Chapter 31
Drakon
A wave of triumph surged through Drakon’s broken body as the temple of Knowledge collapsed from the divine fire he’d unleashed, obliterating the avatar of Lies along with it.
And yet his victory was not enough. Passion’s angry fire raged through him.
Why was She displeased with him? What more could She want from him?
He was dying, his wild magic insufficient to knit back together his ravaged body, and Her magic burned like acid in his veins.
Wounds gouged his scales, his blood soaking the cobblestones.
His strength failed him, and Drakon collapsed.
It was a wretched death, bleeding out like this, but at least he’d succeeded.
There, not a few paces away, was the avatar of Justice, felled by his hand.
And there, in the temple of Passion, his aunt and cousin looked on, battered but alive thanks to his actions. How could Passion be angry with him?
Just as his mind wandered, he felt himself slowly sinking. Was this what true death felt like?
“May you never know the peace of Death,” Hyllus hissed.
His enemy yet lived! Drakon tried to rally, but his body wouldn’t obey him. The avatar of Justice held up a shaking hand and coughed up blood, his eyes glittering like jewels. Drakon continued sinking. Was Hyllus commanding the very earth to swallow him whole? Did his wickedness know no bounds?
“Rot for eternity in a world between this one and the Tapestry,” Hyllus groaned.
His hand fell, and yet still those eyes remained locked on him. Drakon was falling faster now. An endless abyss waited for him, and there was nothing he could do to stop it. It took the tip of his tail first, then more, slowly consuming him.
Orithyia walked towards Hyllus, aided by her acolyte, and pressed her foot to the avatar’s throat.
Drakon revelled in the cruelty as Hyllus choked on his last, useless breaths.
His eyes shimmered once, twice, then went dull, glazed over in death.
That done, Orithyia stepped over his corpse and stood beside Drakon, touching the scales of his face with her hand, gaze roaming over him with pride.
“You are undoubtedly one of my finest creations. Just don’t tell my daughter I said as much.” She winked conspiratorially.
Something whistled through the air. Hot blood splashed onto Drakon’s face. The high priestess had been run through with a spear.
“Ungh,” Orithyia gurgled, her brow creased in pain.
“Your Holiness!” the acolyte cried.
“See you next cycle, Drakon,” Orithyia hissed between clenched teeth before going limp.
The acolyte, though unharmed, gasped painfully and dropped to the ground at the same time, as if she too had had the thread of her life cut mid-breath.
Batea and Myrina converged on him, tears streaming down their faces, shouting at him to hold on.
The acolyte rose gracefully, brushed off her black dress, winked at him, and raced off.
“That’s what I’m saying! Theron is in there! She merged him body and soul with Drakon!” Batea shouted.
Who was Theron? He was Drakon. He’d always been Drakon.
“Can you get him out?” Myrina asked, her eyes wide with panic.
“If I had a decade, maybe! Great Goddesses, Theron, I’m so sorry,” Batea sobbed.
Myrina’s divine magic washed over him.
“Orithyia’s curse is too strong! I can’t break it! Oh, my little lion,” Myrina pressed a hand to his face, tears in her eyes.
They stayed there with him like that, his family, standing vigil as Death and an abyss competed for who would take him first. He was glad they would be with him in the end.
“We have to move. The rift is going to swallow him,” Batea said solemnly.
“I can’t…I can’t leave him. My baby. Not like this.”
“There’s nothing more we can do. Don’t…don’t make me lose you too,” Batea said, choking on her tears.
“No, there is one thing I can do,” Myrina said, gathering her magic. “I can give him a divine command. One more potent than hers, tied to the very goddess he swore himself to.” She spat on Orithyia’s corpse.
Her eyes glowed red, brighter and hotter until the flames within wrapped around the whole of her body.
Divine magic pressed down on him, filling him with molten heat even as the chill of death intruded.
Divine fire found every crack in his being and tunnelled inside, all as the abyss closed in around him.
It called not just to the sparks of his own divine magic, but reached into his soul, touching his very thread.
She spoke, but his consciousness was fading, her words a distant hum.
By the time she had finished speaking, the abyss had swallowed Drakon whole. It closed over him, sealing him inside.
Primordial night surrounded him on all sides, choking and cloying. Down he fell until time and direction had lost all meaning. Until he forgot there had ever been a thing called light. Until all he knew was darkness.
Then, in that darkness, voices rang out, oppressive and all-consuming.
“OUR CHOSEN HAS ARRIVED.”
I hope you enjoyed the epic second book in the Cycle of Calamity series!