32. “You know my power is no trifle. What will you give in return?”

Chapter 32

"You know my power is no trifle. What will you give in return?"

NYXION

"The Dark Of You" by Breaking Benjamin

"Our Solemn Hour" by Within Temptation

"The Light Behind Your Eyes" by My Chemical Romance

"Oh, Death" by Jen Titus

E nvy does not rule me when Morpheus drives Zenya up against the nearest stone wall outside of the prison—and impales her on his shadow cock. Torment does.

She'd stared at him most, his skin and flesh like organic ribbons dangling from his cheekbones. And how he was rendered fully blind after the last battle. Grief carved through me when she cupped his wreckage of a face and kissed him long and full on his fleshy ruin of a mouth.

Now, I watch with a cold, dark possession as he fucks her against the wall until he's restored—piece by piece. Glassy eyes meet mine, swollen lips, and a hard swallow. Shadows shackle her arms to the wall. His one palm flattens the wall while the other journeys down the right side of her body. He thumbs her pierced nipple, delights in her moan, and captures the moan with his mouth.

His rhythm picks up until he's hammering into her with hardly a beat until she arches, her head tips back, and her lips part in a raw climax. He jerks, snaps, and fills her with his release.

Her fingers wander across his cheek as he fixes his gaze on her. "Can you?—"

He nods and kisses her palm. "I see you, sweet dreamer."

She sighs with a tender nod as he slowly lowers her to the ground. I turn away, having punished myself by watching her and my brother together but without gracing myself with the glorious sight of her clothed in nothing but her tattoos.

When she touches my shoulder, I startle at the unexpected gesture.

"Nyxion…" Her voice is soft as a dark lullaby.

Turning to face her, I breathe deeper, heavier without lowering my eyes from her gaze. For eyes are windows to the soul, and her soul is as beautiful in its duality as the artistry upon her skin. She glows with an ethereal light amid the shadows and stone walls around us.

Now, she cups my cheekbone, my skull with her thumb brushing my mandible at the barest corner of my teeth.

She blinks, her eyes turning from aquamarine to dark. Those fingers curve, nails poised but not scraping.

Beastie… I lower my head in a gesture of homage.

"We're having a bit of a dispute." She winces, then sighs heavily. "She wishes to kiss you. And I will reluctantly agree to one. You earned it when you inspired her blanket fort and battled death…"

I clutch at her fingers with my skeletal ones, removing her palm from my skull without breaking her gaze. I have earned nothing. A kiss would be a gift to my undeserving soul.

She studies me for a moment, then nods slowly. "Perhaps, but sometimes the undeserving need gifts the most. Let this kiss be the beginning of a bridge between us."

I grip her hand tighter, a silent agreement passing between us. I'd build you a bridge with my very bones if it granted you another blessed step.

Dark eyes fade to the bluest green, and Zenya doesn't hesitate. She rises onto her tiptoes and presses her mouth to my skull and teeth—as if she doesn't want to give Beastie a chance to change her mind. Her kiss is tender yet insistent, her tongue easing past my teeth, careless if they may cut.

I open my jaw and close my eyes to taste the sweetness and raw intensity. Her warmth seeps into me, destroying any barriers that have long surrounded my heart.

Fleeting moments pass in silence. Hardly aware of my brother's presence as she kisses me, and when she parts from me, I find she has woven herself a gown— the gown—the same one she wore when she first arrived and crashed into me in the cemetery.

Hecate manifests behind Zenya, garbed in a sheer purple gown with black embroidery and gold rings holding the straps. Zenya spins and throws her arms around the Goddess, burying her face in her shoulder.

"Shh, now, little dreamer," she soothes Zenya while stroking the back of her hair. "The time for tears will be later. Tears of joy and the purity of your emotions."

Morpheus nods to her. "Where did you disappear to?"

Hecate presses her lips into a knowing smile as Zenya pulls back to look up at her. "I was nearby…watching. You didn't need my interference with you two unifying in battle for the first time. And Beastie knew exactly how to help her host, partially thanks to Nyxion. But…it is time to take Zenya to her final Trial." Eyes as bright as her torches, she takes Zenya's hands, tilts her head, and they disappear into shadows. Morpheus follows.

