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I send out one message to those that survive, like how I used to speak to my wolves who recuperate in my vile, oily veins.

“Stand down.”

In the face of her madness, and with my Mate and son at my side, my resolve is broken.

I spent long days in the temples, the black waters coursing over my body. I listened to the Priests and their prophecies. That I alone would sit on the throne of the Aurelian Empire. That I would forge our species into the sword and shield that could defend the universe from the things that lurk in that place between reality.

They told me stories of conquest. Of war. That I was retribution for the sins of the Empire, for their sloth, their greed, their laziness.

That my rage would melt down the failing society, that I would hammer us into something stronger.

Instead, it was her.

Queen Jasmine. It was she who was more cold-hearted than I ever could be. I thought I would break her. That when her firstborn was cut down by my sword, she would lose her resolve.

Instead, Doman sacrificed his life to trade it for mine, leaving himself open to a killing blow to give himself a singular chance to drive his blade through my heart. I run my hand over my scarred flesh, feeling where the searing blade burned into me.

I know what it is to die now.

To have my final thoughts filled with horror of comprehension, that comprehension that even warriors don’t let infect them. That it was all over. That I would never feel my Mate again.

It broke me.

“Stay here,” I tell my Mate. I tear myself from her, each step as I walk from my Mate and son torture. It’s not just the burning that starts in my veins the second I stray from her. It’s leaving her unguarded. All I want is to run away with them, to go back to how things were, so long ago, before I knew that there were others like me.

I leave the hilt of my blade on the black sands that drank my blood, and walk towards the triad who cut me down.

Around me, the stands are packed with worshipers. I led so many of them to death. I crane my head up, glancing at my empty black throne.

Two of my most trusted advisors, ancient priests who have lived thousands of years, are speaking together in hushed tones. They leave the arena.

They just watched me cut down. I felt myself die.

I’m no longer a God. I’m no longer the invincible warlord.

I’m just a man, who’s already lost everything once.

Doman’s hand slips down to his belt, where the hilt of his blade rests. Titus steps forward, with a warning glance in hisamethyst eyes. I open my hands, showing I have no hidden weapon, and stop ten feet from him.

“Doman. This war can’t go on.”

Cold blue eyes stare back at me. He is his mother’s son. Her blood courses through his veins, and he will stop at nothing to win.

“Surrender.”

One word, an order, his lips curling back as hatred flashes in his eyes. He felt me crush his battle-brothers and rip them from his mind.

He felt the pure emptiness of losing the aura of men he has been linked to for centuries. Then he felt his own life drain.

I look back at Fay. She’s so pale, from being trapped under the palace, rarely seeing the sun. She’s endured so much. All I want is to go back in time, to my birth planet, before I had ever heard of the Priests or the Aurelian Empire. When I lived like an animal in my cave, my wolf brothers at my side, hunting for fresh meat. I was in paradise with her.

Until Queen Jasmine’s men hunted me down.

Until the Priests found where I lived, and saw the birthmark on my heart that marked me as their leader. They tried to make me into their puppet.

Maybe I was.

“Grant clemency for my men, that your Queen Mother will not punish them.” I swallow. “I know my fate, Doman. Don’t let my actions damn anyone else.”