Chapter 64 #2
A swarm of spiders—where the fuck did they even come from—surged up and over the tumbled ruins, clawed feet hissing against stone, mandibles snapping. They gave Nico’s shadows a wide berth, but everything else was fair game.
Including me.
Two of them went airborne, sailing straight through the plume of fire I sent their way, as if caught in a warm updraft.
One landed right beside me.
And because fate was a fickle bitch, the other landed right fucking on top of me.
Coated in fire, I wrapped my hand around one of those spindly legs and yanked, joints snapping like sticks. The fucker screeched, then I whipped it around and slammed it against the nearest rock. That hardened shell didn’t so much as crack, but the foul beast limped away, dragging one broken leg.
More of them boiled up from the dock, hundreds and hundreds, shiny and segmented and so fucking fast—too fast for the priests, too fast for Gabriel and Emberline.
Too fast for even my fire.
And still, I hit them with blast after blast, trying to slow them down, to melt the stone around them, to… something. But the fire just slid off those gleaming exoskeletons like water, the spiders turning toward me in a swarm of black.
“Dante… watch out!” Emberline’s scream echoed across the ruins, and I poured more and more fire over the Drax until they looked like they were swimming upstream in a river of lava.
Die, little motherfuckers, die.
“I see them,” I muttered. “Where the fuck are you, Nico?”
Then one was right there.
Sharpened mandibles sliced through my fire, deep into my shin. A long, relentless drawing sensation filled me as my soul started leaching out of my body. Inside me, the ifrit roared, realizing, perhaps for the first time in his long existence, that he wasn’t as indestructible as he’d imagined.
The air changed—the tang of ozone stinging my nose, the hair on my body rising as up in the belltower, Nico’s form expanded and expanded, filling the turret with something monstrous, magnificent, and utterly terrifying.
Talons gleamed at the ends of his fingers as he raised his hands, black-as-night eyes peered out over the fighting, and a long, majestic cape blew out behind him as if lifted by an invisible wind, the ends tattered and torn.
He was fucking awe-inspiring, and if he didn’t kill these little fuckers before they sucked my soul out, I was going to kick his ass in the afterlife.
Shadows spun out from him, undulating ribbons of black that danced across the air, stretching out over my head, across the ruins, covering the entire island. The Drax paused, bobbing up and down on their legs, and then they fled, skittering in all directions, away from that river of darkness.
I tucked into a ball when those shadows settled over us, shivering as that deathly shroud touched my skin, my fire dampening as if I’d been doused in ice water.
All around me, the Drax were simply… unmade.
They collapsed inward, shriveling down and down…
into nothing. Nothing but a smear of slime and the reek of rot dissipating on the night air.
Hundreds of spiders. Less than ten seconds.
Gone.
The only thing left was the handful of Ashbound that fell beneath my fire, weaker now than the magic should be, but I didn’t let myself think about what happened when my flames ran out. The only ones left standing were the Draconi soldiers, Emilia’s priests, and Gabriel and Emberline.
And Nico—standing like a god, looking down over us like Death himself.
I spooled my remaining flames back into my body, intending to conserve them for whatever was coming. Because this wasn’t over.
Obviously, Giovanni remained, along with the mage and his apprentice, plus a handful of guards.
By now, he would have tested the Basin’s magic, but depending on the mage’s skill, he might not yet know it wasn’t the real thing. No matter. Soon he’d be dead, and we’d take back our Dynasty, and then…
Giovanni stepped out of the catacomb entrance.
Alone.
No sign of the mage or the guards.
My stomach turned over, flames reigniting all over me. Giovanni was too fucking clever to waste time gloating and too much of a coward to face us alone.
The fucker raised a hand, and two guards—Summoners, no less—escorted someone from inside the rectory. The apprentice.
I frowned, trying to decide what his game was. What was he trying to…
Giovanni flipped the heavy hood back, and acid ate away at my veins. Across the ruins, Emberline made a small, helpless sound, Gabriel catching her around the waist before she darted forward.
Luca.
Who was supposed to be in Rome. Who Romulus had promised would be safe in Rome. Stood between two Summoners with nothing on his face but those slithering black veins and an empty blankness.
