“Not really.” Acheron shrugged. “I stub my toes a lot less often in the light.”
“True, but the dark doesn’t burn your skin, and it makes hiding your flaws a lot easier.”
“That’s the problem, though, isn’t it?”
“What?” Thorn asked.
“Sooner or later, your flaws are always seen for what they are.”
“It’s why I pick such good ones.”
Acheron gave him an arch stare. “Do you?”
Thorn nodded, then counted them off on his fingers. “Being too good-looking, having too much money, and sleeping too late.”
Acheron laughed. “You’re incorrigible.”
Thorn didn’t comment on that. Instead, he changed the subject. “So how’s that boat coming?”
“Waiting for her crew. I think Bane will be quite pl…” His voice trailed off as his eyes turned dark, fiery red.
The room darkened as if a typhoon was rolling in.
Thorn stood and set his cup aside. “What is this?”
Belle answered. “Evil walks on calm legs.”
The windows shattered and blew glass shards through the room, sending the white curtains of the Omegrion’s chambers twisting in the violent wind.
Acheron held his arm up to shield his face, and the moment he did, a shadow shot out from his sleeve to wrap itself around him. “No, Simi!”
But his demon didn’t listen. She took the form of a young woman, dressed in breeches and a striped shirt. “You needs to leave, Akri! What lives in the sea can eats you, and it don’t need no condiments, neither!”
“I’m not afraid.”
She glared at him while Devyl and his Deadmen took positions around Paden.
Thorn summoned his burgundy battle armor. For a moment, he considered calling out to the Hell-Hunters for assistance, but heknew better. Michael and the rest of the Kalosum army hated him and his Hellchasers. No matter what they might say, they didn’t trust them.
They never would.
Nothing would change that. Not even the Malachai crashing open the gates of hell and this latest test of arms where the world might be ending.
But the day would come when they’d realize that they weren’t so different. That even though they were born worlds apart, their goals were the same.
That they all bled red.
And that the only way for them to have the peace they so desperately wanted, to have the world they craved, was to unite together and fight side by side as one family. Not to let their petty differences divide them.
Strong alone.
Stronger united.
So long as their suspicions kept them at each other’s throats—so long as their enemies had them tearing each other apart, they would always be weak. The Mavromino would always have a way to break through.
Just like now.
Thatwas the strength of the darkness. It was what kept it coming back even when they thought they had it defeated.
