I look down at the rat. It’s grooming its whiskers now, utterly oblivious.
Crave stills, all of him narrowing to a single point of attention fixed on me. The restraint is deliberate, controlled, but the readiness beneath it is unmistakable, poised for the moment I drag this into absolute hell. His assurance reaches me anyway, threading strength straight through my spine.
You can do this.
“Okay.” I close my eyes again, finding the tiny heartbeat. “Okay,” I repeat in a whisper.
I reach for it with something that isn’t my hand, my will, my magic, whatever the hell I am now. The Bloodfire inside me reacts instantly, rising in a hot, instinctive surge toward the rat’s life force as if recognizing a command I haven’t fully learned to give.
Stop.
The command ripples through my mind, wrapped in crimson-gold light.
The heartbeat stutters.
Slows.
Then stops.
The moment the rat’s heart goes still, the shift slams through the bond and through my magic like a shockwave. The life force freezes under my will, suspended in a strange, weightless stasis. It’s not death… not quite. It’s as if the world inhaled and refused to let the breath go. The energy hangs there, quiet, compliant, and somewhat unnerving.
A rush sweeps through me, layered with awe, terror, and exhilaration, twisting tight in my chest.
“Holy shit,” I whisper. “It worked!”
“Now start it again,” Hades says, maddeningly calm. “Before brain damage sets in. You have about thirty seconds.”
“What?”Panic spikes hard and fast, sharp enough to knock my breath sideways. My pulse jumps, my magic flares in response, and a tremor races through my hands even though I’m not physically touching a damn thing.
“Focus!” Oracle’s flames flare brighter, casting violent gold shadows across the walls. “You controlled it. Now, release it. Let the blood flow again… command it to live.”
My breath catches. The command should be simple, but the stillness inside that suspended life force is a void, silent and unreachable. I dive into it anyway, scrambling through the frozen space where the heartbeat used to be, forcing my magic to stretch farther than it ever has.
The stasis resists me.
It’s thick, sticky, unmoving, like trying to pull something living out of ice.
Panic claws up my spine.
Come on. Come on. Come on!
I shove my will deeper, wrapping my magic around the motionless heart, the way a hand would grasp a slippery object in the dark. The connection flickers in and out of reach, slipping every time I think I’ve caught hold. My chest tightens, sweat beads along my spine, and the Bloodfire inside me surges restlessly, wanting to take over, to burn through the problem instead of coaxing it.
Beat.
Please beat.
My magic strains, trembling under the pressure, threads of crimson-gold light stretching until they feel ready to snap.
Come on, you tiny furry asshole, BEAT!
The heart kicks.
A small jolt at first, a spark flaring where nothing should move at all. The beat stutters uncertainly, then hits again, harder, surer, forcing blood through veins that were momentsfrom forgetting their purpose. The rhythm doesn’t settle. It claws its way back into existence, uneven and insistent, an echo dragged out of the dark by sheer will.
Life returns not as a blessing… but as something reclaimed.
The rat lets out an offended squeak and launches itself off the platform, alive and furious.
