Above us, Michael must lose grip on his Seraph blade, for it comes tumbling down, its sharp edge digging itself in the dirt between Hades and I. Through the pain, I glance at the sword, at its unearthly, magical light.
Hades laughs. “Go ahead. Try to pick up the Seraph’s sword. Remember your lover’s chains in the Underworld?” His chest rumbles with laughter as he adds, “That’s what I thought.”
The Seraph chains that Gabriel made for him—they burned me. I couldn’t get a hold of them. Without Erin and the key, who knows where we’d be right now. Closing my eyes, I pray that Erin and her mother are not in the fight. There are things kids don’t need to see.
I look up to the sky, past the fighting wings, and wonder where the Locusts took Josie and my dad. Are they safe? Did they disintegrate, too?
Hades takes his time swinging down his sword, and I muster up the strength to roll out of the way. Despite my back injury, I do it pretty well. With the Seraph chains in my mind, with my burning hands in my brain, I know I probably shouldn’t go for Michael’s sword.
But I do.
It’s the only thing around.
I grip its shiny hilt, tentative at first, and when it doesn’t burn me, I yank it out of the dirt. It’s lighter than I expect.
Huh.
Chapter Thirteen
Around me, the fighting ceases—or at least my ears no longer hear it. Hades’s eyes widen in shock, and he blinks multiple times, trying to comprehend what he’s seeing. Above, even the Devil himself has paused. Every being on the field must’ve felt me pick the Seraph blade up, and every being is shocked.
Everyone except Michael.
“Impossible,” Hades spits, “only a Seraph can—”
I take a step toward him, the creepy vine in one hand and Michael’s sword in the other. “I’m no Angel.” With my words, Hades swings his sword at me, and I block it effortlessly, as if I’ve known how to use a sword my whole life. For a moment, with our blades pressed against each other’s, Hades and I simply glare at each other.
This…this is it.
This is the Reckoning. And it will be a sweet one indeed. I’ll make sure of that.
The world shakes, and just as the fighting erupts, a new face appears, rising from the ocean in a wave of his own creation. Water tendrils lift, coiling around his bare waist, a mermaid tail of water. With a triton in his hands, there is no mistaking him. Poseidon.
Hades stops, pulling away from me as he murmurs, “It is time.”
A sharp pain travels up my arm, almost enough to make me forget about my back wound. I grimace, watching as Poseidon lowers his triton. A gold line forms in the water, snaking and moving through the ocean, cutting into the land—a real, physical thing. This time, when the earth quakes, the land splits and grows apart. I work to keep my balance.
The armies continue to fight, only their leaders interested in what’s on its way.
When Hades smiles, he sees me struggling, and helps by shoving me down. So much for staying upright.
The earth rumbles—and this time, it’s not a quake that makes the sound. It’s a roar, a sound so primal, so ancient, that my ears want to will it away. Hades moves to the cracked earth, water filling the gap that continues to grow, wider and wider until the other side is a mile away, most of the fighting cut off from us.
The yellow coil delves downward, and the sound of breaking metal bounces in the air. A being so immense, so powerful, so ungodly large rises. Hades shouts to the abyss, “Yes! Rise, Titans, rise!”
Red, slit, angry eyes, belonging to the first head appear, narrowing at Hades. Serpent-like in appearance, its fangs are the size of the ogres, its mouth able to swallow up houses. Black and red, scaly, wholly terrifying. Up and up it goes, its neck muscular and strong.
As more heads, very similar to the first, tower over the battlefield, Hades laughs. How he thinks he’s going to defeat them is beyond me. But it doesn’t matter, because Hades isn’t going to be the one who wins here.
It happens fast.
I stand, holding onto Michael’s blade. My feet draw me to Hades, to the edge, nearer the creature, the Titans. Seven heads now reach for the sky, taller than skyscrapers, wider than city blocks. Each throat gurgles with snarls, their power unmatchable, even by the Seraphs. I give a quick glimpse to the Seraph blade before lifting it.
