Chapter 56
CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX
KATELL
Katell’s steel blade clashed against Laran’s massive sword, the impact ringing out like a bell across the endless battlefield. Sparks flew where metal met metal, but the god of war only tilted his head. If anything, he looked bored.
Time had lost all meaning in his realm—hours, days, perhaps even months—and Katell wouldn’t have known.
The sky never changed, locked in a crimson twilight with no sun, no moon, only a shifting haze that swallowed the horizon.
Hunger and thirst didn’t exist here—only the ceaseless, punishing rhythm of training, her body hardening into something it had never been before.
A sharp parry knocked her off balance, her boots skidding across the ground. She gritted her teeth, adjusting her grip on her Rasennan shield, and charged forward again—yet her focus slipped, snagged on the visions she’d glimpsed of the mortal realm.
How many opponents had the Emperor sent her to fight? How much blood had already been spilled?
Laran’s blade crashed against hers, sending a jolt up her arms. She shifted her stance, absorbing the impact before striking for his side—too slow. He sidestepped, knocking her attack away like an afterthought.
Sweat dripped down her brow, her breath coming in sharp gasps, but she refused to falter.
Laran claimed the faster she embraced her immortal side, the sooner she could leave—but what good would endless drills of blade and shield do against the Emperor?
He’d given her no real answers, only the command to fight until her body obeyed.
Now they had turned to magic. Her magic, at least—Laran had made it clear that if he unleashed his own, she’d vanish in a burst of flames, reduced to nothing but a scorched memory.
Here, the very air pulsed with power. It sank into her lungs with every breath, coiled in her blood, thrummed against her bones.
The longer she remained, the more fiercely that inner fire burned.
She suspected this was his true aim: to grind her body down until it yielded to the realm’s magic and let it flood her veins.
But Katell resisted. Ravenous hunger lurked in that deepening well inside her, ready to turn her into a monster if she let it.
Across from her, the god of war rolled his shoulders as if this were all a mild inconvenience. He wasn’t even wearing armour—just a black tunic stitched with gold, loose at the chest to reveal olive skin and muscle honed by centuries of battle.
He blocked her shield with infuriating ease. “Why aren’t you using my magic?”
“I am.” Katell’s teeth clenched, every muscle burning with effort. She’d poured as much strength into the strike as she dared, yet he hadn’t budged.
“I mean the flame.” He released her shield and stepped back, eyeing her like she was the most disappointing thing he’d ever seen. “You could do all this while wielding fire.”
Katell blinked, taken aback. “Laran’s Flame? I can’t use it without Dorias—”
Laran looked unimpressed. “Spoken like a true loser.”
Her fingers tightened around the hilt of her sword. “I can’t just create fire—”
“Of course you can!” He flung his hands wide, his lip curling. “You’re my daughter. Laran’s daughter. And it’s called Laran’s Flame. Must I spell everything out for you?”
She lowered her shield. “How?”
“Call your magic. Let it fill you.” He lifted his hand, dark red magic coiling tight in his fist. “Then mould it into a flame.” Light condensed around his knuckles into a bright, crackling flame that danced in his palm.
“I can mould it into anything?” she asked.
His mouth curved in something that wasn’t quite a smile. “Within reason. You’re only a demigoddess, after all.”
“So this is how Gifts are made?” she asked, flexing her fingers, trying to summon his magic as he had.
He nodded. “Exactly. The stronger the deity, the stronger the Gifts.”
He snuffed out the flame and hoisted his giant blade on his shoulder. “Let’s try again. This time, against the souls.”
Katell glanced at the translucent ghosts drifting nearby, shadows of fallen warriors that haunting the plain. “They can fight?”
“If I wish it.” Laran’s grin sharpened into something cruel.
Katell barely had time to raise her shield. “Wait—”
He snapped his fingers.
The air rippled.
The spirits lunged.
A dozen blades flashed towards her at once. Katell swore and threw herself into the fight, her sword clashing against ghostly steel.
But she couldn’t stop them all. Cold, spectral blades tore into her ribs, sliced her legs, and burned across her skin.
Pain flared, sharp and relentless, only to vanish as her wounds healed in an endless, maddening cycle of destruction and renewal.
Each strike drove her forward, each fresh wound feeding the fire in her veins.
And beneath it all, fuelling her rage, was him.
Laran.
Her so-called father.
The insufferable, impossible god who goaded her at every turn. Brash, arrogant, looking entirely too pleased with himself.
