Chapter 27
RHI
Wake up, Rhi!
The voice in my head is one I know. One I love. One I am going to punch in the face as soon as I—
WAKE UP!
Why the fuck is he yelling at me?
My eyes shoot open just as the sharp end of a sword swipes across my face. Thank gods for my monstrous reflexes, or I would have been dead. I narrowly avoid my face getting split in half as I roll to my side and jump to my feet.
My attacker is a man (of course), roughly Nick’s height but scrawny. His black eyes blaze with nothing short of blood lust as he lunges for me again, but his form is sloppy, and I dodge it with ease.
I pat myself down, noticing I’m in similar fighting leathers from yesterday, and how in the world—
No time, Rhi. Dagger. Left side. NOW.
Nick’s voice is both a comfort and a distraction.
I feel for the jewel-encrusted dagger he gifted me, and sure enough, my fingers wrap around the small hilt sheathed on my left hip.
I don’t hesitate as I release the dagger from its hold and duck beneath another haphazard swipe of my attacker.
Spinning, I end up behind him and plunge the dagger into his right shoulder blade.
He curses and drops his weapon. I kick his sword away and circle around to face him.
Blood trickles from the wound on his shoulder, and he clenches his teeth in what looks like a combination of pain and fury. I hold the dagger beneath his chin.
“Yield.”
A crazed smile joins the madness in his eyes, and instead of backing down, he lunges for me, knocking the dagger from my hand as he catches me off guard. His hands wrap around my throat as he violently shoves me against a stone wall. I reach for my Scylla and…
Nothing.
Fuck.
I trained you. Nick’s voice is again in my mind. Use what I taught you and end him.
I don’t want to kill him, I reply, struggling to loosen this maniac’s grip.
He will not hesitate to kill you, Rhi, so fucking kill him before I intervene and cause both of our realms to implode.
That isn’t a threat he makes lightly, judging by both the panic and wrath in his voice.
My body takes over as if by instinct. I bring my arms up between his and slam them down hard on his forearms. He grunts, his hands falling from my throat, and I use that opportunity to shove the heel of my hand against his nose, shattering it.
Blood pours like a broken damn, and he curses, holding his hands against the free flowing crimson.
His eyes shine before they shut, and he retreats.
My eyes find the dagger lying in the dirt a few feet away, and I break into a run, grabbing the hilt just as I hear his thunderous footsteps approach me from behind.
All it takes is me spinning on one foot and one upward thrust, and the dagger impales itself in the hollow of his throat.
A gurgling sound follows, and I wrench the dagger free, watching the demon fall to his knees.
He then faceplants, his face hitting the ground with a sickening crack, and lies there lifeless.
An audible sigh of relief sounds in my head. That’s three, Nick says.
Three…?
Three dead. Four remain.
Oh. Is Isadora…
I have no way of knowing, he says gravely. You are the only death I would be aware of, and believe me, there will be Hell to pay if it comes to that.
I chuckle at his idiom, but I don’t answer, my mind now spinning.
Breathing heavily, I wipe the bloodied blade on the side of my pants before I sheathe it and then finally take a look at my surroundings.
The ground itself is pale dirt, almost sand-like.
I’m surrounded on either side by stone walls looming impossibly high, the stone so smooth, there is no chance of finding footing to climb to the top.
Yet, the sky and suns are visible, so I am not enclosed in some fortress, I presume.
In front of me lies an almost endless stretch of the same stone-walled corridor, behind me a closed off section of stone.
I begin walking toward the only direction I am able, scrutinizing for any change in my environs.
When I finally reach the opposite side, I am again greeted by another stone wall, but this time, my path branches into right or left, with no way of deciphering which path is correct. It’s then I realize exactly what type of place Hell has imprisoned its contestants in.
It’s a labyrinth, I tell Nick.
Fuck.
You didn’t know?
I can’t see anything. I only get notifications of those who have died, and I called out to you earlier because I woke up and found you gone from our bed. I nearly tore the palace apart until Belial informed me the trials had begun, and this year, the contestants were taken in their sleep.
I don’t answer; I just slide my gaze between the two paths before me.
The best idea would be to follow the suns, as if I walk opposite them, it could stand to reason I’d be heading toward the palace, considering they set beneath the ocean.
However, that’s assuming this labyrinth is even near the palace in the first place.
Releasing an aggrieved sigh, I tip my head towards the sky then decide on going right, which is what my gut tells me.
Never go against your instinct, my love.
I smile involuntarily. Can you hear my thoughts without me directly using telepathy? Because if so, I’ll start thinking of more…inappropriate things.
He laughs in my head, warm and welcoming. No, sweetheart, but I can feel you. I can feel your frustration, your fear, and your confusion as though they were my own.
The surge of comfort I’d started to feel at his voice comes to an abrupt halt, as do I, in spotting the sharp plunge into dark depths below if I take another step forward.
What’s wrong?
This little telepathic connection is a bit of a nuisance right now. I can’t have him in my head when I need to focus.
The ground breaks, I say. The only way to get across is to actually leap across using these flat stones resting upon pillars. The surface of said stones are inches in width, possibly less.