The blade cuts into Hades’s shoulder, going straight through his armor, as if he’s wearing nothing. Hades stops, the hand nearest his impaled shoulder dropping his green, curved blade. An involuntary reaction. The King of the Underworld is more like mortals than he wants to be. He’s got nerves just like everybody else.
Hades’s head drops as he looks down to the Seraph blade protruding through his shoulder. His skin burns with its contact, sizzling and cooking. The thorny crown on his head slips off, rolling on the dirt, precariously twirling near the edge, near the Titans—once, twice—until it falls into the abyss.
“I can’t let you win this, Hades,” I say, yanking the blade out.
The god falls to his knees, stunned, shocked, astonished.
I move around him. His expression, usually dark and stormy, is filled with confusion, sadness, and the resemblance of acceptance. Without a word, I kick his sword away from him. It goes the same way as his crown.
A pain tears through me, and I swear I hear something whispering in my ear: hungry, hungry. My heartbeat sounds like a drum, and I put it all together, something I should’ve done a long time ago.
Sacrifice.
How much are you willing to sacrifice?
I stare at the growing thorn, my palm giving way to what is growing beneath. The sky shakes, and the Titans start snapping at the Seraphs flying, tearing wings from the celestial bodies. Dagon is bloodied, tired, but he fights with Michael against Lucifer. The Fae realm’s army is nearly gone thanks to Hades’s spirits and the sheer power of the Demons. Lucifer knocks Dagon down, and he’s so tired his wings don’t catch himself. Dagon plummets downward, narrowly avoiding the snapping jaws of the rightmost head.
Michael flies, his wings bloodied, without any defense against Lucifer. I have to turn away when Lucifer raises his black blade, unable to watch the last Archangel be cut down. Once the Seraphs are out of the picture, it’ll be easier for Lucifer to tackle the beast.
Or beasts.
From here, the Titans look like one conjoined monster of Godzilla-sized proportions, but since everything from the neck down is still climbing out of the separated land, I reserve judgment.
“Dagon,” I shout, and though he’s beaten and exhausted, he comes to me. Breathing hard, with one eye swollen, he looks horrible, even in his Devil form. “I need you to take me up.”
With his one good eye, he glances at the Seraph blade. After everything we’ve been through, he knows better than to ask questions. If he doesn’t bring me up, I’ll find another way. His dark, giant wings give a single flap, and soon we take off, rising high into the sky, leaving Hades a miserable, losing wretch. With one arm around him, I look to the battlefield. The spirits Hades brought with him fight with much less gusto, their faces full of bewilderment instead of anger. Maybe because they sense their leader has lost.
Lucifer, however, hasn’t.
Feed the hunger.
My hand shakes as a vine starts growing out of it, and I keep it behind Dagon’s head, careful not to let it touch him. Once we’re up high enough, once we’re past the snapping heads of the Titans, of the great beasts that hid in the earth for so long, I press my mouth on his, tasting blood and sweat. “I love you,” I whisper, and before Dagon can say anything back—or stop me—I pull myself from his grip and fall.
I’m not in free-fall for long.
While I plummet down, I smile. My hair clouds my vision, blocking out Dagon’s face. A smelly breath of gas surrounds me, and the last thing I see is the crystal clear sky. The tallest head, the largest, catches me as I fall, swallowing me without hesitation.
Its throat pushes me down, no
thing but red and pink around me, gooey and gross. In the dark space, I fumble with Michael’s sword until I can turn it and stick it in the beast’s throat, cutting as I fall to its stomach. The body shakes with a howl. Blood squirts in my face, soaking my skin, my hair, my eyes. I don’t know how far I fall, but I don’t stop. I don’t stop falling, and I don’t stop cutting and slashing.
Eventually the throat widens, and I must fall into its stomach, a giant pit of acid. My left hand freezes in pain; the thorny vine now nearly a foot out of my palm. More, it says. More. And so I give it more. While my skin dissolves, I hack and slash. I tear out of its stomach walls, not even knowing what I’m cutting as I crawl through its large, expansive gut.
