Page 79 of All Hallows Fate

I turned away. “Ew. Eugh. Yuck.”

“Got it,” Tor rumbled, his voice as gravelly and deep as a rock slide.

The moment he ripped the hook from the ground, smothering it in his own magic, the light cut off.

“Problem solved,” I said with relief, already turning back to the wall, the road, and my wife. My skin itched, and there was a tightness in my chest that would only ease when I set eyes on her again.3

“Not problem solved,” Tor growled. “How many spirits did he manage to drain before we cut him off?”

“Oh.” I chewed the inside of my lip. “Right. Definitely not problem solved.”

54

Cat

Ithrew my hands over my ears, the tips of my claws pricking my scalp as I tried to block out the piercing screams of the island’s dead. All the people who died in the name of Nightmare’s power, Cruelty’s delusion, and Violence’s greed. I had to wonder if the death toll was intentionally high for this moment, so he could drain the power from their souls and become something more than a god.

Joanna caught my eye and widened hers. Right. The drop of power. But how the fuck was I supposed to get to him when power crashed from the hammer driven into the muddy ground? I forced a step forward, hands still over my eyes, and the magic shoved me back.

My skin prickled, then burned. Gods, this was a lot of magic, and Violence stretched his arms out on either side of him, soaking it up. Becoming the king of gods as he’d craved. I hope he choked on his power.

I forced another step forward, teeth gritted when magic crackled up my arms and across my face. I screwed my eyes shut, but tears leaked from the corners. All that power ripped from the restless dead he and his sister murdered. An endless supply of magic, manufactured by them.

I had to clench my jaw when the next step turned the crackle to a burn, and my skin reddened, scalding, flaking—

Violence stumbled. Grunted. Blood splattered the white shirt of his shirt. And I realised that while I’d been forcing my way closer, so had the other death gods. They’d ripped the hole wider in Violence’s shields, just big enough for a person to fit. Just wide enough for Orwell to come through, and pierce the razor-sharp tips of his fingernails into the back of Violence’s neck.

I gasped, remembering that day in Death’s garden when Orwell drained Tor’s strength.

“Do it,” Orwell said through gritted teeth. Because Violence was more powerful than a god, swollen with it, like a mosquito gorged on blood, and it was only a matter of moments before he gained control.

I fumbled in the dirt for my scales, tore them from the mud, and forced so much fury and hunger for justice into them that sound rang from the metal, as clear and sharp as a bell.

There was a drop of life somewhere within this evil carcass, and ripping it out was the only way to restore balance.

Light cleaved his chest, punched through bone the same way light had ruptured through the ground from his hammer, and it was there. The kernel of life that animated him.

“Rip it out,” I urged, raspy, weaker than I expected.

The scales did no such thing. Instead the light engulfed that seed of life, chomped down, and ate it.

I stumbled back at the same time Violence roared and turned on Orwell. Neglect was right behind him, forcing her way through the gap and wielding a sword that looked comically large in her hands. It must have been heavy, even made of magic, but that didn’t stop her driving it into Violence’s chest. Others followed—Hunger, Passion, Wrath, a beautiful woman with onyx skin I recognised as Fear, and then strangers, people who’d answered our call, gods who refused to bend to the whims of a king of gods.

For a split second, I searched the new faces, as if I’d see someone familiar, and my chest tightened. But then light flashed from the hammer driven into the ground and I twisted away.

Violence got there first.

“Bastard,” I hissed, wrestling him for the instrument.

“Release it,” he ordered, raking scratches across the backs of my hands. My arms had only just healed from the burns; scratches were nothing, and they weren’t going to deter me.

I gripped the hammer so hard it hurt, refusing to surrender even a fraction of its power to Violence. “Give me my husband’s heart, and I will.”

“Fine,” he spat, and dug the heart from a swath of shadow, tossing it to the ground.

I released the hammer and dove to catch Pain’s heart. It was gilded in places, gold replacing flesh and blood. I cast around for him, choking on panic when I still didn’t see him anywhere.

“Cat!” Orwell yelled, giving me enough warning to secure Pain’s heart in a pocket of shadow and summon a swell of death magic. I honed it, compacted the magic into a shield, and flung it up just in time to catch the business end of Violence’s hammer.