by Sarah Fine
“But only if we’re ready to go to Hell,” Luke shouted. Many of his brethren grumbled their agreement.
Moros stared Luke down. “Yes. You will reap the reward that you have earned. You have all had the freedom to decide how to carry out your duties.”
Luke looked away from his gaze, and the irritable muttering stopped. But no Kere came forward to claim their souls.
Moros looked at Eli, who shook his head. “I won’t leave Cacy. Ever,” Eli said quietly.
“Very well then,” Moros said as he closed the lid. “Then listen closely, for this is your final choice. I am going into battle, and I need allies by my side. You can join me, or you can choose not to. I will not decide for you. If I win, I will find a way to restore fate. And if I lose, Chaos will reign on Earth, and you can take your chances.”
He took a step back. “Those of you who choose to fight, follow me.”
His heart beat hard against his ribs as he willed himself into the Veil. The very air seemed to shudder around him, a sensation he’d only felt once before—when he’d gone to retrieve the Blade from Chaos’s tomb. The creature was loose in the world, and Moros had the feeling that all he needed to do was follow the trail of mayhem to find him.
Given what Eli and Trevor had just told him, Boston seemed like the epicenter. He materialized on the patio of his penthouse to get a view of the battlefield. Screams and sirens filled the night air, along with a haze of smoke. The magnificent Psychopomps tower was gone. He wondered if Aislin had been in it as it fell, if that was the reason for her bloody pants and the soot smeared across her shirt when she’d arrived at the summit. It must have sliced right through her heart, seeing it fall, and the knowledge only stoked his desire to fight. The tremors he felt in the Veil were here, too, like the monster was thriving on the catastrophe unfolding below. Moros knew the only reason he was able to withstand it was that he wasn’t powered by his own strength now—Aislin had enabled him to fight this final battle. He had insisted it wasn’t meant to be . . . but had he been wrong? Would he be able to face Chaos because she’d sacrificed herself?
Trevor and Eli appeared on either side of him, and Moros stepped back from the edge of the patio, steeling himself. “Just as before,” he said. “Bring them to me and I’ll destroy them.”
Trevor gave him a knowing look. “I think you’d better brace yourself, then. You’re gonna be busy.” He pointed down at the city.
The sidewalks were packed; tiny figures with glowing red eyes were everywhere. Moros’s heart leaped at the sight. His Kere had followed him.
Eli smiled. “We’re all with you. Let’s get this done.” He vanished. So did Trevor.
Moros gritted his teeth as he felt another vibration beneath his feet, like the earth was beginning to shake itself apart. “Let’s get this done,” he echoed quietly, then willed himself onto the streets below to destroy the enemies of fate his sisters had created.
His world became a blur of killing as his Kere brought him offering after offering, and each time a Shade-Ker exploded into dust, he felt himself growing more confident. Clotho might have created a horde of monsters, but with fifty thousand Kere on the streets, they didn’t stand much of a chance. The servants of fate pursued them in and out of the Veil—there was nowhere they could hide that they couldn’t be followed. One by one, Moros destroyed them, his hands blazing. He knew it couldn’t possibly be this easy, but for now he would slaughter with joy in his heart. Every kill brought him closer to victory, closer to the moment when he would see Aislin’s skin regain its color, when her eyes would open, full of that cleverness and graceful strength that had earned his devotion.
He would submit to the Keeper of Hell gladly, as long as he knew she was alive and well, and he would fight for that moment. The streets and canals of Boston were cluttered with debris and wreckage, with the bodies of innocent victims who had not been able to escape the evil that had descended upon the city. The Shade-Kere might be dwindling in number, but they were still trying to kill as many as they could.
Hai appeared at his side, offering up yet another struggling monster for Moros to destroy. As soon as he did, Hai grinned. “We’re getting there, I think. I—” His eyes went wide as a deep rumbling filled the air.
Moros spun around to follow the direction of Hai’s startled gaze in time to witness two skyscrapers crumbling about ten blocks to their east, close to the waterfront. The ground bucked as two more, this time a block closer, began to fall. Moros’s stomach turned as a wave of weakness rolled through him. “He’s here,” he said as he and Hai steadied themselves.
