Killian glances up, his eyebrows raising, and I follow his gaze to see someone else walking into the room. Storm looks ready for war, his hair tied back into a dozen braids, his eyes firm and fixed on me as he approaches. He lifts two familiar daggers up to me.
“I’m sorry I’m late,” he says, and the sound of his voice sends a bolt of guilt, frustration, and anger through me. “I went to find these for you.”
“Thanks,” I say, taking the daggers off him and gripping them both in my hands, although it’s hard to look him in the eye.
Seth approaches then, his expression unreadable. His face was a mess last night - whatever Storm did to him must have really fucked him up - but a night of sleep with his higher god healing has reduced it to an ugly bruise. It pains me to look at it. “I’m glad you’re here,” Seth says at last, surprising me a little, and the two men look at each other for a long moment.
The tension mounts, and Storm turns his gaze to me. Tightening my grip on my daggers as I glance back at the injury he inflicted on Seth, I square my shoulders and walk away toward the door. If he thinks he can just act like everything is okay, then he’s got another thing coming.
“Karma, can we talk for a moment?” Storm asks, catching up to me and putting a hand on my arm.
I shake his hand off, my eyes flashing in a burst of unexpected rage as I look at him. “No,” I reply, my voice cold. “I have a game to play, and my best friend needs me to win it. I don’t have time.” He’s the target of my anger, but the frustration seeps out to the others as well; maybe it’s not fair to the twins, but I don’t care. I resent them all for doing this to me, for making me feel all these things and then tearing me apart. It’s all too much, and my heart feels like it’s close to breaking. I turn away before any of them can see me cry, stalking out into the corridor.
Storm follows me, taking my arm in his hand and turning me to face him. I’m on the verge of lashing out with my powers just to get him to leave me alone, but I stop myself; for all his faults, I still love him… and that’s the part that hurts the most. “Karma,” he begins, his eyes pleading, “I-”
“Not now,” I snap, wrenching my arm out of his grip. The pain and guilt on his face are too much to bear, and I can feel tears welling up in my eyes. When did this all get so complicated? The next word comes out as barely a whisper, as much of a plea as it is a command. “Please.” My brothers are all out in the courtyard already, and they might be able to hear us. I don’t want to have this conversation right now, when I need to be strong, especially because it’s looking like it’s going to end in a fight - or him breaking my heart.
“I need to talk to you, Karma,” Storm pleads, nearly breaking my resolve. “After the game, okay? Promise me.”
I look back at him for just a second; the love and devastation he’s making me feel are so intense that it hurts to even see his beautiful eyes. I know he’s going to make me choose, and break me into a million pieces when I tell him that I can’t. I love them, too. The rumour that you can’t love more than one person at a time is utter gobshite - I’m living proof. I can feel it like a jackhammer to the chest, have known it on some level ever since the prison, but it’s taken me this long to catch up. The reality is that this might not work for us all, and Storm - for all his beauty, power, and leadership - is the sticking point.
Seth and Killian join me then, taking a place on either side of me, their expressions solemn. It feels like an invisible wall has been built, and Storm is the only one on the other side.
“I promise,” I tell him, wishing I could read his expression, but his violet eyes give nothing away.
Suddenly, I’m struck by a wave of nostalgia: I remember the days when I only worried about my karma jobs, and nothing else. That feels like a lifetime ago.
I glance down at my right hand, clutching the dagger so hard that my knuckles are turning white. Since the prison, not a single name has appeared there, and I can’t help but wonder if it’s because that side of my soul is completely gone. I’m not a karma goddess anymore - maybe I never was. Frankly, I was never much good at it, and now I understand why: I’m the child of a higher god and a karma goddess, and right now, I need to be that child of a higher god to win this game. I need to beat the higher gods at their own game, or I will never be free. I will never escape this life they are set to control for me, and nothing else matters except fighting that fate - not Storm, not the justice twins, not my lineage.
We walk in silence down to the arena, and I can hear my heartbeat in my ears like a war drum. The sound of a crowd grows as we approach; the other supernaturals on the island must have been assembled for this final trial. No pressure or anything, right? The stands are full of gods and other beings cheering so loudly that it drowns out the sound of my own fear. Good. Fear is the enemy right now.
As we pass through the arch and into the arena, I see that the maze from the first game is gone, replaced by a stone platform with a set of narrow steps leading up the sides. I don’t see the higher gods anywhere, but there are three guards who meet us in the middle of the arena, their golden armour gleaming in the bright sunlight.
“The higher gods request that Karma stand alone on the platform,” one of the guards states. I blink; it’s the first time I’ve ever heard one of them speak, and he sounds pretty normal. I wasn’t expecting that.
“As if I have a choice,” I remark dryly, but turn to head up the steps. Mum catches hold of my arm before I go, turning me to face her and placing her hand on my cheek. “Good luck,” she says, her eyes shining. “I love you, and I fully believe you can win this.” Dad comes forward then too, echoing her sentiment in his own way: not a man of many words, he presses a kiss to my forehead before taking Mum’s hand and moving away.
Damien and Hugo approach me then, and it’s clear that their composure is breaking. “Don’t die,” Damien tells me roughly, trying to keep a brave face on.
