by Emma Hamm
She scooped the orb into her hands and let it pull her inside. Water covered her head, and she floated in the silence for a time before opening her eyes.
Pitch held her hands in his, keeping her fingers warm as her body threatened to shut down. His eyes were on her face.
“Welcome home,” he said. “I waited for you.”
Burke shifted beside her, coughing when his lungs expanded with air. He stretched his fingers, stiff with misuse and locked muscles.
“Never again,” he said. “We are never going into the Dreaming again.”
“I thought that went quite well.”
“I don’t like the feeling of a thousand Voids brushing against my soul. Never again, Lydia.”
“Tell the others to prepare. I want to leave as soon as possible. He knows we’re coming.”
Burke stood and left the room, giving the two of them a few moments of privacy.
“We’ll go to the Dreaming again,” Lydia said.
“Not soon I hope?”
“No. Not for a while, but someday.”
Pitch’s fingers linked with hers, his thumb tracing her knuckles. “You found him?”
“Yes. He is not well.”
“Physically?”
“Mentally. I knew he wasn’t sane, but I hadn’t realized the cause was guilt. He doesn’t want to be doing what he’s doing. At least, not entirely. The Five have twisted his mind and convinced him that he is a monster. That we believe he is a monster.”
“We do.”
“It’s not right,” she whispered. “No one should be condemned like that.”
“He’s killed hundreds of people by his hand, and thousands by his order. Whether we made him that way or not, he needs to be put down.”
“I want to save him.” Lydia pulled her hands away, running them through the tangled strands of her hair and holding onto her antlers. “I just don’t know how.”
“Will this end tonight?” he asked. “Do you know yet?”
She reached into her power. The threads of time hummed with her speed as she raced toward her ending, and theirs. Though the fog was still there, only two threads remained. They gave her no sign of what they were, but it was enough.
Lydia shook her head. “There are only two endings now, neither clear to me.”
“Then we fight blind.”
“No. You and yours fight as you always have. Together. It is something Malachi does not have.”
Wolfgang walked into the room with Lyra in tow. She skipped behind him, whistling a tune Lydia faintly recognized. The others were trailing behind, each entering the room armed to the teeth.
The Siren grinned. “We’re good at fighting too. Especially Malachi and his goonies, we’ve gotten real good at that over the years.”
“I remember,” Lydia said with a sigh. “I’ve watched many of them and nudged the outcomes as I could. You are all talented but we do not know what we are getting into. Malachi could be alone for all we know. Or it could be a trap and five Gods and Goddesses may be waiting for us.”
“Then we’ll be prepared for everything,” Jasper said.
Lydia frowned. She didn’t think they could be prepared for everything, even if she had been able to help. Pitch crouched before her wearing the same expression before he looked over his shoulder.
“Let’s go.”
Jasper nodded and held out his arms for his friends… no, Lydia corrected herself, his family to take. They would teleport with the Fairy to the location Burke had found. Pitch and Lydia would follow on the shadows.
“Everyone,” Lydia called out. “Please stay safe.”
“No promises sweet cheeks,” E said in its thousand voices. “Battles are never safe places. But we’ll do our best to stay alive.”
They stood back to back, creating an impenetrable shield where they could see every angle of the situation they teleported into. Lydia held her breath as they blinked out of sight.
“Are you ready?” Pitch asked.
“I’ve never been to battle before.”
“I have. I will keep you safe.”
She tried to smile, and though it trembled, she hoped it was enough to reassure him. Pitch yanked her to standing, cupped a hand behind her neck, and held her against him as the shadows followed their prophetic choices. Their children.
Their feet touched rough stone ground. Lydia inhaled smoke and ash, clutching Pitch’s arms for a few moments more. She wasn’t ready. Her heart was thundering in her ears and her stomach rolled, anxiety and fear forcing vomit to rise in the back of her throat.
She held her eyes squeezed shut, wanting to feel him. To remember exactly how his biceps flexed under her hands, how her magic blossomed under his fingers, how the whisper of his love echoed in her mind. It frightened her not to know the ending of this battle.
