by Nazri Noor
When I came to, I wondered if other entities had had to deal with this sort of thing in the infancy of their power, except that I realized that pretty much all of the ones I knew had come into the world as gods and demons already. There was no grace period, no gestation, so to speak. I had to slowly grow into my own demigodhood, grope and claw in the darkness until I hit upon my own divinity. Though I had a feeling that I wouldn’t have to grope for very long.
For one thing, the stretcher that the shade created never faded away. It was still there when I woke up, serving as a decent substitute for an actual bed. That was when everything came together. That little stunt that one of the shades had pulled with conjuring a disintegrating sheet of black tissue paper had been a hint all along. The Dark Room was featureless and blank for a reason. I was the lord of my own domain, wasn’t I? I had to build my kingdom from scratch.
And so I did, with every given opportunity, calling on the familiar old feeling of producing darkness from the very tips of my fingers, of generating shapes and sculptures out of solid midnight. Here and there I burned little globes of magical firelight, just like the ones that lit the alcoves of the Boneyard. A taste of home.
The boys – the shades, that is – were very supportive in that respect, pitching in their own stocks of material darkness where they could, and it helped that they were all linked to my brain, just like a hive mind, the way that Agatha Black’s thirteen copies all operated along the same wavelength. Yeah, we’ll get to her in just a bit.
So over time, I managed to transform the Dark Room’s nexus into a decent little bachelor pad of my own, albeit one with no real luxuries or entertainment apart from things I could make out of shadow. I mean, I was a demigod, you know? Not a magician. Okay, so I technically am as well, but making a decently comfortable sofa out of solid darkness is far less complicated than, say, crafting a working television, or a computer, for that matter.
I made a mental note, then, to gradually sneak in some electronics on future trips, and maybe talk to Carver and even Amaterasu, if I could swing it, to ask about how to rig up electricity to a domicile. There had to be some interdimensional utility company out there. We had wifi in the Boneyard, for crying out loud. Surely I could hook something up for the Dark Room as well.
And speaking of trips, the very next one I took was once again the result of Herald’s communing. This time, though, I was summoned to a different, though no less familiar environment: the house of one Norman Graves.
Oh, he was pissed, for sure, and he made sure I knew it, too, for at least the first ten minutes. But we spent the rest of the time being Dad and Dustin again, catching up, and I mainly leaned on the “Thank God you’re alive, Dustin” angle to curry sympathy and avoid any further risk of fatherly castigation. The “Oh my God, you’re a demigod” angle was pretty cool, too. Dad was doing his best to hold it in, but he was definitely gushing a little bit.
The rest of the Borica were a little more restrained about it, to be sure. My third excursion out of the Dark Room involved a surprise. Herald had arranged for the communion circle to be placed on a hilltop, the very same one outside of Valero where we’d finally defeated Agatha Black and the Eldest. It was kind of fitting, in a way, plus they very well couldn’t perform a summoning in a super public place like Heinsite Park, so for a picnic, the hilltop would have to do. There was something cleansing about the idea of it, too, like we’d picked the spot specifically to celebrate, to wash away the taint of what had once happened there.
The kindest thing of all was how everyone, even Sterling, had acquiesced to Herald’s small request. He wanted to summon me just before dawn, all because I’d mentioned in passing that I hadn’t seen a sunrise in too long a time.
To be fair, I hadn’t seen much of anything in the world since the night I defeated Agatha Black. Defeated wasn’t the right word. Obliterated might have been more appropriate. Carver said that the hole in the sky sealed up completely once all the witches were destroyed. Royce was suspiciously cheerful when I saw him on the hilltop for the picnic, but Romira quietly whispered about how cleaning up the mess had been hell for his department, how the Mouths had to work overtime, and how they even needed extra help from the Hooded Council to wipe civilian minds of the events of the evening.
