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I felt myself rise as Reaver’s and Malik’s bodies drifted from the pools of blood, my head kicking back. And then, everything stopped. The wind. The moans. My heart. The only movement was that of Nektas as he flew down the length of the Rise, leaving a wave of essence-fueled fire in his wake. My fingers splayed out at my sides.

I gave sound to my rage. To hers. The scream that ripped from my throat wasn’t just mine. It was ours.

The sound hit the air like a shockwave, shattering stone and toppling the newly rooted blood trees. Casteel turned, attempting to shield Kieran, but there was no need. They wouldn’t be harmed as my fury rippled above us, tearing the sky open. The rain came, blood-red and drenching.

And final.

Millicent slowly sat up, her pale eyes going wide as a dakkai raced from the smoke—two and then four and five, their claws kicking up chunks of stone. My head snapped in their direction, and that was it. The dakkais simply disappeared mid-run or leap, obliterated with just a look. Nothing was left of them. Not even ash as the wave of energy spread out, catching the remaining dakkais and the Revenants, turning them to dust.

The blood rain stopped, and not a single drop touched me as I turned my attention back to Isbeth.

“You.” The one word dripped so much power, so much barely leashed violence, that a cold shiver even ran down my spine. Because that was me…and it was also Seraphena. Her essence—her consciousness—moved inside me.

“It’s too late,” Isbeth said. And I sensed that it both was and wasn’t. She dragged her arm over her bloodied face. “It has already been done.”

“She knew what you plotted,” I told her. “She saw it in her sleep. Saw it all.”

Isbeth’s terror choked me as she shook her head. “Then she has to know I did it for Malec. It was all for her son and her grandson that they took from me!”

“It was all for nothing.” I lifted my hand, and Isbeth’s body went rigid, her mouth open but issuing no sound. No words. Nothing. The clouds thickened even more as she rose, suspended several feet above the ground. “It was love that made you. She would’ve forgiven Malec for what he did by making you. But your hatred? Your grief? Your thirst for vengeance? It has rotted your mind more than the blood of a god could have ever done. What you have become—what you have brought upon the realms—will not save you.”

Isbeth’s right arm jerked backward. The crack of bone was loud, and the flare of pain I felt was red-hot.

“What you have wrought and brought upon these realms will not heal you or steal away your pain,” I said, and her other arm snapped. “It will not bring you glory, peace, or love.”

Isbeth’s left and right legs broke at the knee, and I took in the pain, let it become a part of me.

“And for what you have done to those of her blood, you will be erased,” I proclaimed. Blood seeped from Isbeth’s eyes. Her nose. Her mouth. “Nothing of you will be recorded in the histories that are yet to be written. You will not be known, neither for the deeds you’ve done as a mortal nor for your infamy as a Queen. You are not worthy of remembrance.”

Isbeth’s spine cracked. Her upper body wilted backward, and the pain…it was absolute.

A sudden awareness pressed upon me. An awakening. One that echoed not through this realm, but in Iliseeum and deep within the City of the Gods as Nektas landed behind me. A presence filled me, and when I spoke, it was the voice of the true Primal of Life. “I was once taught that all beings are worthy of an honorable, quick death. I no longer believe in that. For your death will be dishonorable and endless. Nyktos awaits the start of your eternity in the Abyss.”

The presence eased from me as Nektas’s wings spread out, scattering the ashes of those who had been destroyed. In the following seconds, all I felt were opposites. Apathy and sorrow. Loathing and love. Relief and dread. I pitied the shattered woman before me, one who had been broken long ago. I hated what she’d allowed herself to become.

Isbeth had never been a mother, but I…I’d once loved her, and she’d loved me in her own, twisted way. That meant something.

But something wasn’t enough.

I lowered my hand, and dots of blood appeared all over Isbeth’s skin. Her pores bled. I trembled as her flesh cracked and peeled, as muscle and ligaments tore, as bones splintered and hair fell, no longer rooted to skin.

“Don’t look,” I heard Casteel saying as he tried to reach me. “Close your eyes. Don’t—”

But I looked.

I made myself watch as my mother, the Blood Queen, took her last breath. I made myself look until Isbeth was no more—until the realm fell away from me.