Chapter Twenty-Four
I truly believe they don’t understand how dangerous a God-Killer really is. If Hades gets away with this…
It’ll be the end of us all.
Tabitha Wysteria
Mal fell into the sea.
One moment, she had been stepping through a door; the next, she was plunged into a churning abyss, a furious, storm-swallowed ocean that seemed to hunger for her soul.
The waves crashed against her with merciless rhythm, dragging her down, down into their ink-black depths.
She fought them, arms trembling with exertion, lungs burning, but she would not surrender.
A scream, raw and jagged, tore from her throat as her gaze locked onto a figure in the distance. Makaria. Her sister, flailing, barely keeping above the surface. The sky loomed above, not merely dark, but utterly devoid of stars or mercy, a void even the gods might fear.
Yet through the chaos, she saw them. White cliffs, stark against the shadows, rising like a promise on the edge of ruin. Hope flickered.
Gritting her teeth, Mal surged forward, every movement a battle against the undertow. But by the time she reached the place where Makaria had been, the girl was gone. Panic bloomed like fire in her chest. Without hesitation, Mal sucked in a breath and dove.
The cold hit her like a blade, and the water wrapped around her like shadowed silk.
Yet the deeper she sank, the clearer the world became with less rage and more silence.
There, suspended in the still gloom, Makaria floated like a fallen star, her eyes closed, her limbs loose and drifting.
Mal reached for her, arms wrapping around the girl’s small frame, and held her tightly to her chest.
She propelled them both upward, lungs threatening to collapse. When she finally broke the surface, she gasped for air and pulled Makaria’s face above the waves. But the ocean was not done with them. Another monstrous swell rose, crashing down upon them with terrifying force.
Mal clung to her sister’s hand, refusing to let go. The sea roared, but she roared louder in her heart.
No more loss. She would not lose another.
Not again. Not ever.
Clutching Makaria with a grip forged of iron and desperation, Mal fought through the churning surf, each step a battle against the tide that sought to drag them both back into the abyss.
Her lungs screamed, her mind splintered beneath the weight of exhaustion and salt, but still she pressed forward until, at last, the cruel sea relinquished its hold.
She collapsed upon the shore, the black sand clinging to her skin, her chest heaving as she gasped for air, each breath torn from the world like a stolen secret.
Behind her, Makaria lay still until, with a sudden, ragged gasp, the young goddess spluttered seawater and began to cough, life seeping back into her limbs.
Mal sank her fingers into the sable sand, lifting a handful to let the dark grains sift between her knuckles.
It was strangely familiar, the texture, the colour, the weight of memory.
Her thoughts drifted to the shores of her homeland, known for their obsidian sands, jagged white cliffs, and waters as tempestuous as the gods themselves.
But this wasn’t a resemblance.
This was the place.
These were her shores.
She sat up slowly, frowning as her eyes scanned the coastline, piecing together the impossibility. Before she could dwell too long in disbelief, another absence struck her.
Thanatos was nowhere to be seen.
A slow, creeping dread threaded itself through her veins, curling around her ribs like smoke. He was Death incarnate, surely he could not be harmed by mere water. And yet… something gnawed at her. A terrible, coiled anxiety that refused to be reasoned with.
She rose abruptly, eyes scanning the restless waves. Could he have drowned?
No, she told herself. No. It’s impossible. Yet Makaria’s mismatched eyes mirrored her own unease. Mal moved, heedless of her sister’s calls to stop, to wait, to think. Her feet pounded the damp sand, splashing through the shallows until the water lapped at her knees.
She froze.
A shape was emerging from the sea.
A head.
And in that instant, every breath left her body, and stillness claimed her like a spell.
Slowly, like a god risen from the belly of the sea itself, Thanatos emerged from the water, each step towards the shore a silent claim on the world around him.
The ocean clung to him like a lover unwilling to let go, dripping from every chiselled edge of his face and body.
His dark shirt clung to his chest and arms, soaked through and sculpting to the lines of muscle beneath.
Water streamed from his spectral white curls, cascading in rivulets down his forehead.
He came to a halt mere inches from her, his fingers twitching at his sides as if they longed to reach for her but instead, he merely brushed a droplet from his jaw, his lips curved in quiet amusement.
‘Where were you going?’ he asked, voice a low purr.
‘Nowhere.’
‘Is that so?’ His chuckle was soft, wicked. ‘It looked an awful lot like you were racing in to rescue me.’
Mal rolled her eyes. ‘You don’t need rescuing.’
