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He lifts his head, eyes narrowing just as Ares slams into the nearest brother with bone-shattering force. The man doesn’t even scream—just crashes into the wall with a crack.

Juliet throws a blade across the room. It hits the second brother in the leg, staggering him. Sysco follows in a blur, fists and fury.

Chaos explodes.

I take my closest opponent. James.

“No!” James shouts as he sees everything erupt into chaos.

He launches toward Markus, trying to protect the nightmare unfolding before us, but I cut him off mid-sprint with a low tackle, slamming my shoulder into his ribcage. We hit the stone floor hard, but I recover faster—roll, mount, and hammer my elbow into his jaw.

He snarls, blood flashing in his mouth.

I go for an armbar, twisting to lock in a submission—but he’s strong. He wrenches free, his fist crashing against my ribs. I grunt, bones protesting, but I’ve taken worse. And I am not so fragile anymore.

He scrambles up. I follow.

We circle, breath ragged in the thick, metallic air. In the background, I hear a bone snap—Ares or Roman, maybe Sysco. No time to look.

“You don’t know what you’re fighting, Lana,” James pants, fury etched into every line of his face. “Cyrus has kept us in the dark long enough. Don’t fight the tide.”

“Why did you have to turn out to be a fucking liar?” I ask with a sigh. “I’m getting pretty damn sick of people who are two-faced.”

He simply shakes his head in frustration and disappointment, just before he lunges.

I duck the first punch. It whistles past my ear. I block the second, redirecting his wrist with a tight parry, and pivot into his space, slamming my knee into his thigh. He grunts but grabs a fistful of my hair and yanks, spinning me off balance. I twist with the motion and elbow him in the throat.

He stumbles, coughing violently.

I charge, fists flying—a combo: jab, cross, hook. My knuckles crack across his cheek, split his brow. But he’s fast—he’s Born, and we’re fucking up his plan.

He reaches for something from his pocket—metal glinting under the low light. I dive, too late.

Steel punches into my chest.

The world shatters.

It’s just left of center—too close to my heart. I feel it slice, nicking muscle, maybe more. My body jerks. Pain flares—white-hot and devastating.

But then?—

I feel the sting shift to heat. My heart stutters… and keeps beating.

I gasp. The regeneration kicks in like a fuse lighting through my bloodstream. I can feel the tissue knitting, the wound sealing even while the blade’s still in me.

James’s eyes widen.

“What the?—”

I rip the blade from my chest.

He flinches back, but I’m already moving.

“Made different, bitch,” I bite.

I punch low into his gut, twice, fast and mean.

When he folds, I hammer my elbow into the back of his neck.

He collapses to a knee—I wrap my arm around his throat and pull, cinching a standing rear-naked choke.

He fights it, slams his elbow into my ribs again, but I hold, legs locked around his torso. He’s slipping.

Then he slams us both backward—my spine hits the edge of something hard, and the wind whooshes from my lungs.

I roll free, coughing.

Behind me, Markus cries out. Roman tackles him. They roll across the floor, fists flying.

The Blood Father—still forming—sits up, a maniacal grin on his face as he watches the chaos.

His skin is still raw. His voice is like gravel soaked in evil.

He spouts words, but I don’t have any clue what he’s saying.

I have no idea what language he would have even spoken in Austria over two thousand years ago.

Fuck, it’s all so disturbing.

Juliet shouts something I don’t catch.

One of James’ brothers lashes out at her, slicing across her side. Roman roars, throwing Markus aside and grabbing the brother by the throat. His grip tightens.

Then he lets go—and rips the man’s heart from his chest.

James is bleeding heavily now, his face a mess from my raking claws. “What the fuck , Lana? You’re not even human anymore,” he spits.

“You bet your ass I’m not.”

He charges again.

I feint left, spin, and catch him with a roundhouse kick to the side of his head. The sound it makes is wet and satisfying. He stumbles, dazed.

I follow—grab his arm, wrench it into a lock, and snap the elbow joint. He howls.

Behind us, I hear Roman yell something, a sickening crack of a neck-breaking. But James is still mine.