With a deep breath and all my misgivings overwhelming my mind, I join them.

We arrive at the third pinnacle, the final cliff where Zenya must embark on her greatest trial yet—armed with nothing more than her bone needle and the sand. And us acting as mere allies.

But will I prove to be an ally or a reminder of her greatest nightmare?

None can predict the future, but if my suspicions are confirmed, it was the worst night of her life. Would that I could spare her, but perhaps…

She shivers, a chill snaking up her spine as she undoubtedly imagines the memory.

After one glance exchanged at each of us, Zenya takes a deep breath, creeps one bare foot beyond her white gown, and steps off the edge of the cliff. She falls like the most beautiful lost specter.

We fall with her.

She is sleeping when they come.

Drunken laughter shatters the serenity of the forest. It was her first time camping alone in an off-the-grid campground, isolated and barren of other campers.

They followed her. Stalked her.

Rage simmers in my blood as the stumbling footsteps of the college stalkers move for her tent. Morpheus is equally wrathful, his shadows swarming around his bulging wings, clenched fist at his side. Helplessness claws through me.

Present Zenya watches from the shadows. Her heart pounds so hard in her chest, it echoes like an organ beat, resonating through my entire being. All her instinct screams at her to wake her past self and run. But she can't change the past.

If she tries again, Death will come for her.

I feel every tremor of past Zenya's fear, the raw terror that grips her soul this night. The horror in her eyes as she is wrenched from her tent, her screams muffled by rough hands.

The stalkers, their faces twisted with cruel intent, drag her deeper into the woods. They invoke her father's name—call her a ‘witch', ‘bad seed', their sole motive to rid the world of a future monster when they were the real monsters.

They strip her.

Silent anguish writes itself all over present Zenya as she crashes to her knees, her eyes weeping long-suppressed tears she hid behind her tattoos and travels.

They tie her to a tree.

Fury spears through me because their actions are too monstrous to articulate. Pieces of Zenya break off. I witness the loss of humanity, the death of those pieces as she does. I witness how she shatters beneath the gravity of their drunken abuse.

Advancing to present Zenya, I stand behind her, offering her my skeletal hand, what little I may with my presence. She wastes no time in gripping them so hard, the bones break. I cherish the pain, worshiping the torment for the sake of sharing her deeper pain.

When past Zenya's eyes turn vacant while they use her, I flick my gaze to my brother and Hecate, a fraction of mending through the shattering. They weave their dark magic, manipulating past Zenya's reality.

As the trauma unfolds, her mind begins to fracture.

Beastie surfaces intermittently, her jaw tightening, her eyes narrowing with a darkness only visible to us. The fierce protector fronts in and out of the trauma, taking the worst of the abuse. Her strength shields Zenya.

Morpheus's whispers intertwine with Hecate's incantations, drawing Zenya into a dissociative state. She drifts into a lucid dream-like state, her consciousness flickering like a fragile candle. The horrors become fragmented, blurred by delusions and illusions that Morpheus conjures, each one a merciful escape from reality.

Their visions of dark horses gallop through her fractured visions, their shadows blending with the surreal imagery of Hecate's hounds—now playful puppies yipping as they surround her, creating a stark contrast to the terror.

Present Zenya watches the events unfold, her white-knuckled fingers clenching with the need to do something. Her lips part, and I know a silent scream pierces the fabric of her mind. Her breaths turn ragged.

Gods, she doubles over, body seizing—the echoes of the pain and abuse resurrected. Each tremor quaking through her testifies to her inner battle, her entire soul aching and tearing with her horror.

I sense every nuance of her emotional turmoil. Her desperation and fear smite me like a physical force, a pressure against my chest, splintering my bones, and bleeding my heart. An unrelenting reminder of the pain I can't fully erase.

She holds herself together, impossible from the emotional sutures splitting—like she's trying to dam the blood flow when it's already gushing a well on the ground. She can't contain the sorrow. It's a cold, dark aura, and if I could, I would take the pain into myself and relive it for eternity.

The darkness is crushing her.

Once again, her tears undo me.