I’d expected Bastion to be especially affected, but he seemed more or less okay, sipping on a pre-dawn cocktail. “It’s Mother who’s having a bit of a hard time,” he said. “We both buried Grandmother in our hearts and thoughts ages ago, when she was first cursed by the Eldest. But I can’t imagine how much more it would hurt to see your own mother succumb to the darkness that way.” His lips twisted like he’d just tasted something bitter. “I couldn’t bear the thought of it.”
But at least everything was in order, the world mostly back on its feet again. I only wished that I could have parted with Mason on better terms. He was the only member of Team Borica who was missing. Asher said that he’d decided to leave the Boneyard. Mason said that it was to forge his own path, but Asher knew better. It was to protect the Boneyard from retribution, from all the entities who would no doubt come banging on its dimensional door to look for the swords that belonged to them.
The first problem was that the other swords had disappeared after the Apotheosis – scattered, I imagined, throughout the world, if not the universe. Carver’s theory was that it had something to do with the massive collision of arcane energies needed for me to ascend. The second problem, the one that Mason hadn’t mentioned to me when he summoned the fifth, flaming sword from the Vestments, was the matter of its ownership.
The damn thing belonged to an archangel. Knowing the celestials and their temperaments, that archangel was going to come looking for its blade, sooner or later. And I knew that Mason kept that to himself because he wanted it to become his burden, and no one else’s – that, and the question of owing Belphegor a demonic favor. Damn it. He really was Samyaza’s son. Too noble, and too selfless, martyrs to the bitter end.
Whatever the case, I had to admit that I felt more than a little responsible for what happened. The hilltop picnic was supposed to be about celebration, but I couldn’t ignore the pang of guilt in my stomach. Worse than that, though, was the lingering pang of loss. When I said that all the swords had disappeared, I meant all five. And that included Vanitas.
“We will find him,” Carver said. “Along with the other blades. We’ll return them to their rightful owners, and Vanitas to you, and all will be well.” It was sweet of him to give me his reassurances, but as dense as I can be – I admit it – even I could tell that Carver was just forcing himself to say that to make me feel better.
But I would find Vanitas, some day. I knew in my heart that I would. We were brothers. The shard of star-metal lodged in my heart said so. Once I broke out of the Dark Room, once I’d gained enough strength to actually venture out into the world without the limitation of having to be summoned, I promised myself that I’d go hunting. I would find my blade brother. And I would find my estranged nephilim son.
It was only a matter of time. After the meeting on the hill, after we all, as friends and family, had watched the sunrise together, I would return to the Dark Room to rebuild. I would go home to my own domicile to craft my very own kingdom, my seat of power, to grow in strength not simply as a darkling mage, but as a deity. A god of nothing.
But there was time for that in the future. For now, the night was ending, and that was all that mattered.
“Welp,” Sterling said. “Time for me to head home. The sun comes up and all I’m good for is a fireworks display.”
I nodded. “You’d better get going, then.”
“When all this ascension talk started I really thought that we would never see you again. I was – I was angry for all the people you would have left behind. Herald, your dad, all the others. I was going to wait for you to come back so I could kick your ass, you know?”
“You wish,” I said, warming a little at the thought of Sterling caring at
all.
“So I’m sorry, I guess. Seeing you once a month won’t be so bad.” He gestured around us, clearing his throat. “Knowing that you aren’t abandoning the people who love you is even better.”
“And hey, maybe I’ll show up even more frequently, once I figure out all this demigod junk.”
Sterling ruffled my hair, cold fingers pressing lightly into my scalp, then laid a quick, chaste kiss on my cheek. I felt myself blushing at the wildly unexpected gesture.
“It was good to see you again, you stupid idiot,” Sterling murmured, smiling fondly.
I scratched the back of my neck, smiling back. “Likewise.”
He waggled his eyebrows. “Maybe once you’ve properly matured, you’ll give your old buddy Sterling a taste of that sweet, sweet god’s blood, eh?”
