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“I’m sorry about this,” he murmured as if he were sincere. He was a liar. “But you’re going to hurt yourself if I don’t stop you.”

He nodded, looking at someone past me. Before I could turn to see, the familiar floral scent hit me. It invaded my senses, dulling them and making my head spin.

Stay alive, I pleaded towards the darkened sky.

Cerilla’s magic weaved through my weakened body and dragged me into unconsciousness.

Chapter Three

Ruined Plans

Helion

One small smile was enough to destroy a century of hate and several years of meticulous fucking scheming.

Pathetic, really.

But I suppose that was all it took when your heart still beat for the woman who left it carved up, even when every logical part of you had spent a century learning how to hate her.

The plan had been simple and was working before my stupid heart got in the way.

Edgar had won the last trials, granting him several years of freedom. I’d had him funnelling me Maraveth’s blood to regenerate my powers, which also kept her hidden from Rythos.

I’d even had him fucking her to keep her from burnout.

Couldn’t have her die before she could fix the mess she’d made for me.

Or for the whole fucking world for that matter.

I’d thought of everything.

All she had to do was absorb her relics so I could drag her to Elysium and force her to heal the Throne of Gods, even if it meant slitting her throat over its cracks.

Then I was going to tear this place apart, and free the other gods that had been trapped here along with me so we could fix the breaking world.

Heal the Throne. Heal the Kingdoms.

Simple.

I'd devised the whole thing while being torn apart in the Nether for a crime I hadn't even fucking committed.

Apparently, being jealous of the pathetic Mortal fucking your wife was evidence enough that you'd turned her lover into a weapon to kill her and break the entire world in a fit of rage.

I'd protested my innocence for countless years.

But torture had a remarkable way of making truth feel like an unnecessary hill to die repeatedly upon, so I'd finally given Astaroth something useful instead.

That I’d known where Maraveth's soul was hidden, and like the obedient little pet he’d spent centuries beating me into becoming, I offered to fetch it.

I had spent a few weeks in the Mortal village below the castle, watching her, waiting to grow the nerve to face her, and I would have eventually...

The night I was going to take her, I found her running across the palace grounds into the fucking forest.

Escaping.

I followed her to the cliffs, with every fucking intent of taking her right then and there.

It wasn’t until I had seen the emptiness in her eyes that I knew she wasn’t just running away; she was choosing to die.