Twilight of the Gods

Daeva lays on the cobblestone, sobbing in pain. Rain splatters on her cheeks, soaking into her dress. She felt cold, but the spring chill in Myrania was the least of her worries. She was certain that in addition to the knife wound on her chest, she had a few broken bones and countless bruises on her limbs.

No one was going to save her. Even if a good samaritan did manage to find her in the abandoned alleyway, they would come too late. Considering how lightheaded she was from the blood loss, she figured her death was a few minutes away. At least she would meet the Reaper in her favorite dress. The lilac garment with the tiny flowers stitched into her neckline always did manage to make her look good, although she wasn’t sure she looked the same battered and bloodied on the cobblestone.

She supposed it was fitting that she’d die on her birthday. She had a good nineteen years in this life, even though she felt she had never been given the chance to truly start living. More tears flowed from her eyes, this time from sorrow rather than pain. She really didn’t want to die.

But she has no choice. She closes her eyes, resigned. How could she, a mere mortal girl, turn back the wheels of fate in her favor? She feels something cold draped over her and she imagined it to be the Reaper watching over her. The thought was comforting and it quelled the sharp betrayal she felt in her heart. She had been hurt by someone she loved deeply, bleeding out because of his blade in her chest.

“Poor girl,” she heard a man say. “You shouldn’t have to die so early.”

She opens her eyes and sees a shadowy figure looming over her. She had heard many stories in her youth about the Reaper. The old lady who watched over her and the other girls always said that he was a cold man, mean and uncompromising. But the man that stood over her had a kind face, his eyes full of pity.

“I didn’t choose this,” she said, trying to put on a brave face. “But I am ready to leave.”

“I can give you a second chance,” he said. “The person who hurt you — they’re the one that doesn’t deserve to live.”

“That’s awfully generous for someone who is supposed to escort me to the Underworld.” She must look terribly pathetic if even the Reaper wanted her to stay alive. She coughs up more blood. Any minute now she would see the light at the end of the tunnel.

“You’re mistaken, dear girl,” he said. “I’m not the Reaper. I’m a God.”

She stares at the shadow in wonder. Gods haven’t walked the earth in a century. And yet here was one, casually talking to her as if she wasn’t dying. If she hadn’t been in so much pain, she would’ve thought that this God looked nothing like those in the stories. He seemed too ordinary. But if she had been given the time to look at him closely, she would’ve seen ancient darkness lurking behind his eyes.

“Could you really give me a second chance at life?” She didn’t want to hope for too much, not as it became harder to breathe.

“Yes, I can give you that and something more,” he said, his velvety voice coaxing her.

“Something more?”

“Revenge. I will give you power beyond your imagination. All for the price of letting me share your soul and body.”

Her body? For some reason that made her laugh. But what did she have to lose? She was as good as dead anyway.

“Fine.” She agrees to the deal and feels the cold God enter her body. Her vision turns red as her mind clouds over with anger. She would have her revenge like the God promised.

That’s when she wakes up, sweat coating her body. She pats the blankets beneath her, making sure that she wasn’t lying on cobblestone but within the safe confines of the abandoned temple.

She puts her hand over her chest, unbuttoning her shirt to reveal her aching scar. Her fingers trace over the stitching, her heart pounding madly.

I thought you weren’t allowed to show me memories of my past life, she said. Didn’t that go against the terms the Council gave us? She remembers standing before them as they dictated the terms of her Right of Existence. She shudders, reliving the horror of losing her memories to Anhel as he gave up his powers to her. The Elysians were hardly the benevolent deities that the Myranians and Ylivians thought they worshipped.

No, he said. I showed you memories of your last death. I thought you would appreciate it since you’re always inquiring about your past self.

Contrary to what the God said, Daeva didn’t make it a habit to question Anhel about who she once was. She knew it would complicate her current life if she asked too much about what she left behind. But she couldn’t hide the emptiness she felt from not knowing her identity, especially since they shared the same mind.

Who killed me? She thought asking that was better than outright prying for her past identity. The dream memory of her death lingered in her limbs, frightening her.

It doesn’t matter, he said. You’re immortal now. Nothing can kill us. But I can tell you what you were, even if you’re trying so hard not to ask me.

She blushes, ashamed that she had been so transparent. Sometimes she forgot she couldn’t hide anything from him. Who was I?

You’re not going to like this, Daeva, but when I found you on the streets in that state, you had left a trail of blood. There’s a good chance that you were stabbed in a brothel, he explained.

She freezes, automatically sensing the implication of his words. I was a whore. She lets the fact sink in, trying to imagine herself selling her body. Nothing was impossible, but another question probed at her brain. Why would a God like you possess the body of a prostitute? Usually, celestial beings preferred purer vessels, choosing warriors and nuns to do their bidding.

