Twilight of the Gods

When the nuns had dumped her body on Myranian soil, Daeva was relieved. The warm air of the tropical climate embraced her skin, a delightful homecoming from her treacherous journey. Best of all, she didn’t have to face Ezra.

Or so she thought.

They had dropped her near a carriage bound for Otherworld outside her home where she was reunited with Uriel and Haydn. It seemed that committing mass murder wasn’t an adequate excuse to get out of an Elysian party.

Uriel rushed to her side, fury lighting up his gold eyes. He looked at her intensely as if debating whether he should scold her or be grateful that she was safe. He settled for holding her, using his metal arm to bring her closer to him.

“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice full of anguish. He repeats this a few times, refusing to let her go. Daeva awkwardly pats his back, unsure of how to feel about this gesture. It never occurred to her that if she were to disappear that she would be missed. Then again, she was an immortal God. Death would never touch her.

“She’s never going to die,” Haydn said. “I don’t know why you worry for her so much.”

Uriel pulls away, taking a second to glare at Haydn. “There are ways of living that are worse than death.”

She could see Haydn’s dark eyes slide over to the angel’s metal arm. “I’d imagine you would know.”

Uriel tenses, his jaw clenching. He seemed to seriously consider murdering Haydn.

“He’s apologizing because I summoned him,” she said. “And he didn’t come.” She yanks the arrows out of her leg, plucking them out one by one, sucking her breath in as she did so. She frowns, noting all the bloodstain on her coat. At least her dark ichor blended in with the color of the fleece.

“I couldn’t perform my duties because I was restrained.” Uriel holds up the silver chain around his neck, pointing to an identical one around Haydn. “Ezra’s servants made sure we wouldn’t try to run like you did. But I suppose it’s no excuse. You may punish me however you see fit.”

She looks down at her neck. Sure enough, the same silver chain rested on her collarbone. One of the nuns must have placed it on her while she was unconscious.

“You said you would come with me,” Haydn said. “You even convinced your stupid angel to join us. Then I hear you go off to blow up a monastery. What’s wrong with you?”

Daeva was tired. Her limbs ached and with the chain around her neck, a chill had taken up residence in her bones. But Haydn’s words burned her ears.

She gets up and quickly strikes him, watching the surprise register in his dark eyes as she knocks him down. “Stop acting like going was ever my choice. You’re still getting what you want. Can’t you be satisfied with that?”

“We’re going there in chains,” he said, getting up from the ground. A bruise blossomed on his cheek. “Couldn’t you have at least pretended to go along with their plans?”

She scoffs. “You’re the stupid one if you believed they were going to bring us there with no restraints. We’re Gods, Haydn. Who do you think controlled things in Myrania and Ylivia before the Elysians? Who raised the two suns into the skies?”

“I know all this. And I know they know this. But they’ve been in power long enough to start underestimating us. They think we’re weak. We could have taken them by surprise.” He said the last part softly as if he were already there, getting his revenge.

The blood from her wounds had slowed to a trickle, dripping onto the grass. Daeva sighed, looking at her limbs helplessly. Who said they weren’t weak?

Uriel takes her hand, cleaning and wrapping her wounds. “We need to dress up before we go. The Elysians sent us some garments.”

Haydn sneers. “See? They think we’re too incompetent to dress ourselves. Maybe we could still bring them down.”

She looks down at her patched up wounds, feeling less cold and somehow more whole. Maybe she could get her revenge. She wanted it just as much as Haydn, if not more. She would blow up a thousand more monasteries if it meant seeing Ezra on his knees.

They headed back into the temple and prepared for the Elysian celebration. Uriel slipped on his garments quickly, giving him time to help her figure out the elaborate gown. He handled her gently, tying her corset with light tugs, careful not to cause her more pain than her wounds already did. She noted, with distaste, that her gown and the rest of the Elysian garb that was sent over was white.

White was Ezra’s favorite color. She hated that she knew that. It was a reminder that he orchestrated everything. She could hear the hidden message in the rigid fit of the gown. He was telling her, through the white dress, that he still controlled her life. That she wasn’t free.

He made it clear that she was going back to hell.

“What are you thinking about?” Uriel speaks up, interrupting her thoughts. She turns toward him, meeting his gold eyes.

“Who said I was thinking about anything?”

“You’ve got that look on your face. I know you’re thinking about something.” In Elysian dress, Uriel was radiant, the shimmer of his white clothes giving his bronze skin a greater glow than usual. Daeva clears her throat, catching herself in the act of admiring his looks.

“I don’t want to go back,” she admitted.

“I know. I guess that’s why you ran away last night.” He paused. “I don’t want to go back either. But they’re going to tear you apart if you stay.” He lifts her bandaged arm and she winces, pulling back. The wounds beneath had yet to close.

She straightens, trying to hide the pain. “I’m sorry. You do so much for me and I keep worrying you.”

