It was hard to distinguish Danulf’s features through the copious ichor that coated them, his wounds oozing out what was left of his life. His chest still rose and fell with labored breath, but it was shallow and strained.
David was at a loss. Even with supernatural speed, it would take too long to reach town, and even then, who could he turn to for help? Danulf hadn’t revealed Hekate’s whereabouts before the attack and the otherworldly beings who visited him earlier seemed to have returned to the ether from whence they came.
A deep crimson pool spread out beneath him, defiling the blanket of white. The woods were soundless, save for the gentle tap of trickling snowflakes on their skin, as David watched the man below him slowly die. His mind was a mess of tangled, conflicting thoughts, knowing he’d seen countless men die, many by his own hand, and that watching one more shouldn’t matter to him. Yet, he was unable to shake the feeling that this one should be saved.
He crouched down to where Danulf lay, turning him onto his back. The angry gashes that tore him open were slowing their steady hemorrhage, his chest no longer rising. David could tell he was moments away from death. He tried to steady his trembling voice as he spoke, “I can save you the only way I know how, but you must tell me that you approve—I cannot forcefully do to you what has been done to me.”
Danulf did not respond, but David felt his finger twitch, brushing ever so slightly against David’s folded leg. It would have to do.
“Forgive me,” David whispered above to whoever was listening, and released the veins on his wrist so that black liquid poured from them onto Danulf’s battered face. The syrupy trickle found its way to his open mouth, choking him before he swallowed. David swooped down to fasten his mouth onto one of his open wounds.
The taste of human blood jolted him as Danulf’s memories assaulted his consciousness, visions of Viking war ships and battle axes drenched in gore. The earth-shattering screams of Fenrir pierced his ears, but it was not the first time an attached soul protested its demise, and he ignored them, drinking harder.
The hoot of an owl finally jarred him out of his feeding haze, and he threw himself off Danulf, landing next to him on the snow, breathless and exhilarated from consuming human blood. He pulled himself to his feet, watching as the Norseman began to writhe in pain as the transformation took hold. Guilt and remorse quickly followed any lingering delectation as he observed Danulf’s agonizing rebirth. “Please forgive me,” he repeated, unable to tear his eyes away.
And then, mercifully, the excruciating process ceased. The lacerations that had ribboned Danulf’s tattooed skin sealed, as color crept back into his lips and brightened his wild, silver hair. He gasped as he bolted upright, his sapphire eyes wide with new life. He cursed in shock.
David watched in silence as his friend took in his surroundings through new eyes, wiggling nimble fingers and stretching limbs that now surged with immeasurable power. He knew the gift would be strong in another reincarnated god, but he feared the wolf attached to Danulf, and he wasn’t looking forward to discovering how it would fare with immortal power.
But before he could speak, what felt like a whip lashed his back, forcing him to his knees. They were surrounded by nemorti, all bearing Lucius’s black and red dragon insignia. He caught Danulf’s eyes for a fleeting moment before the daunting realization hit him—the moon was finally exposed again in the night sky.
The soldiers had noticed as well. “Hurry, before the beast turns!” one of them cried out.
David tried to transform back into his own canine form, but he was soon trapped under a net much like the one used earlier on Danulf, heavy silver planks burning holes into his skin. He growled in frustration as they hoisted him up onto one of their horses, fleeing as fast as they were able.
He watched as Danulf was left to the agony of a double metamorphosis, powerless to help him. As the horses increased their speed to a rapid gallop, he realized the whiplike sensation he’d felt earlier was actually a spear, one that had settled painfully between his ribs. He tried to remove it, but the net that held him was so cruelly constructed that any move he made encouraged a jolt of searing pain. He was growing lightheaded from the loss of blood, and though he knew it would take more than that to kill him, he was not immune to a loss of consciousness. He fought against it regardless, knowing he would need every ounce of strength he had to deal with Lucius. Yet the amount of blood he lost in Danulf’s transformation and his current wounds proved to be too much. He groaned, and before long, gave in to the merciful darkness.
“How can you ever forgive me?” A woman’s voice broke through oblivion.
“You have not done wrong by me, sister,” a benevolent voice replied. “How could I ever hold ill will against the other part of my soul?”
Two women materialized, one seated on a throne of polished gold, layers of jade and lapis lazuli crawling up each arm. The other was crouched down before her, contorted by her despair as she looked up with doleful eyes. Both women were aesthetically stunning, their skin the color of the earth, their hair waterfalls of obsidian splendor. Paint darkened their eyes and rouged their lips, their limbs and chests dressed in sparkling gold jewelry and precious gems. Their skin seemed too smooth to be human, their bodies too hard, as if they had been exquisitely carved out of marble. Their faces mirrored each other in perfect symmetry, yet one kept the hair beneath her jewel encrusted crown in billowing waves around her emerald eyes, the other cropped short with eyes that rivaled the summer sky.
