Page 311 of City of Souls and Sinners

“Shit, he’s bleeding too much.” Ivy. “You guys, we need help! We need to get him to a hospital. Please help me!”

—

Loren’s breaths rasped through the damp tunnels as she ran toward the gate into Spirit Terra, feet splashing in puddles of gods-knew-what, eyes straining to see in the dark. The air was tainted with blood, metal, saltpeter, and the candle smoke of magic.

She was alone now, Erasmus waiting in Darien’s car on the street above, protected by Mortifer’s magic. He’d tried to come with, but it hadn’t taken much convincing on Loren’s part to make him agree to stay behind. And Loren knew better than anyone how useless an ordinary human was in a situation like this.

It was a mystery how she managed to keep her feet moving, every breath burdened by the terror gripping her lungs and heart in a fist.

The terror was not for herself, but for her friends. Terror for who she might see standing when she rounded the corner up ahead.

And who might not be standing.

“Please.” The word was a scraping chant, carrying as far as her echoing footsteps, each dragging inhalation sending sharp darts of pain through her chest. “Please. Please.” She needed them. She needed all of them, and she would settle for nothing less.

Another few steps brought her past the waterfalls and into the room that housed the gate.

The gruesome scene that spread before her nearly buckled her knees.

The whole place was destroyed. Every inch of the floor and walls was black with blood, the former crowded with countless bodies. The gate had ripped open wider, looking more like the mouth of a monster than a doorway, the ground around it caved in. The edges of the doorway were jagged, spreading with each passing minute, the sight of it like a strip of gauze being ripped open. Some of those tears were translucent, showing glimpses of the terrifying world lurking just beyond the wall. The world that was poised to devour theirs.

But it was the sight of her friends that hurt the most, and as she scanned the area, bit by bit, cataloguing the faces that meant more to her than her own life, she felt the tension in her chest ease.

There were Dallas and Max and Sabrine. There were the Reapers and the Angels. Emilie was here too. The Devils—the Devils were the ones who made her knees weak as she checked for all of them, counting all seven, needing all seven to be here, to be standing.

Alive. They were all alive, but they were covered in blood and dirt and looking like they were seconds from falling under the weight of exhaustion, after fighting here all bloody night, defending this city.

The seventh Devil was the one who drew her eye. Darien.

Darien, who was kneeling on the ground near the south wall, the others surrounding him, blocking part of him from view, which was why she hadn’t noticed…hadn’t noticed before…

A strangled cry hitched in her throat.

He was hurt. The Fleet bodysuit he was wearing was ripped nearly entirely to shreds, and there was a wound in his side, slick with blood.

So much blood. Too much. Loren didn’t need to be a genius to know the wound was fatal.

It took Darien a moment to realize she was here. And when his eyes found hers, they were unfocused. He was blinking heavily, as if trying to clear his vision.

This moment felt so surreal, so horrible, that she was barely aware of the fact that she was walking, moving straight for Darien, the ground dipping and rising under her feet. The conduit warmed her chest, pulsing like a second heart.

This had to be a dream. A bad dream she couldn’t shake off. The pounding of her heart was loud in her ears, the sound drowning everything else out.

Loren hurried across the room. Darien opened his mouth to speak, but no sound came out. There was only blood. His cheeks were streaked with black, and red swam in the whites of his bloodshot eyes.

Venom. He’d used Venom again, putting his own life and health on the line to protect the people in this room, to save the city from falling to the creatures of Spirit Terra. It was so like Darien to do something like this, so like Darien to risk his life, that Loren found she couldn’t even be angry with him for it.

Because she was about to do the very same thing.

The others moved aside to let her through. Somehow, she managed to close the last few feet between them, and when she got to Darien, she fell to her knees before him, no longer able to keep herself up.

“It’s okay,” she whispered on a shaky breath, hands fluttering in the air between them, unsure where to touch, how to help. A sob built in her chest, but she choked it back, willing herself to be strong. She had to be strong for him. “It’s okay, it’s okay. I’m here, I’m here.” She pressed a careful hand over his wound.

Blood instantly flowed between her fingers. Black blood, as if there was something festering inside him, making him sick.

She had to get it out.

“Sweetheart, don’t,” Darien tried to say, but he choked on his own blood and curled over himself, nearly passing out. He reached for her hand, but he missed by several inches, his fingers closing on empty air.