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Yes, you read that right. This book is like burnt eggs. You’ve been warned.
“When you learned that memories take years longer than souls to transcend certain planes of existence, you requested that I place your memories of Paradise within this weapon to be returned to you more quickly. Consider this a favor. May fate bless your scheming, or else may your second death be equally honorable.”
“There is no use crying over spilled ambrosia. You are a goddess now, Maven. You belong in Paradise—you earned your place here. Your future is final, so stop fighting it and learn to be happy. You will thank me in a few millennia when you’ve forgotten your mortal life and everyone you knew therein.”
“I cannot, for the future is ever-changing until it comes to pass. If you are determined to attempt reversing apotheosis, I see many possibilities…but the foremost possibility is your final demise. Is not Paradise better than facing the Beyond, my fearless one?”
“For shits and giggles, let’s say I do survive. Will I still be a revenant?” “No. That dark magic corrupting you would never withstand Paradise, so it must be gone. If you survive this brutal pursuit, you will return as a half mortal, as you were born to be. The blood of a goddess will run through you, and with it, your true abilities and holy magic. But without a heart, you cannot end the suffering of…”
I glance up at the sky. “How about some divine providence before I freeze my ass off?” No response. Nice to know that divine nepotism isn’t on the table.
Galene was right. I’m not a revenant anymore, which means I’m a demigoddess with no idea how to use holy magic.
Years of torturous training to learn how to use death-fueled magic, wasted. “You’re all sadists,” I mutter at the gods. Ironically, that makes me being related to them make some sense.
A soft whistle fills the house as the etherium blade glows. The ghost evaporates just before a buzz fills me. It’s not at all the same morbidly insatiable sensation I once got from killing—instead, this buzz is gentle. Soft. Almost…peaceful.
You’d all better be alive, or I’m destroying what’s left of this godsdamned world.
Luka looks up from studying a map on a desk. The vampire’s attention immediately skips to my shoulder, where my bloodied bandage is starting to seep through, before he squints to check my pupils. His own eyes get comically wide. “You have got to be shitting me.” “I shit you not,”
Oh, my fucking gods. “Shut up before I find a way to smite you,” I warn. She bursts into laughter.
“The gods themselves couldn’t keep me from coming back to watch the next season of your favorite sappy forbidden romance show with you.”
“It’s true. You bound them to yourself, albeit unconsciously. You see, we gods derive our power from worship. As you grew closer to your quintet, who worshipped you in their own way, you naturally became more powerful. As a revenant, you could not access many abilities that were your birthright. However, you gained access to your holy magic—the very same magic that binds legacies together. Thus, your bound quintet and their broken curses.”
“There’s no one else in here, man,” someone grunts. It's the giant leprechaun, voices in my head inform me. I realize the giant leprechaun—no, the redheaded bounty hunter is in here,
Galene turns to face me, her expression brightening. “But fate knows best, for one fateful midnight, I had a particularly powerful vision. I saw Syntyche freeing the humans of the Nether. I witnessed great bloodshed and horrors just before a time of unrivaled peace unlike the world had seen in ages. The vision confused me until I later foresaw Amato and realized it was not Syntyche ending the reign of Amadeus, but you. Of course…”
“I don’t remember. Yet,” I add, like that one word is the good news. “Godsdamn it all, Maven,” Silas sighs, exasperated. “You can’t keep doing this to us.” “At this point, I’m going to make you make a fucking blood oath to stop making blood oaths,” Baelfire grits,
“Have I mentioned how entertaining it is to watch you around anyone in tears, darling?” “Their faces are leaking. What the fuck am I supposed to do with that?” I point out, shuddering.
“Wow. You really put the bitch in obituary, don’t you?”
Dagon was there, too. He excitedly explained that this incubus had turned out to be an empath—a rare mutation occurring in monsters, legacies, and manifested casters that the Undead absolutely loved to use for their version of amusement.
“Oh my fucking gods. You were considering falling from Paradise to live a mortal life with Pietro Amato,” I realize aloud, gawking at her. Syntyche says nothing for a long time before she pulls her hood back up, preparing to go down and reap more souls. “In all possible attempts, Galene only foresaw my demise, for fate knows my path is one of immortal reaping. You carry more humanity within you, so perhaps your outcome will be more favorable.”
I shall claim the Nether from the one who has corrupted it. I will tie mine and my quintet's souls to that plane of existence to cleanse and reign over it until the end of our days. This I swear, and seal in blood.”
