Page 64

H.A.Z.E

T he General stares up at me.

His eyes, once burning with hatred, now lie empty. Unblinking. Hollow. The sadness there is forever etched into his skin. Carved deeper than any wound I could have given him.

I perch down beside him, the scent of blood thick in the air, the sand beneath us damp with his ruin. My fingers trace over his face—slow, deliberate, gentle —a tenderness that surprises even me.

His lashes flutter beneath my touch as I slide my fingers over his lids, closing them. Sealing away the grief, the rage, the failure.

"Give it to me," I whisper, my voice low, steady. A command. A promise. "Their power."

The air quivers, a silent breath passing through the Colosseum, unseen but felt . The divine energy still clings to him, coiled deep in his bones, a power that should have faded with his last breath. But it hasn’t.

It’s waiting.

For me.

I press my palm to his chest, just above where his heart has fallen silent, and pull.

The Oracles around us begin to chant louder, their once steady voices cracking, trembling, dripping with fear . Their hands rise, their robes whipping around them as the air thickens, charged with something ancient, something desperate. Their prayers are no longer a ritual.

They're pleas.

The sky darkens, clouds rolling in from nowhere, churning above the Colosseum in violent, restless swirls. The Gods aren't just watching anymore; they're interfering.

They don't want this.

They're afraid.

Good.

The first crack of thunder rips through the sky, the sound tearing across the arena like the wail of something betrayed .

" What are you doing?! " Essy’s voice cuts through the chaos, sharp and desperate.

She feels it; the suffocating weight of the power gathering between us, wrapping around me, consuming me.

The wind howls, lifting the sand, swirling in violent gusts as the divine energy surges into my veins, flooding my limbs like molten fire. It's too much. It's everything. It's a force that should unmake me, should burn me from the inside out, tear me apart at the seams.

But it doesn’t.

It can’t.

" A trap, " I whisper, my voice smooth, almost tender.

Essy’s breath hitches. " For what? "

I tilt my head as the storm screams around us, the power slamming into me, demanding that I bend. That I kneel. That I submit. That I become something that serves, something that answers to them.

But I don’t kneel. And I don’t break.

My words are cold, a whisper laced with something sharp, something final. "For you."

The exact moment the power turns on her, I feel it.

Her fear.

The weight of it presses into her chest, the golden light folding over her like hands closing around her throat. I feel her eyes on me, searching, desperate.

And beneath it all—grief.

"My twin soul," she breathes, her voice softer than the wind that rushes between us. Her limbs tremble as the power drags her into the blackness. "I would have saved you, you know."

Something twists deep inside me, sharp and raw, like a wound that has never healed.

A breath shudders through me, and for the first time, my voice shakes.

" You did. "

For a moment.

I close my eyes, watching Essy's dark form wither. But my attention quickly shifts to the string between us.

The Saviour's mark— no! The Gods’ mark.

A thing not bound to flesh, not seared into skin—not anymore. It floats between us, crackling with power, humming with ancient law. A sigil of dominion, forged to shackle, to control. It thrums as if it is alive, breathing, a barrier of divine intent, a cage built from the will of Gods.

It clings to its purpose, pulsing, suffocating, the lines of its magic shifting like molten gold, curling, reforming.

Essy screams.

Not in pain—no, Essy doesn't feel pain.

She feels resistance.

She pushes , the force of her presence swelling inside me, pressing against the power suffocating her and the mark’s confining grasp. The air crackles, power colliding, divine chains rattling as the power tries to force her back inside, to drag her into nothingness, to make her obey.

The mark pulses—once, twice—desperate.

Then...

The first crack.

Thin as a hairline fracture, but deep, spreading through the sigil like ink spilt on glass.

I smile, knowing.

The storm above howls in protest.

The Gods feel it. The Saviour feels it.

The break, the unravelling of what was meant to be unbreakable. The sigil convulses, desperate, straining against its own failure. It cannot hold us.

But the Oracle's barrier keeps me confined. No one can enter. No one can escape.

Another crack.

Then another.

The space between us trembles, reality itself splintering as the sigil pulses in one final attempt to contain what can never be contained.

It shatters.

The enslavement mark explodes, the force of it ripping through the arena, a shockwave of divine ruin scattering golden fragments into the wind like dying stars. The energy dissipates, fading into nothing, lost forever .

