“Take two? I won’t miss this time, my darling,” snarled Vortigern-Imorean.
“Stop! Just let him go!” shouted Roxy, her voice shaking. Through darkness, Imorean reached for her. “I won’t fight him.”
“Then, your favorite human is going to kill you, Roxy. How will it feel? Looking into his eyes as you die. Knowing he’s feeling every moment.”
A leering smile stayed on Vortigern-Imorean’s lips. No! Imorean shouted in the pitch-black vacuum of his mind. He wasn’t going to kill Roxy, the best friend he had ever had, with a smile on his face and gray in his eyes. Vortigern-Imorean raised one arm. An attack incoming. Vortigern’s black-bladed weapon was lighter than Michael’s. Imorean snapped his wings out. Light. Light. Light. He needed light to break this darkness. The sword swung. Act now! Act now! He had to act now! White. Imorean swung Vortigern’s sword away. The blade missed Roxy’s neck by a hair’s breadth. Imorean took a step back and leaned over, sword point pressed into the ground. Breath pressed hot and heavy into his lungs. Air. He felt as though he hadn’t breathed in years.
“Imorean?” asked Roxy, taking a step toward him.
He looked up, giving her as big of a smile as he could muster.
“Roxy!” Michael’s voice caught Imorean’s attention. Michael. Tell him how to get rid of Vortigern! “Get away from him! Go! Get the others!”
Roxy paused. Imorean leaned up. Roxy looked between him and Michael. Torn.
Imorean groaned. Black pulsed in his vision. “Go! Please. Roxy, get out of here.”
Roxy moved, her rainbow wings finally flaring as she took to the air. Imorean looked up. Michael was just a shadowed figure. Roxy was vanishing into the distance. He turned away. Next step, get rid of Vortigern.
Oh, no you don’t. Imorean’s smile slipped from his face and darkness doused him again. He was thrust back into the corners of his mind. Control of his body ripped from his own agency. Vortigern-Imorean snorted.
Not so fast, kid. We aren’t finished here. Vortigern-Imorean spun to face Michael. Imorean stood again. Even now, he could feel Michael’s hesitation. Green eyes lingered on him, as though seeing through the Vortigern façade. Imorean felt a smile spread across his physical face. It was a smile he would never have given. Vortigern-Imorean ran in. Raise. Block. Parry. Imorean could just see Michael, face strained, movements slower than usual. This was real. Vortigern-Imorean ducked, Michael’s sword swinging in from the right. A razor tip tore through the tips of white hair. Imorean cried out. He could feel blood welling to the injury. Vortigern-Imorean launched back upright and spun, sword colliding with Michael’s again. A flash of resolve crossed Michael’s face. Green eyes hardened. He reached out, hand catching a white wing. Imorean felt the breath drive from his own chest as Michael slammed him against the ground. Vortigern’s sword flew from his hand. One foot planted in the center of his stomach, pinning his back against the wet sand. Imorean panted. Wing caught, back against the sand, sword at his chest. He was down. He wanted to reach out to Michael, but his body still was not his own. Michael stood through a haze of gray, sword levelled down toward Vortigern-Imorean’s chest. Imorean steadied himself inside the walls of his mind. It would be quick. He was sure of that. Michael would make it quick.
“You too, Brutus?” said Vortigern-Imorean, humor catching him. “I always liked that line. How does it feel, Michael? To know that after all the fostering, coddling and protecting you’ve done for him, that you’ll be the one to kill him? Or … he’ll kill you.”
Michael gave no response. Imorean looked through the haze into his eyes. Emotion glittered behind them. Hesitation. Hurt. Regret. And a horrible grip on duty. Imorean stiffened, Michael would kill him. A muscle in Michael’s jaw twitched. The pressure on his body shifted as Michael leaned forward, as though trying to convince himself to move. From his peripherals, Imorean could see Michael’s grip trembling around his sword hilt. Inwardly, Imorean screamed. Michael had to do something. Stop hesitating! This would end everything. He could see the hilt of Michael’s sword – hexagonal rather than circular. It was his backup weapon. This was it. This sword could kill him. Another shift in Michael’s weight. The razor sword tip quivered. Imorean felt one of his eyebrows raise. A smile crossed his face.
This’ll be fun. The world rippled in full color as the haze of gray pulled back. Imorean heaved a breath. He reached up, one hand gripping Michael’s trouser leg. He gasped as he was pulled to his feet. Hands let go of him. Imorean panted, trying to catch his breath. Michael had nearly crushed the life out of him.
