14. Virgil
VIRGIL
I was in a forest, the trees towering above like jagged, skeletal fingers, clawing at a sky that didn't exist. No moon. No stars. Just an endless black swallowing everything. Fog crept across the ground like a shroud, curling around my boots, seeping into my skin.
"Barythaya!" I shouted, my voice cutting through the silence.
No answer.
Only my own breath, ragged and shallow, bouncing off the trees. Panic gripped my chest as I pushed forward, my heart hammered in my chest, feeling as if this was a war I couldn't win.
Then I heard it. Her voice. Faint at first, like a whisper carried by the wind, then louder, more desperate.
"Virgil! Please! Help me!"
Her cry pierced through the fog like a blade, sharp and filled with desperate panic. I broke into a run, boots crunching over brittle leaves, but no matter how fast I moved, she was always just out of reach. The trees twisted, contorted, and blocked my path, obstructing my every step. The fog thickened, wrapping around my chest like a vice, stealing the air from my lungs.
"Barythaya!" I roared, my throat raw, my voice cracking under the weight of my fear. Nothing. Just the endless maze of trees, the fog, and her voice slipping further away.
"Please, Virgil!" Her scream tore through the woods, echoing off the bark, raw and terrified. My blood ran cold. I pushed harder, legs heavy, breath coming in sharp, jagged gasps. I had to find her. I had to.
But no matter how far I ran, how loud I screamed, she was always slipping further from my grasp.
I dropped to my knees, hands digging into the dirt, cold and damp beneath me. Helplessness swallowed me whole, suffocating, crushing. "Barythaya…" Her name barely made it out, a broken whisper. My fingers clawed at the ground, fists full of dirt as I screamed her name one last time, raw and hoarse.
Nothing.
Just silence. That oppressive, choking silence that comes with failure.
And then, just as the darkness threatened to close in on me for good, her voice whispered again, soft, almost distant.
"Death has taken over."
I shot awake, my body jerking upright, drenched in sweat. My chest heaved, each breath a battle as her words echoed in my skull.
Death has taken over.
My fists clenched the sheets, knuckles white, heart still hammering like a wild thing in my chest.
I glanced down, my breath catching in my throat.
Barythaya lay beside me, curled under the covers, breathing soft and steady. But it wasn't her. Not really. It hit me like a bucket of cold water—the bile rising in my throat.
I'd just fucked Death.
I'd been fucked by Death.
Rage flared, hot and violent, but I shoved it down. There was no time for that. She was still here, still alive. For now . That's all that mattered. I couldn't risk waking her, not with Death wrapped around her like a second skin. I needed a plan. Needed help.
I threw the covers off, swinging my legs over the edge of the bed. The cold floor beneath my feet shocked me awake, cutting through the remnants of the nightmare. My body screamed for rest, it was bruised and hurting, but there wasn't time for that. Not if I wanted to save her.
I yanked my jeans on, jerking them over my legs with shaking hands. Pulling on my shirt and jacket, I glanced at her sleeping form one last time. She looked so calm, so vulnerable, I swallowed the rage bubbling under my skin.
"I'm going to fix this," I muttered, the words more a promise to myself than to her. "I'll save you. I swear it."
I grabbed my keys and slipped out the door, the early morning air hitting me like a slap to the face, cutting through the fog clouding my mind. The streets were still dark and empty, my side of the world wasn't up yet. Electricity hummed in the air around me, thick, like a storm about to break. I needed speed. I needed to feel the wind, the roar of the engine, anything to drown out the thoughts that wouldn't stop spinning in my head.
Bulldog. He'd know what to do.
I rode like a bat out of hell, the wind whipping past me, the engine's growl vibrating through my bones. When I pulled up to Bulldog's, his lights were on. Good. He was a man who didn't sleep much, especially when shit hit the fan.
I found him sitting at the kitchen table, a bottle of whiskey in front of him, the dim light casting shadows across his weathered face. His eyes flicked up when I entered, narrowing as they scanned me. Bulldog could read a man like a fucking book. He knew something was wrong before I even opened my mouth.
"I need Spectre," I said, my voice low, rough.
He didn't say a word for a long moment, just stared at me like he was weighing every inch of me with his eyes. Finally, he leaned back, took a slow sip of his drink, and set the glass down with a heavy thud.
"You're in deep shit, aren't you?"
I nodded, jaw tight, fists clenched. "Yeah. It's Barythaya. Death's taken her body. The demon… it's all fucked up."
Bulldog's expression hardened at that, his eyes darkening. He pushed back his chair with a creak and stood. "Alright," he grunted, rubbing a hand over his beard. "I'll make the call."
As he disappeared into the next room, I stood there, staring out into the night, the weight of it all pressing down on me like a goddamn lead blanket. Death had taken her body.
But I still had her soul.
And I'd be damned if I let Death take that from me.
The only question was… would I be too late?