I lose my mind, I lose all conscious thought. I’m a mindless zombie, just cutting away at the ancient creature around me. I belong to the seed. I am its host, I do its bidding.
The sensation of fire in my belly brings my sanity back. I don’t know how temporary the reprieve is, and I realize I can’t breathe in all the blood. The vine stems outward, into the beast’s stomach, and travels up my arm. My other hand grips Michael’s blade. What am I willing to sacrifice? I’d say everything, but I’m no hero.
Time and time again, I put others before myself, even though no one has ever put me first. I play hero just because I could, because there’s no risk. But now? Now I have something I don’t want to lose, things I want to fight for.
No. I don’t want to die here. What will I sacrifice?
I’ll settle for a hand, an arm at the most.
I use the Seraph blade to, to put it bluntly, saw my own arm off, right above the elbow, where the vine’s growth has momentarily stopped. Maybe it’s the adrenaline, but I hardly feel it. Cutting through bone—that part gets a little sketchy, but I push through, fighting for air in my lungs.
This isn’t how I die. I’m going to live through this. I’m going to beat it, beat them all.
The bone snaps, and the second part is like cutting through bread. Easy. Not as much pain as I thought, maybe because I’m hardly there, in my mind. I grab my hand—feels a bit odd, to do it—and push it away, away from me, farther into the beast’s belly, the ever-large supply of blood the Titans have to feed it.
My mind zones in and out, and the last thing I remember before passing out is gathering heat on my right hand and using it to cauterize the wound. Then it’s nothing but blackness, swirls of light every few seconds, and a voice telling me that it’s done.
I won.
I nearly drop the goodie bag—which would’ve been a shame, because I just spent the last ten minutes running up to the condo and stuffing plastic baggies full of chips and various other snacks. My black hair is tied back in a loose ponytail, my body in a string-less bikini. As I catch the bag before it falls off my shoulder, I drop my sunglasses on the wooden boardwalk.
Wincing, I bend to pick them up, praying they’re not cracked. My hands retrieve them, and for a quick moment, I make sure the dark glass isn’t scratched or dented. They were cheapies, and the area around the beach is full of tourist stores with overpriced sunglasses, so it wouldn’t be the end of the world if they did break. But they’re fine.
I slide them back on my head and make my way onto the sand. I spot our flamingo blow-up float and wander towards it. David sits in a low beach chair, his bare chest slathered in white sunscreen, along with his nose. He looks like that awkward friend you bring to the beach on all those TV shows, the one who doesn’t quite know when enough is enough; just puts the entire bottle on his body.
“Ooh, the goodies are here,” David hums as I set the bag between us on the tiger towel. Rubbing his hands together, he digs in, finding the bag of nuts and cashews. He offers me one, saying, “Salted nut?”
I laugh. “You know I don’t like nuts.”
David’s brows raise as he mutters, “Don’t tell that to Dagon.”
I look out at the ocean, where Dagon stands, showing the kids a giant shell—as large as his arm—and the creature still inside it. They giggle and laugh, baiting each other to touch it. When Dagon sees that I’ve returned, he tells them that snacks are here. But the kids don’t come right away; they frolic in the water a bit more.
After putting the shell back where he found it, Dagon sits near me. He grabs the chip bag and pops open a can of generic brown soda. “I can’t believe I couldn’t bribe them with chips,” he says. “What kind of kids are they?” His blue gaze looks to me, playful. “They must take after their mothers.”
“Hey,” David says, mouth comically full of nuts, “I take offense to that. They’re weird because of me, too.”
As Dagon puts an arm around me and kisses my cheek, he says, “I think they’re going to be sorry when they come out and see that all the chips are gone—” He stops when I pull out another bag full of salty goodness. Snatching it from me, he adds, “Don’t let the kids see that! I—” He sees that the kids are working their way out of the ocean and walking up to us, so he does what David did to the nuts: he shoves as much as he can in his mouth. By the time the kids make it to us, he’s full, and the bag—the first one—is half-empty. “Would either of you like a chip?” he asks, though it sounds more like incoherent baby talk. A chip falls onto his chest as he says it, making me laugh.
