Chapter 22

CHAPTER 22

I actually blacked out.

When I came to, they were both holding me, my pussy sticky with cum, but it was so fucking good, I know they ruined me for any other monster. They helped me clean up and gave me water. Phrixius tries to heal my welts, but I decide to keep them, much to my demon's joy.

I really didn't mean to have sex with both the demon and Phrixius—okay, maybe I did. It wasn't planned though. I expect things to be awkward after, but if anything, it seems to have brought my demon and the god closer together. They haven't fought yet, so that's something. They do keep me away from the zombie, however, and I appreciate that. I shudder at the memory. I don't want to feel that again. I'm also feeling too raw to even discuss what happened, and they seem to take that hint.

I refuse to be ashamed of my response or the fact that I took them both. Sex is natural, and we all enjoyed it. I won't regret it. Hell, I'd do it again if given half the chance. I have no qualms that the demon and god have ruined me for my usual hookups. No matter how strange the monster, none will compare to how I was fucked tonight.

Clenching my thighs together, I try to focus on the present and not the feeling of my aching cunt, but as usual, my demon knows, and he winks. Luckily, he focuses on Phrixius and leaves me to my musings.

The god is sitting before the zombie, touching it through the bars. His eyes are closed as he tries to trace the magic. He mentioned it could take a while, since the remnants are old and lingering, not fresh and clear. It's strange that he didn't have a reaction like I did, but maybe it's because he's the god of magic.

That's what I tell myself, anyway, as I watch him.

His eyes open, and he turns to us, his eyes still glowing. "I have the trail. Take my hand."

"I don't do guys, sorry," the demon replies.

Sighing, I grab my demon and haul him over, grabbing Phrixius's outstretched hand.

"What will happen—" I scream as I am ripped away.

This is not like when the demon transports me. It's like magic wraps around us and rips us from time and space, and then suddenly, we are set back down, still holding one another but in a completely different place.

Is it night?

How?

The sky is dark—no, not night, I realise with horror. The darkness is smoke from fires. The flames lick at buildings' walls.

We are standing on top of a small grassy hill with a village spread before us. I don't know where we are, but the village looks ancient. The structures are made of thatched roofs and clay walls, and the fires are burning it all. There are no screams, though, no signs of running or panic, and despite it only being a small village, I know there should be someone.

"Where is everyone?" I whisper, a bad feeling building within me.

"I don't sense anyone," my demon murmurs, taking my hand as I step forward. "Be careful, Freya. Remember what we are hunting. They could still be here."

"They aren't. They are gone, and the trail is growing colder." Phrixius sighs and wanders away. We follow him, stepping into the silent, burning village. It feels like it's frozen. There's a teddy on the ground, and wooden toys lie forgotten where they were dropped.

Clothes still blow on lines strung between houses, and buckets near the well are overturned and leaking water, but there are no bodies . . . no people.

I just hope they managed to escape before the necromancer arrived.

The demon clicks, and the flames disappear, leaving smoking cinders and charred remains of houses. The smoke still fills the air, and I bat it away to see, my eyes stinging from it.

"Stop." Phrixius stops us, his arm spread in front of me, and he turns, blocking my view. "Don't look, Freya."

I blink, trying to clear the smoke. "What?" The smoke clears behind him, and he tries to cover my eyes, but I move past him, seeing what he did.

My heart stops, horror coursing through me at the sight in the middle of the village.

They didn't get away. They didn't escape.

They are all dead.

I gasp in horror, stumbling back as I try to make sense of it, piecing the scene together like a macabre puzzle.

The tree that remains in the centre of the village is a horrible sight, with bodies spread on its twisted branches. They range in age from old to young, and I even see a baby cradled in one of the branches, looking like it's sleeping, but blood covers its chest and its mouth is slack.

They are all dead. They were killed and hung like this to be found.

I heave as I turn, throwing up on the grass. A hand rubs my back as tears squeeze from my eyes. "Who could do this? Why?"

"Evil," Phrixius says. "Pure evil. They did not need to die, but the person wanted their deaths. Instead of letting them go after destroying their village, they chose to kill them as a warning."

