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Jude

Below the false bravado, I see how lonely Kiara truly is, how much she yearns for acceptance. But some people aren’t made to fit into this world—they’re made to break it.

Entry in Aurora Adair’s Diary, year 42 of the curse

The attack came from all sides.

People who’d long ago taken their last breath now stormed the field. Most wore linen w rapped around their decayed faces, the rot peeking out through the soiled cloth, but others went without, uncaring that pieces of themselves were missing or hanging on by a thin tendon set to snap.

They raised their rusted weapons high in the air as they sprinted down from the hill, escaping the refuge the woods provided. Their eyes were wide and inhuman—depthless pits that glowed whenever they captured me in their sights.

My magic and soul were one, and together, they reacted before my mind caught up.

Flames detonated from my body, licking at every inch of my skin until I was only heat and fire. A pleasant buzzing caused me to shudder, a humming that spoke to the divinity in my blood.

I was a force, not Jude Maddox, a mere mortal. I’d become something far greater than flesh and blood.

I cast my flames into the horde of attackers, setting them ablaze in one sweep. Their shrill cries punctured the night, those without tongues or lips flailing wildly before succumbing to their final death.

They aren’t alive , I reminded myself. It should’ve been easy to watch such monsters fall, but they’d been people once before, misfortunate enough to have been victims of the curse.

Isiah’s chuckle followed me as I strode across the field, flames emanating from my core, my eyes, and my hands. It collided with some of the undead, but there were far too many to wipe out entirely.

Those who had evaded my fire were quick to attack.

One of the bastards lifted his sword while I struck down his ghastly companions, the dull blade aimed at my heart. Before I could dodge out of the way, he made contact.

The steel slipped into my chest, a searing ache shooting from the wound, and my vision momentarily darkened as black spots danced along the edges of my right eye. Blood seeped from the gash, but within seconds of ripping the knife free, my pain transformed into a manageable tingling—I’d experienced far worse by Isiah’s hands. I watched in surprise as the flesh knitted together and the wound closed.

The undead man paused, cocking his head.

He didn’t stand a chance.

A roar rumbled in my throat , and I set my sight on his chest, right where he’d driven in his blade. The creature shrieked, stumbling back as he erupted, bones and gray skin raining from the skies. There weren’t even cinders when I finished him.

I grabbed at my chest, triumphant, all the while feeling Isiah’s eyes upon me.

In his mind, I was already set to die, whether he cared for me or not. But he could send all the masked men he desired—

Only the Godslayer could kill me.

A weapon I had on my person.

Perhaps Isiah had been too stunned by my disappearance below his temple to recall I held it. Or maybe he merely didn’t see me as a threat, planning to retrieve it once I was weakened from his beasts.

His hubris would be his downfall.

I’d see the dawn. I’d save my girl. And I would make my own fate.

Because. I. Was. Worthy.

The Mist crawled from the brush, licking at my enemies’ boots, climbing up their legs and torsos. They were ravenous, their necks craning at impossible angles, their dull eyes searching for a fresh kill.

I released a wave of fire across the blackened field, my magic coming to me with ease.

Fire encircled the bodies of the undead, scorching their bones and permeating the air with foul smoke.

But then I heard screams from the distance— human screams.

They were likely swarming nearby homes and villages. Devouring the inhabitants and causing pandemonium.

“You’re letting them murder the very people you claim to serve!” I shouted over a shoulder, sensing Isiah’s stare boring into me. Out of breath, I slaughtered an incoming creature brandishing a rusted mace, its jaw hanging from its socket, rot and mold breeding across its nose and lips.

“I know it’s heartbreaking, Jude, but sometimes the world has to burn in order to be reborn,” Isiah said somberly. “We all will rise from the ashes, united and stronger. Besides, I see it as a little incentive for you to accept your fate. Give in .”

The friend I’d cared for had died in the Mist. I refused to believe the monster behind me shared his heart. His face remained blank, emotionless, and it chilled me to my core.

A howl shook the branches of the trees.

The hairs on my arms raised, and slowly, I turned toward the woods.

Blue eyes glinted, and haunting wails preceded the sound of paws hammering the ground. Something was coming. A lot of somethings.

What fresh hells is this?

A figure took shape at the edge of the clearing, their stature short and petite, long strands of hair billowing behind them. Those fierce blue eyes brightened upon their approach, and I prepared to release another blast of fire when the newcomer’s face came into view.

“Ah. I see you’ve started the party without me.” Maliah adjusted her belt of blades, dozens of weapons adorning her willowy frame. Her brown skin glimmered under the stars, her emerald eyes striking, even from such a distance. “And here I thought I was early.”

She hadn’t abandoned us after all. Elation flourished and fed my magic.

The Goddess of Revenge wasn’t afraid to get her hands dirty.

Isiah, on the other hand, was far from pleased. He swiped a hand through his dark hair, scowling. “Stay out of this, Maliah, and I may just let you live.”

She continued ahead with a coy grin, tossing daggers at the scrambling undead without so much as taking aim. Each blade struck true, black blood seeping from the centers of their foreheads. She didn’t look back.

Prowling at her side was Brax—along with more of Lorian’s jaguars. There had to be over ten of the giant beasts, all sprinting in various directions to rip out the enemies’ throats.

Maliah was a blessed vision—a warrior fighting for her people.

“ I may have been too weak to face you,” she said, deceivingly calm. “But thankfully, I’m far from alone now.”

My pulse skittered. I had a suspicion.

“Even with Jude at your side, I’ll defeat you.” Isiah lashed out, his shadows trained on the deity.

She laughed before lifting a tarnished shield slung across her back and thrusting it into the earth, kneeling behind it. The shadows hissed when they crashed into the metal, skittering off as though it stung.

“Just as you can’t kill me,” she retorted. “Besides, we never aimed to kill you. That’s his job.” She tilted her head my way.

“He would have if he wanted to,” Isiah argued, voice cracking. He was trying to convince himself. Still .

Maliah lowered her voice. “I take it you found the moonstone?” I nodded , but dread settled in my stomach. Kiara last possessed the talisman. “Good.” She turned back to Isiah, more confident than before. If such a thing was possible.

“You should know, Isiah, the God of Beasts is so very angry with you for stealing his powers and targeting Raina’s kin. I’d prepare yourself. He doesn’t tend to forgive.”

As Isiah’s lips parted and he anxiously searched the trees, Maliah laughed, the sound like bells. This was what she lived for, the battle, the game.

Maliah’s smile widened. “Lorian has always been the sentimental type. Though he often shows his fondness by less…affectionate means.”

On cue, Lorian emerged through the thicket, minus the same theatrics as his predecessor.

The hulking giant of a man sprinted to Maliah’s left, his wolf pelt strung across his strong shoulders, his snow-white hair tied back with leather strings. He didn’t speak, but his stare lingered on me, and he gave a nod so subtle I would’ve missed it had I not been focused entirely on his stoic face.

“Now.” Maliah slapped her palms together. “Let’s have some real fun.”