The Banished Gods Box Set: Books 1-3

by L. A. McGinnis

  “As for you…”

  With those words, the air in the chamber did change. Pressure squeezed against her ears, as if a hurricane swept through, pushing in an invisible tempest before it. A void of sorts swirled into place in front of Hel. A place the light did not penetrate, as if repelled by its very presence.

  And when Morgane slumped to the ground, and the void took on a shadowy, almost solid presence, Hel tilted her head and grinned.

  “Just like we agreed, paid in full. Now. Give me what you owe me.”

  40

  From his perch, Loki watched Morgane’s lifeless body splay out on the stone, her limbs white and limp, her eyes vacant.

  Felt the whisper of her soul as it fled past him.

  Within that instant, in the blink between Morgane being alive and being dead, Loki felt his last chance slip away. And that quickly, his instincts went from protecting the woman he loved to retaliation. Whatever was below him was not of this world. Nor any other.

  Hel stood face to face with some formless, shadowy spectre.

  The faint smell of primordial ooze, maybe rot, wafted up to him. His hawk’s smell was not so sharp, but it was a foul, foul, thing, whatever had blown in on that wind. And as the brimstone smell permeated his senses, an icy fire crackled through him, leaving only the need for vengeance. He dropped from the ceiling, landing on his feet between his daughter and whatever in the holy fuck she had decided to usher into this realm.

  The atmosphere in the cavernous space groaned, bending in on itself, the wooden beams overhead splintering, pieces of rock shattering to the floor all around them as he bent the very air around them to his will, the physical world following in its wake of his descent.

  Spinning, Hel foundered on her heels as his feet hit the bedrock, the floor shaking, a kernel of fear igniting in her eyes. “Father?” she mouthed over the roar as Loki’s impact sent cracks through the floor in all directions.

  For eons he had muted himself, protecting the world, everyone and everything from what he was. What he was capable of. His true power could shatter this realm, break this place, cleave it to rubble. But before he unleashed himself, a blast of something equally powerful struck his back.

  As the thing that had taken Morgane away rose up behind him.

  It looked like the end of the world. A swirling, ebbing darkness shrouded in shadows, a dense inkiness swallowing everything, as if it were the nexus of a bottomless void. Without hesitation, Loki blew into the middle of it like a knife and disappeared. Torn apart, he foundered in the center, his momentum sputtering out, before bursting through the other side, coated with ice, his flesh tattered. Turning, he panted, breaths coming fast through barely parted lips as the darkness coalesced and spun, waiting.

  “Give her back to me, you fucker.” He swore the thing heard him. Understood him. Watched him. As if in answer, the darkness shuddered.

  A heavy thud, and Mir and Tyr emerged from the shadows beside him, feet spread, their eyes a darker echo of his, questioning and slightly terrified.

  “I said,” Loki advanced, until his chest brushed the darkness, sensing the absolute, crackling nothingness of it, and hissed, straight into the middle of it, “Give her the fuck back to me.” And he shoved everything of himself straight through it, smashed a fiery battering ram of his own magic right through the center of it. For a second, torchlight flickered through the hole he’d made, then disappeared, as the entity reformed. Loki fell another blow, and then another, hammering away at the dark, writhing creature, and with every slicing arc of his magic, the darkness grew watery. Fainter.

  A final blow into the middle of the void and it dissipated, leaving the cavern’s wet, glistening walls gleaming brightly. As if it had never been.

  Loki stumbled over to Morgane’s limp, crumpled form, fumbling for her. “Morgane,” he gasped, “Morgane, please…please, baby, open your eyes.” Pulled her into his arms. Rocked her. Breathed in the faint, barely-there scent of her, the last, lingering essence of her that had yet to be wiped away.

  “You are going to pay for this, you bitch.” He vaguely heard Mir snarl behind them. “That girl was not yours to take.”

  “I did not take her. Technically.” Such careful, deliberate maneuvering corrupted his daughter’s voice.