Before Anhel could answer, they heard a loud knock at the front of the temple doors. Instantly Daeva reaches under her pillow, pulling out her gun. She had affectionately named her weapon Miekka after acquiring it during a skirmish with some of the Hounds. Something about the gun had called out to her that day. The firearm had triggered a primal and violent instinct in her, although it very well could have been Anhel’s glee over the sheer chaos they were going to cause with it. Whatever the feeling was, it was love at first sight.

Blue inscriptions glow on its black handle, warming up to her touch. She checks its cartridge, satisfied that it was full of glowing bullets capable of taking down any mage or mortal. She gives Miekka a kiss and jumps out of bed.

Uriel was already at the door by the time she got there. She tucks Miekka between the folds of her skirts, hanging back to get a glimpse of the stranger. The angel’s gold wings block most of her view, but she could see the top of the stranger’s head.

“State your business,” she heard Uriel say. The angel’s voice was cold and stiff. She frowns, not accustomed to hearing him sound like that.

“Is that any way to speak to your master?”

At the sound of the word master, Daeva glared at the doorway. Who was this presumptuous stranger that barged into their home and treated her only friend in this world as a servant? Flames danced on Uriel’s wings, the angel’s anger mirroring her own. She goes up to the door, gently pushing him out of the way. Whoever this man was, she was more than capable of dealing with him.

She wasn’t sure what she expected when she moved to confront him, but the bloodied man who could barely stand on his two feet took her by surprise. He smiles at her weakly, his dark eyes pleading for help. A strong wave of emotion hits her, a mixture of sorrow and nostalgia. She felt as if she was finally home, beholden by someone who knew all of her. A pleasant warmth seeps under her skin. She reaches out to touch his face, her fingers wiping the blood from his brow.

Stop, Anhel said. Stay away from him.

She pulls back at his request, disappointed to let the feeling leave her body. The man collapses at the doorstep, unable to hold himself up any longer. Instinctively, she crouches down to him as if pulled to him by a set of invisible strings. Her heart ached at the sight of his injuries, registering the dark bruises on his cheek and the bleeding cut on his lip. Just as she was going to look into his eyes again, Uriel grabs her, pulling her away from him.

She shakes off his grasp. “We have to help him. Can’t you see that he’s hurt?”

He frowns. “Daeva, this man is an intruder.”

At the sound of the angel’s words, she blinks, snapping out of her trance. Her eyes wander to the injured man again, still feeling that strange attraction towards him. If she looked past the blood, she could see that he was objectively handsome with messy dark hair and finely chiseled features.

Who is he? She asks Anhel. Rather than answering, she could feel the God grow furious staring at the man.

“Leave at once,” Anhel said, taking over her voice. “You’re not welcome here.”

The man lifts his head, his eyes turning pitch black. “Now, is that any way to speak to your brother?”

“Begone,” Uriel said. “There is no refuge for you.”

He turns toward the angel. “I created your kind. The least you could do is let me stay the night.”

“You let my brethren die,” the angel sneered. “I have no obligation to cowards.”

“You’re mistaken. The Elysians killed the angels. And now they’ve come for me. It will only be a matter of time before they kill us all.”

Daeva shivered. She didn’t like how the man insinuated that they weren’t invincible. Nor did she enjoy the influence he seemed to have over her. She was unsettled by the way his words affected her. Fear wasn’t an emotion she felt often.

“We’re Gods,” she said, coming to her senses. “We cannot be killed. What you say is nonsense.” She was convinced that this handsome stranger was playing mind games.

“You’re right,” the man said, the whites returning to his eyes. “We can’t be killed. We’re doomed to live forever. But we can be weakened or absorbed into something more powerful.”

Her eyes narrowed. So he knew had been lying. Why admit the truth so easily? But a larger question nagged her. Part man, part God — he was just like her. Something told her that the Elysians wouldn’t allow another God to walk the Mortal Realm. They didn’t give out the Right of Existence so easily, at least not at a great price.

“You’re wondering what I’m doing here,” he said, reading her mind. She felt a small tug in her chest and that strange attraction she felt before flared up again. She itched to touch his skin again, to feel that wonderful connection.

Resist, Anhel said. You only feel this because my twin brother, Odi, has taken control of this man’s body.

She scoffs. As if his words could lessen the temptation. “Why are you here? This is my home, not some charity or orphanage.”

“I’m too old for an orphanage,” he chuckled. He quickly loses his smile, coughing up blood. “But you do ask an important question. I’m here because we have the same enemy. Does the name Ezra ring a bell?”

She tenses up, her vision turning red. The memory of the Hound was still fresh in Daeva’s mind. She had earned her Right of Existence and played their stupid game. Somehow, the Elysians still felt the need to meddle in her life. She suddenly had the urge to kick the mystery man off her doorstep.

“If you’re here on his behalf, you can tell Ezra to leave me alone. I’ve done nothing wrong,” she said, clenching her fists.

“You’re mistaken. I’m not his pawn. His servants did this to me,” he replied, pointing to the injuries on his body. “I crawled here. I’m lucky to even be alive.”

