Page 31

H.A.Z.E

T he warmth hits me first. It started as a spark—small, fleeting, almost insignificant.

At first, I barely registered it, a flicker of heat deep in my chest that I thought would fade as quickly as it came.

But then it grew, unfurling like fire licking dry wood, and before I knew it, the heat spread through me in hot, erratic waves.

The first time I felt like this was in the cupola, the Saviour looking down at me. Threatening to take something no one else ever thought to take— my control.

Because that's what he's been doing this whole time—taking, taking, taking.

It’s brief in the cupola, and the feeling leaves as quickly as it came.

But right now, it’s stuck inside me. I don’t understand it.

The sensation is wild, untamed, so different from anything I’ve ever felt.

My hands tremble, not from fear but from something sharper, something heavier.

This anger is burning me from the inside out, and I hate it.

I hate that the Saviour is the cause. I hate that he's managed to imbed himself so fucking deeply into my head that I feel this anger. That after so many years, it's making its presence known.

What the hell is wrong with me?

"You're awake," a voice calls, and I turn my head, pressing my cheek into the cold, rough concrete of the floor of my prison.

Mia stands by the door, a glaring contradiction to the filth and rot of this place. Her white dress seems untouchable from the grime that clings to the walls, the floor, and even the air itself. It flows around her like liquid light, rippling as she moves, too pristine to belong here.

"Mia." My voice is smooth, almost sweet. A smile stretches across my face, tight and brittle, like a mask I'd forgotten how to take off. My cheeks ache from holding it in place, and the corners of my lips feel sharp and unnatural.

Mia watches me, her eyes piercing through the shadows—too bright, too sharp. They don’t soften as they meet mine; they pin me, hold me, and search me like she’s peeling back my layers and sifting through my soul. They’re the kind of eyes that don’t offer comfort but command.

I like that. I like that she hates me. I like that I can feed on, manipulate, and control it.

"To what do I owe the pleasure?" Even my words, the tone of my voice, feel hot like I’m breathing fucking fire. I hate it. I hate that the Saviour did this to me. I hate that I've been put in this situation.

She stands over me and leans closer, her voice low and soft, dripping with a calm that doesn’t match her eyes.

"I'm only going to warn you once, Mutant, so listen closely.

" My anger surges, hotter this time, like molten steel pressing against the inside of my ribs.

"The only reason you're alive is because we want Damien dead.

Because more than our hatred for you and your kind, we love Reece.

For someone who murdered a great pillar of our community, I acknowledge your skills.

I acknowledge you're capable. I do. But don't mistake our mercy for acceptance.

We don't like you. We will never acknowledge you, and when the time is right, you'll die in the dirt where you were born. "

Mia turns as if she'd said all she needed to say. As if what I had to say next wouldn't matter. But it does, because she caught me at a bad time. If she had said this two days ago, I would have laughed in her face and walked away like she was a joke, like she was irrelevant.

But now, I just want to kill her. I want to rip her apart. But first, I want to corrupt her.

"Stupid fucking girl." My words are low, a deathly whisper on my lips that echo in the darkness.

Mia stops in her tracks as I swallow down the fire threatening to drip from my mouth.

"I've always known I'd die in the dirt, Oracle. What you don’t know is that I'm taking you with me.

And down there, I'll be your jailer, your tyrant, your fucking God. "

I move swiftly as she twists on her heel, her eyes wide with fury.

My movements, languid and untouchable, are like smoke in the wind, as I grab her face before she can open her mouth and pull her close, sneering, "You'll bow to me; you'll worship at my altar.

I won't have to force it, because when the Gods you love so much abandon your corrupted little soul, you'll be licking the fucking dirt off my shoes just to feel relevant again. "

I release her with a hard shove, and she falls to the ground. Her white dress smears with dirt as I drift past her and step through the door. I expect to find Reece, with her too-big smile waiting for me at the cupola. But that's not where I end up.

The door snaps shut behind me, and I find myself in a familiar office. But what stops me in my tracks is the sight of the Saviour. He stands there, leaning casually against the edge of infinity as if the vast expanse of space were his natural throne.