“I love you,” she whispered. “I don’t know how to fight, but I don’t want you to lose focus. Keep yourself safe, and I will protect myself if I need to.”
His lips pressed against her forehead. “You won’t have to.”
“What?”
Lydia snapped her eyes open. Cold wind blew Pitch’s hair back from his face. Shadows rose over his shoulders and snapped at the air like whips. Everything was eerily silent.
“I was never going to let you fight,” he said. “You are more important than this world. You always will be.”
He dissolved into a pool of shadows that flowed away from her. Lydia stood frozen, watching him slid over the edge of a nearby cliff and drop away.
“Pitch!” she screamed. Scrambling, she dropped to her knees and clutched the jagged edge until it cut into her palms.
He had deposited her so far away from the fight that she would never reach them.
They were in the valley of a mountain range, a crater carved into the earth. Malachi and the Five stood in the center where an altar had been formed. There were rivers around them, dark rivers of magic.
A breeze drifted past her, carrying a metallic and rotting scent.
Not magic rivers, she realized with horror. Blood.
Lydia pressed a hand against her mouth. Now she could see them, the bodies. Hundreds of bodies strewn about the crater, their blood drenching the earth.
They had sacrificed so many, and for what purpose? Lydia could hear their souls screaming in pain. Not from their bodies, but from somewhere else. A container? A vessel which the Five had created for Malachi to use at his discretion?
A golden thread reached out to brush against her mind. Weak and trembling, it was almost afraid of what secret it held. She let it nestle in the comfort of her power, drinking the memory from it. Wiping it from existence.
She cried out.
“No,” Lydia whispered as golden tears fell down her cheeks. “No.”
They had destroyed him. A Void was never meant to hold more than one soul. The Void was oblivion, not a container like Legion. But the Five had twisted Malachi’s creature until it was forced to keep the Souls it devoured. They were eating him from the inside out.
The Five didn’t care. They forced him to eat more and more, his own guilt fueling their desire. He hadn’t fought them. Malachi didn’t even try.
Gold tears hit stone, sizzling and burning through the rock.
She couldn’t see her family, her children, Pitch. They were all hidden from her sight and the Five’s. They didn’t want to be seen too early and ruin their chance.
But she had to see them. Her fingers curled into the stone, leaving deep gouges where her fingers lay. She let her mind wander onto the field and found them huddled together.
They snuck out of cover silently. The Five had yet to turn, but Lydia was certain they knew. How could they not? They had not survived this long without knowing how to stay alive.
Razor edged fear burst through her. It was all happening too soon. She didn’t know how to help, couldn’t help, and she was so far away.
Burke and Wren went straight for the jugular. The mother of the brood of monsters
, Gaia, laughed as they ran toward her. She didn’t even turn around.
Wren hung back, her red hair fluttering in the wind as she raised her hands. Her eyes were white as snow and Juice poured from her fingertips in waves of power. A sickly yellow cloud surged forward and crashed over Gaia.
Fear.
Immensely proud, Lydia leaned forward as her mind hovered above them. Burke covered his face with a scarf and lunged into the smoke cloud. His sword raised above his head and the sun glinted off its sharp edge. He brought it down, slashing through Fear and hacking at Gaia’s body.
She rose from the carnage more monster than woman. Wounds split open along her face and torso. Teeth bared, she jumped at him without weapons. Only claws.
Burke stumbled backward. Perhaps he was startled by her ferocity, or perhaps he realized a losing battle when he saw one. The few feet he gave her were enough. Gaia tossed her head back with a laugh and the ground rose at her beckoning.
“You are no match for me!” Gaia shouted. “You are weak. Mortal. Your casings are so easy to destroy.”
He was lifted from his feet and tossed into Wren who tumbled with him. They landed in a heap on a ground which tried to swallow them up.
Blue lightning cracked, and a shield formed. Fire ringed the couple catching their breath and shadows cracked at Gaia’s hands until she retreated.
