Which means Crypt was definitely here.
This is his preferred way of killing necromancers who venture outside of the Entity’s ever-expanding territory. In other words, anyone who may have contributed to magically experimenting on…onherwhen she was just a child.
My chest pangs. I rub the right side of my face and stand to yawn.
Another raven squawks.
Unfortunately, this thing has been decomposed for a while, even with the cold preserving it. Meaning, that damned incubus hasn’t been here anytime recently.
Where the hell is he? The last “mission” I sent him on was almost three months ago. That emotionless dick was pushing himself too fucking hard on purpose, trying to burn out. If Crypt’s curse finally got the best of him…
Damn it. Past me would never believe it if I told him we would miss those assholes.
The moment I losther, I lost it all. Including them.
I failed her. Us. Myself.
I’m the only one left in this purgatory. All because my greatest fear came true, and I was unlucky enough to survive it. Turns out, being the last man left standing is a far different, far worse brand of loneliness than the kind my prophecy hinted at.
Squawk. Squawk.
The ravens are still staring.
I hate them. Those beady eyes just never leave me.
“Hey, Frost.Frost. You good?”
Realizing Douglas has repeated my name several times, I let him have my cold, vacant stare. It’s become my default expression nowadays to disguise everything I can’t stop feeling. Luckily, this mercenary has gotten used to me spacing out.
“I’m fine,” I say flatly.
“Uh-huh. Sure.” He kicks aside one of the necromancer’s bones, steals a look at all the birds watching us, and grumbles something about demon chickens before changing the topic. “Three of my men came back from Pennsylvania this morning. It’s completely colorless over there now. Thought you should know.”
As the Nether has crept further into the mortal realm, unleashing all its horrors, the places falling under the power of the Entity have had their color slowly sapped away. And it’s not just along the eastern borders where the Divide once stood. Now, anywhere inhabited by his escaped forces becomes a shadowy, twilight land.
Nether monsters, fiends, liches, necromancers, Undead, and countless creatures—including ones I’ve never heard of—have oozed into the world like ink dripped in water. A lot of places aren’t safe for humans to live anymore. Wraiths run free along with demons, wendigos, banshees, and more.
Then there are the Limbo Zones. Inconstant, distorted areas without gravitational pull that are plagued by wisps, shades, and insanity-inducing mists. They exist thanks to the Nightmare Prince letting that plane of existence collide with this one six months ago, when we lost everything.
“Update the other Reformists,” I rasp through the ache in my throat.
He grunts in agreement, squinting at the creepy birds again.
One of the ravens flutters closer. I try not to visibly flinch as frost climbs up my arms to my shoulders. When another one moves closer on a tree branch to get a better look at me, ice locks inside my chest.
My parents once told me that ravens are messengers sent by the gods. They’re bad luck—symbols of dark transformationand wretched prophecy. The gods have been sending them to torment me for the last six months as some kind of sick joke.
When another raven squawks at me, I can’t fucking take it anymore. Throwing my arm wide, I freeze all the stupid birds and watch in satisfaction as they thump to the ground, a couple of them shattering immediately and scrambling to fly away. I don’t let them. I skewer them on ice spikes that jut violently up from the ground, and thenfinally,I don’t feel any of their beady little eyes on me.
It won’t last long. Never does. Somehow, more of the fucking birds always find me.
Still, it’s cathartic while it lasts.
Douglas isn’t surprised because he’s seen this happen a few times. He just kicks one of the frozen ravens aside and grunts, “I’m ready to get back. Dev is going to be a whiney fucker about not seeing me all day.”
Dev, as in Devil. That’s what Douglas calls his freakishly loyal, oversized pet hellhound. This mercenary is about as creative as Baelfire when it comes to names.
Again, the thought of the once-smiley, oversized lug makes me rub my temple, trying to soothe the headache building there.