She softened. He was a victim, just like her. How could she ever think he was the enemy? He couldn’t even stand. “You’re a God. Those injuries won’t be permanent,” she said, attempting to reassure him.

“I’m afraid that’s where you’re wrong. Unlike you, I didn’t get my Right of Existence. I’m just like any mortal here. If I get a cut, I might die.” With that, he faints on her doorstep.

Uriel rolls his eyes, moving to shut the door on him. She grabs his arm, stopping him. She hooked her arms underneath the unconscious man and started to drag him into the temple. The angel puts a hand on her back, stopping her.

“What are you doing? Can’t you see that this man is clearly hurt?” It was unlike him to be so inhospitable.

“He’s controlling you. We can’t let him in.” Uriel stands his ground, crossing his arms.

“The enemy of my enemy is a friend,” she said, trying to shove past him.

“Or it can be another enemy. I don’t trust him and I’m not comfortable with letting him into our home.” He tightens his hold on her.

She falters, wondering if the man in her arms was worth the hassle. Daeva stares at his face, feeling the effects of the compulsion wear away. He was still an attractive man, even without the glamour. She pushes aside strands of his inky black hair. There was something familiar about him. An old memory presses against the sides of her head. She lets out a sharp exhale, letting go of the man. She felt like her insides were going to explode.

A hot liquid oozes out of her eyes. She clutches her head, falling to the ground. A painful electric feeling courses through her body as if she were struck by lightning. Every inch of her skin buzzes with pain like she was stung by thousands of bees.

Uriel rushes to her side, setting her upright, but she pushes him away. Even his touch hurt, sizzling against her skin like hot coals.

“Let me help you,” he said, holding her arms at her sides.

“You’re making it worse,” she said, the hot liquid now pouring out of her eyes. “Just please, make it stop!”

He closes the distance between them, his face getting dangerously close. “Trust me. Close your eyes.”

She does as he says and almost immediately she feels something warm and wet slide across her face. She freezes, holding still. It didn’t feel like Uriel was wiping her face with a warm cloth. She could feel none of the fibers of the fabric as the warm, wet thing cleaned up the fluid around her eyes. She cracks open her eyes a fraction of an inch to see Uriel licking her face.

Quickly, she pushes him away, the pain she felt replaced by disgust. “What are you doing?”

“Cleaning your face,” he said, moving to close the distance between them. She pulls back, keeping him at arm’s length.

“With your tongue,” she said flatly.

“There was blood coming out of your eyes,” he explained. “You were in great pain. I didn’t have time to fetch a cloth.”

She narrows her eyes at the angel, dissatisfied with his words. What sane person licks the blood off of a person’s face? Before she could reprimand him, a chill ran down her back. Someone was watching them.

Slowly, she turns her head, meeting the cold eyes of a white hooded nun. A string of curses ran through her head. How did she find her here? Daeva strongly suspected that she followed the man to her doorstep. All thoughts of him being a possible ally flew out the window. There was no greater sin than leading the enemy to someone’s home.

“State your business,” she calls out, her hand moving to the gun in her skirt. It was rare to see a Ylivian nun down in Myrania, especially when their places of worship were up in the cold mountains.

The woman doesn’t respond, notching an arrow on her silver bow. She chants a spell, infusing her weapon with magic. Daeva pulls out her gun, certain that the confrontation would turn violent if she didn’t shoot first. She pulls the trigger without a second thought, aiming for the nun’s head.

Somehow the nun’s arrow makes it into her arm before the bullet leaves the barrel. Daeva grabs her arm, hissing in pain. She drops her weapon, Miekka clattering to the ground. She looks up, hoping to have the satisfaction of seeing the bullet strike the nun down.

Instead, the woman’s form collapses into vapor, dissolving into the wind. Daeva glares at the empty spot where she once stood. All of that trouble over an astral projection! She yanks the arrow out of her arm, bits of blood and muscle splattering on the ground.

Uriel grabs her wrist, putting his lips to her wound. She yanks her arm back. “Why are you trying to consume my blood?”

“You’re mistaken,” he said, reaching for her arm again. “Angel’s saliva can heal Godly flesh.”

“My flesh can heal itself,” she said, keeping her arm out of reach. But she noticed that her wound wasn’t closing up.

“Not when you’re injured by Elysian weapons,” he said. This time, she lets him take her arm, looking away as his tongue trailed over her wounds. Instead, she focuses her attention on the bloody arrow she pulled out of her arm. Near the feathered end of the arrow was an envelope, the flap sealed by a red wax stamp. She pries the wax off with her teeth, using her one free arm to read the envelope’s contents.

Once she finished reading, she threw the paper to the ground, grinding it to the dirt with her feet. Uriel turns his head toward her, puzzled. “What’s wrong?”

“These Elysian pricks have invited me to a party in Otherworld,” she said, laughing at the ridiculousness of it all. “And I have to take him with me.” She points to the injured man on the ground, still passed out on their doorstep.