We reached the Hermessi, and only ten feet stood between us and what lay beyond those double screen doors. A stylized depiction of Death had been painted across the paper, beautifully framed by the shiny black wood. It showed her sitting in a massive throne with gilded details, the long-handled scythe in one hand and a red apple in the other. It had to mean something, though I wasn’t sure what.
From here, we had to get past the Hermessi and hopefully find Death. But the elementals shuddered, their flames releasing sparks in shades of white, blue, green, and orange, their heads tilting toward us. My chest tightened, as I wondered whether we had any real shot at saving our people. It was the wrong time and the wrong place to harbor such doubts, but I couldn’t help it. Yes, we’d made it here, by some twist of fate, but what guarantee was there that we’d ever live to tell the tale?
Right then and there, I thought about my father, now sick and fallen under the Hermessi’s influence. My mother, her strength and resolve tested by these dire circumstances. The almost four million fae that had succumbed to this ritual, so far. Inalia, who’d been forced to sacrifice herself and become a Hermessi in order to save her planet.
Eira, whose hand held mine so tight, it broke my heart—mainly because I knew that it could easily be the last time we’d ever feel each other like this. Lumi, whose glow had intensified with every step she’d taken so far. Our friends outside, likely still fighting murderous ghosts and stubborn, rule-abiding Reapers. Every agent of GASP in The Shade, in the Supernatural Dimension, and the In-Between, fighting to stop the Hermessi cultists from spreading the elementals’ influence… caring for the afflicted fae in their sanctuaries… struggling to make sense of this mess and tirelessly working to stop the end of days from wiping everything and everyone off the map.
And, as I thought about each and every one of them… I understood. There was no certainty that we’d succeed. There was no promise of a safe tomorrow, even if we did avert this apocalypse. The only thing I knew for a fact was that, as long as there was breath in my lungs, rhythm in my heart, and hope in my soul, I could do everything in my power to make it happen. To secure our survival.
This was part of it.
Amelia
We were woefully overwhelmed. Acantha and Nethissis threw everything they had at the Reapers—pulse after pulse of bright lights that barely grazed them, fireballs they disintegrated with their scythes, and shards of blue energy that merely cut the fabric of their uniforms.
Raphael and Fallon handled the brute force offensive, casting fire attacks and engaging some of the Reapers in physical fights, fists and legs ramming and kicking and blocking. Herakles, Varga, Eva, and I handled most of the ghosts, using whatever weapons and abilities we had between us.
Riza zapped herself across the platform, casting spells to at least slow the spirits down, but nothing we did seemed to work. Minutes had passed, and we were all still standing, though I wasn’t sure for how long. I sported several deep cuts on my legs and my right hip, Raphael was bleeding profusely from a back wound, and Herakles was so bruised and battered, his left eye struggled to stay open.
Varga panted, his movements alarmingly sluggish, as Theoth swerved around him and slashed his shoulder with the scythe. Eva quickly swooped in and dragged her claws down Theoth’s back before she vanished under a pile of her clothes. A long snake emerged, with emerald-and-golden scales and a black belly. It was Eva, making good use of her Druid nature, which she’d fully retained after transitioning into a vampire. I lost sight of her during the melee, but I heard several Reapers screaming from what had to be her painful bite.
Our biggest problem was that the Reapers could easily shift from their visible to their subtle forms, thus making it incredibly difficult for us to watch our backs at all times. From what I could tell, however, despite the burning pain that spread through my whole body from their scythe cuts, they could only attack us in their visible forms. Yamani had gone invisible to evade us and taunt us, and his colleagues here were doing the same.
“Tell me you’ve noticed it,” Raphael breathed, just as he dodged Baethal’s scythe.
“What, that we’re getting our asses handed to us?” I asked.
A few more minutes, and we’d all be on the ground. Fallon was the first to go down, after one of the Reapers materialized behind him and kicked him in the back with such crippling strength that it knocked the air out of his lungs. Varga moved to protect him, but Wrik was faster, coming at him with his scythe and a cold grin.
“No! They’re not trying to kill us,” Raphael said and dashed to the right, moving around Baethal. His wings burst out, confusing the Reaper, and Raphael took advantage of his momentary confusion to bring his claws up, dead set on piercing Baethal’s ribcage.
