Chapter Twenty-Eight
I’ve heard rumours that long ago a God-Killer was created. And the gods joined forces in a terrifying battle of the divine. And somehow, they found a way to destroy this God-Killer. Unfortunately, this is just a long forgotten tale. And no one seems to know how they defeated this enemy.
Tabitha Wysteria
Mal had drawn a bath in a tub carved from volcanic stone, so dark it turned the water to liquid shadow. Such was the wyverian way. Both stone and water were bitterly cold as she slid into it, sinking until even her head slipped beneath the icy surface and her eyes fell shut.
She imagined another life. A gentler world, where she had never wed a prince of fire. A world in which she had remained at home, untouched by truth, sheltered by ignorance.
When she broke the surface at last and dragged in a breath, her eyes narrowed at the sight before her—the God-Killer reclining opposite, half-submerged in the blackened water, idly toying with it as it tilted its head in bored curiosity.
‘Get out,’ Mal hissed, splashing the wretched thing that wore her face.
‘You ought to kill your uncle,’ the God-Killer said, its dark eyes still fixed on the droplets slipping from its long fingers.
Mal stilled, frowning. ‘Why?’
‘He’s half-god. He will become a problem.’
‘How so?’
‘He tried to kill you.’ The creature finally looked up, disdain sharpening its gaze. Mal did not flinch. She merely leaned back against the cold stone, unbothered.
‘Many have.’
‘He will be a problem one day.’
Mal shrugged, worrying the inside of her cheek with idle teeth. ‘I’m not killing my uncle.’
‘We are the God-Killer. We kill gods.’
‘He’s only a half-god.’
The creature shrugged. ‘Close enough.’
‘If he dies, he’ll just be reborn,’ Mal said, watching as the creature dipped its hand back into the black water, lifting it to study the liquid sliding from its skin. She had the sudden, fierce urge to splash it again, harder, and drag it out from the tub.
‘We’re on mortal soil,’ the creature replied, its smile stretching too wide. ‘Don’t pretend you don’t know. If you killed him here, he would be gone forever. You’d be doing him a kindness. He’s cursed, just like you. Condemned to be reborn, again and again. How tedious.’
Mal sighed, already weary of the creature’s company. ‘You can go now. I’m bored of this conversation.’
The thing wearing her face bristled at the dismissal, its features tightening as it leaned forward with a low hiss.
Mal did not even look at it. She merely lifted her hands and combed through her dark hair, working at the knots, determined to rid herself of both tangles and the presence that kept gnawing at her thoughts.
‘What if he tries to hurt you again?’ the creature snarled.
Mal rolled her eyes. ‘He can try. But I doubt he will.’ Then her expression sharpened into something cold, something merciless. ‘Nothing in this world can harm me. Not even you.’
The creature laughed softly and leaned back against the black stone, settling into the water with a smug, knowing smile.
‘Why do you want my uncle dead?’ Mal asked.
The creature’s chuckle swelled, low and hollow. ‘Because I am bored.’
She did not believe it for a heartbeat, but she did not press. Instead, she scooped a handful of the black water and flung it at the thing. ‘Then go and be bored somewhere else. Leave me in peace.’
Obediently, it rose from the bath, its pale skin carved with dark runes, water streaming from its body to slick the stone floor.
Mal let her head fall back against the rim of the tub and closed her eyes, yet the creature’s laughter still skittered along the walls, echoing through the chamber like a curse.
With a sharp breath, she sank beneath the surface once more, eyes shut tight, trying to drown the world away.
…
Mal watched her uncle in the distance, surrounded by a handful of wyverns, as she sat upon the beach with Ash beside her.
Morthos made a strange, throaty sound, and the wyverns answered him in kind.
Mal had never heard anything like it before, and the novelty of it drew a soft, delighted smile from her.
Ash took her hand in his and kissed each finger in turn, tender and reverent, before sighing and glancing back towards the sea.
‘Could we stay like this?’ Mal asked, squinting against the sun. ‘Ignore that the world is breaking and just sit here, on this beach?’
Ash smiled, warm and gentle, rubbing her hand with his thumb. ‘I’d like that.’
Mal placed her free hand over her stomach. ‘What will her name be?’
‘Medea.’
She smiled. ‘Medea.’ The name lingered sweetly on her tongue as she closed her eyes and leaned back against the chair. ‘Tell me about her, Ash. Let me picture her.’
She could not see his face, but she felt the way he smiled, that precious, sun-bright smile she loved so dearly. ‘She has her mo-mother’s eyes.’
Mal snorted.
‘And her character.’
‘So she does not take after you?’
‘She does.’ His thumb continued its slow, soothing circle over her hand, easing the tension from her shoulders. ‘She has all the g-good from both of us.’
Mal opened one eye to look at him. ‘Is there any good, Ash?’
His smile faltered for a heartbeat, and she immediately regretted being the one to steal it away.
‘Perhaps not,’ he said softly. ‘But she is.’
Mal nodded.
‘She c-cannot hear the world,’ Ash went on softly. ‘But she is so bra-brave.’
‘She will need to be.’ Mal opened both eyes and turned to face him fully, taking in the man she was bound to whether she wished it or not. The man she loved, because a curse had decreed that she must. ‘I will hurt her. Can I trust you to keep her safe from me?’
Ash nodded, grave and certain. ‘You will. But I will pro-protect her.’
‘From me.’ The truth tasted bitter on her tongue, and she struggled to swallow it. ‘I don’t like this path. We could find another. Another where the three of us are together.’
‘There isn’t one, Mal.’
His words slid straight through her heart, cracking something fragile and already bruised. Tears welled, and Ash leaned closer, his thumb brushing them away with aching tenderness.
‘It was the only o-one where the three of us e-exist,’ he whispered, his lips so close to hers she could feel his breath.
‘And we will suffer. For years, we will suffer. But in the end, she will s-save us.’ He pressed a kiss to her mouth, so soft it was barely there. ‘She was al-always the chosen one.’
Mal tightened her grip on his wrist, unwilling to let him slip away. When she glanced about, the God-Killer was nowhere to be seen. It never was, not when Ash stood this close. With him beside her, she felt more like herself—clearer, steadier, less jagged with fury.
He was her saviour.
And, just as surely, her doom.
Her gaze drifted to her uncle Morthos, who for the first time since she had met him was smiling, his broad forehead resting against the scaled brow of one of his wyverns.
The simple tenderness of the gesture made something ache inside her.
She wanted to fly, to rise into the open sky and forget the world and all that waited beyond this fragile moment.
To forget the truths Ash had laid bare, truths that had splintered her heart.
But she would not look away.
For their daughter. For the world.
She would do whatever was required.
Even if it meant becoming the villain in every story ever told.
She did not fear it, not if it meant saving those she loved.
Mal knew what she had to become.
The God-Killer.
The villain.
The monster.
She closed her eyes and let her head fall back against the chair as Ash’s hand continued its gentle, grounding rhythm over hers. A small, resolute smile curved her lips.
Whatever was coming, she was ready.