Chapter 10 The Fall
THE FALL
Acacius
Take her title.
It was the first thing that came to Acacius’s mind after she left him in the forest to unravel the dark bramble from his flesh, after he tore open his shaking limbs to free himself. Eyes wide with a deranged excitement, he rested his elbows on his knees, catching his breath as his body repaired.
She claimed not to care about anything, that there was nothing of value he could take from her—a lie he was eager to prove wrong.
Marina prided herself in her strength, and what would happen if he took that power away? If he were to fracture the shell she hid herself away in?
What would seep out?
All it would take is one fissure, and Acacius was confident the High Goddess would come undone on her own.
He stood in line alongside the Council under the great divine coliseum in Isolde, the thick layers of his black robe and eldritch mask hiding his identity.
Bright rays of sunlight luminesced off the quartz cathedral walls. Tufts of smoke bloomed all around as deities filled the rows of seats.
Acacius refused to acknowledge Iliana at his side. Like him, her identity was concealed by the lustrous orb in place of her face. It would give any deity a migraine if they stared at it for too long.
The High Goddess of Eternity stood at the end of the line next to Mavros.
Naia’s long silver waves were clipped up off her neck, her chin held high, demeanor poised with a regal stoicism worthy of the Council—far from the overly expressive looks she wore during the many gatherings in Kaimana that Acacius attended throughout the years.
An itch prodded in his fingertips to open a cut in the room and let his Chaos pour out. All it would take was one deity to react to his call for destruction to spread like spilled blood.
He could easily do it—cave in the ceiling where Naia stood, unfurl the malevolence in the hearts of the crowd, who’d all point their vengeful glares in the direction of the High Goddess who could strip them of their immortality, who could truly kill them.
However, Acacius’s emotional flare would cause irreparable harm, only proving his sister right.
Folding his arms in vexation, he settled with the knowledge that his Heralds were currently lurking in the outskirts of Hollow City, planting the seeds of Ruin. The demigod boy did not stand a chance.
On the other side of Mavros was Solasta, the new High Goddess of Fate. Snug over her dark curls was a strand of golden twine wound around the crown of her head, decorated in jewels. They reflected in the sun’s rays that rained in through the skylights.
Acacius’s stomach knotted at the sight of her. A stale reminder of time’s incessant stream. It felt wrong to be in this line without Cassius and Ruelle.
He averted his gaze to the empty space on the platform.
Torin sauntered to his place in the circle, his black trench coat hitting the backs of his calves. He had the collar of his shirt stood up, meeting the sides of his chin. His jagged features were framed by shoulder-length obsidian waves.
He cut his eyes over to Acacius, who sent him a confident nod back.
When Acacius came up with his plan to steal Marina’s title from her, Torin was the first god to come to mind. He made an appearance at each one of Marina’s duels, observant of her missteps, committed to seeing her fall.
It did not take Acacius long to convince Torin to be the one to challenge her this time.
The god spent centuries honing his power in preparation to one day take the title as his own.
He studied Marina’s fighting style down to the angles of her fingers when she pulled at her Night, giving him a practiced upper hand.
The roots of his enmity traveled deep for the High Goddess, all because of a confrontation between the two in Isolde long ago. Marina had wronged the god in some way, though Torin wouldn’t elaborate how when Acacius asked.
The details didn’t matter, so long as the middle god succeeded.
Acacius looked around at the sea of faces surrounding them, recognizing Marina’s siblings, their silver strands and scowls, tucked midway up the stadium.
“I call upon Marina, the High Goddess of Night.” Iliana started the Council’s dialogue, her soft-pitched voice reverberating through the hall as if she spoke through an amplifier. “May she come forth.”
A long pause.
Everyone looked around.
Acacius started to fidget with his fingers but caught the tic and squeezed his hands into fists. As a Council member, the responsibility to display dignity was a reflex at this point. Dignified beings did not show weakness.
He glanced around at the entrances of the coliseum for motion.
Marina’s tardiness was unlike her. He’d witnessed every one of her duels, and not once had she ever been late.
In fact, her calculative intuition often led her to arrive before her opponent, waiting in her silent, indifferent persona as if the duel was a waste of her time.
Acacius rubbed his index finger and thumb together under his cloak sleeve as the minutes passed.
In his periphery, Iliana glanced at him. He didn’t have to see her face to imagine her inquisition.