"To whom?" I ask, wiping my mouth.

"To us," Phrixius murmurs, his eyes locked on the tree. "This village is where the last battle of the dark wars took place. It was built by their ancestors, and this tree was planted with magic after the last necromancer was killed. It was a sign of life, of rebirth. This is a warning." He turns and picks his way through the village.

I stumble after him, needing to get away from the tree and the smell of death that fills my lungs. He seems to know his way, and we find ourselves behind the village where an old graveyard sits.

Now, all the graves are overturned.

"They committed one more crime," he whispers. "After burning, killing, and desecrating the tree, they stole their lost loved ones for their army—the last disrespect they could offer. Whoever did this is powerful and old enough to know the stories of the dark wars and be angry about it." He glances at us, looking worried. "They are trying to bring back the dark nights when death spread across the land. They are trying to reclaim their power and territory, and with the mask they stole, they can. It holds the souls of the necromancers from the past. They are channelling them and joining their powers. This isn't one person anymore. This is an army. This is the dark wars all over again, and they will not stop until we are all dead or enslaved."

We cannot leave the villagers like this.

I cannot change what happened, and I know it's not my fault, but I can't help feeling an immense sense of guilt. What if we could have stopped them? I cannot change the past, but I can change the present.

Ignoring my demon's pleas, I climb into the tree and carefully lift the baby from the branch before I gently lay him on the straw my demon magicked for me. Then I climb back into the tree, making sure to memorise each face. I know they will haunt me, but I want them to. This one is a little girl, her hair in braids. A branch is thrust through her chest. As carefully as I can, I pull her free, catching her as she falls into my arms. Grunting, I lift her and climb down, laying her beside the baby.

Silently, Phrixius and my demon help me, climbing higher than I can and taking the bigger bodies. They don't use magic, and neither do I. Enough magic has been used on these people. They deserve the respect and love of being cared for after what they endured in life. I will not defile them in death.

Once they are all out, I turn to Phrixius. "We should bury them."

"We can't," he says, looking at them sadly. "I want to, but I can sense the remnants of the dark magic used to kill them inside them. If we bury them, he will be able to call their bodies back from the grave even years from now. To honour them and allow them peace in death, we have to burn them so he cannot do that."

"I hate that. They deserve to be buried," I snap, looking them over, "not to burn in the flames that stole their homes."

"Let me," my demon calls, taking my hand. "I will make it quick. They won't feel a thing, my little witch, and it will protect their spirits and their peace. Let me help you."

I turn to him with a nod. I take his hand, and we step forward. He's solemn for once, and even he looks angry and disgusted at what happened. Demons are creatures of evil, but not this evil.

With a click, flames appear in his hand, and he blows them across the bodies. We stand there, the heat licking at us as it absorbs into the corpses and the magic flames swallow them swiftly, making it as respectful as possible.

When the flames recede and extinguish, all that is left is the burnt earth, and I know it will stay like that for an eternity, scar for what happened here. Good.

"They are at peace," Phrixius murmurs.

I nod, and they wander around the village, searching for any others, while I turn to the tree, standing before the bloodstained branches.

How could someone do this?

How could someone kill innocents all because of an old grudge? These people did nothing. They were killed because of their ancestors' actions. How is that fair?

I might not agree that necromancers should be killed at birth, but I'm starting to understand why some feel that way. If one is capable of such death and destruction, then what would an army of them be capable of ?

Phrixius appears at my side, but I can't look away from the tree, something akin to fury igniting within me. The gods let this happen.

Gods . . .

"Shouldn't you tell the other gods?" I murmur, still staring at the tree.

"Not yet, not until I'm sure," he replies, and I glance at him in confusion as he cups my cheek. "Doing so would put you in danger. I will not allow that. Trust me, Freya, to handle this."

"What does that mean?" I whisper, staring into his shining eyes.

"Trust me," is all he says, and I nod as my demon returns.

"There is nothing else left."

"Then let's leave this place."

I nod again, and Phrixius takes us away from the horror, but I swear it follows me back home.

I swear I can still taste the smoke and blood, and I know I'll never be free of it.

I have been changed and scarred like that earth.