I frowned. Now that was the Sterling I knew. “Die in a fire. Get the hell out of here.”
He hugged me tight, then patted me on the back. “Right back at you. Missed you, little buddy.” And in a flash, the fastest vampire in Valero disappeared, off to hide his frigid ass from the morning sun.
An elbow connected with my ribs, and I grunted. I rubbed at the spot tenderly, pouting up at Herald. “Hey. I bruise easily.”
He cocked an eyebrow at me, his voice thick with mock jealousy. “You cheating on me, Graves?”
I shrugged. “Probably.”
Herald cracked his knuckles. “I’ll have a word with Sterling. Make sure he keeps his fingers off my man. Er, god. Whatever. What are you now, exactly?”
I shrugged again. “Not sure, really, but I do know that you’re supposed to worship me either way.” I stuck my chest out, broadened my shoulders.
“Fat chance.”
I flexed my arms, as if he could see anything through my jacket. “Is this doing it for you? Hmm? All these big man-god muscles?”
He shoved me in the chest lightly, half-smiling. “Shut up. Maybe.”
“Or at least believe in me. Isn’t that how this works? Loki said so himself. The gods don’t get the recognition and power they used to because no one worships at their temples anymore. No one believes.”
Herald rolled his eyes, then nudged me with his shoulder. “Enough serious talk. Look.”
I caught the reflection of the first rays of a colored sky in his glasses, and when I turned my head, all the breath left my body. The oranges and purples of a sunrise are even richer, more beautiful when you live in a dimension that’s completely black. I bit the inside of my cheek, trying not to cry. I did make a mental note, though, to get Herald to stock up on some artwork and photos for next time. Put a splash of color in the Dark Room, because why not?
It fell like a shroud, the silence that came over everyone gathered on the hilltop that one dewy morning in Valero. We didn’t need words, but there was a palpable sense of importance in what we’d all done there. We’d saved the universe, this time with both humanity and the entities at our side.
The walls of the cosmos were secure now, safe and sealed within the confines of the Dark Room, but if anyone – or anything – thought to infiltrate our reality again, I knew that these people would be with me to fight. I believed in their iron will, in their unwavering intent to preserve the world, to ensure the sun would always rise again.
“Hey,” Herald muttered, fingers lacing through mine. “I believe in you.”
I squeezed his hand. That was more than I needed. In that moment, I was neither mage, nor god, nor sacrifice. I was just a man. There, on the hill, with all my fathers and brothers and sisters, I watched with a blazing heart for the coming of a new dawn.
END
About the Author
Hi, I’m Nazri, a Filipino-Malaysian author based in California. I’m trilingual, but I really only write in English. I can also speak just enough Sindarin and Valyrian to impress absolutely no one. My urban fantasy novels focus on heroes who use wits, style, and their wildly unpredictable magic to save the day. Think sass and class, while kicking ass.
My influences come from horror and fantasy: HP Lovecraft, Anne Rice, George R.R. Martin, Chuck Palahniuk, Terry Pratchett, and Neil Gaiman. Growing up I was shaped by the Blood Sword, Fighting Fantasy, Lone Wolf, and Grey Star game book universes. I’m also inspired by video games, specifically the Castlevania, Final Fantasy, and Persona series.
Long story short, I’m a huge nerd, and the thrill of imagining wizards and monsters and worlds into existence is what makes me feel most alive. Writing, to me, is magic. If you enjoyed my work, please do consider leaving a review on Amazon. Even just a sentence can do so much. Reviews help readers like you decide whether they’d like my books, and they help indie authors like me with better visibility and credibility.
And do consider joining us over in the Arcane Underground, my own reader group on Facebook. You can talk about my books with other readers, or even directly ask me questions about my stories if you like. I frequently share free and discounted books from myself and other authors, but most importantly, the group is always the first to learn about my latest releases and see new covers as I reveal them.
I hope to see you there. Thank you for reading, and thank you for supporting independent authors everywhere.