“Yeah, don’t go leaving me alone with these feckers,” Hugo jokes, wrapping an arm around Damien’s shoulders. Damien shoves at him playfully, but not even the fraternal joking is enough to mask their concern. Without another word, they move to sit next to Mum and Dad, leaving me facing Peyton. He doesn’t say anything when he meets my eyes, but he doesn’t have to; whatever happens up there, his girlfriend and little sister are going to be fighting for their lives. This game won’t be a walk in the park, that much is certain. I wish I could promise to save Mads, but I can’t do that, and he knows it as well as I do. A moment passes, and then he turns wordlessly away and follows the rest of my family to the stands.
Storm approaches me next, seemingly knowing better than to try something overtly romantic; I can appreciate that. Still, he runs his hand across my wrist in an affectionate way as he passes by me, and the gesture is surprisingly invigorating. “When you win,” he says, “I want that promise kept. Remember your powers are controlled by your emotions, and you can win this.”
I nod grimly, not saying anything in reply as Storm backs off and Seth comes over. I open my mouth to speak to him, but to my surprise, he cuts me off with a gentle kiss. The skies get darker in an instant - Storm isn’t happy, but what else is feckin’ new? I won’t be going to the beach with him any time soon - I’d never be able to sunbathe.
Seth either doesn’t see Storm’s reaction, or simply doesn’t care. He pulls back, caressing my cheek with one hand before saying, “I’m done hiding that I love you, Karma. And I believe you can win this.” There’s a pause. “Dying is not an option today.”
I can’t say anything back; I just have to let my eyes do the talking, sending signals of terror and uncertainty… but also of love. The time for hiding my emotions behind a sardonic mask is over.
Seth moves away, allowing Killian to step into the space where he stood. Before he can say anything, I wrap my arms around him and rest my head against his chest, overcome by emotion. I grip him tightly as he presses a kiss on my head and embraces me with equal intensity. The sound of the cheering crowd and the eyes of the spectators on us just fade away as I lean back, and Killian kisses me like the world is ending.
It feels like he is saying goodbye. I break away because I can’t let him think that way. Whatever else this might be, it isn’t goodbye - I’m going to make sure of that.
“Go and be the goddess you are meant to be,” he tells me, a small smile appearing on his face. “You are Karma Kismet. Don’t forget it.”
“I won’t,” I reply, returning his smile with one of my own - although it isn’t as sure as I’d like it to be. Steeling myself, I take a breath before walking away from Killian and up the stone steps onto the large platform. There isn’t anything up here, but I can see another entrance with a set of stairs leading up the other side. For a moment an image of an ancient Roman colosseum - and the gladiatorial battles that took place there - comes to mind, but I shake it away. I don’t like where that train of thought is leading.
I walk to the middle of the platform, looking cautiously around as I try to figure out what’s going on. I’m just starting to wonder if this is a trap when I hear the sound of movement; turning around, I see Xur walking up the other set of steps, followed by Eenta. None of this is surprising; this little song and dance has become as much a part of these trials as the games themselves.
It’s the person who follows after them that almost shocks me into dropping my daggers.
Mads moves to stand between the two higher gods, but she looks nothing like herself. Her once blonde hair is white, her blue eyes glow with that same inhuman aura that marks the higher gods, and there is a coldness in her gaze that isn’t like her at all. I stare at her, but there is no recognition in her eyes - only a ruthlessness that shakes me to my core. In her hand she holds a golden sword, which lights up as blue lightning snakes out of her hand and up the blade. I can feel the power coming off her in waves, a magical energy that’s as unmistakable as it is terrifying.
“Mads?” My voice is barely above a whisper, but the arena has gone silent, and it seems to echo. She doesn’t seem to care at all, instead looking to Xur, who steps forward to speak for her. Behind me, I can hear Peyton shouting her name, and I glance back at him for a second to see Hugo and Damien struggling to hold him down. They all look frightened, and my parents are holding onto each other like a lifeline. Storm is shaking his head, looking furious, and the rest of the spectators watch the interaction with bated breaths.
“What the fuck did you do to her?” I demand, rounding on the gods. “What the fuck did you do?”
“I helped your human friend become a little less...well, human,” Eenta replies, her voice nightmarishly calm.
“What does that mean?” I ask, although part of me already knows the answer.
“I did to her what Storm’s parents once did to us as babies. She is a goddess now,” Eenta explains, talking like she is extremely proud of what she has done. The implications cut into me like a knife - Mads, a goddess. Taken and warped by the people who killed my mother and imprisoned my family. One more look at her tells me what I already know: my friend is gone, replaced with a husk loyal to the higher gods. Something deep inside me feels like it’s coming apart, and it’s all I can do to stay upright. “Oh and, Karma,” Eenta adds, “she is also immortal now. Isn’t it amazing that your friend will live out her days with you?”
“Mads...” I ignore Eenta to stare at my best friend, though every word Eenta says sticks. Her face is cold and emotionless, ethereal in its beauty, but also dangerous. The kind, supportive woman I once knew is nowhere to be seen. I round on Eenta, searching for an explanation.
“She is our puppet,” Eenta explains, “not exactly conscious while we are all alive. I’ve perfected this little test over the years.” She walks over to Mads, stroking her cheek as if she were nothing more than a pet to be admired.
“Let her go.” My voice is quivering, the daggers shaking in my hands.