  “There’s not a technicality in this world that will save you now.” Mir continued, every word promising retribution. “If I were you,” he went on, “I’d think about running, now. I cannot imagine your father is in a forgiving mood, especially toward the person who sold his lover out to the highest bidder.”

  Morgane was still warm, a slight blush on her cheeks, her lips. And there was still a flicker when he held her, a flicker of their bond, a flicker of their love, a flicker of what they might have been to each other, had they been given the time. Running his fingers slowly down her face, Loki couldn’t help but notice the dirt, the streaks of crusted blood, wondering at how much of this his daughter had done out of simple, careless cruelty. And how much out of hatred for him.

  When he finally rose, setting Morgane’s body down, even Tyr looked away. Hel, however, stared, riven, as if she couldn’t tear her eyes from him. “Father?”

  One step. One step and he would kill her. End this terrible thing he had created, gave form to, breathed life into. Something enormously evil must have shown in his eyes.

  She backed away, hands up in front of her, warding him off. “No. Please. You can’t.”

  He wished he might feel something. Anything. But nothing plucked at his insides, only an endless, icy cold. “I can, and I will. My only regret, daughter…”

  No, not daughter. This death goddess was not his, not any longer. “My only regret, Hel,” he continued, his voice growing colder with each step, his face frozen into a mask of rage, “is that I did not do this long ago. I believe at long last, you will get what’s coming to you.” With those words, fire exploded through the room, filling it, raging into the corners, the crevices, consuming, crackling up along the walls.

  Everyone stumbled away, Mir throwing up a shimmering dome of magic to protect the rest. Blue-white flames, fanned by an invisible hand, wrapped around the Goddess of Death like vines, choking off her air, her words, her sight. Loki wanted her to burn. He needed her to suffer, and suffer, and suffer, until she couldn’t suffer any more. Until her pain made everything right again. The flames turned bluer. Then flared to white. Watching her writhe in them gave him little pleasure, however.

  It felt…anticlimactic.

  With a thought, they disappeared, leaving her heaving on the now-glowing floor, smoking. She was a vile, evil thing. And she deserved this.

  Even if it didn’t change a thing.

  With a tilt of his head, the flames wrapped around her again, and as the air sucked from the room, at least it cut off her screaming.

  41

  Wherever she was, where this was, felt like ice edged with razor blades.

  Just beyond the edge of where she was trapped, life beckoned. Morgane sensed it. Felt the faint, humming pulse of the living, the drum of heartbeats, blood pumping through veins. A bloom of heat outside of this achingly cold bubble. But in here? There was nothing.

  Yet she felt confined, somehow, to this place, even though only a thin veil separated her from the world where she belonged. She had to get to Loki, and she swore she felt him pulling at her, so she tried to reach for him too. Her neck corded, her arms ached with the strain, and yet, she could not move, not a hair, not a blink, not an inch.

  Frozen. Imprisoned.

  As the blurred, beckoning world slipped farther away, shadows swirled in, blocking her sight, pulling her farther and farther away. From life. From those whom she loved.

  No, please, no, she wanted to say, but she had no voice.

  Let me go home, she wanted to beg, but there was no one listening.

  Except…

  There. Amidst the silence, something watched. Ancient. Infinite. An ageless well of power thrumming in the darkness. It
came closer, curious, while she was held rooted to the ground, and she felt… She fucking felt the thing’s preternatural attention shift onto her, its predatory focus so intent, she swore she felt it carving out a place for itself within her. In front of her, twin embers glowed golden in the dark. The thing had eyes, the shadows hiding the bulk of its otherworldly presence. A deep, instinctual fear quaked through her, the kind that takes your reason and your logic and turns you into a twitchy, stupid animal, prone to making mistakes.

  Part of her knew she was already dead.

  Had known it, the instant she felt herself slump to the floor. After that…things went blurry. Now there was only this wicked, depthless dread, lashing at her with cruel, cold fingers, those glowing ember-eyes staring out at her.