The battle in the street had spread throughout the city, and his Kere were hard at work to quell the marauding Shade-Kere. He turned to Hai. “Continue to disable as many of the Shades as you can. Do whatever you can to eliminate any enemy of fate.”
For the first time since Moros had claimed his soul, Hai looked frightened. “What is that?” he asked as two more buildings disappeared into a cloud of dust and smoke.
“That’s Chaos,” Moros said. “And he is mine to deal with.” He willed himself into the Veil and appeared four blocks to the east, squinting to see his enemy through the haze. His brow furrowed as he struggled to focus on the lone figure walking along the sidewalk next to the canal, steps unhurried, pulling down the buildings behind him with casual flicks of his fingers.
Wait—were they fingers? The more Moros stared, the more he wondered if they were tentacles, the way they stretched and shrank, curving in the air like snakes. His head swam with dizziness as he tried to focus on just one part of Chaos’s body, but every time he did, the being’s appearance shifted and changed, becoming something else.
He knew the moment Chaos saw him, because he stopped walking, and for a second, he took the form of an ordinary man. One who wore Moros’s own face. “Did you come to fight me?” he asked in an impossibly deep voice. His countenance began to shift, then, changing to take on Apate’s face, then Eris’s, then Clotho’s, then Lachesis’s.
“No,” said Moros, fighting nausea as he tried to focus on Chaos’s ever-changing features. “I came to kill you.”
The air around the creature warped as he grew and twisted, arms and legs sprouting from his back, his chest. “You can try,” he rumbled as his face became that of Nyx, as dark and beautiful as Moros remembered her. “But you will fail.”
And then Chaos disappeared. Moros’s heart thundered as he whirled around, looking for his enemy. But no sooner had he closed his eyes to try to sense him than his head exploded with pain and he found himself being lifted into the air, his wrists and ankles held in the grip of his enemy’s ever-shifting arms. The being looked up at him and suddenly his countenance changed again, creasing and folding in on itself to form a monstrous calamity of a face, with six black eyes and a gaping mouth. “This world is mine now, servant of fate,” the creature said as massive horns sprouted from his head.
Moros struggled in vain—his strength was nothing compared to this god, fueled by all the destruction brought about by the Fates themselves. He fought with all his might, but Chaos had no trouble controlling him. Hot frustration roared through him as he tried to concentrate on summoning his Kere, on disappearing into the Veil, but Chaos merely shook him, rattling his bones and scattering his thoughts. “I’m not going to kill you,” Chaos said, his voice so ominous and deep that Moros felt it vibrating along his bones. He yanked Moros close to his rancid mouth, his black tongue swirling. “I have to reward the ones who raised me from the dead.”
Chaos hurled Moros into the air. He collided with the side of a building a block away, glass windows shattering on impact as he fell to the ground two stories below. His head slammed into the sidewalk, and he gulped at the air, trying to gather the energy to rise, but his arms and legs wouldn’t obey. Blood trickled along the side of his head; the wound was already healing, but his mind was still a frenzy of scattered images and plans. Gritting his teeth, he focused on pulling himself back together, thought by though
t. He wasn’t beaten yet.
But as he began to push himself unsteadily to his hands and knees, he heard a familiar laugh.
Eris and Apate stood only ten feet away, looking gleeful. “I don’t know how you survived the destruction of the fabric when none of the Fates did,” Eris said, twirling one finger in her long hair.
Apate leaned against the wall that separated the sidewalk from the canal. “I’m glad you did.” The malice in his gray eyes suggested the opposite, but Moros would have expected no less.
Eris gave Apate an affectionate slap. “I actually am glad.” Her hand disappeared behind her back, and she drew forth a thin glowing blade. “Because that means I get to shove this right through your chest.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Aislin opened her eyes and saw a face above hers, too blurry to make out. “Am I dead?” she asked.
“Extremely,” said a deep voice she recognized as belonging to the Keeper of Hell.
Fear sliced along Aislin’s spine as the Keeper took her hand and guided her to her feet. She looked down at herself, still clad in her torn, bloody suit, her ashen skin a maze of black veins. Swallowing back nausea, she reminded herself why she had done this. “Did you keep your promise?” she asked, wishing her voice weren’t so unsteady.