He lashes out, claws raking my shoulder, but I slip under and slam him to the ground with a double-leg takedown.

But we both look, for just a second, as Juliet pins Markus to the ground. She places her hands on either side of his head.

She twists.

And she rips.

“No!” James screams like he’s possessed as we watch Markus’s decapitated head drop to the ground.

It’s so damn savage.

I feel it—like the air implodes. Like the marrow of the world sucks inward.

The Blood Father convulses violently on the table, his half-formed body arching up in a grotesque spasm. His skin cracks open like old parchment. Veins shrivel beneath translucent flesh. One of his eyes collapses into its socket with a sickening wet pop.

He begins to desiccate.

It’s like watching time attack him at hyper-speed. Muscles blacken and peel from bone. Organs rupture, deflating like rotted fruit. His ribcage shrinks inward, snapping with dry, brittle crunches as his chest caves in.

James stumbles across the stage, desperately trying to get to the withering nightmare. “No. No, no, no—please—” he begs, sliding on the blood-slick floor, his hands reaching out like he can stop it.

He can't.

It's too late.

The Blood Father turns to ruin, rotting by the second.

The whole room feels suspended as we all watch the nightmare.

And then there’s nothing left but bones again.

James kneels beside him, eyes wild, hands trembling above the remains. His breath heaves. And for three seconds, it feels like it’s over.

Then something in James snaps.

He spins—feral—his eyes scanning those surrounding him. So fast, I can hardly see it, he launches at Ares with a roar.

I scream, but I’m too far away.

Ares blocks the first strike, knocks James back with a solid elbow—but James is unhinged. He drives forward, pulling something from his belt like it’s been waiting for this moment.

The sound of it plunging into Ares’ chest ends my whole world.

A dull thunk. A sharp exhale.

Ares’ eyes go wide. He clutches at the stake, his lips parting in confusion—no words, just pain.

His knees buckle.

“Ares!”

I scream so loud it rips my throat. The world tilts.

I’m practically teleporting across the stage, but I can’t stop it as his skin drains of color, going pale, then gray. His veins go dark. His mouth sags open.

He collapses, heavy and final, to the ground.

Still.

Silent.

Dead.

Time and space feel suspended as the word echoes through my brain.

Dead.

Ares.

Dead.

Someone screams. Someone bellows.

It’s like something ancient and bottomless inside me goes cold—then explodes.

I turn on James.

He doesn’t even see me coming.

I crash into him like a freight train, tackling him to the ground. We slam into the slick stone, my knee driving into his ribs with a crunch. His breath whooshes out.

I see his eyes—startled, maybe even scared—and I don’t care. I don’t fucking care.

My fists fly. One. Two. Ten.

I don’t count. I don't think.

I feel bone break beneath my knuckles. I feel his teeth give under the hammer of my rage. Blood sprays my face, my hands, the walls. James tries to cover his head, but I grab his wrists, slam them to the floor, straddle his chest, and rain fury down.

“You fucking bastard!” I scream, and my voice is not human.

He gurgles something—maybe a plea, maybe a curse.

I bare my teeth.

And it all comes to a crystal clear point as I drive my hand into his chest.

Flesh parts like wet paper.

My fingers curl around his heart—still beating—and I tear it free with a scream that rips my throat raw.

James jerks beneath me. One last breath escapes his lips. His eyes roll back. He twitches once.

Then nothing. His skin turns gray, and he’s absolutely still on the ground.

Sysco kneels beside Ares, obscenities and pleas pouring out of him. I collapse to my knees beside Ares, shaking. Blood coats my arms. My chest is heaving. My entire body is trembling, but not from fear—from fury. From despair.

I look at Ares.

His eyes are still open.

But he’s not there.

I cradle his face in my hands. “No,” I whisper. “No, no, no…”

I press my forehead to his, tears falling hot and fast. “Please come back to me. Please, Ares…”

But he doesn’t move.

He just lies there, like a statue carved from ash and sorrow.

And I feel my heart tear in two.

The space has gone still for a moment. James is dead. His brothers are dead. Markus is dead. The Blood Father is dead.

Ares is dead.

And the world might as well just end now.