  And then with perfect clarity, she realized this was not death. Whatever was left of her shattered soul was trapped in here, beyond all worlds, with a monster honed from darkness. The monster who wanted her soul in the first place.

  Just her and this infinite thing and miles of sleek, smooth evil wrapping around them.

  “What do you want from me? Why did you want me in the first place?” The embers seemed to flare, a quick flicker of gold dying back to banked orange. A whisper of something in her mind, the touch of one impenetrable sentience against her own, one she quailed back from with every ounce of her being.

  The thing caressed her, stripped her bare, and then it stopped, just as quickly as it started. Yanked its creeping presence from her and turned away, as if she wasn’t even worth the effort. As it slid elsewhere, leaving the icy cold to sweep back in and wind its frozen fingers around her, she wondered what had suddenly changed its mind.

  Whatever this thing was, it burned with desire. Burning and ravenous, at the same time. Hungry, so, so hungry, Morgane feared if it ever found its way out of this prison, it would consume the entire world.

  42

  Idly, Loki wondered if it were even possible for Hel to die.

  With that thought, the flames leapt higher, churning and spiraling until he felt them licking at his face, his own clothes beginning to smoke. Something pulled at him, and he glanced over to where Morgane’s body lay sprawled across the floor. He swore, he still felt their connection. As if their bond was still intact. But she was gone.

  How had everything gone so damn wrong?

  They should be on their way back home, Mir, Tyr and Fenrir to get drunk, he and Morgane to celebrate, and Ava to do whatever the hell it was she did with herself. The thought of Morgane, the loss of her, guttered all the rage inside of him.

  “Enough, my brother. That’s enough, now.” His flames flickered out as Mir looped an arm over his shoulders, pulled him away from Hel’s smoldering form, and over to where Morgane lay, the gods in a semi-circle around her. Exhaustion, and something akin to pity lined Mir’s face as both of them stared down at Morgane’s body. From across the room, Tyr watched them, wariness in his eyes as Mir murmured in his ear, “You know she’s gone beyond? You understand that whatever the fuck that was, took her beyond our reach? Her soul, it’s gone, Loki.”

  “I know.” From the hollow, dull ache splitting his chest apart, he did know it, but there was a part of him, a very real, very mated part, that could not accept the fact. That something could still be done. That he could change this. “It’s only…”

  Ava shouldered up between them, her hand wrapping around Loki’s arm like a claw. “For fuck’s sake. If neither of you are going to do anything to get Morgane back, and stop that…thing over there,” she hissed through clenched teeth, “then at least let me try.”

  Mir’s blue eyes flashed in anger. “Even the immortal gods can’t bring a soul back once it’s gone, Ava, so I don’t think you can do anything to help your sister now.”

  Horrified shock flared in her eyes. “None of you can see it, can you?” Ava twisted her hand in his sleeve as she turned panicked eyes to Loki. “You really can’t, can you?” Her voice reduced to a quivering murmur. “That…monster is still in here, watching us. It never left. I think it’s enjoying the spectacle you’re putting on.”

  Loki kept his eyes pinned to the smoking, moaning heap that was his daughter, his voice cracking slightly as he asked, “I thought it disappeared, or I would have…shit, never mind. Where is it, exactly?”

  “To your left, over Tyr’s right shoulder. It’s keeping to the far wall, inside the shadows. I can see the damn thing, clear as day. Though it’s obvious none of you can.”

  “And why is that?”

  “Because if you could…” her voice caught, “none of you would be standing around here chit chating. You’d all have your swords out and that fire of yours would be wrapped around that thing. Instead of her.” She pointed down at Hel. “What I can tell you is this. Whatever’s inside of me?”

  Ava’s voice shook. “That thing is made up of the very same darkness. Except.” Ava began panting. “Except what’s inside of me is only a very small touch of its power. But inside of that monster? The power is depthless, it goes on and on as if there’s no end to it.”

  “I think…” She licked her cracked lips. “It took my sister…because it wanted what’s inside of me back.” Her voice shook so badly the words were barely coherent. “I’ve felt this draw, like somehow, it’s been calling to me. Ever since I first set foot through the portal.”

