42. Chapter Forty-Two
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
MORTE
T he trees thicken around us, the twisted branches of the forest forming a canopy that barely allows the light through. Azazel's house emerges ahead—a structure of dark sanguimetal that almost blends into the surrounding forest, the kind of place that seems to breathe along with the wilderness. Emeric's teasing chatter fades as we come closer, the crunch of leaves underfoot replaced by the low murmur of the wind through the branches.
Azazel’s house, though humble in size, radiates the remnants of his presence—a sense of purpose carved into every beam, metal, and stone. The scent of underworld flora and fauna clings to the air. Wilder's fingers brush mine, a subtle contact that brings me back from the fog of memory.
Cradled in my pocket is the one thing that means more to me than my own soul: Azazel’s, his essence pulsing with a warmth against my hip. Still attached to my wrist, the shell part of it rests against my palm, his essence pulsing faintly through its delicate curves. My fingers curl around it, anchoring me to its rhythm, terrified that if I let go, I might lose him all over again.
As we approach the house, Caius and Aggonid burst through the doors, running towards us, relief etched into their faces, along with fragile hope.
Caius reaches us first, his eyes flitting between us, and without any hesitation, he flings himself into my arms, his tail whipping through the air. "You crazy, reckless thing," he mutters, his voice cracking at the edges, laughter and something else mingling in his tone. He squeezes me tightly, his body warm against mine, his breath brushing my neck. "You did it. You really did it."
Wilder chuckles beside me, his hand resting on my back, a gentle pressure that makes my heart swell. Caius releases me and steps back, his grin widening. "Where's our Hellhound? Come here, you bastard."
Emeric groans dramatically, throwing his arms wide. "I knew you missed me, you chaos-loving fiend." He allows Caius to pull him into a bone-crushing hug, their laughter mingling, the tension of the past days dissipating in that instant.
Aggonid approaches more slowly, his steps hesitant. Shadows writhe around his feet, twitching as though unsure of their place. His eyes meet mine, and there's a hint of something vulnerable there—pride, uncertainty, fear. He stops just short of me, his eyes dropping to the bracelet where Azazel's soul pulses. His fingers twitch, as if he wants to reach out but holds himself back.
“I knew you could do it,” he whispers, the rough edge tempered with something I don’t often hear from him—gentleness. He takes a measured breath, the words almost halting "I-I am so proud of you."
The sincerity in his tone stuns me for a moment. I step toward him, the space between us shrinking, and take his hand, my fingers curling around his. His head snaps up—and in his stare I find uncertainty replaced with a fragile, hopeful light.
He clears his throat. “Do you—” The words falter, his throat bobbing as he tries again. “Did they … say anything? My parents?”
I glance down at the bracelet, at the subtle flashes of energy—Az’s soul settling in. Retrieving Aggie’s necklace from my pocket, I hold it out to him before he lowers his head, allowing me to slide it over him. The piece carries nothing of his parents now, but I still remember the faint warmth their essence left behind. I press a hand to his chest, over where his parents would’ve rested.
“They didn’t speak, Aggie.” My words are soft, but I don’t miss the trace of deep sorrow in his eyes. “But they lingered in a way that felt like … gratitude. Like they finally had peace.”
Aggonid exhales sharply, as if he’s been holding his breath for millennia. He nods once, his jaw tightening. His shadows coil briefly, then settle as if they, too, needed the reassurance.
“They know you tried,” I whisper.
A grief so deep flashes in his crimson eyes for the briefest of moments. It’s the first time I’ve realized they’re the exact shade of my hair. Perhaps this is a remnant of the bargain he’d made.
I pull him into my arms, resting my head on his chest, feeling his shoulders ease.
"Let’s bring him back," I murmur, giving his him a gentle squeeze. “Together.”
Aggonid swallows, pulling back as his eyes search mine, his shadows slowly uncurling, their edges softening as they drift around us.
Caius, never one for prolonged seriousness, claps his hands, breaking the moment. "Chop, chop, lovebirds. We've got a ritual to prepare, and Azazel's body isn't going to reanimate itself."
Emeric grins, nudging Aggonid. "You heard him. Time to get to work."
Aggie’s lips twitch, the barest hint of a smile forming. "Alright,” he says, his attention moving to the door of the house, where destiny waits. He turns back to us, tentative hope in his stare. "Together."
Wilder steps up, his arm slipping around my waist, the warmth of a thousand sunlit beaches ground me as I lean into him. "We'll make this work. Whatever it takes."
Caius smirks, tossing a playful wink our way as he heads for the door. "I give it five minutes before Aggie starts yelling at someone. Any bets?"
Emeric snickers, following behind. "Three minutes, tops. He has zero patience. "
Aggonid rolls his eyes, but a small smile tugs at his lips as he walks with me towards the house. His shadows shift, trailing along the ground, a sign of the tension that still clings to him, but his hand remains steady in mine.
We step inside, the scent of sanguimetal stronger here. Azazel's body lies ahead, still and waiting—a lighthouse, calling us to do whatever it takes to bring him home.