Page 34

Chapter 34

A monster. Not safe. But good.

HECATE

“The Howling” by Within Temptation

“The Call” by Regina Spektor

I light her way.

A thrill rushes through me when Zenya follows my torches and escapes the edge of the Abyss, taking firm and calculated steps through the woods until she has returned to the clearing where her past self is bound.

It is an honor to participate in the barest extent of her journey.

Nyxion has done much. Beastie has done more, that I may sense as a blessed privilege.

When present Zenya claws through those ropes binding past Zenya, I buffer the blow when she falls.

Stained with her own blood, the refuse, and the stench of the ones who used her…

…Oh, how she falls!

Present Zenya remains on her knees, her hand clutched in Nyxion’s skeletal one as she remains an observing survivor of her past.

Ashes manifest, curling around past Zenya, born of her subconscious nightmares. With nothing but defeat and dread spreading panic into her scrambling hands, Zenya finds a rock worthy of her needs. She poises it against the flesh of her wrists, determined to open a vein, bleed her soul upon the earth, and fade away…

Morpheus. Nyxion. And I. We stand back. We stand by.

It is not us whom she needs.

Zenya falters.

She falls.

Another rises to take her stead, intercepting that moment of destruction and defeat. Eyes of pure black fire arise to send chills down my spine.

“Calling them crimes is a bit of a stretch, don’t you think? They were corrections .”

My breath seizes at the remembrance of her words. They tear through my lungs as Beastie grips that jagged rock in her hand. Naked, covered in their fluids, dirt, filth, and her own ashes and blood, Beastie stands with a measure of survival and protection because…

“Every act was a calculated measure of survival and protection.”

The splintered strength of Zenya—of Beastie emerging from her—pierces like a dark arrow straight through my heart.

The lines of tension in present Zenya’s body are stark, her muscles taut like a bowstring ready to snap. Her breaths flee in a desperate attempt to maintain control over the storm of emotions threatening to engulf her.

No, the dark protector whispers, her voice a balm against the raw edges of past Zenya’s pain. Let me be your shield. May I hold you….and be your Guardian Angel —however fallen she may be.

A quiet gasp leaves present Zenya’s mouth as she watches.

With a careful grip, Beastie accepts the stone in her hand.

Past Zenya’s eyes widen, a flicker of hope mingled with confusion as she slips away. Beastie turns her gaze toward the darkness that surrounds them, where the shadows of those who caused her torment linger. And then, she moves with a deadly grace.

I am not a weapon. I am a shield . I remember her words. One which uses force only when justified and necessary. One that must sometimes be a weapon.

Violence, swift and unrelenting, an act of retribution shrouded in the obscurity of memory. Beastie exacts a grim justice, ensuring the tormentors pay the ultimate price for their cruelty, their crimes. Their skulls fracture beneath the weight of that stone, their blood stain coating the rock.

Despite the tears welling up within her, the fear and pain etched into her features, Zenya’s stance is determined. Her jaw is set, her lips pressed into a thin line of resolve.

I feel the waves of anguish and defiance rolling off Zenya, an emotional tempest that spoke of vulnerability and strength. Zenya’s body language conveys a raw, unfiltered truth—she is a warrior, battling the external horrors and the internal demons that claw at her soul.

The forest grows silent, the echoes of any monsters’ suffering swallowed by the night.

And do not mistake necessity for guilt.

Beastie lifts past Zenya from the monstrosity of what she has wrought, supporting her with a strength born of determination and love.

Now, Zenya follows them.

Beastie and past Zenya stagger through the woods, every step a painful reminder of the ordeal endured.

Present Zenya covers her mouth, restraining her gasps, understanding the gravity of how her alter, her dark protector saved her life.

Past Zenya will not remember. As she said, she blacked out. Only Beastie remembers…

Until now.

Zenya watches, her eyes glassy with tears of unbridled emotion.

The road appears, a distant promise of safety. They reach it, and with the last of her strength, past Zenya collapses, falling into the headlights of the driver who stops to help.

Darkness closes in, the world fading to black as the pain devours her. No more adrenaline or endorphins.

Zenya, here and now, gasps in a measure of wonder, dark and sacred, as she looks upon herself who ended up in the hospital. She denied the need for any kits. She clung to the sterile smell of antiseptic filling her senses.

She never wondered what happened to her transgressors. She moved, attacking every mountain possible. Those monsters embedded within her blood until they’d fused with her father. She attacked them with every mountain she climbed and conquered.

Scars remain, invisible and visceral. Present Zenya stands nearby, a silent guardian. She turns to me, her eyes filled with tears.

My heart aches from her sorrow, yet fulfillment from the closure, this shared memory of their survival.

So, you believe you made the world a better place? N yxion had tested her.

“Zenya’s world, yes,” Beastie had said, the truth evident in every word. “That is what I care about most.”

And so she does.

His little killer.

A monster. Not safe. But good. So utterly good, the wolves accepted the offering she gave them, leaving no trace of the drunken assholes.

I curve my lips into a twisted smirk…because I ensured those wolves came to feast.

Beastie traded the trauma, her fears for her own teeth, claws, and shield—and saved Zenya’s life.

Now Zenya. New Zenya rises, turns away from that hospital bed, and approaches us. That’s when I notice she’s still clutching the blood-stained stone. I beam at her—for she has found the last artifact…