by Crymsyn Hart
Azrael chuckled.
“What?” Legba asked.
“Nothing. Sounds familiar. That’s all,” he responded.
“You’re thinking of what history and folk tales tell you,” Hekate clarified. “In the beginning of everything, there was Chaos. He ran the universe along with Nyx. Together, they birthed Chronos. Nyx saw the devastation Chaos caused. Nyx loved her husband, but everything that was around him, he destroyed. After the birth of her son, the devastation began to cause harm Nyx’s beloved stars. She cried to Chronos to go to his father and beg him to stop destroying things. Chaos wouldn’t hear his son’s pleas. They fought. Chronos won. He tore his father into the seven pieces that created us. The eighth piece was his essence. It was sealed away, so his power wouldn’t pass on to some unsuspecting mortal. Chronos charged the new gods with finding places for it and the seven pieces so that Chaos would never be resurrected. We focused that energy from Chaos into specific things and pushed that bit of our creator into the piece, so they were still tied to us. The Fates picked seven shamans who had a strong connection with the spirit world and with death. The Fates bound the pieces to the shamans, creating the undertakers. We didn’t know who they were until the strings tugged on us. The jar was spirited away by the undertakers until it was lost to history. Then, the Fates came to us with a prophecy. They said: ‘One day, the pieces will be reunited by one who can heal death. Chaos will either reign, or the universe will become unraveled, and all that was known will be turned on its head.’”
“The pieces get reunited by a necromancer. That much is clear. However, I have no means to reunite them,” Darria said.
“Actually,” a woman responded, “you will reunite them. Then, the universe will cease. We have already seen it.”
Three women appeared. One of them was holding Oliver with scissors at his throat. Thin slashes from the blade marred his skin. From each cut, dark lines of poison infected his flesh. Darria’s heart went out to him. The other woman had Rory. Darria felt the darkness of death around them the same way she could with the other gods. It would be so easy to take them over and force her will onto them. She concentrated and was about to throw her power at them, but the one who posed as Sonia, who had Oliver in hand, shook her head.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you. Unleash your power on us, and I’ll end him. Where do you think these blades come from? They are weapons of death.”
“Don’t do it, Darria,” Oliver wheezed.
She bit her lip and glanced back at Azrael, who remained impassive.
“This is your decision. You can sacrifice everything you love and defy them, maybe end up dead, and try to kill them, or you can put the pieces together and pray you’re strong enough to deal with the aftermath of what comes next.”
She looked back at the Fates. “What does come next?” she shot back at him.
“That is your road to walk. My time is done here. I’m sorry that I can’t give you more guidance.”
“What if they kill Oliver?”
“You don’t need me to give you permission to save the man you love. I told you once that you shouldn’t take over any of my harvesters, but I’m not so sure Oliver is mine anymore. You never know what Chaos can do. He’s a powerful force, even for one so divine.” Azrael stretched his wings.
“Leaving already, Azrael?” the dark fate said.
He bowed to them, but Darria didn’t sense that it was out of respect. He locked eyes with her and then went back to them. “I have other matters that need attending. I have fulfilled my role here now that Darria’s harvester has appeared. Ladies, I pray you really know what you’re unleashing.” A dark slit in the fabric of time opened behind him. In it, she saw the darkness of space and the stars that dotted the cosmos. The deathly angel slipped through the gash. It sealed itself back up, taking him and whatever help he was going to be with him.
Oliver was bruised from where they had tortured him. It was the same with Rory. He seemed wan and paler than he had been. One of his eyes was swollen. His hands were bound together with white thread. He tried to talk, but all that came out were muffled gasps. His lips were sewn shut. Gabbie stood over the jar and growled.
“Hush, beast. I’ll turn you back to stone, and you’ll end up a monument forever here in the graveyard,” the leader of the Fates said to her.
“You have no power here, Ker,” Hekate said. “You are mere shadows of your sisters, the true Fates.”
