Neither god, nor man. Nor any preternatural creature.
They would all burn and kowtow to him.
The only hope was an obscure legend of the Excambiare Malachai. Like the firstborn Malachai, known as Monakribos, this one would be conceived from an equal share of the light and dark powers. Whereas Monakribos held a father of light and a mother of dark, the Excambiare would have a mother of light and a Malachai father of utter darkness.
The Excambiare’s birth would complete the Malachai cycle and restore the balance that had been shifted by the thousands of Malachai who’d come along after Monakribos. It would break the curse that had been placed on the Malachai bloodline by the primal gods, and shatter the Malachai’s Cimmerian bonds. He would be free to serve himself, and no longer be bound solely to evil.
After all these centuries, the Malachai would exist as a fully balanced creature.
Regression to the mean. It was, after all, what the universe ever endeavored to achieve. And as one of those chosen tools it used to maintain such a balance, Thorn was well used to the games the universe played.
But no one really believed in the legend. Mostly because of how a Malachai was conceived.
They were born from acts of extreme and utter violence. It was why their mothers were almost always demons. Humans rarely survived sex with their hated breed, and the Malachai avoided the gods because divinity tended to heap even more curses upon their already damned bloodline.
So the concept of a birth mother born on the side of light, loving her Malachai child, was inconceivable and about as likely as Thorn embracing his father and having a beer with the beast.
Of course, it didn’t help that as soon as any child of Adarian’s reached the age of puberty and showed any signs of holding a Malachai’s powers, Adarian slaughtered him and ate the boy’s abilities whole.
The last time that had happened, it’d been bloody enough.
Now …
“How is Adarian so strong if he’s not living with Noir and Azura?”
Gabriel grimaced as he killed the demon in front of him and swung around to face Thorn. “Like the parasite he is, he feeds on human hatred and violence. God knows, there’s plenty of that to go ’round. He’s found a way to channel it to his own powers, so when he slaughtered this most recent child, some of the gates crashed.”
“And his generals?”
“So far, none of them have escaped their prisons to rush to his side. Let us pray it remains so.”
Definitely. That was the last thing they needed on top of this mess—the release of the Riders of the Apocalypse.
Yeah, he’d like to avoid dealing with those pissed-off bitches for a bit longer.
“I have to warn Bane and the others.”
Gabriel caught Thorn’s arm as he started to withdraw. “You know the rules. You interfere now and you’ll end their parole.”
Thorn’s jaw went slack. “What of Michael’s medallion?”
“You can return it later. But for now…” Gabriel swept his gaze over the desert battlefield where they were slowly losing more ground. “We need you here.”
Thorn scoffed. “Sarim asking for my help? Seriously?”
Yet this was what he’d always wanted. For them to accept him as one of them. Still, he knew not to put any faith in this day or their truce that wouldn’t last. This was nothing more than necessity. There was no true camaraderie here. No love.
He wasn’t one of them and they all knew it. But it was a chance to prove to them that he wasn’t the backbiting piece of his shit his father had been.
So he’d stay and fight.
However, as stated, he wasn’t the backbiting piece of shit his father had been. And he wasn’t about to leave the Deadmen out to hang either. Not with what was coming through this gate, or with the Carian. Not while they were depending on him to keep them notified and safe. He would never abandon his own men. In spite of his genes and what others thought of him.
Rules and codes be damned. They were his friends.
More than that, his Hellchasers were the closest thing to a family he’d ever known and he’d die before he let any of them down.
Falling back into the shadows of a palm tree, he used his powers to summon his sharoc companion. “Sorza!”