  Stealing a glance at her face, Loki took a step back, pulling Mir with him. Darkness was already leaking from her eyes, inky teardrops staining patterns down her face as she continued, her voice growing too calm and quiet to sound remotely normal.

  “This power inside me wants to connect to that thing. I’ve been fighting against its pull, ever since it first appeared. Like it’s been…calling to me.” Her monotone turned thoughtful. “Which means it wants me. Or at least, this darkness I have inside of me. Let’s see if it’s willing to make a trade.”

  “Ava, no.” Loki murmured, as her hand slipped from his sleeve. “You have no idea what that is.”

  “Maybe not.” Ava told him.

  “If this works, great, take Morgane home. If it doesn’t?” Her wan face turned to Loki, her eyes pleading. “Then get everyone out of here as fast as you can. Because I have no earthly idea how this might play out.”

  Casually, Mir and Loki inched over to where Morgane’s body lay, gesturing Fen and Tyr and Vali to join them until they formed a circle. Ava watched them shift to form a tight, impenetrable knot around Morgane’s body, Mir’s magic shimmering into a circle of protection around them. Ava’s hands slicked with sweat as she turned, edging around the blackened ring of ash surrounding Hel’s charred body.

  “Please.” The plea rasped out of Hel’s mouth, her blackened, ashy lips barely forming the words. “Please, please I didn’t know what it was… I didn’t know… I was only trying to get free…please, help me.”

  “Fat chance.” Some feral part of Ava embraced the savagery of this spectacle, of the torturer becoming the tortured, of the tables finally being turned. Of karma coming back to bite Hel in her perfect little ass. But truly, she didn’t have time for this shit right now. Because behind the charred goddess, amongst the shadows, something waited. Something ageless. Something eternal. Something that reached out for this new, horrible piece of her, and she hoped she could give it away forever.

  A quick glance back reminded her of everything she had to lose.

  Of why this was worth the chance.

  A future for her sister.

  For friends willing to risk everything.

  Ava took a half step forward, then another, feeling the entire time that terrible darkness as it overflowed her body, forming a black river at her feet, flowing out in front of her, seeping toward the source, that shadowy, terrible thing beckoning her on.

  She willed her feet to stop before she reached it, to not step straight into the center of it and allow it to swallow her whole. “I have come to make you an offer.” The creature, for it was some sort of sentient, embodiment of darkness,
waited. “My sister for whatever this is inside of me. Take whatever this is, and give her back to us.”

  The shadow-god in front of her hesitated, as if sensing a trick.

  “No trick. Give her back to me, and I’ll yield this power over to you.” Sensing the unasked question, Ava answered it. “Yes. Even if it kills me.” It stared at her then, stared into her, into what might have once been her soul, but now was some threadbare thing she hardly recognized.

  Dark power, so powerful it made her gag, brushed up against her. Held her still, as if she were nothing, or as if he knew exactly what she was. And had been waiting for her. The dark god wrapped claws of shadow and ice around her, as if he was poised to tear her apart. And a sharp, icy nail ran down the side of her face, driving the air out of her in a rush. Ava began to shake, bones rattling, so hard her teeth clacked together. Until finally, and far too slowly, the pressing strain on her body lessened. She touched a hand to her face, just to make sure she still had one.

  And she swore to fucking God the thing smiled at her.

  As it plucked the darkness from her, like an apple from a tree.

  And when she blinked, she was alone.

  43

  Morgane sat up, the stench of the Underworld a thick, noxious sludge filling her nose. No, that wasn’t quite right, this smelled more of burned eggs and something gone sour, left out in the sun for too long. Her head pounded from an incessant humming, and she was surrounded by tree trunks, which wasn’t right either because as her vision cleared, the trunks became legs, and the humming became voices, and the smell became a truly horrible thing.

  She was aware she was breathing.

  Her heart beat in her chest.

  Then finally, she saw their faces.