Lydia followed the electricity to Wolfgang who had spared a mere moment of his attention to save his friends.
He and Lyra had joined up to fight Aether. She had spun up a dust devil that whirled around her so viciously that it tore the ground. As her hands raised, so did her body.
Wolfgang focused on the Goddess while carving runes into his arms. The bone blade between his fingers was already coated with so much red blood that she couldn’t make out what was hand and what was weapon. His lips moved as he whispered incantations.
His love, Lyra, rode the whirlwind. Her feet bounced from strong current to strong current and she gracefully spun in the air. Orbs containing powerful spells slipped from her fingertips. They struck Aether over and over again, magical dust exploding in vivid colors.
Each burst made the Goddess flinch. The air currents fell and dropped Lyra to the ground. She landed lightly, her fingers clenching the dirt between them. Water dripped from her ears and soaked her hair.
Lyra tilted her head back and screamed. The Siren call shattered Aether’s eardrums. Blood poured from their canals. The Goddess growled, threw out a hand, and squeezed her fist.
“No,” Lydia whispered.
The Siren dropped to her knees and clutched her throat. Her chest rose in rapid movements as she tried to draw air into her lungs. But every time she managed the tiniest bit, Aether yanked it from her.
“I loved you!” Aether shouted. “You were my favorite!” She squeezed her hand tighter and Lyra turned violet.
Wolfgang’s anger tasted of rust and dirt. It lingered upon Lydia’s tongue as he looked directly at her floating form. He could see her, or at least knew that Lydia would be watching. He nodded his head, lifted the bone blade, and slit his throat.
The dead rose.
Hundreds of bodies rolled onto their hands and knees. Those who could walk, stood. They shambled into the battle to heed the cry of their king.
Wolfgang’s body melted. Flesh and muscles slid to the ground, taking clothing with it. In his place, the Lich King stood. Magical armor plated his ribs, covered his body with electricity and runes, and a sword appeared in his hands.
The Lich King clacked its jaws and ran toward the Goddess like a battering ram. Even the Lich King had difficulty fighting back the wind. He fell to his knees beside Lyra, covering her body with his armor and taking the brunt of a tornado Aether called to life.
Flames exploded around them, and Lydia followed them to Ignes. He flew above as a Dragon of old. His wings dripped lava and his mouth opened in a roar of rage and destruction.
Mercy stood beneath him, her entire body engulfed in flames. A black crust protected her skin and glowed with an inner light that was brighter than her fire. Her hair twisted in the wind as she faced Nurin. Her creator.
“You should have died long ago,” she called out. “You should have died with us!”
“I stayed alive to save you, my child. To create more like you. How could you possibly understand the responsibility of a God?”
A whip of fire and brimstone formed in her hand. She cracked it on the wind, slashing across his face. Lava dripped from the wound.
She held his attention, snapping the whip over and over again. Each lash only made Nurin laugh louder. Pain was his creation. Anger was his fuel. Nurin loved every second of a battle and Lydia worried he would be the one to destroy everything just to feel one last lingering moment of satisfaction.
Then she saw him. Jasper crawled out of the blood he had swam through, hidden from Nurin’s gaze. His wings flexed, dancing with blue runes and golden sigils that sparkled with Mercy’s signature magic.
Mercy screamed. “Nurin! I have waited for two hundred years to destroy you!”
Above their heads, Ignes bellowed an echoing call.
“You could not destroy me, sweet child.” Her creator replied. “I gave you life, and now I will take it away.”
Golden sigils flaring, Jasper leapt forward. They were of similar size, he and the God. He pressed his back against the other man’s spine, wrapped his arms around him, and squeezed.
Lydia was confused for a few moments until she realized what he was doing. His biceps bulged and his jaw clenched. Runes and Sigils burned into his skin, giving him more power than he already had.
Jasper squeezed and Nurin’s skin fractured from the pressure.
Small fissures opened wherever Jasper touched. Molten blood and the essence of a God dripped over his forearms.
