“That was annoying,” I counter.
“No, he’s right,” Voren says. “Why did they really come back?”
I frown. “You don’t believe they were called?”
“Oh, they were called, but it was for more nefarious purposes than they are letting on. The fact is, they don’t know, but I’m starting to figure this out,” Dreven says.
“Do I want to know?”
His gaze meets mine and somehow turns even more serious. “The Devourer needs them here to feed on the realm. Without them, it can’t. They are missing pieces.”
“Okay, this thing is getting more sentient by the minute. It was supposed to be this big, black void that had no thought other than to consume.”
“Precisely. It is being fed, and it is growing more intelligent. It is growing back into what it was.”
“The Wraith King.”
“Only a thousand times more terrifying and powerful,” Voren adds, which does not help.
“And it wants its Crown back, am I right?”
None of the gods answer me, which is all I need to know about how correct my assumption is.
Chapter 24
Nyssa
“It’s dominion. And he won’t ask politely.” Dreven’s cheery response after a few seconds is not great.
“He never did,” Voren adds.
We press on, leaving the gaggle of useless other gods behind us in the fog. The Pantheon realm feels different now that I know it’s being fattened up for the slaughter. The architecture looms like ribs in a chest cavity, white marble streaked with veins of black rot. The ground feels spongy, like it’s thinking about dissolving under my boots.
The snake in my soul tightens, a cold coil of warning. It knows where we are going. It remembers the way even if I don’t.
“Are we there yet?” Dastian asks, kicking a loose stone that turns into a puff of smoke. He’s itching to fight, his chaos magic crackling faintly around his fingertips like static discharge.
“How are we meant to know?” Dreven snaps, as agitated as I’ve ever seen him. He stops abruptly at the mouth of a corridor that looks less like a hallway and more like a tunnel to nowhere. The air here vibrates with that low, subsonic chewing sound we heard before.
“This is it,” I say, grimacing as the sound grates against my skull. “The gap where I shed my skin.”
Voren moves to my side, the temperature dropping until my breath clouds in the gloom. “It’s louder than before.”
“Hungrier,” Dreven corrects. He looks like he wants to punch something, or perhaps everything. His shadows are tight to his body, no longer exploring but armouring him. “The other gods returning has stirred the pot. It knows dinner is being prepared.”
“And I’m the main course,” I mutter.
I step closer to the edge. The bridge I created—that strange, scar-tissue rope woven from my own discarded mortality—spans the void. It looks fragile against the encroaching dark, a thin line of defiance over a mouth that wants to swallow history. The pearl glow beyond the gap pulses in time with the chewing, a heartbeat of pure malice.
“Positions,” Dreven says, snapping into general mode. “Dastian, warm the edges but don’t ignite. Voren, bind the anchor points. I will fold the reality so it can’t see the cage until the door shuts.”
“And me?” I ask, though I already know the answer.
“You sit on the scar,” Voren says, his voice devoid of its usual mockery. “You shine. You make it want you more than it wants the realm.”
“Right. Be shiny. Don’t get eaten.” I step onto the bridge. It feels slick and wrong under my boots, but it holds. I walk to the centre, sit down cross-legged, and rest my blade across my knees. “Come and have a go,” I whisper to the dark, “if you think you’re hard enough.”
My heart hammers against my ribs, but my hands are steady on the hilt of my blade. Beneath me, the bridge of shed mortality feels slick, like wet leather left out in the rain. It’s disgusting, but it holds.