“Holy crap,” I murmured, my eyes wide as I realized that he was, in fact, right. The Reapers were incredibly fast and aggressive in their offensive, but none of the blows they’d delivered so far were deadly. I doubted they would have had much trouble killing us, if they really wanted to. Clearly, they didn’t, and I’d been so wrapped up in fighting them that I’d failed to notice this precious little detail.
Baethal vanished and reappeared a few yards back, his eyes narrowed as he carefully analyzed the skirmish. He tapped a nail on the scythe’s blade, and the sound of a large bell rippled outward, bringing the entire fight to a sudden halt.
At once, all the Reapers disappeared from our ranks and joined Baethal. The ghosts froze as well, staring at us with empty eyes. My heart was pounding in my chest, my breath cut short, and my wounds stinging worse than any other injury I’d sustained until now. The scythes were definitely capable of inflicting a startling amount of pain, deeper and sharper than regular blades.
Fallon managed to push himself up into a kneeling position, blood dripping from his cracked brow ridge. Fortunately, his vampire nature would heal that and the rest of his bruises and gashes in no time. The same couldn’t be said about Herakles, who was in dire need of at least one of the witches’ blue bottles to recover. Riza moved to his side, one arm around his waist to help him stand. The Faulty was wobbling on his feet.
“Something’s off,” Baethal announced. “Taeral isn’t here.”
“And neither is that elemental daughter and the bossy swamp witch,” Wrik added, frowning.
“Took you a while.” Raphael chuckled, unabashed in his contempt.
The Reapers all went pale at once, the realization hitting them so hard, it was almost comical. I couldn’t stop myself from smiling, despite the pulsating pain in my legs and hip. They’d been so busy fighting and pretending to be trying to kill us that they hadn’t even seen Taeral, Lumi, and Eira slip past the palace’s gilded double doors.
The uh-oh look on their faces was priceless, but the ease with which they’d stopped the fight, including the ghosts, did startle me. That same ease could be used to kick it all back into motion and terminate us out of sheer spite—for we’d distracted them from their true mission, just as Taeral had suspected earlier.
The Reapers looked around, genuinely alarmed, until Baethal sighed as he glanced at the palace. “He’s in there, isn’t he?”
“You’re damn right he is,” Varga said, wearing a most satisfied smirk. I wasn’t sure that was the best attitude to display at this point, but, then again, if this was to be our last moment alive, we might as well go down as snarky as we could be.
A moment of silence passed, heavily pressing down our shoulders. My instincts were sharp, while my mind processed the flurry of possible scenarios from this point onward. I decided to gamble a bit, for lack of a better choice. “He’ll speak to Death now. There’s no point in trying to stop him,” I said.
“We wouldn’t be able to stop him, even if we wanted to,” Baethal replied reluctantly. “He’s inside the palace. We’re not allowed past the golden doors.”
“Oh?” I breathed, feeling my eyebrows arch with genuine surprise.
Wrik sighed, shaking his head in dismay. “Our entire mission was to stop Taeral from getting in. The rest of you don’t matter.”
“Whoa. Hurtful!” Fallon grunted as he got up, assisted by Varga and Eva. He grimaced from the pain likely flaring through his ribs.
“This was all about Taeral, just like he’d said,” I mused. “So, what now, if you’re not allowed in there?” I asked, nodding at the palace.
Baethal shrugged. “We’ll get severely reprimanded, most likely. And your friend will irritate our boss even more.”
“Severely reprimanded?” Nethissis replied, not sure whether she understood what that truly meant for a Reaper—a sentiment I shared.
“You don’t want to know,” Baethal said. “But rest assured, your friend’s mission isn’t going to be as smooth as he might think. Our boss won’t take kindly to him showing up unannounced. There are protocols one needs to go through in order to meet Death.”
“What protocols? Up until the other day we didn’t even know she existed as an entity.” I sighed.
Baethal grinned. “Exactly. That’s how impossible it should be to meet her. Man, when she finds out who gave her away, she’ll be so angry…”
“Hm, yeah, so… what do you say we get out of the hot radius?” Wrik asked him innocently.
“You know what? Not a bad idea,” Baethal replied.