“The Lord of the Kere is fighting the battle even as we speak,” said the Keeper of Heaven, moving gracefully to Aislin’s other side. The glowing ball she held in her hand pulsed, going dim before lighting up bright once more. “The odds are against him.” Her diamond eyes rose to Aislin’s face. “But he is very determined.”
Aislin smiled, even as her silent heart ached for him. “He fights for all of us.”
The Keeper of Hell grunted. “He fights for himself. He always has.”
“Not true,” said the Keeper of Heaven, her voice like a bell.
The Keeper of Hell rolled his eyes. “You can’t stop me from punishing him. If it weren’t for his rebellion all those centuries ago, none of this would have happened. He sowed the seeds of this disaster.”
“Because he demanded payment for the work he and his Kere were doing,” Aislin said.
“Work he was created to do,” snapped the Keeper, his black eyes narrowing.
“And how long had he existed before he rebelled?” she asked.
“Thousands of years!” The Keeper of Hell threw his arms up. “But then all of a sudden, it wasn’t enough for him.”
“How many Kere did he have in the thousands of years before he rebelled?” Aislin was careful to keep her voice even.
The Keeper of Heaven nodded knowingly. “He built the numbers slowly over the years. By that time, he had nearly a hundred.”
Aislin looked up at the Keeper of Hell. “Is it possible he did it for them?”
His mouth tightened, and he didn’t answer.
“He certainly never did it for us,” said a voice from the dais. Aislin’s gaze shifted to the women chained there. One was blonde and thin, and the other curvier, with thick brown hair. Both were glaring at her. “His rebellion weakened the fabric, so he has no right to fault us for doing the same,” the blonde one continued. “He wanted to be free, and so did we.”
“You did a little more than weaken the fabric,” said the Keeper of Heaven.
“You’re his sisters,” Aislin said.
“Lachesis,” the Keeper of Heaven murmured, pointing at the blonde. She moved her finger to the brunette. “And Clotho.”
Aislin blew out a breath as cold fury pulsed inside her. “He didn’t want to believe you’d betray him.”
“He deserves everything he’s getting,” said Lachesis, her smile sharp as a knife despite the fact that her arms and neck were shackled to the wall. “It’s worth whatever we have to go through to see him suffer.” Her malevolent gaze was riveted to Aislin. “And you are a huge part of that.”
Aislin’s brow furrowed. “I would never be a part of his suffering.” She pushed the heartbreaking image of his face from her mind, how he had looked as she died right in front of him.
“You’re the dagger between his ribs,” Clotho said quietly. “You’re the twist of the blade.”
“Explain,” said the Keeper of Heaven.
“Her fate was to be with him,” Lachesis replied. “Clotho and I knew it as soon as we first touched the thread of her life. Neither of us could believe it at first, but as the years went on, the sense only became stronger.”
Aislin felt like the floor had dropped out from under her. “I was fated to be with him?” she asked, her voice breaking as she realized the absolute truth of it—and that she’d sensed it herself, vaguely, so many times before. It was the feeling of rightness when he was inside her, the sense of inevitability between them. “Does he know?”
Clotho shook her head, then winced as the metal cuff around her neck rubbed beneath her chin. “He is blind to those whose fates are entwined with his Kere—or with his own. He’s never sensed it. And when he first touched you, he assumed his lack of future-sight was because of your impending doom.”
Aislin gestured at her body. “Was he wrong?”
Lachesis nodded. “He was always able to touch you. He could have done it at any time, and the result would have been the same.” She grinned. “You doomed yourself because you believed your death was a foregone conclusion, but you were wrong. It was perfect.”
“I would have done it anyway,” Aislin murmured.
The Keeper of Heaven made a soft, surprised noise as her fingers tightened around the glowing orb in her palm. “Even the Lord of Death was subject to the threads of fate, as it turns out.”
“And the manipulation of his sisters,” Aislin added bitterly.
“Ask me if I was ever fated to love someone,” Lachesis blurted out, her smile gone. “Ask me if I ever even had a chance.”
“Ask me the same,” snapped Clotho.
Aislin tilted her head. “I can guess the answer. And I can tell that you’re not happy with it.”
Clotho’s eyes were wide. “So why did he have the chance to fall in love, when we were denied such things?”