I smile at the kids, looking at them, but the sun shines oddly brightly overhead. So bright that I can’t see them. I can’t even see the color of their bathing suits. For all I know, they could be strangers before us. They’re not, though.
The sun grows brighter and brighter until everything around me is white. I can’t hear Dagon, David, or the kids anymore. No chip crunching or nut chewing. I can’t even see my own hands.
Huh. That’s weird.
I don’t know how long it is until I wake.
A sharp, throbbing pain shoots through me, and I groan as I sit. My back aches, my arm hurts, my—wait a second. My arm.
I look at my left arm, where Athena’s boon normally sits. I have the vaguest memory of—ick—cutting it off, but I’m sort of hoping that was a dream. And, I notice, it wasn’t a dream. It was real. I…cut off my own arm.
Lovely.
I struggle to stand, using the sword still miraculously in my other hand to get to my feet. I doubt Michael would approve of me using his Seraph blade as a cane, but the Archangel isn’t here, so what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him. At least one Greek boon made it through—Demeter’s ring sits on my still-attached fingers.
I glance around me, taking in the greenery, the roots and the vines, wondering just where I am. The walls of the room are thin enough that light shines through, and I hobble to the closest side, leaning Michael’s sword on the wall as I touch it with my remaining palm. The wall seems to beat with life, its rhythm similar to a heartbeat. Through the moss that covers it, I swear I see veins in the wood.
Heaving the blade over my head, I do the only thing I can think of: I hack my way out. My strength isn’t great, so it takes me a while. The bark gives way, and once I crack it open, I use my shoulder to further push on it. As I push, the wall breaks, and I stumble out, breathing in the fresh air of day.
The sun momentarily blinds me, and when my eyes readjust, I see that the land before me is covered in green, little, colorful flowers sprouting in the grass. I stand on a platform, in an opening of the earth, where seven giant trees stand, taller than even those in the Fae realm.
Wait a second. Those aren’t trees. Those are the Titans, the giant beasts that used to live under the earth.
“Would you look at that,” I say to myself.
A gust of wind sweeps past me, and a tall figure lands near me. Before I know who it is, he says, “You’re one stupid idea after another.” His words are ended with a kiss.
Ah, Dagon.
When he pulls away, he notices my lack of left arm. “Care to explain?”
“Later,” I say. “Can you do me a favor and get me off this thing?” I feel his strong arms around me, and we take off, flying away from
the trees, away from the beasts.
Dagon brings us to what was the battlefield, although now it’s a field of surrender. The spirits and Horsemen stand behind Hades, who sits on his knees, missing his sword and his crown. The Demons are on their hands—if they have them—behind Lucifer, who scowls at me with a sneer that is unmatched. To the right, the Seraphs stand, all nameless to me, save for Michael. They are all in their human forms.
I’m slow to realize they’re all staring at me, waiting for…me?
“Uh, I don’t—”
Michael explains, “The one who dealt the final blow decides the fate of the realms, of this world.”
Oh. Wow. No pressure, right?
As I look from leader to leader, Michael to Lucifer to Hades, a part of me wants everything to go back to the way it was, before the Horsemen rose. But the realist in me knows what I have to do.
I move before Hades, pointing Michael’s sword at his hunched figure. All the terror he’s instilled, all the death and pain he’s inflicted—all because of a stolen love—is fresh in my mind. He looks so pathetic, so lost. “I will not take the Underworld from you, Hades. You’ll go back there, but you’re not free to return here. You’ll stay there until you regret your part in this. And if you never feel guilt…then you’ll never leave your Underworld again. Never to Olympus, never go to any of the realms.” It’s perfect for him: a punishment of his own making, because I know he’ll never regret his decisions. He’s too proud.
Hades vanishes in a puff of green smoke, and his army of massive proportions follows him. I don’t even bother looking for faces I know—Dad, Josie, Evalina. There’s still too much to do.
Like give Lucifer his punishment.
“You may have won this, for now, but I—”
A Reckoning so Sweet (The Reckoning Book 3) Page 18