I summon my bones, creating the framework of a new blanket fort where she may hide. She doesn't flinch. She doesn't look at me. She is fixed on her body, her eyes as hollow as her past self. She's reliving it in the eternity of this moment.

Zenya is at her strongest on her knees. Sometimes, it takes greater power to understand the helplessness of one's fate.

But I am not helpless.

Unable to bear the torment any longer, I know what I must do—who I must seek.

I shadow travel to the deepest cave, advance into the cavern, and trod upon the bones until I am face to face with my father. He sleeps as the great owl, his massive wings tucked close to his body with that massive skull curled into the feathered layers of his chest.

I have no qualms, no hesitations about disturbing him.

All it takes is a mere nightmare fragment for him to wake, growling his annoyance at my disturbance.

" PHOBETOR! " He shakes out his wings, his sinister, glowing eyes leering down on me. I imagine he's considering annihilating this version of me, starting anew with a regenerative cycle of the nightmare embodiment I used to be.

I fall to my fucking knees, bowing my head in reverence and desperation.

Father, my voice is a whisper in our shared consciousness—a plea drenched in sorrow and urgency. I need the power of sleep and hypnosis to save her.

Hypnos regards me with ancient, unreadable eyes. "You know my power is no trifle. What will you give in return?"

I swallow hard, understanding the gravity of my next words. She will finish the Trials. Once she does, she will give me back my hyoid bone. I offer it to you. I offer my voice to you. Forever.

The silence in the cave is deafening as Hypnos considers the offer. It means no more screaming or howling in nightmares, forcing me to work with only four senses to strike fear into many minds.

Finally, my father nods, a solemn acknowledgment of the sacrifice. With a wave of his winged arm, Hypnos imbues me with the power of sleep and hypnosis. It is a heavy thing, dark, but it spreads a warmth through my cold bones.

Time to grant her warmth…and rest.

Newfound power courses through me.

I return to the clearing where past Zenya has passed out from the pain.

Morpheus and Hecate stand before her, their magic dwindling.

My brother steps toward me. His eyes widen with the knowledge of the truth of what I hold—and what I had to do to obtain it. He snaps his wings to his back, stilling in the face of my sacrifice. His lips part silently, but no words come.

Hecate herself lowers her chin in a gesture of reverence.

I turn to the monsters.

With an almighty voiceless growl thundering from my heart and a soul-splitting silent scream from the depthless reserves of my being, I slam the power of sleep upon the stalkers, their bodies collapsing into a deep, drunken slumber.

Then, I turn my attention to past Zenya, weaving a hypnotic spell to replace her nightmares with sweet delusions, a temporary refuge from the horror she has endured.

But when I shift my focus to present Zenya, she is gone.

Cold dread grips my chest, icing my veins, sinking into my bones. Panic surges through me, knowing she has run. How long she has been missing I can't determine, but I feel her essence, relieved she is still alive.

I track her swiftly through the forest, following the faint traces of her energy. She has gone further into the yawning mouth of the woods—deeper than ever. Too deep.

The deeper you go into your memories, the closer you get to the Abyss.

Hecate's words echo in my ears.

Mine howl.

The Abyss is a place of endless void, a consuming darkness.

The trees close in around me, their macabre naked branches clawing for me—as if trying to delay me, deny me the opportunity to seek her, find her, stop her.

I battle them until they clear, giving me the horrifying vision of Zenya standing on the brink of the Abyss—its dark, swirling depths shifting for her. She is trembling. I'm in awe of how she is still standing.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Thanatos, Death incarnate, standing straighter than ever, his all-seeing eyes commanding and his all-powerful fist raised. All of me shudders at the sight of an army of reavers crouching behind him.

He is holding them back.

Why?

"My brother told me of your actions, Nyxion," he proclaims. "And I have come to admire and deeply respect the unconditional love our kind may hold for the soul of a strong woman. You have shown me a depth of devotion that transcends even the laws of Death. So, go, Nyxion. Show her your love. And may she turn her eyes to you and not stare too deep into the Abyss."

When I turn, my soul freezes. Because she is still—utterly, destructively, deathly still.

Terror strikes me. Because she looks down. And…

…the Abyss whispers to her.