Shadows fabricated like pinpricks across the platform.
Iliana fixed her attention on the dense obsidian wisps twisting up and expanding into a large mass.
Dark mist hovered over the coliseum. Marina fabricated in its tailspin, across from Torin, shade rippling around her feet.
Acacius’s eyes licked up her black velvet gown to its dangerously low neckline, the ruby jewels of her body chain glinting between her diaphragm and her breasts.
The white strand in her dark hair caught his attention. It framed the right side of her face. Was she born with the smoky streak, or was it something she painted with her glamor?
He stared at her blank expression, unsettled by the lifeless disposition she held herself in.
“Welcome, Lady Marina.” Solasta bowed her chin in a respectful greeting, her soothing voice like a song that put children to sleep.
Marina kept her attention on Torin without returning Solasta’s acknowledgement.
Down the line, Acacius could feel the heat of Azara’s divine power crackling in the air.
Acacius flicked his eyes over to the tensed muscles on the side of her sharp jaw and her ginger locks pulled back in a tight ponytail. Marina’s blatant disrespect had always irritated the Council.
And any other time, Acacius would’ve reacted with similar annoyance. Young gods and their egos stirred his superiority complex.
However, something was off. He felt it in his marrow.
He returned his gaze to Marina’s slumped shoulders, her posture haggard and worn in a way he’d never seen before—as if she were trying to make herself smaller. A way to disappear.
“Marina, High Goddess of Night,” Azara addressed, her tone assertive and to the point. “The Council stands before you today because Torin, middle god of night, has called a duel for your title.”
“Do you accept this challenge?” Naia spoke formally, steady, but Acacius did not miss the pinch in her brow as she stared at her sister’s backside. Proof that Acacius’s gut feeling called for concern.
He kept his eyes trained on Marina, hunting for any subtle reaction from Naia’s voice—tension in her shoulders, visible tightening of the fists at her side.
Nothing.
Silence passed.
Whispers brushed across the hall.
Acacius’s lips formed a straight line.
Her silence unnerved him.
Come on.
“Lady Marina?” Iliana called out.
Marina stared at the ground. “I accept.” The pitch of her voice was hollow, syllables barely exiting off her tongue.
Acacius didn’t understand this version of her. She’d left him piked on fucking skewers in the middle of a forest outside of Tenebris. During their fight, their dance, some of her vigor had returned. He caught a glimpse of it relighting in her gaze.
“The victor of this duel shall go forth as the High Ruler of Night.” Mavros spoke a few paces down from Acacius, providing a calm demeanor that mirrored Cassius. “Whoever loses must accept their defeat with grace.”
Marina stared ahead at Torin. “I accept the terms.”
Unease tensed in Acacius’s stomach. He squeezed his fists tighter, a war of emotion battling in his chest. A mess that he couldn’t decipher but couldn’t escape either.
Marina losing her title meant nothing if he didn’t get to see her suffer when it slipped from her grasp. In this state, she didn’t seem to care, like the night he pinned her down on the rooftop in Tenebris. Just as she claimed.
Iliana cleared her throat at his side, a subtle reminder that it was his turn to speak.
“Then you may proceed.” As the words left his mouth, Torin did not waste a breath.
The god disappeared and materialized in front of Marina as the Council evaporated as a whole, leaving behind plumes of vapor that braided together.
Acacius’s feet touched the solid ground of the coliseum’s highest level. It had a vantage that overlooked the entire hall.
Quickly, he stepped up to the railing, watching closely with an accelerated heart.
Torin extended his arm to the side. An abyssal longsword formed in his grasp.
Marina made no effort to move or dodge him as he plunged the blade into her sternum.
What the hell is she doing?
Marina choked out a wet sound, blood spewing from her mouth like spilled wine.
Torin released his makeshift blade and fabricated another in his other hand.
Marina curled over, giving Torin plenty of time to clasp his hands together and drive the weapon into her spine.
Acacius’s fists squeezed at his sides, tensing the muscles of his forearms.
Torin tangled his fist in the back of her hair and slammed her face into the floor, cracking webs into the stone. Again and again, her skull ruptured against the solid ground.
Sickness curdled in his stomach. Her nose snapped, and the bones of her cheeks sunk in, shattered and unable to mend faster than Torin’s assault.
Fuck.