Thanatos smiled, slow and secretive. ‘Oh, Melinoe… trust me when I say I do.’ He leaned in, his breath grazing her ear like a ghost’s kiss. ‘From you.’
Mal turned sharply, brushing past him before the heat he kindled could curl any deeper beneath her skin. She strode back to Makaria, kneeling beside her sister with swift purpose, deliberately ignoring the burning gaze at her back.
‘This place…’ she said, casting a glance over her shoulder.
She tried not to look at Thanatos as he tugged at his shirt, wringing out the seawater, though her traitorous eyes caught the brief glimpse of lean muscle beneath.
They had not mentioned what had occurred in the ring of lust, and for that, she was grateful.
‘Don’t be deceived,’ he said, his voice now cool. ‘This isn’t the Kingdom of Darkness your father forged.’
‘Then why does it look like it?’ she asked, frowning.
Thanatos’ shoulders stiffened, a shadow crossing his expression. ‘It’s a long story.’
‘Which is to say,’ Mal said flatly, ‘you don’t want to tell it.’
He sighed, raking a hand through his wet hair.
‘The king of this ring is called Livyatan. This part of Hell is ruled by envy.’ His gaze drifted to hers, and in it, something glimmered, an emotion too complex for her to name.
‘This king and Hades share history,’ he added, the words weighted with meaning.
‘What sort of history?’
‘The kind that doesn’t end well,’ Thanatos replied, his tone dry. ‘Your father has a rather unique talent for offending beings he ought to have left alone.’
Mal was on the verge of questioning further when a harrowing sound echoed across the horizon, stilling her tongue mid-thought. Her gaze snapped to the sea, once a wrathful expanse of heaving, crashing waves that now began, with eerie slowness, to settle into an unnatural calm.
From the darkened deep, a creature unlike any she had ever witnessed began to rise, vast and ancient, forged from shadow and storm.
It bore the shape of a wyvern, its head familiar, almost beloved in its resemblance to the winged beasts Mal had always revered.
Its mouth opened wide, revealing not one, but many rows of teeth, jagged and endless, capable of devouring armies.
And the rest of it, gods above, the rest was serpentine, its long, sinuous neck vanishing into the sea like the monstrous serpents spoken of by desert dwellers.
Mal’s purple eyes widened, awe and alarm blooming in her chest. The creature’s head alone overshadowed even the grandest of citadel towers; its mouth could have swallowed a fleet of dragons whole.
Thanatos stepped forward, his presence calm and unwavering, and motioned for Mal to do the same.
‘Livyatan,’ he called, voice firm, clear. ‘We have come seeking a soul.’
The beast’s immense head lowered with the slow grace of a falling moon, its serpent-like body coiling in the dark waters as it turned, fixing them with a single, ancient eye. Though its maw never moved, its voice thundered across the slate sky with godlike gravity.
‘Death walks upon my shore,’ it said. ‘And not one, but two daughters of Hades. How curious. How strange. You come to ask something of me…’
‘A name,’ Mal called out, her spine held straight, her voice like steel wrapped in silk. She would not show fear, not to this beast, not to anyone.
Livyatan loomed ever closer, the yawning cavern of its monstrous mouth casting a shadow over them like an eclipse. Yet Mal did not flinch. She stood unmoved, as if carved from the very stone of defiance.
‘Which name would that be?’ the sea-king rumbled, its voice a low tremor across the waves.
‘A witch,’ Mal answered, lifting her chin. ‘Her name is Allegra.’
‘Ah, yes... She lingers within this ring of mine. The realm of envy,’ the creature intoned, its great bulk shifting as though the weight of ages rested upon it.
‘Why?’ Mal asked, unable to stifle the question that burnt at her lips. She caught the warning in Thanatos’ eyes but ignored it.
‘Who is to say, Goddess of Shadows?’ the beast replied, its tone woven with amusement. ‘Those who perish with envy coiled within their hearts, who lived their days with the green sickness threading their blood find themselves here, prisoners to their own desires. And now, you would steal one away.’
‘I need her help,’ Mal said, voice unwavering.
‘Then you may have her,’ the sea creature declared, with a ripple of dark humour that made the skies above shudder. ‘But there is, of course, a price.’
Naturally. There always was.
‘What is it?’ Mal asked tightly.
‘A soul, for a soul.’ She could almost hear the grin in its voice, wicked and vast. ‘I shall lend you Allegra, the witch you seek, for whatever time you desire. In return, you will offer me another soul, one I may bind to my ring until the witch is returned.’