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Fifi, Fenrir thought, heart climbing into his throat and lodging there. What have you done?

Chapter XLIV

Monster of the Rim

Sanctuary burned. From the very marrow of her obsidian bones to the tallest tower, each spire a conduit, a finger on the beating pulse of the network of spells that gave Sanctuary life. A network Orpheus now controlled. At her heart, he stood tall, toes lifting from the shattered ground with the force of his power, Gwen knelt at his feet watching her prison home crumble.

And as the world ripped back open in a virulent spill of cold fire, Orpheus thought he finally understood why the Architects unleashed the Incident.

This is for what the Architects did. A spire collapsed, crushing the western quarter of Sanctuary’s canal district.

This is for letting us all suffer while you were safe. A power cell mounted to the eastern wall flared, then turned its bolts inward, cutting a path towards the square through the homes bordering it.

This is for hurting me, and Gwen. At the center of the city, the cathedral’s bell tower tolled, a death knell Orpheus ripped from its supports, bell hurdling through the air to crash into the square in an arc of burning fire, tumbling end over end with every sickening gong until it punched through the tenements and set them all on fire.

This is for Fenrir. There where Orpheus stood, a fissure inched open, inches turning to feet and then yards, swallowing the blood magic sigil whole before reaching the cathedral itself, the massive structure teetering at the edge before beginning to crumble—Sanctuary’s heart broken, just like Orpheus’.

“Defenses are down, evacuate to the bunkers!” Atticus screamed from somewhere behind him. Slowly, Orpheus turned, wind whipping an unnatural cold up out of the fissure while he drew upon more Netherflame.

Not far away, Atticus crouched on one knee, cloak snapping in the wind, rage warping his face. Beyond him, Red and Farris huddled atop a broken chunk of obsidian, backed into the collapsed wall of the cathedral, the Architects nowhere to be seen. But it was Atticus who held Orpheus’ attention, the caustic drip of fear and hate too satisfying to ignore.

Rim-pale to Orpheus’ darkened night, they held each other’s gazes, a battle of will Orpheus had already won, but which Atticus resisted, because who would have expected his unfortunate mage to pack so much deadly power?

“Why so scared, Atticus?” Orpheus called out. “Isn’t this what you wanted?”

“How could you?” Atticus snarled, and only now Orpheus saw the tears streaking his face. “You fixed it. You saved us, just to tear it all down?”

“Says the man who tore everything from me,” Orpheus snapped back. “I was happy. Finally happy. And then you came and stole it all. After all I’ve done, all I sacrificed to save this hells-forsaken world. You came along and took it all away!”

“And what of my wife? Your side started this fight the day you killed her!” Atticus lurched to his feet, hands fisted at his sides. In the cold air, his breath fogged, but it could have as easily been steam with all the heat radiating from Atticus’ eyes. “We could have worked together if your side hadn’t murdered her in cold blood! That’s what started this all!”

“Would your Architects have even allowed that?” Orpheus hissed, Gwen gripping his robe when, beneath them, the chasm rumbled, the fissure between them and Atticus cracking wider. “Your wife, working with the savages your forefathers were so determined to kill? Or would they have sought some other way to harness my power? Hunted me down like you had those children in the Rim? Done to me what you’ve done to Gwen and chained me to this place and the hells-cursed will of your murderous agenda for the greater good?” He spat the words like they were acid, and Atticus flinched, as if he knew the truth of what Orpheus accused.

“We’d have figured it out!” Atticus stumbled when another tremor rocked the square. “All I wanted was to build something better. Something that would have benefited everyone. That’s worth any cost!”

“Any cost? You would have killed her!” Orpheus roared, Gwen clutching him tighter. And it was that, more than anything, that seemed to break Atticus.

“I wouldn’t have,” he whispered, sound barely carrying. “Gwen, I never would have let them hurt you.”

It was Gwen who said, “I don’t believe you.”

Atticus closed his eyes, sagging where he stood. “So, you will kill them all?” he asked Orpheus. “All these innocent people, for revenge?”

“Your people aren’t innocent. They’re the reason the world was nearly snuffed out, why so many have suffered, and that wasn’t a mistake or misunderstanding. That was your plan. That was your intention. And if there is one thing I understand, it’s that intentions matter, and yours have only ever been for your own selfish gain!”

“And yet suffering is still not a justification to this!” Atticus lifted his hand and spun around, eyes glimmering with the shards of a pain long buried. “My wife wanted peace, and to your empress, that was a death sentence. And I can never forgive that. We can never go back!” Wind whipping his cloak, the fissure bathed Atticus in violet. “You’re nothing but a monster, just like her. Just like him.”

“Fenrir wasn’t a monster.” Orpheus’ voice cracked. “He was a hero, the best the world had known, and you killed him. And I can never forgive that!”

All around them, Sanctuary came apart, crumbling into the fissure he’d created, a mirror to the one this city had made when the Architects had wrenched it out of Hell.

Now, he’d send it back in pieces, alongside the bodies of the people who had hurt him.

One deep breath and Netherflame crackled, his fury a firestorm, this place a grave.

Orpheus raised his hands, then hesitated.

There, over the western wall where the spire had collapsed was the Prometheus.