I was too far away to help the poor kid.
So was everyone else.
Giovanni pressed a blade to Luca’s throat, his smile cold as the grave. Even with death poised so close, Luca did not react. There was no fear, no anger, and every part of me recoiled from the sight. A walking corpse with a familiar face.
Because without Blackwood to animate him, that’s all he was.
“Hello, niece,” Gio said pleasantly, his gaze lifting to the bell tower, the knife pressing deeper, slicing into skin. “And company, of course.”
In an instant, Nico’s form contracted, the Emissary pulling back into some liminal form—half mortal, half god—even Nico knowing he wasn’t faster than Giovanni’s blade, already drawing blood.
None of us were.
Giovanni’s smile widened as he surveyed the ruins, all of us frozen in place.
“Very well-planned ambush. You should be proud.” The full weight of his attention landed on Emberline and sharpened into something cruel that set my heart racing.
“Unfortunately, I am better prepared than you.” He looked at Luca, then his sister.
“Put down your weapons,” Giovanni said, “and call off your soldiers. Do that, and I’ll let your brother keep his blackened blood inside his body. ”
Nobody moved for a moment.
“Now,” he said patiently, as if he’d already won and was waiting for us to figure it out.
Looking at Gabriel, my brother was tracking everything—the knife, Luca, Emberline—relentlessly searching for an opening he could exploit, for some way to get the kid free.
Emberline studied her brother’s face, hope flickering across her features before dying just as quickly. She closed her eyes, her chest rising and falling in ragged breaths as she sagged against Gabriel.
“Stand down,” Gabriel ordered, and all around us came the sound of knives sliding back into sheaths, guns being holstered, the scrape of feet on dirt as Emilia’s priests faded back into the shadows. Maybe some of them could get away, warn the priestess that we’d failed.
Or were about to fail since I couldn’t see a way out of this clusterfuck.
Of course, if the kid was in his right mind, he could help us out, but as things stood, he was under Blackwood’s control—or no one’s control at all, from that unsettling blankness on his face.
“Bring it out,” Giovanni called, and five guards struggled out of the ruined rectory, arms straining, the Basin suspended between them. I kept my mind carefully blank, and I prayed the others did as well; everything we’d planned—this entire trap—balanced on whatever came next.
They set it down in the dirt with a heavy whump, stepping away, looking relieved to put some space between them and the ancient relic.
Fake or not, magic thrummed through the air with a crushing potency, so much that bile rose in my throat, one of the guards doubling over and retching.
Emilia had really gone above and beyond.
Keeping the blade to her brother’s throat, Giovanni looked straight at Emberline.
“Come here, niece.” He cocked his head. “I require confirmation, and while I would gladly spill Luca’s blood, unfortunately, it’s too tainted. But yours will do nicely.”
Emberline walked toward him, every line of her body controlled, every movement economical and fluid, her hand hovering over her knife. When she got close enough, one of the guards took her wrist and yanked her closer, both Gabriel and I advancing, a growl building in my throat.
Emberline warned us off with a shake of her head and offered her wrist.
In one fast swipe, the guard dragged his blade mercilessly across her palm. So deep, white muscle peeled back before blood pushed to the surface.
“Now bleed for me, niece, and show me if this is real.” Emberline opened up her hand over the Basin, and a thick stream of blood splattered.
So much blood, crimson, rushed up the shallow sides.
Then over, coating the thing with crimson
The Basin glowed with power, the runes igniting.
A gut-wrenching wave of power rolled through the ruins, knocking the guards back a step. Giovanni’s grip slipped on the knife, carving a cut into Luca’s neck—deep enough to bleed black but not enough to kill.
All around the indentation, markings glowed white, Emilia’s enchantment doing exactly what she’d designed it to do—convince Giovanni and his mage they’d reclaimed the real deal.
“Excellent,” he crowed, snapping his fingers as the guards moved forward and picked up the Basin again, heading down toward the docks.
Giovanni had both of them now.
He believed he’d sorted out which was which.
He was wrong, which was the only thing about tonight that had gone right.