“Wait. I thought these were the Fates.” Darria answered as confusion came over her.
All three women laughed. Their twittering grated on her nerves. The one who had Oliver, Ker, flashed her a wicked smile. “How easy it is to confuse mortals. We made you believe Ankou was the necromancer behind all the bad things happening to you. That was so much fun, seeing you run around, trying to figure it all out. Silly undertaker; you have no idea who we truly are. My sisters, Letum and Tenebrae, and I thread the shadows behind the destinies. It’s time that we weave the universe into our own image, the way it was supposed to be. The Fates, as you call them, are but shadows of us. We might be their sisters, but we’re only distantly related. They’ve always taken a pacifistic role. We have spun the shadows behind them, moving humans and things, until this very moment. With the power of Chaos, we can do whatever we want, bring back whomever we want.”
“You don’t know what you’re getting into if you reassemble him,” Papa Legba said.
“His power is uncontrollable. Why do you think he’s called chaos? Idiot women.”
Letum flicked her fingers. The god was thrown backward against one of the larger headstones. Black threads wrapped around him and held him to the slate stone. “Silence from you. We may linger in the shadows, but we do exist. Eventually, everything comes to death. It’s time that we remake the world in our own image. The dimensions are in fluctuation. The undertakers were killed because of a decision of another trio of sisters. We saw our chance. The veils are thinner than they were last time. It’s the right time for us.”
Legba struggled when Letum threw another thread at him and covered his entire face. Ker ran her fingers over Oliver’s chest. Darria trailed her fingers over the items on her left arm and felt the pieces gathering power. The urge to grab the jar and smash it itched more strongly on her soul but held herself back because the ramifications would be disastrous. When she glanced at Oliver and saw him staring at her, Rory panicking, she knew she was going to have to face what was to come.
It was inevitable.
“Let my harvester and my assistant go. Then, I’ll put the pieces together. They go first.” Darria held her chin up, facing the three dark fates.
“Darria, don’t do this,” Hekate warned her in a hushed whisper. “You’ll wipe out everything. The universe will unravel. Chaos will be unleashed.”
“I can’t let those bitches kill them,” she replied.
“Do the lives of two people mean so much over the destiny of the entire universe?” Hekate asked her.
“Enough squabbling. No deal. Put everything together first, and then, I’ll let one of them go,” Tenebrae said to her.
“I guess you’re not going to get what you wanted.” Darria crossed her arms over her chest.
“Then you’ve brought doom to one you hold dear.” Ker shoved Oliver into one of the gravestones and doubled over. She grabbed Rory and sliced his throat with the scissors. Blood gushed out to water the grass, and the blades sopped it up.
“Rory.” Darria dashed over to him. Tenebrae stood over her. Darria’s right arm burned. When she looked down, Rory’s arm was bare again. The key was no longer on his flesh. She was now the sole owner.
“Do as we command, or your harvester is next. Do you want that?” Tenebrae asked her.
Darria wiped the tears away. The darkness inside of her crept up. It wanted to take control and do things to these dark fates she had never thought were possible. The shadows were tangible to her. It seemed that she could reach out and touch them if she lingered
on her anger. Fleeting thoughts filtered through her mind, but none of them seemed to be the right thing to do. She stood up and stared at the three women and then back at Hekate.
“Don’t do it, Darria. It will destroy everything you know and love,” Hekate whispered.
She walked over to Oliver when Mercury blocked her path. “I don’t think so.”
She gathered her energy and waved her hand at the other familiar. He roared, but she forced the bull backward. “I knew something was off about you.” The bull shrank. The more she focused on Mercury, the more she was able to feel its energy. Darria latched on to it and banished the bull. She drew in a few breaths and stared at the other three women. Her whole body buzzed. “You might have killed my assistant, but you’re going to let me talk to Oliver before I rip the universe to shreds. Can you deal with that?”
The three looked at one another.
“Make it quick,” Ker spat.