How could the Rebel Queen have given in to him? He must’ve tricked her somehow. There could be no other explanation.
Magic flooded her limbs, her strikes growing faster, sharper. The spirits swarmed, pressing closer, and without meaning to, she sank deeper—into that dark well within. Power surged, heat coiling through her veins, spreading in a torrent of fire—
Her chest cinched tight.
No. Not again.
“More,” Laran snapped, his tone steeped in disapproval. “Your magic is as vast as the Great Sea, yet you’re drawing only a handful when you could summon a storm. You’re holding back.”
Of course she was. He wanted her to dive into the abyss, to unleash the monstrous tide she’d barely survived before—the same tide that had consumed her body in the mortal realm and left wreckage in its wake. What if it happened again? What if she lost herself here, where no one could stop her?
She forced the dread down, refusing the pull of that endless current of magic. Instead, she reached for the smaller stream—the one she could still contain. Flames guttered at her fingertips, trembling, uncertain.
Leaning against his blade, Laran let out a dramatic sigh. “Well, I suppose you could always slow roast your enemies to death.”
Clenching her teeth, she forced more magic into her palm. A flame flickered to life, larger this time, but the moment a soul lunged at her, it snuffed out like a candle in the wind.
Again and again, she fought, slicing through the endless swarm of spirits, willing the fire to come, to obey her without tapping into the depths she feared. But no matter how fiercely she swung, no matter how many times she tried, the flames sputtered and died before they could take hold.
Her magic resisted her. Or maybe she was the one resisting it.
Hours passed before Laran released a long breath and waved the spirits away. “That’s enough.”
The souls vanished in an instant, and Katell crumpled to the ground, chest heaving. Sweat poured down her back, clinging to her skin like a second layer.
Laran studied her, unimpressed. “It seems your mind won’t let you see past your mortal limits,” he said flatly. “We’ll have to try something else.”
Her jaw locked. She wouldn’t admit it out loud, but inside she was already unravelling.
Afraid of what lay beneath the surface. Afraid of what would happen if she let go.
Afraid of losing the last thread of control she still held.
How was Laran any different from Dorias, when both seemed intent on dragging her into the same abyss of violence?
So instead she forced herself to speak, anything to pull his attention from her failure. “How many souls”—she broke off, dragging air into her lungs—“are there?”
“I’m not sure. Hundreds, maybe more.”
Katell sagged back onto the hard, cracked earth, unable to hide her exhaustion. “And they just… float around here for all eternity?”
Laran gave a nonchalant shrug, as if the fate of countless souls meant nothing. “The most vicious and vengeful ones eventually turn into demons.”
Realisation hit, and she jolted upright. “By the Moon, you mean the Makhai? They used to be wandering souls?”
“Yes.” Laran stretched, rolling his massive shoulders until the joints cracked. “Warriors twisted with hate and a thirst for blood—men who had already lost their humanity long before they came here.”
Her stomach turned. “And the rest? The ones who don’t become demons?”
“When it gets too crowded, I call on Vanth to ferry some back to the Underworld.”
“Vanth?” The Rasennans at the arena had been so afraid of the goddess of death they wouldn’t even speak her name aloud.
Laran’s scowl was immediate. “Pray you never cross paths with her. She’s batshit crazy and has a nasty habit of sucking the marrow from men’s bones.”
Katell’s stomach twisted. Her gaze swept the barren plain of scorched rock and drifting mist, half-expecting the goddess to appear. She’d made a pact with Vanth back in Bruna’s arena, but had hoped never to cross paths with her.
Laran seized her wrist and hauled her upright in a single, effortless motion. “Come. Let us rest and bathe before the next round.”
Katell staggered, muscles burning in protest, and glanced at the desolate battlefield.
Where did he expect them to bathe?
He clicked his tongue as if she were the most tiresome creature he’d ever dealt with, tightening his grip.
The world blurred. Twisted.
And in the next breath, she found herself somewhere new.
Sunlight poured in from an open balcony, flooding the chamber with gold.
Vivid frescoes adorned the walls; a grand mosaic sprawled across the floor, depicting warriors clashing, flames rising, and gods looming above it all.
The air smelled of salt and daisies, carried in by a warm sea breeze.
Beyond the balcony, the ocean stretched endlessly, a brilliant cerulean expanse almost too vivid to be real.
“Where are we?” Katell asked, taking in every detail.