“Well, you’re not an easy God to serve. But Haydn is right. You’re never going to die. I don’t need to worry.” But concern still lingered on his face.

“They’re going to hurt us again. I don’t know what the Elysians have planned, but they are sure to make us suffer again.” She grabs his hand, clenching it tightly. “But there’s something different this time. This time, we have power. They want something from us. And we can make them beg and suffer all we want before we give it to them.”

A slow clap came from outside her room. “That’s the spirit,” Haydn said. “Now get in the damn carriage so we can do that.”

Daeva dropped Uriel’s hand, taken aback by Haydn’s appearance. The white clothes didn’t suit him, bleaching his skin and making his eyes appear darker. Not to mention that the little frills on his collar made him look like a little boy. She covers her mouth, stifling her laughter.

“What?”

“Nothing,” she said. No amount of glamour could fix his outfit. Still, it shimmered on his face stubbornly. She clears her throat. “Let’s go.”

They board the carriage, with Haydn stepping in first and Daeva following. She sits in the cushioned seat across from Haydn. Uriel follows suit, closing his wings and taking his place next to her.

A coachman materializes in the seat in front of them. He flicked the reins and they were off, headed for the Celestial Road.

The horses’ hooves clopped against the ground, but Daeva knew they wouldn’t be for long. There was a reason why mortals could not access Otherworld, at least not without the invitation of an Elysian. She grips the edge of her seat as the carriage lifted into the air, fighting vertigo.

It wasn’t enough for the Elysians to control the people in the Mortal Realm. Never mind the thousands of worshippers that they had or the bloody war they fought to gain their power — they absolutely had to have their home above others as well.

She scoffs, looking out the window. The view was just as she remembered. Ghosts flew by on their way to the Underworld, finally released from the service of whatever Elysians they served. The road glittered with ice and stars, acting as a guide for the coachman. Beyond that, everything else was covered in a thick fog.

Goosebumps popped up on her skin beneath the long sleeves of her gown. The Celestial Road was colder than Ylivia.

She huddles away from the window in a vain attempt to keep herself warm. Her hands slip into the inner pocket of her gown, checking for the knives she concealed. Her fingers close around another weapon, something deadlier than the blades. A slow smile creeps onto her face. Miekka had returned to her possession.

Daeva didn’t doubt that the nuns had removed it from her body when they tied her up. But her pistol had a way of reappearing, usually loaded with new glowing bullets, like it couldn’t bear to be away for long. That day, when she had found it in some dead soldier’s hands, it had formed a bond with her.

She still didn’t entirely understand the range of Miekka’s abilities. When she fired at the nuns’ apparitions, she hadn’t actually expected the bullets to pierce their forms. She had used the weapons on mortal soldiers and watched as the bullets tore through flesh and bone like paper.

She wonders if her pistol could do the same to Elysian skin.

Suddenly, it didn’t feel like a death sentence going to Otherworld.

The fog outside lifts, revealing a towering set of golden gates. They swing open and the coachman flicks the reins again, urging the horses forward.

Daeva remembered running out of those gates, feet bloody and clothes torn. She remembered stepping out onto the Celestial Road, the ice and stars burning her soles. And most vividly, she remembered staring Ezra in the eye before taking that dangerous leap into the Mortal Realm, plummeting from thousands of feet in the air.

But here she was, in Otherworld. Willingly. It was absurd. If someone had told her two days ago that she would be back in the home of her tormentors and that it was her choice, she would’ve laughed in their face.

They descend from the carriage, filing out in the order they came in.

Haydn was the first to leave, rushing out eagerly. Daeva could feel the bloodlust thrumming off his body, noting the way his hands twitched like they wanted to strangle someone. But it wasn’t like her hands didn’t ache for her pistol. She had to ball her hands into fists to keep them from shaking.

Uriel places a comforting hand on her shoulder. “It’ll be alright,” he said.

He was lying, but she knew he meant well. She grabs his hand, following the coachman to the Elysians’ abode. She felt that if she didn’t hold something, she wouldn’t be able to stifle the pure rage bubbling inside. And she knew the kind of monster she was when she became angry. Haydn’s plan of getting to know the Elysians and learning their weaknesses wouldn’t work if she became that person.

They hike up the neverending marble steps flanked by towering white columns, joining the other guests as they enter the party. The silver chain around her neck thumps on her collarbone in a steady rhythm, mimicking the cadence of her rapidly beating heart. Her hold on Uriel’s hand tightens as her eyes follow Haydn’s back. The coachman had vanished, blending in with the crowd.

But that wasn’t why she was nervous. The three of them were the only ones wearing white. The rest of the guests were clad in black, shimmering in different shades of night.

She could hear scattered whispers in the ballroom. It made her skin crawl.

Haydn turns around, his dark eyes searching the room for her. When his eyes finally meet hers, his face collapses with relief. He makes his way toward her, waving in greeting.