Darria took Oliver in her arms. The harvester moaned. The poison from the metal was spreading within his veins. She touched the side of his face and drew his attention.
“What happened?” Darria asked through the link that bound them.
His dark gaze flicked to the others. “I wanted to check on you. I found Rory and recognized the Dark Fate for what she was and not Sonia, the undertaker. She took me out with her thread before I was able to do anything else about it. I wanted to talk to you.” He reached inside of his jeans pocket and pulled out the red poppy. “I got your message. I was a fool to take away the coin and bar you from the graveyard.” He pressed the poppy into her hand. The power of it radiated up her arm.
“It’s okay. I was pissed, but I understand why you did it. I’m sorry you had to be dragged into all of this.” Darria caressed his cheek.
“Are you done yet?” Ker snapped.
“Don’t do this, Darria. If you open that jar, it will mean that you die. The universe will be unwritten. He’ll consume everything,” Oliver begged her.
“I don’t have a choice. You’re dying, even if you want to try to hide it. The wounds are deeper than you’re letting on. I can’t lose you.”
“I’m already dead.”
Tenebrae grabbed her arm and hauled her away from Oliver. The Dark Fate threw Darria down by Gabbie and pointed to the jar. “Put the pieces together and open the jar. Then, use your power to resurrect the dead.”
“Fine. But when I do, you let them all go.”
“Whatever; we won’t need them after this is done. Get on with it.”
“Fine,” Darria muttered.
She ran her hand along her arm and slowly pulled out all of the objects embedded there. She placed them all in a circle. She took the key from her arm and inserted it into the last spot in the circle. The objects sparked with energy. Hekate groaned and doubled over. Silver threads wove between all seven pieces. It was a mistake for Gabbie to bring her here. They were in the center of purgatory or wherever the graveyards intersected in another plane. If they were to unleash the god Chaos here, then everywhere the cemeteries touched would be affected.
“Something wrong?” Ker asked.
“No. I was thinking. Why don’t we do this back at the house?”
The woman slapped her across the face, and her head turned back. Darria thought she had broken her jaw. “I say we get this over with, so we can welcome back Chaos and harness his power. Get to it, or you won’t have the last few minutes of your miserable life to spend with your harvester.”
Darria rubbed her cheek where the Fate had hit her and peered over at Oliver. The light in his eyes was dimming. Gabbie was over by Hekate, and Legba was still trying to get free. The other women gathered around Darria. Tenebrae handed her the jar.
The circle of objects hovered above the ground, sending little sparks of lighting outward as they spun. Whatever was in the container would resurrect a god—not just any god but a primal one who had helped create the universe. None of this was in the handbook when Darria had signed on for the job. She ran her fingers over the inscription of the jar.
Breath of life that only death can control.
It hadn’t changed.
She was hoping that maybe something would switch the way her tattoos had morphed. Instead, she looked at all the eyes watching her. The three Dark Fates were filled with glee at what was going to come. They were already trying to figure out how they would remake the world in their own image. Gabbie’s eyes were the liquid intelligence she had come to trust. Oliver watched her as the poison slipped further along his veins. Rory’s eyes were glassy, accusing her of what was to come. The power of the objects called to her. They held the memories of those who had come before. All that was going to be lost. The whole universe would be lost. There had to be something that would allow her to stop all of this.
There had to be.
Ker held the scissors to Oliver’s throat. “Get on with it.”
“Can’t you feel that he’s coming?” Tenebrae exclaimed with glee. The laughter in her voice made Darria realize she was insane.
They’re all batshit crazy. This is not going to end well. Darria stood mesmerized by the revolving disk the objects had become. The darkness within her grew more piqued by what was going on. She wanted to go with it. All the spirits that resided within the graveyard stirred from their graves, being pulled by the destructive power.
“Do it, or he dies, and there is no more waiting,” Ker demanded.
