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MEZOR

Kalad smiles. His voice is so achingly familiar that Mezor tries to reach for him—but his hand passes through the half-there vision.

“I am nearly gone,” Kalad says gently. “My power is depleted.”

“You sacrificed yourself for nothing,” Mezor murmurs sorrowfully.

“It was my choice,” he says. “Just like it was yours. But your tale doesn’t have to end yet, brother.”

“It was over the moment I made this bargain.” He looks away. “Maybe it was a fool’s errand all along. No matter what I choose, those I love will suffer.”

Kalad shakes his head. “You can leave the past behind. Its burden has been yours alone to bear for so long, and in that we failed you—we owe you a debt. We turned away from each other and let our pain and fear guide us into sleep, leaving Hell to a terrible fate. And you, our beloved brother, with it.”

“I would have done the same. It was my curse to be awake—it wasn’t your fault.”

“Perhaps it wasn’t a curse,” Kalad says. “You could have asked this King of Hell to lay you down in the earth and cover you with stone so you could be at peace. Instead, you chose the difficult path. Yet you have a chance at something more. Something better.”

“I’ve seen so much death. So much pain. For a long time, I wanted nothing more than to end it.” He shuts his eyes as the cave flickers in front of him, frozen in time. But he can’t stop seeing Cyrus on his knees with Branok standing over him.

Run , he wants to say. Run and be free of the burden of love .

But his love for Cyrus isn’t a burden at all. It’s a flame blooming, consuming him, transcending him.

“When I saw him for the first time, I wondered if Fate was laughing at me,” he says.

“Or was she opening your heart to life anew? Look at him.”

Mezor opens his eyes and sees, really sees.

“He loves me. I know it,” Cyrus pleads. He’s so small before Branok, a smudge of smoke in the shadows that surround the King. But his soul is a glowing ember. “Give him back to me. Release him from the bargain. I’ll do anything—anything you want.”

Branok’s eyes blaze. “Would you give me your soul?”

“Yes!” Cyrus stumbles away from Mezor, reaching for the King’s cape. “I swear. Anything.”

Branok draws away with a sneer, dark horns catching the torchlight as he shakes his head in disdain. “I have no hold over him. He could walk free at any moment, but he won’t. Love isn’t enough, is it, little vergis? It never is. You’d give up your soul for him, but he won’t give up his precious realm for you.”

“Go to him,” Kalad whispers.

The aether slips away. Mezor lets it go.

“You’re wrong.” Mezor staggers to his feet, fire leaping through his veins.

Branok’s eyes snap to him. For the first time, Mezor sees fear in them. True fear.

Cyrus makes a heart-wrenching noise. Mezor curbs the urge to grab him and pull him tight. He has a King to deal with first.

“ I was wrong,” he says, stepping up to Cyrus’s side. “I gave up my future to you a long time ago. Now it’s time for me to reclaim it.”

“Impossible.” The King’s face twists into an ugly mask. “I’m your salvation. I gave you everything. Purpose. Hope. You’re nothing without me—both of you!”

Mezor’s instincts warn him in the heartbeat before the King lunges. He grabs the demon-killing red hand before it can touch Cyrus and wrenches it awry in fury. There’s a brutal crack, and he feels it give.

“He is my salvation. And you won’t touch him,” he snarls.

The King shrieks with rage, staggering backward. His hand dangles. There’s no pain in his eyes, as if he didn’t feel a thing—and maybe he didn’t, half-dead from corruption.

Mezor advances on him. “I did everything you asked for a hundred years. I used my land to feed your army. I used my gate to plant your seeds. Now I know what my heart wants, and I’m going to take it.”

A furious cry erupts from Branok’s lips. Hollows pour out of the aether, filling the cave with a chill wind. They swarm around the King and rush at Mezor—but rather than attacking him, they fly past him to Kalad’s fallen form. They lift his brother’s gigantic body down the shore. The King sweeps after them. Cyrus reaches for the bow, but Mezor stays his hand.

“Let them.”

A black wind carries the two figures to the pier. The King steps onto the wood. Hollows swarm after him, so many that it looks as if he’s floating among them. When he reaches the edge of the eye, where the pier opens to the surface of the Hellspring, he tears off his cloak and throws it aside. His body is criss-crossed with strange black wounds where the corruption has broken through. Dark shapes nip at his heels.

Unhesitating, he steps over the edge of the pier. The Hellspring swallows him with barely a ripple.

Beside Mezor, Cyrus gasps. “It will destroy him.”

“It’s not over,” Mezor says grimly.

Hollows leap over the edge of the pier, and as they follow the King, Kalad’s body sinks into the water. The Hellspring begins to roil, whipping into a whirlpool. The pier is torn away from the shore, spinning in the center of the lake for a moment, until with a series of splintering cracks it’s ripped apart and swallowed by the churning water. A foul wind rises off the surface of the water, making the torches flicker wildly. Pebbles on the shore clatter toward the water’s edge, drawn in by a strange magnetism. Mezor feels a sinister call urging him toward the lake.

“We need to leave, or else we’ll be pulled in.” He lifts Cyrus into his arms.

Cyrus grabs his shoulder. “It’s Kalad!”

A figure begins to rise from the Hellspring. It’s the same size and shape as Kalad, but beyond that it bears little resemblance to his brother. Pronged horns as black as the water itself spring from its crown. Its face is carved into a cruel grimace. Its eyes are blue as flame, with none of Kalad’s gentle intelligence behind them.

As it emerges, the lake level drops. The King—what’s left of him—is pulling the Hellspring into himself, holding it in his veins. Black water drips down the entity’s massive body only to be sucked back into the whirlpool. With great strides, it drags itself out of the lake

Mezor turns away. “Kalad is gone.” This creature is not his brother. It’s borne of evil and will sow destruction in its path, just like the King.

As they reach the entrance a roar shakes the cavern, pained and confused. The figure crawls up the steep shore, half-shaped, its movements jerky. Mezor’s heart twists in spite of himself. But there’s nothing more he can do for Branok.

He looks down at Cyrus. “Choose now. Across the bridge to Earth? Or into the wilds?”

Cyrus doesn’t hesitate. “The wilds.”

They flee as the creature staggers out of the cave. For a moment Mezor wonders if it will follow them, but the thundering footsteps fade as he carries Cyrus deeper into the mountain. The creature is heading to Earth—to the Seraphim Wall, to finish the war Branok started.

He doesn’t stop for breath until they’re free of the Court.