“Did they give us the wrong clothes?” He whispers this question, eyes darting to the guests around them.

She shakes her head. Ezra didn’t make those kinds of mistakes. The clothes were intentional, but she couldn’t fathom why. Public humiliation? The Elysian didn’t waste his time with petty moves.

Daeva looks around the ballroom. Guests gawked at them openly, whispers intensifying. She meets all of their gazes, staring at them intently until they look away. If they were going to make her feel uncomfortable, she was going to return the favor.

She surveys the opulence of the room, noticing the glittering chandeliers and silk drapes. They hadn’t been there before when she was here. A fountain burbles on her right. Uriel stares at the cherubs carved into the base, stunned. He looked like he wanted to smash the fountain to bits.

The blasphemy didn’t stop there. Angels were carved on to the banisters of the stairs, every individual body holding up the handrail. Daeva’s eyes followed the angels until she saw the people at the top of the stairs.

Her heart stopped. Time froze as she saw all seven Elysians stare back. Her eyes flitted from one face to the other, never staying on one person for too long. If she focused on one Elysian for too long she would get a headache from the memories of torture she endured at each of their hands.

There was Julia, with her perfect wavy honey locks, hourglass curves, and cold, deep set eyes. Next to her was Vivian with her crown of braids and startling green eyes, a woman so elegant she could’ve been carved out of onyx. Beside her was Tristan, a slim man with slicked-back hair and a pair of circular shades that she was fairly certain hid two calculating snake-like eyes. Sipping a flute of champagne next to him was Iris, a short woman with rosy cheeks and a head of curls. She gives Daeva a sweet smile, but Daeva knew it hid the unholy wrath she was capable of. Leaning on the rails next to Iris was Sabine, a tall woman with long, straight hair and full red lips. She also smiles, but her expression is mocking instead of sweet. The man with his arm around her waist was Hubert, an Elysian built like a grizzly bear. His eyes were glowing amber, no doubt already intoxicated.

And then there was Ezra. Perfect, blue-eyed Ezra with his neat hair and his unreadable face. Ezra, the start of all her suffering and the main reason why she was here.

She wanted to shoot him and bury her daggers into his flesh.

But there was also an eighth person up there with the Elysians, someone she didn’t recognize. He had long white hair pulled back from his face in a long ponytail and gleaming gold armor that reflected the chandelier lights. He wore a serious expression that didn’t fit in with the relaxed luxury of the Elysians.

As he and the Elysians continued to stare at her, it finally hit her why they had her wear white. They wanted to see her come in, to spot her from the crowd easily. It was an effective way to gauge how much she trusted them, to see if she would wear their clothes even though they had little faith in her, as evidenced by the silver chain around her neck.

They didn’t care about humiliating her. What they did care about was control. The white was their move, an easy way to mark her in case she did anything unpredictable.

They make their way down to the ballroom and she suddenly has trouble breathing. Maybe she was imagining it, but the silver chain felt suffocating, like it had tightened around her neck.

Her fingers move up to the cold, metal links. To her horror, they were drawing closer to her neck, squeezing her skin. She tried to pry them off her neck, but her superhuman strength was gone.

She stares at the chain on Uriel’s neck, watching his silver links sink into his skin. She turned toward Hadyn, whose chains had also dissolved. Additionally, the shimmering magic of his glamour had disappeared, making him appear mortal.

“What did you do to us?” She steps up to the Elysians, fury incarnated and red eyes flashing. “The chains were never part of the invitation.”

“I didn’t want to take these measures,” said the man with the gold armor. “But Ezra insisted on the Binding Chains. He assumed that you would run away if we didn’t put them on you.”

She glared at Ezra, willing for him to spontaneously combust with her eyes. Alas, he remained intact with a look of superiority she wanted to smack off his face.

“I did run away before,” she admitted. “But it was what anyone would’ve done if they were being tortured."

“The chains are punishment for what you did to my nuns. You had no right to kill them,” Ezra said, butting in.

“Maybe if you hadn’t put me through the Trials, your precious nuns would still be alive. What you did to me was inhuman.” She looked at the rest of the Elysians. “What you all did to me outweighs my sins by a thousandfold.”

The man with the gold armor blinked rapidly, processing their exchange. “Torture?”

The Elysians looked uncomfortable. Daeva noted that the white-haired man had some authority over them, which was unusual given how stubborn the Council was.

“Yes, torture,” she said, “which came after the genocide of the angels during the war.”

“I see,” he said. “I apologize on their behalf, though I can’t imagine that means too much to you. I didn’t know summoning you here would bring back bad memories for you.”

Daeva was taken aback. “I thought the Elysians summoned me.”

“They did, but it was on my behalf. They were reluctant to bring you back,” he said.

She stared at the man’s face, put off by how he looked neither old nor young. She tried to see any malicious intent in his face, but his eyes were blank. Somehow that frightened her more.

“Who are you and what do you want with me?”