He looks beautiful—infuriatingly, impossibly beautiful. His posture is relaxed, one shoulder against an unseen surface, tattooed arms folded across his chest as smoke drifts around him from the cigarette burning red between his lips.

I clench my fists, absolutely seething that I can't look away.

"You were out for two days." His words, cool and calm, drift in the space between us. "I was starting to worry."

I laugh; it’s cold and brittle. "At least sound believable, Saviour. I know just how much you hate Nightwalkers; I've heard the stories. Don't pretend like you worry about me, when we both know if you could kill Damien, you wouldn't have hesitated to slaughter me where I stood in that forest."

The Saviour remains silent as the stars shimmer behind him, a scattering of diamonds across a sea of endless black, their light framing him in an ethereal glow.

I almost miss his words, staring at him, but I hear them.

"I don't hate Nightwalkers." He turns to me then, his crimson eyes burning me, stroking the flames inside me. "I don't even hate you , Nightmare."

I raise a disbelieving brow and clench my jaw. "So, the stories are lies…"

"No, they're true. But I don't kill and hunt Nightwalkers because they're evil, or because I hate them.

" His crimson eyes pierce into mine as if he wants me to see the truth in his words as well as hear them.

"I kill them because they're the only things Ricci loved.

His creation, his legacy, his work—all of it.

I want to burn all of it to the ground."

Power swells in the air as the Saviour turns towards me. A force as primal as it is absolute. He takes a step, and the sound of his boots echo like a hammer striking stone. And his eyes— God, his eyes —they’re on fire again, pooling with so much hatred I didn't think existed.

"It's him—the mad scientist. He's who I hate.

" His words are cold now, sharper, like the edge of a blade.

"What I did to him was minor compared to what I should have done, but all I can do now is destroy everything he built and ruin everything he hoped to achieve.

" His thumb brushes down my cheek, soft and gentle, a caress as he whispers over my lips, "You just happen to be one of them. "

His confession doesn’t help; it only enrages me further.

I'm just a means to an end. I'm not even worth his hate. He probably doesn't even see me as a threat, and that infuriates me. Because what he promised would happen is happening. He's awoken something inside me while I've barely scratched the surface of his skin.

I feel it clawing at my chest, demanding to be let out.

It burns hot and wild, a fire too large for my ribs to contain, and every breath feels sharp, like inhaling smoke.

I press my lips together, forcing the heat down, trying to smother it beneath a mask of calm.

But it won’t stay buried. It’s too great this time.

I feel it igniting in my eyes; a fire so hot and destructive, the flames in his disappear.

He sees it. He sees me. And I hate it.

The Saviour drops his hand, as my face aches from the smile I wear, stretched too tight and too thin. It isn’t real—not even close—but it’s the only thing keeping the anger from spilling over.

His eyes narrow, and he warns, low and deep, "Look away."

I won't. I can't. My nails bite into my palms; the sting is a sharp reminder to stay in control. But I’m not in control. I'm never in control. Not really. Not ever.

The muscles in my jaw throb as I clench my teeth, holding back the words I want to scream, the venom I want to spit. I try to smile again, wider this time, and it feels heavier than before, like a mask made of iron. It doesn’t fit—it never does—but I need it.

My words, the tone of my voice; it’s unrecognisable to my ears. It’s hot, venomous and trembles with barely contained rage. "I hate you."

He steps back as if my words are a punch to the gut.

Perhaps that would have been better. His hands clench the way they do when he holds onto the tether binding me to him.

As if he wants to hurt me for saying those words.

As if those words matter to him when I know they can’t, because I’m saying them, and I am nothing.

No one.

Not even hate.

"Go on," I taunt, "do it. Kill me and be done with it."

His hands tighten, but he doesn't pull. He doesn't take. He's supposed to take. Take. Take.

Just fucking take it!

The words scream in my mind, so loud, so deafening, it shatters my goddamn psyche… and this anger.

Suddenly, I’m cold. I’m empty. I’m alone. I'm me again.

I take a step back from the Saviour, my movements robotic and distant. He just stares at me, his eyes burning into mine, searching, searching, searching.

As I leave, my promise hangs in the air, my words as cold as death. "You should have listened when I gave you the chance."

No more waiting.

No more games.

It's time to make good on my promises.