of the Underbridge, the choked purple sky was bathed in starlight. It was in that darkness I took in the vision so many died to see.

CHAPTER 2

100 Years ago

THANE

The road ahead cut through glittering buildings of obsidian. Purple fog swirled around my feet and settled in the crevices of the cobblestone. Enormous statues of feral hounds with gaping maws trimming the road held flickering purple flames that cast a dull light in the darkness. I resisted the urge to shudder. Goosebumps prickled over my flesh inside my leather coat. The very air sucked away warmth. Even the torches, raging infernos they were, did nothing to break through the omnipresent chill.

On the next block, I encountered my first residents of the Underworld. Wraiths. They were meek puppet imitations of humans, correctly shaped but slightly off. Blackened voids filled their eye sockets, and their faces were expressionless. Their skin sloughed purple shadows that collected into the fog hovering on the ground. Some walked, but their movements were purposeless. I clenched my coat tightly. I had witnessed many tortures, watched people sitting in pools of their blood or digging their own graves. Once, I had forced a man to eat his tongue and the tongues of his wife and daughter. My actions had been the reason for many desperate cries from those who knew they weren't long for this world. None of it threw me, but seeing what had become of the afterlife since the birth of Hades came close. These souls were… lost.

Despite their melancholy aura, the wraiths were a good sign. They meant I was moving in the right direction. It was known that Hades drew the dead to her. State-employed educators drilled theology lessons of the immortals into us as children. Souls would cease to exist if they drew too far from her presence. So, they flocked to her, drawn by some magnetic force I never fully understood. Clusters of them meant she was nearby.

The assumption had always been that my career would eventually take me out. I didn't fear the eventuality of my death; it would be a kind reprieve from the brutality of life. Though becoming a wraith was as desolate as life in Olympiara. There would be no true rest for a blackened soul like mine. Based on our living days, Hades decided whether we endured our eternity in comfort or suffering. She could hold a soul’s weight in her hand and determine its virtue. I was certain mine was heavy.