CHAPTER 1
DEATH
Afuneral for a god has to be one of the most ridiculous fucking things I’ve seen in my eons of life. But then again, the simpering mortals around the funeral pyre don’t know the cold body they’re crying over is a god. To them, he is an apothecary—a mortal man with a pension for knowing the exact herbs and formulations to craft whatever tonic they believe will cure their ailments. They call him Gavin, none the wiser of his real name or powers.
Gaius the Green, God of Plants, is not known in this realm. A lesser deity, he’s not particularly known in any realm, making his lack of worshippers a convenient excuse for his untimely demise. There is no more effective way to kill a god, after all, than to erase their existence from the minds of mortals. To be forgotten is to be powerless.
Few exist with the ability to kill a god any other way, and despite what others may think, I don’t relish being amongst them. I may be the God of Death, but the other gods are just as dark. The ones who hunger most for power—Nobus, Mikais, and the ones who came before them—are the truly wicked ones. The Progenitors,the original four children of Creation, ensured we were all bred with ruthlessness and hunger in our veins. What else would you expect from Flesh, Bone, Blood, and Time?
To that, I am no exception. My mother, the Goddess of Blood herself, was the first god I killed. The acts that led me to matricide also led me to the bargain that ensured my eternal sentence: my life tied to that of my realm.
King of the Under Realm is a fancy, enviable title I claimed for myself. But I am a king only in name.
I am a warden, a jailer of souls held captive, forever unable to tell a living soul the terms of my servitude. The dark world of blood and bone comprises the bars of my eternal prison. Death may live in every realm, but only the Under Realm can sustain me—and no one but the dead can reside there.
Any day away from that prison costs me greatly, but today, I pay it willingly, if only to witness what unfurls before me now.
“Thank you for coming.” The sweet voice floats on the late summer breeze, rising above the crowd of mourners. “We’ll light the pyre at sunset.”
Even in a realm that hides her shimmering skin, Selene shines. The Goddess of Light, with a head of luscious golden curls, cuts through the throngs of villagers like a beacon in the night. She bobs and weaves past them on a path that leads straight to me. The shadows that conceal me fall away as she approaches.
“Drayven.”
Why am I not surprised that the only person in all of existence who still calls me by my birth name could sense me here, hidden and cloaked in night?
“When will you stop calling me that?”
“Considering it’s been centuries since you asked me to, I would bet on never if I were you.” White teeth flash in a hint of a smile that disappears as quickly as it arrived.
So few smile in the face of Death, and it’s that unique trait thatkeeps me sucked into the goddess’ orbit after all these years. No one is permitted to call me by that name, but there’s a part of me, an infinitesimal part, that would be sad to never hear it again.
“Thank you for coming,” she offers. “He always respected you. He understood that his power could not exist without your balance.”
Her golden eyes find mine, tears rimming them. What is it like to have enough humanity to cry? The last tear I shed was a century ago.
“He was a good god.” Always an ally, Gaius often felt like the only being who saw my curse as a gift—well, him and his eldest daughter. They’re both fools.
“I grew as many plants on the pyre as I could. Familial magic isn’t as strong in this realm. Perhaps that’s why he chose this one for his home.”
Magic in general isn’t as strong here, but I don’t correct her. Regardless of the realm, we’re all outrunning the hereditary powers of our parentage, always desperate for a fleeting moment when we don’t feel the crushing weight of our inheritance.
Gods are not made, they are born. Creation, the supremely divine source of life, chooses when a new god is needed, carefully selecting the specific traits of the parents to create exactly what is missing from the Golden Pantheon. Divinely crafted deities made only of the most optimal powers.
The gods of Blood and Time were not enough for Creation, and so the all-parent created me from their union. Death itself. I must admit—the ability to manipulate both is useful in executing my duty, but luckily for me, there is no need to create anything from death. The curse of my powers will never be passed to another, and for that, I am grateful.
The Goddess of Light holds up her hand and breathes deeply. Faint threads of green magic shimmer in the late afternoon sunlight as she channels what little plant magic she can summon. Adark purple bloom forms in her upturned palm, five midnight-hued sepals surrounding a cluster of yellow nectaries in its center.
Selene smiles at her creation, passing it to me. “They call it godsbane here. Such a silly name for a flower, but then again, it poisons mortals and they do tend to think of themselves as gods.”
“Fools, all of them. You could make up anything, call it history, and they’d all believe it. Gaius proved that.” I slip the stem into my breast pocket, careful not to kill it. “Your plants are…adequate.”
“They’re a mockery of the true strength of his power, but you’re kind to indulge me, Drayven.” The goddess reaches out a hand, smoothing the lapels of my black suit. No one touches Death, and yet she does so brazenly.
“I am notkind, Selene. I am here to collect him, not to pay compliments in the name of a god who spent decades in hiding.”
“Hiding?” Selene recoils, the word piercing her like an arrow. “He loved it here. This realm was a home to him in a way no other could be. You of all people should understand that.”
I turn to face her fully, gripping her elbow and pulling her toward me. I look deep into her eyes, holding her gaze to ensure her attention is fully on me. “Isn’t it always what we love that kills us?”