“It was the last straw,” Lachesis said in a low voice. “It was then we decided to bring him down.”
“You didn’t think he should have happiness after thousands of years of being alone?” Aislin asked, stepping toward them on unsteady feet. “After millennia of being unable to touch another person without hurting them? This was the reason you chose to destroy him?” Her breath rasped as she mounted the first step on the dais. She wasn’t sure if she had the strength to get up the stairs, but, God, how she wanted to. “You begrudge your own brother the right to love and be loved?”
“Why did he get it when we didn’t?” shrieked Lachesis.
Aislin stared at her. “Can you see the entire future?”
“Only what the threads tell us,” Clotho said.
“Then how do you know it never would have happened? How do you know you weren’t a decade, a year, a day away from a love of your own?”
Clotho’s mouth opened and closed, then clamped shut. Lachesis’s eyes were bulging. Disgusted, Aislin turned to find the Keeper of Hell stifling a smile. “I’m trying not to like this Charon,” he said to the Keeper of Heaven.
The Keeper of Heaven chuckled. “But you’re failing.”
He grunted as he started up the steps toward Clotho and Lachesis, his black robe billowing. As he moved to stand in front of them, his large hands rose from his sides. “Since you were so eager to shed your responsibilities, ladies, I think it’s time to hand over your divine mandates.”
He plunged his fists into Clotho and Lachesis, whose mouths dropped open in agony as he yanked a glowing ball from each of their chests. He opened his fingers to reveal the one he’d pulled from Clotho. “Birth and Mortality.” He did the same with the globe he’d wrenched from Lachesis. “Destiny.”
He strolled down the stairs and handed them to the Keeper of Heaven, who cooed to the three globes in her hands as if they w
ere infants. “In addition to Moros, who carries Doom inside him, this is the totality of fate,” she said. “We have the means to build it again.”
Lachesis and Clotho had both gone ashen as the gaping holes in their chests slowly knitted together again. “But only if Moros wins,” croaked Lachesis. “And he won’t.”
“Moros will lose!” Clotho said in a shrill voice. “He’s fighting a battle he can’t win. I’m certain of it.”
Aislin looked up at the women, hope stirring weakly inside her as she pictured Jason, his fangs bared and his claws out, tearing through his enemies with fire in his eyes. “You destroyed the fabric of fate and what was meant to be. Right now, certainty seems like a rather foolish notion.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Eris stalked toward Moros as he got his legs underneath himself. He was still woozy and unsteady, but if he didn’t challenge her, that cursed blade would be between his ribs in a matter of seconds.
“Hold him, Apate,” she said, her breaths coming quickly as the roar of destruction in the city rose to new levels, making it hard to hear. Her excitement was sickening.
And stupid. “Yes,” hissed Moros, spreading his fingers on the concrete. Pain rocketed up his spine, but his defiance held him together. “Come here, brother. Try to put your hands on me.”
Apate froze where he was. “Cut him first,” he said to Eris. “Make him bleed.”
With a feral snarl, Eris lunged, and Moros threw himself out of the way. She let out a frustrated shout. “Rylan, hold him!”
Rylan Ferry stepped from the Veil, and the mere sight of him made Moros’s thoughts turn red. The former Ferry looked cautious. “What happens if he touches me?” Rylan asked.
“Come and find out,” Moros said as he slowly got to his feet.
Rylan’s eyes met his. “Aislin wouldn’t want you to kill me.”
“You have no right to say her name,” Moros roared, diving for Rylan. He dodged, and the distraction was just enough to allow Eris to strike. The Blade of Life pierced Moros’s thigh, sending a bolt of searing pain through his leg. Apate laughed as Moros hit the sidewalk again, his blood smearing the concrete. He had to get ahold of the Blade—it was the one weapon that would give him a chance against Chaos, who was still pulling buildings down only blocks away. But his injured leg trembled uncontrollably as he tried to stand again, and he wasn’t fast enough to move out of the way when Apate kicked him in the chest, knocking him backward into Rylan’s waiting grasp. The Ker looped his arms under Moros’s, controlling the swipes of his hands. Still trying to heal from his hard collision with the building, Moros didn’t have the strength to will himself into the Veil.