The green-eyed sister stood, pulling the other to her feet. “How could I understand this love that you speak of? I do not feel such things. My love is for humanity, Osiris my counterpart. He is my partner in the creation of humans, but I do not possess him as my own.”
The blue-eyed sister wiped away a befallen tear. “It was when the humans started to create life amongst themselves without your aid. That is when I felt it—a yearning, a longing for him. The acts I perform with Set fill me with pleasure, but they pale in comparison to real love. My heart began to beat only for the man who was meant for my sister.”
“No,” the other corrected her firmly. “We are the broken She, and they are the broken He. No one among us possesses the other. Your prolonged time spent amongst the humans is turning you into one, but you must trust that I have not been affected in this way. I still see things clear.”
“You speak these words to me, yet I still feel ashamed, Isis,” the blue-eyed sister’s voice dropped to a sullen whisper.
Isis took her hands, forcing her to look into her eyes. “We are the First,” she reminded her. “We are everything. When they fall away, there will be nothing left but you and I again, as one. Nothing, no He, no god, no man will ever come between us.”
The blue-eyed sister responded by a swift kiss. “Thank you.”
The green-eyed Isis smiled as her hands moved down to rest on her sister’s stomach. “The most important thing we must do now is to figure out what to do with the child. No god has ever created life in this way, like the humans do. My intuition tells me that you have created another god, and if Set were to find out…”
“He cannot find out. He will kill Osiris’s son.”
The green-eyed sister turned away suddenly, as if swept up by a wave of sadness. “I have an idea, but the thought itself destroys me.”
The blue-eyed sister nodded with immediate understanding, another tear escaping from her eye. She spoke for her, “You will take him and raise him as your own, under your protection. No one can ever know he was created of me and Osiris.”
It was now the green-eyed woman’s turn to weep, gathering her sister into her arms. The twins held each other, in sorrowful silence.
“It is the only way,” they whispered, in unison.
David jolted awake, the dream vanishing immediately as it was replaced by terror. It didn’t take him long to discover he was shackled to the outer wall of the castle in the yard Lucius used to put deceitful nemorti subjects to death. The enclosure was empty of spectators this morning, however, David facing the harrowing rise of the sun alone.
He pulled at his chains, although he had the sinking sensation Lucius made sure they were sturdy enough to withstand his strength. Lucius also had the foresight to keep Davius drained of blood, ferocious hunger now biting his stomach as he hung weakly from his bounds. The scent of daybreak was reaching a suffocating peak, his instincts screaming at him to find shelter, yet he found he could not shape-shift as he had done before.
From behind an adjacent row of stones, Lucius emerged, several guards trailing him at a distance. He had abandoned his signature gold and crimson costume for robes of violet, a flowing midnight cloak catching the wind as he walked. He carried a parasol made with darkly dyed animal skin, equally dark tinted glasses shading the sun from his eyes. David knew that behind the opaque lenses, fiery coals of hatred smoldered in his direction. Lucius’s jaw was tight, his lips pressed into a line as he stood silently before him, enjoying the sight of David’s weakness.
“I did not want to kill her,” David croaked through parched lips.
Lucius waved his hand dismissively. “It doesn't matter. You may have freed the spirit of the Morrigan, but her vessel still lives. Delicia is immobilized by unconsciousness, but I will retrieve Morrigan’s soul and animate them once again.”
“Then why?” David asked. “Why have you sentenced me to death?” He struggled to speak, realizing the spear had been carelessly removed from his back, leaving his lung punctured in such a way that each word proved excruciating to create.
Lucius removed his glasses, keeping the parasol positioned to prevent a single wayward ray of sunlight from reaching his exposed skin. His face was obscured by its shadow, yet his eyes still burned, an image that brought back the memory of their first meeting, so many centuries ago. “Our arrangement is no longer working, Davius,” he explained, surprising him by using his former name. “Somewhere along the way, our priorities shifted in opposing directions, driving a wedge between us.”
“Your priority to destroy humanity?” David scoffed.
Lucius looked surprised. “Whatever gave you that impression?” He began to pace, twirling the handle of his parasol with a casualness incongruous to the severity of what currently transpired. “I want to save humans, Davius. I want to protect them from destroying themselves. They are deeply stupid animals unable to advance in this world without direction. I was given life on this earthly realm unlike any god before me. I can create others in my image simply by sharing my blood. It is my destiny to promote the evolution of mankind—with or without your assistance.”
