Schadenfreude
Has
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Cass, to my surprise, makes the first move.
Her entire form shifts from the tall, gorgeous woman to the figure out of the storybooks. And it occurs to me now that much of her apparel as Bloody Mary was her own power manifesting like mine does.
I follow in form and disappear into darkness.
Omen, though, doesn’t stay idle. They drop the bag they hold and dive out of the way of a fragment of red energy from Cass’ palm.
The energy reflects off something and rebounds back at me. Instead of striking me, though, it passes through my dark incorporeal form. But it would have probably killed me had it gotten me.
Cass shoots me an “oops,” before following Omen through the office door.
And then the room explodes.
Air whistles past my non-existent ears as the ground plummets towards me. I turn onto my back and return to my corporeal form and watch as a large, winged figure dives down beside me.
Claws grip at my arm and nearly disarticulate my shoulder as we narrowly miss the edge of a nearby roof.
Cass turns and dives back toward the plaza where Omen floats a few feet in the air.
“That’s better!” they yell, definitely something very wrong in their voice. Hell, wrong in everything about them.
Cass lets me go a few feet from the ground and I land in a dark explosion. The waves of inky void cascade around the plaza, making it look like the void lake in my communions.
The wolf-bat lands beside me, shaking the ground like an explosion.
“How did you live, Cassandra?” Omen asks, voice pitching awkwardly.
It’s fear.
That’s what’s wrong.
Omen is afraid.
“You manipulate fate, Omen,” I say, raising my arms. Spirits screech from the boundless void. Their cacophony rings the plaza, making the place sound like a colosseum attended by the dead. “I am master over death itself.”
The words ring true. Like they’d needed to be said. Like saying them had righted some wrong. Rectified some injustice.
Cass launches at Omen, but her trajectory changes, sending her spiraling into the nearby stone fountain. It erupts into water, fur, and stone as she tries to roll back onto her front.
Spikes erupt from around Omen, who dodges and weaves. Their body moves like they already know how this goes. As if they’ve seen all the possibilities.
With a thought the spirits materialize, their bodies corporeal. Their faces twisted in anger.
They dash towards Omen. But Omen doesn’t seem to respond. Hell, it doesn’t even look like they see them.
Omen staggers when the first hits them. They whip around, as if looking for another attacker. They see Cass, but she’s just gotten to her feet.
“What are you—” Omen’s voice cuts out as another spirit tackles them. Then another.
The wolf-bat turns to face me, a confused head tilt asking, “what the fuck?”
Apparently they're only visible if I want them to be.
The spirits grip Omen by their arms, forcing them to their knees. A loud, painful crack sounds around the square and Omen howls in a pitched scream.
“My fucking knee!” they shriek, and I see the way their leg is bent. Like the spirit responsible got tired of their leg being in the way.
Finally, Omen is brought to their knees, arms splayed, neck bared.
Cass transforms beside me as we close on the captive Remnant.
“He’s going to kill you for this,” they hiss, and I shoot a look at Cass.
“You think Darkrend cares about you?” I scoff, bending at the waist to stay eye-level with the shorter fiend. “He doesn’t give two shits about you or anyone else.”
Omen responds with an inhuman snarl.
“Now,” I say, reaching forward. “Let’s see if you’re as ugly as I think.”
Except when I pull of the mirrored helmet, I stare stupidly into the face of a person I don’t even recognize.
A woman.
“Oh my god,” Cass whispers beside me. “The receptionist?”
And then I do recognize her.
“Francesca…” I try to recall her name, but all I remember was it being hyphenated.
The woman’s face is paled from pain and she looks downright insane. Unhinged and feral. Like she might bite if I get too close.
“Where’s Percy’s arm?” I ask, and she stares at me with blown pupils.
“Looking for a trophy?” she asks, tone far too gleeful for the situation. “Maybe you can go dig her up and get the fleshy one. I’m sure that’ll be better to fuck yourself with—”
Her head rocks back as my hand makes contact. She lets out another grunt of frustrated pain, breathes coming out in panted huffs.
“Wrong.” I say, venom creeping into my tone. “Answer wrong again and I will kill you and force your ghost to answer.”
The veins in her neck bulge like she’s trying to remove the spirits clinging to her.
“I hope Darkrend face-fucks your pretty little skull—” this time it’s Cass’ fist that buries itself in her face.
Cass’ jaw ticks with an anger that seems violently cold. Like one more wrong word and she might tear Francesca’s arms off. “Wrong again.”
I reach down and grab Francesca’s jaw. She tries to struggle, but it’s fruitless.
“I took the name Hiraeth because I long for a day that feels right. That feels normal. For a day where I can feel at peace again. Maybe I never had it, but you took a person that had once given me that. You took a good person who could have lived a long, happy life. Not with me, but with someone else.”
Francesca’s grin turns sinister.
“It looks like you did alright,” she hisses. “Got yourself a little number.”
I reach forward and grip her right arm.
“And I love her with everything in me,” I whisper, face beside hers. “I am taking great satisfaction in ensuring you will never be given the chance to love someone ever again. We will never have a day that feels right when monsters like you exist.”
I stand and allow the spirits at her right arm to move to her torso, anchoring it.
“I’ll be sure to find a way to make sure your soul never finds rest, bitch,” I growl before yanking.
Hard.
The squelching noise is downright sickening as her entire arm detaches. Bone and sinew pop and she lets out a scream before flopping forward. I drop the limb beside me and crouch down beside her.
She probably can’t even hear me. But this is for me.
For Percy.
“Fate is a fickle mistress, Omen,” I whisper before placing my foot on the side of her head. “And it chose me today.”
Her head pops like a grape.
I let out a gasping howl as Cass wraps her warm arms around me. The spirits dissipate like misted rain, and the courtyard returns to its stonework.
“You are so brave,” she says against my face. “You are safe. You are okay. I love you so much.”
I rotate into her arms and press my face against her neck.
“You avenged her,” she whispers. “You did the right thing.”
I let out a pained sob, feeling incongruous emotions flood my mind.
Relief. Anger. Guilt. Fear.
“Please don’t leave me—” I groan into her neck. Her pulse point rebounding like a staccato reminder of a life I can still have.
“Never,” she breathes out. “Let’s find that bionic arm.”