“Michael,” he rasped, leaning over and rubbing his chest. Michael was there, one hand on his back, leaning down next to him. Brown eyes met green. “He’s not going to let go. Why didn’t you …?”
Michael stood him upright, one hand on each shoulder. “Not you, Imorean. To you … I cannot do this.”
Imorean shouted, hands at his temples, as gray crashed in again and Vortigern’s voice echoed in the back of his head. Did you think I would let it be that easy? Vortigern-Imorean ripped out of Michael’s grip, dancing away from him and reclaiming the black bladed sword. He grinned again. Imorean dropped to his knees in the darkness of his own mind. Michael couldn’t fight him. He was the only one here who could kill Vortigern and he was in no position for it now. Powerless. They were all powerless.
“Michael, that empathy of yours … makes such a good game. I’m loving this.”
Resolve pressed against Imorean’s head. Michael couldn’t kill him – he had said nothing about injuring him. Vortigern-Imorean ran forward. Imorean had no time to push for another escape. Michael adjusted his position, sword dropping for defense. Vortigern-Imorean raised his own, offense. Imorean could see the first flickers of neon touching Michael’s eyes. Vortigern-Imorean spun. Imorean screamed, willing his body to stop. He was faster than Michael. An offensive attack? Michael would never be able to stop him. The world banged gray, color, gray, color. Michael. His block broke. Imorean screamed in the confines of his mind as Vortigern-Imorean tore his sword across the backs of Michael’s thighs. Hamstrings slashed clean through. Michael screamed once, then fell to near silence. Vortigern-Imorean turned. Michael arrived in view, crumpled on the ground, legs underneath him. Red leaked into the sand. A smile broke over Vortigern-Imorean’s face. Michael rolled onto his stomach, a low groan resonating from deep in his throat. Emerald wings whistled against the air as Michael fought to rise. Imorean froze again, then sunk to his knees, the walls of his mind pressing inward. The light dancing along his wings died. Michael was down. His mentor. His creator. And he had done it. This was his fault. He had done this. The rain increased.
Roxy on the run. Michael down. I think we should let him bleed for a bit, don’t you? As for your mother … I saved the best for last. Imorean cried out, trying to summon any last bit of brightness he could grip onto. Anything to fight the darkness where Vortigern had thrust him. But he couldn’t. There was nothing. He was both powerful and powerless. He was killing. He was murderer and witness. He could not make Vortigern stop. Vortigern-Imorean redoubled his grip on Vortigern’s sword and stalked toward Imorean’s mother. She looked at him, eyes blank and confused. Imorean knew. She couldn’t defend herself if she tried. She had no will of her own left. No. No. No! No! She would not be made Vortigern’s victim again. The memory of her slim, strong hands gentle on his cheeks crashed into the side of his mind. He wouldn’t allow it. Imorean roared as he reared back in his own headspace. White sparked and flashed, shattering darkness into fragments.
Gray pulled back. The world burst into color. Imorean stumbled backward, hands at his chest. He could hear Vortigern screeching in the back of his head, the sound evil and furious. Imorean groaned. No. He had to stay in control. Michael and his mother depended on it. He hurled Vortigern’s black blade away. He would damage no one else.
“Imorean,” huffed Michael, half pushed up from the ground. “Keep fighting. The others are on the way. Keep fighting him. You can do it. Hold him of
f. Stay in control.”
A horrible tear lanced through Imorean’s chest. You’re a troublesome little bastard, you know. Pain exploded beside his head. Darkness threatened his vision. He gasped and stumbled again. Regardless of what Michael said, he couldn’t hold Vortigern much longer. This was a losing battle. He met Michael’s green eyes.
“I can’t. I can’t hold him.”
“Keep fighting. I am here. I will not leave you.” Michael tried to push off the ground again, but his legs failed him.
