Brighter Than Nine (Darker By Four #2)

Prologue

Nine Four One Three

Hell was a never-ending night.

There was light in the Ten Courts, of course, but it was cold and lacking a certain something. Some might say that something

was life.

In Youdu, the capital of the underworld, that light had a scarlet hue—radiance from the red moon that hung in the black sky.

The moon loomed over the ancient palace of the Elder Gods like an enormous all-seeing eye, illuminating the double-eaved roofs

of the tallest pagodas, the numerous temples scattered across the land, and the houses of the common folk alike, bathing the

city in blood and shadow.

And in the taverns and teahouses, the alleyways and palace corridors, the whispers only grew louder.

“Did you hear? The Nothing appeared in a town in the Eighth Court last week—”

“Such a tragedy, those poor souls . . .”

“Why is the Nothing still attacking us? Hasn’t the Fourth King returned?”

“He has, but I have it on good authority that he’s imprisoned in the dungeons right here in the capital.”

“But he’s a King! How could they—”

“It seems he has become a mortal boy . . .”

The gasps were audible. “How can a mortal be King?”

“Some say Four’s soul is trapped inside the boy, unable to take control. Others say he and the boy are one and the same, but

he has forgotten who he truly is.”

“Can’t the Elder Gods do something about this? It is their duty—”

“Pfft! The Elder Gods are sequestered in the palace, playing mahjong and whatnot. They have been anointed by the Divine, safe from the terrors common souls face. Why would they care about us? Mark my words, if the Fourth King does not rise soon, the Nothing will race through the Courts and reach Youdu, and we will all be doomed!”

The whisperers shook their heads, knowing there was little they could do when it came to the gods. The souls that ended up

in the capital of the dead were trapped for eternity. Never to leave, never to rest.

Down in the dungeons of Youdu, it wasn’t whispers that were heard but screams.

A tinkling sound drifted in the air.

Outside a dark cavern, two royal guards, dressed in neat uniforms adorned with gold buttons and boots polished to perfection,

exchanged a look.

“What was that?” the shorter one asked, tugging at his stiff collar. Something about the Obsidian Cavern disturbed him. It

held a kind of darkness beyond even what he was used to in the capital of the underworld.

Shrugging, the other guard grunted. “A watch or clock.”

“A little too loud, wasn’t it? There’s no clock in the dungeons, and there’s certainly no one here but us and him.”

“Don’t be paranoid. Let’s take a break—the kid’s not going anywhere, and I could use a smoke.”

The shorter guard glanced at the figure shackled to the jet-black column inside the cavern. “He’s been so quiet these past

few days.”

At the sound of their voices, the young man seemed to stir, though his head remained down, dark hair streaked with silvery-white

strands hanging over his face. The skin on his bare arms had a sickly, translucent hue, and the knobs of his wristbones protruded

painfully.

“You should be glad he stopped screaming. The other Kings haven’t visited recently, so who cares? We can slack off for a bit.”

“Watch your mouth! The Kings do care—and don’t forget, he’s a King too.”

“Allegedly. Looks like a useless human to me. He’ll die soon enough.”

“Shh!”

“Relax. No one can hear us down here. Now, are you coming or not?”

The shorter guard sighed. “Just for a few minutes. I need some fresh air.”

Soon the echo of their footsteps subsided, and all that remained was silence.

And in that dark, dank cavern in the depths of Hell, the boy-god dreamed of love.