Darria’s fingers ran over the inscription once more, and it sparked something. Azrael had said something about chaos and being able to handle it. It was a powerful force to handle for one so divine. I’m not divine. Whatever happens, I’m not going to let this take over the world. She threw the jar down onto the ground. A gray-white cloud expanded and whizzed toward the spinning disk. Once it came into contact with them, the world exploded.
Something hit Darria and threw her backward. She sensed an otherness that pressed on her chest. When she breathed in, the otherness slid down her throat. It was small at first, but it grew inside of her. She stood and looked at the devastation. Headstones and tombs had been leveled. A supernatural bomb had exploded. Darria grabbed on to the first thing she could to steady herself. The otherness grew, gaining strength and taking over her body.
“You will feed me the energy I need to rise,” a hard voice said inside of her. It seemed male and female all at once, layered over one another.
All of a sudden, she felt like she was hit in the gut, and her lungs were burning for air. She fell to her knees and raked her fingers through the grass, collecting bits of stone. Darria was used to having another being with her and fighting it. She was not going to have the newly revamped god sharing the space within her. Chaos had been born from her actions. Darria closed her eyes and pushed her mind inward. Instead of a long hallway of memories, she was on a flat, gray surface. Storm clouds roiled and cracked with amethyst lightning. Her other half remained like a double exposure. Whoever else resided in her, that wasn’t part of the god she had noticed before. A flame, burning both black and white, twined around together. A third presence reared its head.
Chaos.
He stood, fragmented. His limbs were askew, and his facial features kept changing. The eight pieces of him hadn’t cemented together yet. He grabbed on to her necromancer side and started siphoning the life force from her. Darria cried out from the pain. She wouldn’t be the vessel that birthed the primal god back into existence. To save herself, she limped over to the entwined flames. They flared as she got close to the only other source of energy. Something awoke within her that imparted her with the strength she needed. Darria stood up. Energy sparked from her fingers. She flung it at the god. Chaos screamed and released her necromantic half, who was nothing more than a husk on the floor of her withered mind. Darria had never felt so alive.
“You will not use me. Now get out.” She blasted Chaos with all the energy she had tapped into. It felt as though her insides were on fire. Her limbs were heavy. Chaos shrieked
. The energy left her in a rush, and Darria was shocked back to the real world.
Something slithered up her throat. As she vomited, it spewed over her lips. Darria sat back against one of the tombstones to catch her breath. It felt like she had been torn in half, plugged into a light socket, and drained; she could barely keep her eyes open. All she wanted was to sleep for a week. As she fought the malaise, Gabbie limped toward her. Hekate was on the ground with Ker’s scissors buried in her chest. The color of her skin was growing paler by the second. Darria crawled over to the goddess.
“You can’t let them,” Hekate whispered.
“I don’t know how to stop him. You can’t be dying,” Darria said to her.
Hekate touched her hand. “Weapons forged by the gods can kill any kind of god. Take the scissors. Use them against Chaos, no matter what the cost. He can’t rise once more.”
“But—”
Oliver screamed behind her. It was a scream of horror and pain.
Chaos had found another host.
Hekate moved Darria’s hand to the scissors. “You have to do this, no matter what happens.” She wheezed, and then, her eyes glazed over.
Darria pulled the scissors out of Hekate’s chest. Darria held the scissors in her hand and turned to face what had happened to the others. Oliver was no longer on the ground. He stood in the center of the devastation. The three Dark Fates bowed before Oliver.
“Oliver,” Darria whispered.
The man that had been her harvester turned to look at her. His expression turned sinister. The corners of his mouth turned into his cheeks. This was not the man she loved anymore. Darria tried to follow the link they had together, but it was closed off. She pulled her mind back, and the dark laughter she heard turned her heart cold. Oliver still had to be in there, fighting Chaos. She couldn’t give up on him.
“Master, we have waited for eons for you.” Ker prostrated herself before him.
He placed a hand on her head. “You have done well and led me to a wonderful vessel. The power within him and the one I was born from have given me form. Come here and let me reward you for all your efforts.”