How sweet. He really cares for you. Such a shame you’re going to watch yourself cut his throat. Imorean screamed. God his throat was so raw. How many more times would he scream today? Claws scrabbled at his sternum, tearing at his heart. He pressed his hands to his chest, trying to pry away the invisible attacker. Vortigern was gearing up for another full-fledged possession. There was no way he could withstand another. Energy was draining away. Another way. There had to be another way. If Vortigern took permanent control of his body … he would be a furious combination of Archangel and Archdemon. One that Michael would be unable to fight. No. That must not happen. He had to do something. He was the only one here who could. Darkness seized the corners of his vision. Imorean gritted his teeth and flared his wings, white lifting the dark. Light refracted. Silver lay dropped in the dirt. He lunged at it. His sword! It couldn’t damage him, but it could damage Vortigern. Kill the demon trapped inside his own body. Rain beat against his skin. Fear was hot in the air.
A leather wrapped grip met Imorean’s hand. Its weight was familiar. An angel’s sword couldn’t damage its owner. It never would. He spun the weapon. An M glinted under the gray skies. Second letter of his name. The savage point faced his chest.
“Imorean, stop!”
Don’t you dare! Imorean closed his eyes and drove the weapon home. Blade, razor sharp, pierced his chest. Breath snatched in his throat. Pain. Raw. Consuming. World ending. He couldn’t breathe. A stifled rattle left his throat.
Oh … that’ll do it. Imorean tottered and slipped to the ground, legs going out from under him. He crashed against the sand. One wing folded under him as he fell. The other stretched out behind him like a banner. Even Vortigern’s voice sounded weak in the back of his head. Nearby, Michael screamed. Brown eyes raised. His mother had fallen as well, eyes rolling in her head, hands twitching. But alive. She was alive. Imorean’s mouth filled with blood. The world above was trembling. The clouds, darkening and swirling. Dying. He and Vortigern were dying. He closed his eyes. Maybe it wasn’t so bad. Beat Vortigern. That was all that mattered. Shame, though, that they had had to jump through all these hoops just for it to end here. What a waste. A hand landed in his own. Blood trailing the ground behind him, Michael had crawled to him. Imorean tightened his grip around Michael’s hand. He could feel Michael’s pain. Physical and emotional. He tried to tighten his fingers further, but even they felt numb. His back bled wet. Life ebbed out of him, draining into the ground below. Michael squeezed his hand, panting. Imorean gasped and groaned, gritting his teeth against a new wave of pain. Houska flashed in front of his eyes. What he had said to Michael rang in his ears.
“Easy, Imorean. Easy.”
“Michael. Michael, I’m … I don’t… I never meant to …” Imorean knew he was babbling, his speech rambling and disjointed. He needed to tell Michael. He couldn’t let Michael believe he hated him. But he couldn’t get the words out. A hand seemed to seize around his throat each time he tried to speak them.
“Shh. Shh. I am here. I will not leave you.” Michael’s voice was incredibly soft.
Imorean met green eyes. His vision blurred. Keep talking. He had to keep talking. Cling on. “My sword, Michael. It … it wasn’t supposed to do this.”
Michael glanced down and looked away. “Mine. It was mine. Imorean, I am sorry. I am so sorry. I should never have made you switch. Forgive me. I beg of you.”
Imorean groaned again and panted. His lungs didn’t want to fill with air anymore.
“Stay still, Imorean. Just hold on. Raphael is on his way.”
Breath caught in Imorean’s throat. How much help would Raphael really be? Stabbed clean through with an angel sword. There was nothing to be done. Comfort. Empty, but comfort nonetheless. Darkness opened ahead of him. What lay beyond?
“I’m cold, Michael.” Imorean closed his eyes as a tremble racked his body. A hand carded through his hair, gentle, gentler than he had ever felt Michael’s touch to be before. Something warm and wet landed on his cheek. Brown eyes opened a fragment. Michael’s green ones had welled up, the rims of them teary. Imorean rested his other hand on Michael’s wrist. Moving was painful. He gripped Michael as tight as he could.
“Michael.” He didn’t know how to ask for what he needed. He didn’t want to be alone. “Stay. Don’t leave.”
“I will never leave you. But you have to stay with me. Come on. Stay with me.”