Lydia heard him whimper.
“Now, Mercy!”
The Phoenix locked eyes with her creator and hesitated. Lydia heard her thoughts clear as day.
But he is my father. He is the one who gave me life. Can I kill a part of myself? Do I have any right to?
It was long enough. Nurin broke out of Jasper’s secure hold, caught him around the back of the neck, and tossed him over his head.
Jasper hit the ground so hard Lydia could hear the crack of his ribs and felt the pain of a broken spine. Mercy’s anguish and loss, her guilt, tasted like bile. As Nurin sent arrows of fire, a cage of shadows formed over their bodies.
“Pitch,” she whispered.
Her focus turned to her beloved who fought the two remaining. Mesi and Kairos, Water and Time.
Pitch raced from one end of the battlefield to the next, laughing as he went. Shadow wolves trailed along his cloak of night. They snapped at the Goddess who ran from him, tearing bits and pieces away from her as they went.
Kairos screamed his rage. “Fight me! I am the one you want. I am the one who has tormented your Goddess from the beginning! Fight! Me!”
A mad grin spread across Pitch’s face, and Lydia understood why he always said to be afraid of him. This was no man. This was not the monster she had caught glimpses of in the night. Pitch was nightmare in human form. He was the rusted sword of Heaven with a halo dripping blood.
His wolves caught Mesi. She screamed in pain and torment as they ran her to the ground. Only then did Pitch pause. He stood in silence with his back to Lydia’s corporeal form.
The wolves did not devour Mesi. They did not bite her flesh nor rip at her bones. Instead, they forced her mouth open and poured themselves in. Her body shook, flipping upon the ground. Lydia watched as her eyes snapped open and shadows swallowed them whole.
Pitch turned. Darkness warped his features until he was little more than a grinning fanged mouth and a crown of mirror shards.
“You wanted me?” he said. “My brother, you should know I do not fight.”
“No?” Kairos croaked. Like Lydia, he was not meant for battle. Time waited for all things to die. It did not for
ce death. “Then what do you do, Pitch? Because this sure looks like fighting to me.”
Shadows pooled at Pitch’s feet, raising him into the air and propelling him forward. He waited until he was a hair’s breadth away from the brave God who stood his ground.
That grin, that uncomfortable split grin of teeth and gristle, spread across Pitch’s face. No lips formed his words, but Lydia heard him loud and clear.
“I feast.”
Kairos fell to his knees. “No. No, please, I beg you.”
“Yes,” Pitch said. “Beg. Cry out for mercy, repent and sing of your virtues. It will serve you well in the afterlife.”
He did not wait for another word. His shadows rolled in a wave over Kairos. They stretched and expanded as the God tried to beat them back.
Lydia listened to his screams but watched Pitch’s face.
This wasn’t the man she loved. This was the monster Sil had already fought, thousands of years ago. She had not killed him, nor had she taught him a lesson. The beast inside of Pitch was alive, and she worried she would never get him back.
Pitch laughed. It was the scream of a hunting eagle, a monstrous cry in the night, a beast untamed. The sound of a Demon, not a man.
“We’re losing,” she whispered.
Two of the Five were dead, but she feared if Pitch killed more that he would be lost forever. Burke and Wren were tangled with roots and thorns. Wolfgang and Lyra had yet to stand. Mercy and Jasper were holed up under a shield of fire while more battered down upon them. Pitch had lost his mind and now disappeared into shadow.
That left Malachi.
Her teeth chattered. No one had time to focus on the Void.
Lydia searched for him. Her mind twisting along the air currents and jumping through the shadows. He had to be somewhere. He wouldn’t have gone far from his masters.
“Are you looking for me?”
The voice came from behind her. Not on the battlefield at all, but here on the rise with her.
She dug her fingers into the stone. “Malachi.”
“I knew you would be here.”
“Where else would I be?”
“That’s the question I asked myself. Your God loves you far too much to bring you into the heat of battle. Especially when he knew they were likely to lose.”
