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I slipped it between us, and it pierced her chest plate, her heart, with ease, thanks to the magic it had been infused with.
Her magic.
The god-killing kind.
Soteira sagged in my arms, and I collapsed, clutching her against my chest.
Soon.
She would reincarnate with no remembrance of any of this pain and suffering. Of the betrayal.
Of him.
And I would find her because she was the other half of my soul, even if we were no longer bound together.
Chapter
Sixty-Two
MORS
“Well, if it isn’t Grigori Rozenkra, my favorite little ice prince… Fancy seeing you here. How are you, darling? Keeping warm?” ”
The hunched grey silhouette was all sharp, bony angles, draped in little more than a burlap sack even though he was sitting on a mound of snow at the top of a mountain peak with icy winds that could freeze your eyebrows off.
He didn’t bother to turn around.
“All those people… I… I... Children.”
My shoulders sagged their disappointment.
Grigori had spent the last 150 years inhabiting this mountain peak, seeking the shelter of an icy cave at night when the wind and snow became unbearable.
“I can feel their pain. Their suffering,” he continued woefully. Voice wavering and cracking.
More often than not, in religion and mythology, people got it wrong when it came to what they envisioned to be hell. Torture and imprisonment inflicted by demons and other bloodthirsty monsters.
The thought would have made me chuckle if my dick wasn’t about to fucking snap off like a blasted icicle in thisAkash-forsaken place.
No, no. Certainly, demons and the like could be found in Avernus, my underworld, but not to serve the purpose of inflicting torture and imprisonment… Such things belong to the so-calledlivingrealms. And those who inflicted said torture, whether ‘demon’ or not, were the harbingers of karma and… sculpting, so to speak.
They wielded the pointy end of karma on those with or who had once had wicked ways.Or,guided by their own wickedness, they unwittingly helped to hone and sculpt their victim’s strength and compassion.
The pain and suffering they inflicted could one day lead to their victim’s selfless action, valour, wisdom, and growth. Just as a warrior’s body did not become skilled and hardened by sitting in a field of flowers for all their days, neither did those who were destined for greatness.
When a soul came to the afterworld after having lived a life that revolved around inflicting suffering on others, I didn’t torture them. Nor did I employ anydemonsto do so. I didn’t need to.
They did it all themselves.
After a soul had passed on, there would be a period of purging, where they would have to experience all the pain and suffering that the soul had inflicted on others during their last lifetime. And when they reincarnated, they would be on the receiving end of their former transgressions.
Conversely, if they led a life helping or benefiting others in some way - whether it be making people laugh from behind the counter of a cafe or rescuing someone from a burning building - that soul got to experience all the love and joy they had brought to others.
And Prince Grigori here, had inflicteda lotof suffering in his royal lifetime.
This, of course, had nothing to do with why I had come to this wretched, frozen wasteland to visit him. Although evenithad a beauty all its own, albeit harsh, with its striking snow-capped mountain peaks, vistas, frozen lakes, and sprawling valleys.
Hate the fucking cold.