Breath. It was a struggle now. Imorean gasped, desperately trying to draw more air into his lungs. He closed his eyes again. It was easier than holding them open. He tried to open his mouth once more, to tell Michael that he didn’t hate him. But words failed again. Energy peeled away from him. Heartbeats juddered in his chest, uneven and faint. In the distance, he felt Michael’s thumb stroke his cheek. The touch felt so different to Vortigern’s. Cold. He was so cold. He wanted to wrap his wings around his body. But he couldn’t lift them. They were too heavy. His body was too heavy. Roxy, Ryan, Colton, Toddy, Kadia, Baxter. He would never see them again. The friends who had stood beside him through all this. At least they were safe. Imorean swallowed. Blood left its hot tang in his mouth. Here. Eyelids fluttering, he opened his eyes again. Why did it have to be here? In Greece of all places? He could just see ruins of temple columns rising nearby. Far from home. He was so far from home. This wasn’t the end he had wanted – to die on foreign soil, a world away from where he belonged and the place he loved. A green gaze pressed into him. Urging, desperate. Brown eyes closed again – he didn’t have the strength left to hold them open anymore. Any strength he had had left was trickling out of him, soaking into the sand. Something small, cold and metal landed in his palm. Vague warmth came from far away. Michael’s lips were at his ear now.
“This is the last protection I can give you, Imorean. May you be in hell an hour before the devil knows you are there.”
Imorean tried to open his mouth, to open his eyes, but darkness, nothingness, the abyss, they were drawing him closer. He wanted to tighten his hand, to cling to Michael. But he was too weak. Rainbow color spattered behind closed vision. A horrified scream echoed low in his ears. Another droplet of wet landed on his cheek. Green draped over him like a blanket. A wing? Hands moved, holding tight. Michael’s thumb traced his cheek again. Lips pressed against his forehead. Somewhere in this, there was a kind of final security. Imorean tried to open his eyes. No energy. He had no energy left. Metal shattered. Sparks burst behind his eyes. The world closed, submerging him.
Chapter 73
Water. A river? Imorean groaned, brown eyes opening slowly. Wood creaked. He opened his eyes wider. Wood? A coffin? He sat bolt upright. No. Not a coffin. A boat. He looked around. The blackest, purest sky he had ever seen was strewn with stars arcing in unfamiliar patterns. The boat glided along dark water too smooth to be natural. Not even a ripple parted the mirror glass surface. Everything here was supernaturally calm. Quiet. Motionless. It was unnerving.
“Everyone reacts like this.”
Imorean spun. At the back of the boat, a paddle in his hands, was a hooded figure.
“Who are you?” he asked. He reached back for his sword, hand closing on empty air. No sword. No scabbard. They were gone.
“I am Charon. I escort the dead of Greece across the River Styx to the Underworld.”
“I – I’m dead?”
“Oh, yes,” nodded Charon. “And by your own hand, it seems.”
“But …” Imorean shook his head. He was dead. He had stabbed himself with
Michael’s sword. Of course, he was dead. “I have to go back. They need me.”
“Many soldiers say so,” said Charon. The hood tilted and Imorean felt himself being analyzed. “I have found though, that it is rarely the case. Life cannot be reversed, Imorean Frayneson.”
“You know my name?”
“I know all who I carry.”
“I thought … I thought an angel took souls to the afterlife.”
“Not always. You died in Greece at a Greek temple. It is only right that I take you on the final portion of the journey. Not all paths are the same.”
Imorean moved to the prow of the boat. “What’s on the other side of the river?”
“That is not for me to know. I am only the ferryman.”
Imorean swallowed. The unknown. He would have to face it soon. He wasn’t sure he wanted to. Fear raised its head. A tiny, ebony pier was quickly drawing close. Behind it towered massive, black gates. A dark, stone wall stretched on in either direction. Eternal. He looked over his shoulder at Charon. He didn’t want to leave the boat.
“If it is consolation, for that is what all the dead desire, belief creates reality. And you … well, you have a shield. You have more time than most.”
“What do you mean?” asked Imorean.
Charon laughed quietly. “Archangel Michael gave you the gift of an extra hour. Down here, that one hour means more than words can say.”
“Time passes differently, I’m assuming?”
“Very differently. Time has its own structure. Time here does not join with the world above. A week in the world above may be an hour here. An hour here may be moments or heartbeats in the world of living. Time is fluid.” Charon nodded toward the pier. “You have a visitor.”
Imorean closed his eyes. Vortigern. He should have known. Vortigern would never let him go. It was idiotic really, for him to think things could ever have ended on his terms. But what could be more final than death? Blinking out of existence? Out of memory? Drawing himself to his full height, Imorean turned. But it wasn’t Vortigern. Imorean’s mouth opened a fraction. A taller, older version of himself, was balanced on the edge of the pier. Pure white wings were half-flared behind broad shoulders. White hair was swept back from his older self’s forehead.
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