45. Theos
Chapter 45
Theos
V enom. That must be the reason for Zalika’s sudden collapse. My sweet, violent little assassin had planned this. No doubt it’s the reason for Kalix’s brief disappearance. Either one of Kiera’s spiders had joined one of Kalix’s snakes or the snakes had done all the work. It matters not as the Mortal God Terra falls and screams rise up from Nubo’s throat.
I dive forward. This is an opportunity that cannot be wasted. I rip one of the daggers strapped to his side free from its sheath and drag the sharp end across his skin, slitting his throat from one side to the other in a quick motion.
The screams cease, but it’s too late. Mortal Gods turn, shocked faces covered in the red blood and juices of raw and cooked meat. I withhold another gag at the sight, knowing exactly where that meat came from.
Tryphone rises from the table along with the other two Gods at his sides. Gygaea lifts her hands to the sky and begins to sing.
“Cover your ears!” Kiera snaps before slamming her hands over her own. I drop the bloodied sword at my feet and without asking why, I cover my ears—as does Kalix.
One by one, I watch the other Mortal Gods drop. Their bodies sagging to the ground, collapsing as if their strings have been cut as they fall atop one another. I squeeze the sides of my head as the Goddess’ song threatens to penetrate my mind. My vision wavers and my knees hit the stone before I realize what’s happened.
Gasping, my hand drops from my ear, reaching for the fallen sword. When the lyrical quality of Gygaea’s voice hits me, it slows my movements, making everything impossibly languid. My muscles ease. My mind collapses inward.
Then my fingers brush the blade coated in Nubo’s blood. The pain drags me back and I shake it off, tightening my hold as I drag it back into my palm, cutting my flesh. Raising the blade until the firelight glints off its flat surface, I turn it sharply and slam it into my thigh. Sharp, gasping agony brings me fully out of the trance that Gygaea’s song had evoked.
As the last of the others in the garden—including the Terra—crash to the ground, littering the surrounding area with bodies, Gygaea’s voice cuts off and I sag forward.
“Are you okay?” Kiera asks.
I grit my teeth as I yank the blade from my thigh, thankful at least that the fabric of the mors pallium hadn’t gotten in the way and there are no strings to be cleaned out as my flesh attempts to heal itself. I grip Kalix’s offered hand and get to my feet.
“Fine,” I lie around my clenched jaw.
If they believe me, I don’t have an opportunity to find out, because in the next instant I’m being slammed off my feet and into a statue. Dust crumbles and falls into my face as my back comes into contact with the sharp protrusion of the figure’s weapon.
“Fuck!” I scream as Azai’s face appears before me.
“That was a mistake, Son,” he tells me. “It would have been far easier had you fallen asleep, but now this is going to hurt.”
“I’m not your fucking son!” Even as I scream the rejection, my arm cramps with pain, fingers digging around the handle of the dagger still in my grip. Reacting on battle instinct, I veer upward, slicing across his face once and then dragging it back a second time. I tighten my opposite hand into a fist and sink it into his abdomen.
I’m released, crashing to the ground as darkness thrusts into my mind.
No. Not yet. My bare knees scrape against the stone. Something wet trickles down my side and back. Lifting my head, I realize that the Gods have arrived upon us—Tryphone facing off with Kiera and Gygaea with Kalix. I look one way and then another.
There’s still no sign of Ruen or Ariadne and Caedmon.
Azai’s hand returns, his fingers gripping my throat as he lifts me from my prone position, tightening until air can barely squeeze into my lungs. His face morphs into one of unadulterated fury. The thin lines that cut across his cheeks and nose, leaking blood and unhealing. I glance down at the blade in my hand in confusion, and when I see it, I start to laugh.
“Brimstone,” I rasp.
Azai reaches for the dagger and I flip it over, deftly twisting it in my fingers tossing it across the space to my other hand which I then use to raise and slam it into his shoulder. The howl of agony that erupts from between his lips has never been so sweet.