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They weren’t dead. The rules were different in the Underworld, but it’d be a bitch for them to reattach when I was done, and they needed to reattach before moving back to their non-corporeal forms.
I raised the scythe and went to work. “You got it all wrong,” I told them. “I’ve been resting. Now I’m all charged up.”
I didn’t leave them in pieces when I’d finished.
They were in slivers.
BLOODY KELLAN
They weren’t the last.
More demons met me on the path.
The scythe appeared each time.
It wasn’t mine. The scythe appeared for me. If I weren’t supposed to, it wouldn’t have shown itself. When they appeared, it was considered an honor in the Underworld.
As a result, when I got to my father’s residence, I was covered in blood. It dripped down my arms and fingers. My legs were soaked in it. I left bloody footprints behind me, all the blood of others.
It was glorious, and the demon in me writhed in pleasure.
On his front steps was a large podium, a hundred stairs leading up into the sky, up to where he looked down upon me.
That’s when I knew he loved this.
He loved what I had done.
I had fed my demon, and he knew it.
His nostrils flared, smelling the blood on me. I could sense his pride. “You are still my son.”
His words drifted down to me, on a breeze he had created for them.
I didn’t respond because I couldn’t deny it.
I was who he had borne.
No other guards came out to meet me. They were there, but they were hiding or holding back on my father’s orders. Either way, I ignored them and turned into my non-corporeal self. I moved up, floating to the podium my father stood on.
He didn’t non-corporealize. He waited, studying me, sensing into me. He was probably picking up things I didn’t want him to know, things I didn’t know myself, so I tried to resist him. He was my Master, and I was his son, so a thread of resistance was built into me when I was born. It was the natural order for a son to defy his father.
I had been using that muscle the entire time I was gone, building it up, making it stronger. It was now my spinal cord, and it throbbed under my father’s perusal.
He took the form of an old man, his skin wrinkled, his hair white. He had a slight hunch to his back, but it was all a guise. He could take any form he wanted—human, animal, alien. He could even show his wings, though I’d only glimpsed them once in my life.
“I’m here,” I told him. “Tell me why I’m here.”
He hissed, glaring, the wrinkles moving around his mouth. “Respect, my son. It still works that way down here.”
Maybe.
My spinal cord retracted, growing veins and roots, grabbing hold of my other nerves and bones with a firm grip. I was still non-corporeal, but I could feel my resistance shifting, adapting. It was molding, making almost a new skin. I wondered what I would look like when I retook my human body.
But I was more powerful in this form. “I am here. That is a form of respect. You know I’ve defied you, remaining above and with Shay.”
He hissed at her name, coiling backward. “You will not use her name. I can smell her on you. It’s disgusting.” His eyes flashed, smoke coming from them.
“She is my soulmate. You will show respect for that. I am bonded with her.”
“I’m aware. I can feel her presence even now. She’s more powerful than you think. She can see things you don’t want her to see, read your thoughts. She’s in your mind when you don’t know she is. She is a plague. I never should’ve let you go above to get her for me.”
For him.
I defied him there first, staying and not returning with her. But he wasn’t entirely displeased.
“What is it that you have to share with me?” I asked.
This was not the most respectful conversation with the King of the Underworld, but he would not have called for me if he didn’t want to have it. I would not have been allowed entry as easily as I was. Entire armies could have stood between myself and him, but none of that had happened.
In his way, he had given me a path of gifts. I had murdered them, but that was the gift. That told me everything.
He wanted me to hear whatever he had to say.
I just needed to wait him out. That, and try not to get killed.
He was silent a long time. I remained quiet, also showing respect in this way.
“There is a prophecy,” he finally said.
There it was. I knew it.
I hated prophecies.
FUCKING PROPHECIES
YES, I’M STILL KELLAN
I could feel Shay calling to me, pulling at me to return to her.