Silence. As he claims to feel me, I can certainly sense his panic.
Give me ten minutes, I tell him. Ten minutes without you in my head. I can do this.
With my mind quiet, I assess the stones and the distance between them.
I can likely land with both feet on each, though there won’t be much room to spare.
Thankfully, despite my Scylla being restrained, I still maintain my monstrous agility and reflexes, which will undoubtedly lend a hand in making it across without plunging to my death.
I peer over the precipice and immediately regret it. The pillars holding the stone platforms aloft disappear into dark and shadowy depths, the bottom of which I can’t make out.
Awesome.
Now that the Moirai can see my Thread, I can only imagine how hard they are laughing at the shit I’ve gotten myself into.
Then again, Atropos had to have known the day she showed up in my room, had to have known I’d be going through this and possibly meet my end. Yet, when I recall our conversation, it almost feels like she pushed for it, for me to come to Hell and get Nick out.
Perhaps I stand a chance after all.
Emboldened, I back up a few feet and assess the distance yet again, trying to determine just how far of a leap I need to take. From here, the distance between each of the stones appears to be equal, with the initial jump from the cliff to the first stone being the furthest.
I blow out a breath. Take one more step back. Break into a bit of a run.
Then, I jump.
The moment I’m suspended in mid-air before landing is equal parts thrilling and terrifying. My stomach plummets to my knees, the joints quaking as I land and slightly wobble. I steady myself, noting there isn’t much room between my feet and the edge of the stone.
The open air around me is harrowing—ha—as my arms surf through a thin and cool breeze.
I plant my gaze ahead, knowing better than to look down, and again ascertain how much energy I’ll have to exert to get my body across each stone.
Problem is, there is no room for me to take any steps for leverage, so I’ll have to pray the strength of my legs is enough to launch me across each one.
Here I go.
The second jump is more terrifying than the first, but I land almost perfectly, again holding my arms out to steady myself. Only two more to go.
I make the next jump and grin. “I may not die after all,” I say to no one.
“I wouldn’t be so sure about that.”
My instinct to turn my body toward the voice is squashed by my brain, which screams that if I do, I’ll fall.
No doubt this person’s intention.
And yet again, of course, the voice sounds like it belongs to a man.
I crane my neck, turning my body slightly to confirm. Dirty blonde hair. Tall-ish. Dressed in similar fighting leathers but without a weapon—at least I think, from what I can ascertain with my limited observation—face streaked with dirt and blood.
But yes, a man.
Asshole.
I face forward again. Breath. He still has to make it across two stones. I have time. I can—
A thud startles me, and I again glance behind to find him wobbling on the first stone.
Fall, you motherfucker.
At first, it looks like my wish may be granted. He teeters dangerously, face stricken with panic, before he steadies himself. Lifting his chin, I find a maniacal grin on his face before he takes another haphazard leap and lands on the stone directly behind me.
Fuck.
I grit my teeth and jump without my usual calculations. The result is I land but almost slip, and a frightened gasp escapes my lips, followed by that asshole’s cackle.
One more. Just one more jump. And when I’m on flat land, I can plunge my dagger into his fucking eyeballs.
Except, I can already tell this stone is the farthest from the ledge, which means I have to use every ounce of my strength to propel myself across.
There’s a grunt and a whoosh of air, and I already know he’s soaring in my direction. No time. I have no fucking time, so I bend my knees and take a literal leap of faith.
My legs and arms swing in the air, and I am falling, falling, the cliff growing closer and closer and…
OOOF.
I slam into the side of the cliff, my face taking the brunt of the impact.
My fingers scramble, attempting to find purchase in the soft moss above.
I hang suspended, my feet slipping, trying to find something to sustain my body weight, but it’s no use.
I’m dangling over the edge, and the weight of my body is dragging me down.
Flashbacks of Astrid dangling from that metal subway bar assault my brain. The way her face paled and the knuckles of her fingers turned ghost-white as she struggled to hold on. That moment of resignation in her eyes when she decided to let go.
I am not fucking letting go.
My left arm shakes as it shoulders the brunt of my weight, and I use my right to grab the dagger at my waist. I lift my arm and stab the dagger forcefully into the ground above me then grab the hilt with both hands to pull myself upward.
My shoulders and head rise over the edge, and my heart soars in seeing the flat land ahead.
Just a few more inches, and I’ll have pulled myself over.
There’s a figure running toward me in the distance, but I can’t focus on that now.
I need to get myself over the ledge and take care of dipshit behind me before I can decide whether the person running toward me is friend or foe.
Probably the latter, but I digress.
My foot finally anchors on something within the rocky cliffside, and I hoist myself over the edge, panting as I drag my chest and lower half landside.
The footfalls of someone rushing toward me make me look up. Tall, slim body, pale gold hair flying behind her—Isadora is heading right for me, arm raised, a hint of silver glinting in her right palm.
A fucking throwing dagger. Smaller than mine, but dangerous nonetheless, especially if she can aim.
And it looks like she is aiming right for me.