No. Fuck this. I don’t want to die. Not in my head and not in reality. For the first time ever, I stop the vision and pull myself out with sheer will. Or stubbornness.
Death is no escape.
The room returns with a wave of sensations. Cold marble under my feet. Dried blood tight on my skin. The scent of death slithers up my nose, and every wound feels freshly opened. I reach for Zandrite’s arms with my painful touch, but he snatches both my wrists with one hand.
So I turn to what I know. I call for the roots, not me to them this time, but me as part of them. Like convincing my leg to move when it’s asleep, heavy and tingling. I awaken connections. Pathways.
But precious seconds pass. The blade shakes in Zandrite’s hand, slowly digging deeper into my flesh. He’s hesitating. Why?
It doesn’t matter. I have a chance.
The scene plays out in my mind—the heroine I could be. Chaos all around while I save innocent people for all the right reasons, perfect command as I take down a dozen villains at once. A win like that belongs in books with epic battles and heroes, with happily forever afters, bullshit hope and true love. Not in my story, not the source of vengefulhands, not born of broken minds. I want the fucker dead. And I want it to hurt.
I reach for strength, not of muscles and bone, of metal and stone, but the strength it takes to face the unknown of my future and the pains of the past, to step forward and risk true death. To believe in myself.
Killing Zandrite won’t be for Eli anymore. It won’t be to get his essence. No. This will be payback formyblood,mypain.
I drop all my walls and push the tightly bound magic inside me to my finger tips. And out. Seeking the roots and guiding them to my side. They defend Zandrite, but they’llobeyme.
I urge them toward us. One quick tug on his wrist, and I can slip away.
Closer and closer they creep, swerving back and forth, rubbing against each other. And there’s a moment I’m unsure if they’re heeding my call—or preparing to kill me. But they release Milo and Kaleida, leaving them in a relieved embrace.
The nearest root smacks the knife from Zandrite’s hand at my command. I spin out of his grasp in his moment of shock and stand before him, triumph holding me up through the pain and fear.
But he grabs my arm. His fingers burrow into my flesh so deep that I cry out. He yanks down, and I’m thrown to the floor, my shoulder ripped from the socket. I can’t move it, can’t think or breathe.
I push up on one arm, weak and wobbly, my legs bent to the side in front of me. I need to get up. I need to fight.
But I get no more than one foot on the ground and the other at an angle, ready to rise, when Zandrite’s foot slams down on my calf.
I hear it before I feel it. Thecrack. The snap of bone. Whatever sound I make after that is beyond me. I only feel my lips stretch into a scream and a sharp stab of pain.
The roots crowd above me, their tips pointed at him, threatening. The pain shifts to an intolerable ache deep in my leg. Two roots slip under my armpits and drag me backward.
I hear my scream this time. I’m positive my arm fell off and my entire leg shattered into nothingness, but when I open my eyes, it’s there—blood mixing with purple powder and forming a magenta paste, bone jutting through my pant leg. I blink. I know it’s not a vision no matter how much I want it to be. But as far as broken bodies go, it’s beautiful. The white of the bone, the smears of color. The rawness of it.
Kaleida runs to my side, hauling Milo along with her. “Ever, oh gods.”
Milo squeezes my hand and crawls to Eli’s undead body.
I raise my chin, and the roots all shift upward in a synchronized motion, as if in a show of solidarity.
“How?” Zandrite barks, more than unnerved.
I pack my pain away as best as I can. I barricade pathways, cleave nerves, splinter reality.
And I fight for myself.
It’s the daring conviction in my voice that’s hardest to muster. But I do. “What does it matter? I’m just a demigod. No more than a nuisance on my fiercest day, no?”
“What do you want, little spawn?” he seethes.
“I came for your essence. But now all I want is to watch you suffer.” I snap my fingers and point. A root with purple dusted skin spears forward and wraps itself around Zandrite’s neck. I twirl my finger in the air. The root pulls tighter.
He doesn’t even try to pry it away. He knows its strength. Terror gleams in his eyes. “Wait!”
A dry laugh scratches my bruised throat. The movement shifts my leg, and pain blasts me again. I breathe it away. “What’s the worry if I can’t kill you?”