My eyes blink open as rain falls—heavy and unrelenting. Cold droplets splatter against my skin, mixing with the blood on my hands, running in thin rivulets down my arms. It's not cleansing. It's judgement.

The Gods are angry.

I lift my gaze to the Immum .

They are all there, watching me. Watching what I've done.

None of them sit on their gilded thrones anymore. They're standing.

Their hands grip the banister, white-knuckled, trembling. Their expressions—once so certain, so righteous—are hollow now, filled with something they do not yet dare name— fear.

I shift my gaze and find her—Princess Luna Imperium.

I feel her soul; it was in the palm of my hand the moment she placed the iron mask on my face. The moment the tips of her fingers brushed against my skin; she was mine. They were all mine.

Unlike Damien, who loved to use his ability to its fullest extent, I didn't. Not because of some foolish hope that beneath all this darkness, there was good in me. Because there isn't.

It's easy to forgive yourself when you're not the one in control. It's easy to make excuses for the horrible things you've done… When you can say 'I didn't have a choice.'

I want my prey to have a choice. I want them to look at themselves after and realise, they're no better than I am.

They have no right to judge me, not when they're as corrupted as I am.

But this once, only for tonight, I'll use my ability for the final time. I use it because I'm selfish, because for once, I'm so close to getting everything that I want. I don't care who I have to kill to get there; no one here is innocent. No one is good.

With that, I pull on Luna's soul. Her body a puppet to my command.

She doesn't tremble. She doesn't grasp the railing as the others do. She stands apart, her body stiff, her face carefully blank. But for one moment—just one—her mask cracks. A flicker of fear, and the dawning certainty that she cannot escape me.

She moves.

Her fingers close around the hilt of the sword strapped to the General beside her. Smooth, effortless. No one notices. They are all too busy watching me.

A slow, amused smile curls at my lips. My voice is low, lilting with something dark.

"If you want to kill your parents, Princess," I whisper, "do it yourself."

She lifts the sword.

Her breath steadies.

And she strikes.

The blade sinks deep into Helena Imperium’s chest.

The Empress gasps—a soft, breathless sound. Her hands tremble as they rise, her fingers grazing the steel protruding from her ribs, unable to comprehend what just happened.

The Princess takes a step back, her grip loosening.

Wide, horrified eyes stare at her mother as Helena staggers forward, her lips parting, searching for words that don't come.

Then she falls.

Her body topples over the edge, plummeting into the Oracles’ shield below.

The divine barrier seizes her, light flaring as holy fire consumes flesh. But she does not die cleanly.

She spasms, her body writhing, burning, charring. The scent of seared flesh taints the air, thick and suffocating. Until all that remains is ashes.

I release Luna's soul, and the moment I do—a scream.

Raw. Primal. Wretched.

The Princess stands frozen, her sword slipping from her grasp, her face a portrait of something fractured, something irreversible.

She stares at the ruin of her mother—or what's left of her.

I close my eyes and reach, not with my hands, but with something far deeper. My mind stretches out, seeking the souls of my true targets— sisters. They were once triplets. Their souls an extension of each other. Their bond unbreakable.

Until one died—the youngest— Grimm Crux.

The sisters’ presence ignites in the darkness; two brilliant flames, warm and powerful, and yet so different.

One blazes gold, fierce and untamed. The other shimmers silver, steady and cold.

They stand together in my mind, radiant and afraid, bound to me by an invisible noose I hold tight in my grasp.

And when I open my eyes, I'm staring into the wide, horrified gaze of Her Majesty, Queen Maya Crux.

I killed Valadez on her command, because we had a deal. No one breaks deals with me. No one.

No matter; Maya will learn today I always get what I want, be it by force or will. I gave her a chance to comply, but she chose differently. Now, when I break her, she'll have no one to blame but herself.

Her eyes remain fixed on mine—wide, uncertain, terrified. Her lips part as if to speak, but no sound escapes. I feel the frantic thrum of her pulse, the way her soul quivers in my hold. My smile curves slowly, dark and cold. "Do it."

The command drops like a stone into still water, and the ripples spread.

Maya trembles, her body betraying the war inside her. I see the fight in the tightness of her jaw, the quiver in her fingers as they curl around the hilt of the sword Luna dropped. Her muscles lock, straining against the invisible strains I've wound around her will—but resistance is useless.