His breath rushed in and out.
It changed nothing.
Ruelle was still gone. Cassius was no longer a High God. Naia was on the Council, and her demigod child still lived.
He curled forward, and a guttural roar tore out of him.
The granite walls of the mountain shook, knocking pebbles loose from the stone crevices.
He stormed forward and drove his fist through one of the stalactites dripping from the cavern ceiling. The stone shattered like glass, alleviating some of the pressure in his chest.
Blood seeped in between his fingers, the flesh of his knuckles dangling like pieces of torn fabric.
He growled out, furious with how long it was taking the cuts to heal, and ripped his arm back, breaking off another row of the spikes. They fractured like icicles, spitting pieces across the cave floor.
Acacius kicked through the wall. The rock gave way to his divine strength, crumbling a hole in the limestone.
He reared his knee out of the mess, his breath heavy and fists wound tightly at his sides. Vermillion liquid splattered beside his feet. The blood led a warm trail down his skin.
Catching his breath, he lifted his head to survey the chunks of stone and wreckage through the cavern.
By the next day, the stalactites would miraculously grow back; the shattered rocks would disappear, as if they melted and formed into the floor. There would be no sign of his tantrum, just a memory of his carnage. The hostile terrain was immune to his violence, his Chaos and Ruin wound too deep within its pores, bleeding out into Moros.
That was one of his duties—to supply the atmosphere of the prison. It was why he referred to this cavern as hiswrecking room. He visited regularly and took the opportunity to purge his grievances and anger. The divine power emitted from his screams and aggression seeped into the mountain itself.
Acacius slumped against the wall, the hard grooves of the stone digging into his back.
The rage quaking under his skin eased, and he let out a sharp exhale through his nose, glaring across the cavern at the hole he’d kicked in.
Thiswas the most he could do—destroy and exert his pain.
But it wasn’t enough.
Would it ever be?
Acacius shoved himself off the rocky surface. His divine power formed a cobalt cloud in front of him, and he stepped inside and came out on a bed of rolling grass.
His eyes quickly adjusted from the darkness of the cavern to the bright horizon, the wisteria lining its edge in vivid color.
It was such a peaceful view, as if it were an oil painting brought to life. Looking at it clenched Acacius’s stomach, and he strangled the urge to set fire to the swaying limbs of the trees. A bad habit. The Land of the Dead was off limits to his hostile ways.
Before him stood the grand iron gates to the entrance of the Paradise of Rest. The pointed arches reached up into the angelic sky, the pillow-like clouds obscuring their spiked tops.
The Paradise of Rest was a sacred sector of the Land where souls could choose to spend their afterlife uninterrupted. Acacius had only walked through the polished gates once, with Cassius and Iliana. Months after their deaths as mortals, once they’d grown accustomed to their new roles as deities, Cassius had wanted them to have one final moment with their mother. Not that Acacius recalled her much, seeing as she passed away when he was only a child. His maternal figure had always been his eldest sister.
The Paradise of Rest was also where Ruelle currently resided.
Was she happy now? Did respite finally greet her in the afterlife with Klaus? Did she regret the way she’d ended her life in front of Acacius? Would she ever show remorse for what she’d forced him to endure?
When he thought about the prospective answers to these questions for too long, the impulse to crushsomethingorsomeonesurged in his hands.
As much as he loved Ruelle, a reoccurring thought toyed with him:Did she even consider what seeing her death would do to me?
Acacius rubbed at his chest, hoping it would lessen the stabbing sensation a bit.
A softswooshsounded from behind, and the stoic presence of his brother’s oldest friend appeared. Now the ruler of the Land.
“Acacius,” Mavros greeted, claiming the spot at his side.
