24. Ivy

24

IVY

The realisation hits me like a ton of bricks, making my crazy-arse power burst to life in response. Life. Of course. The word echoes through my mind, carrying weight beyond its simple syllable. What else could be powerful enough to orchestrate centuries of bloodline manipulation? What else would have the patience, the foresight, to craft the perfect vessel across generations?

My power ripples beneath my skin, no longer a light-coloured chaos but something deeper and more primal. It’s like my cells are awakening to a truth they’ve always known.

“The veils are thinning,” I murmur, watching as reality ripples around us. My power responds differently now, more attuned to the subtle shifts between realms. “Can’t you feel it?”

The air grows thick with possibility, taking on a strange quality that makes breathing feel like drawing in liquid light. Suddenly, the room fills with a brilliant radiance that blinds me momentarily. Lifting my hand up to cover my eyes, every cell in my body sings with recognition.

Before any of us can move, reality splits. There’s no other word for it. The fabric of existence parts like a curtain, creating a wound in the world that bleeds pure, unfiltered life force. Through that tear steps a figure that makes my breath catch and my limbs turn to jelly.

She’s beautiful in a way that defies description. Her form constantly shifts and grows. Flowers bloom in her footsteps, bursting into vibrant life only to wither and be replaced by new growth in endless cycles. Her skin glows with an inner light that hurts to look at directly, like trying to stare at the sun. Her hair moves like vines, each strand a separate organism reaching for the light.

The marking on my lower back burns suddenly, a searing pain that makes me gasp. The fated mate bond is reacting to something, trying to tell me something crucial.

“Tate,” I whisper, and as if summoned by my need, the door bursts open.

He staggers in, his face pale with strain. Where our magick usually connects smoothly, there’s now a disturbing resonance, like two discordant frequencies trying to align.

“What the fuck is happening?” he demands, his power reaching for mine instinctively. But when our magick touches, something strange occurs. Instead of the usual stabilising effect, reality warps more violently around us.

“Hello, anchor,” this creature says, her voice containing multitudes of life - the crack of seeds sprouting, the rustle of leaves, the eternal cycle of growth and renewal. “How fascinating. You’ve begun to adapt as well.”

Tate’s eyes widen as he takes in her impossible form. “Who?—”

“Life,” I breathe, understanding flooding through me. My power responds to her presence, creating strange patterns in the air where our energies meet. “She’s Life.”

She smiles, and it’s like watching a flower unfold in fast motion, beautiful but nauseating. “You’ve grown beautifully, better than we could have hoped. And your anchor...” she studies Tate with unnerving intensity, “he’s reconfiguring perfectly to contain your chaos.”

“We?” Torin demands, moving protectively closer to me. His vampire nature recoils from Life’s overwhelming presence. Her pure vitality is anathema to his undead state.

Life waves a hand dismissively, and where it passes, reality blooms with impossible vegetation that grows and dies in seconds. The walls sprout fungal growths that shimmer with bioluminescence, while the floor becomes a living carpet of moss that breathes beneath our feet.

“Death and I have been playing this game for aeons,” she says, her attention fixing back on me. “But the rules are about to change.”

“Because of me?” I ask, watching as my chaos magick reacts to her presence, creating swirling patterns of dark purple and gold where our powers touch. The colours blend and separate like oil on water, neither fully mixing nor fully repelling.

Tate moves closer to me, but I can feel his struggle. His role as my anchor is to help stabilise my power, but Life’s presence affects our connection, making it volatile and unpredictable.

“Because of what you represent,” she corrects, her form shifting subtly with each word. “The perfect balance between life and death, chaos and order. A bridge between what is and what could be.”

The room continues to transform around us, walls becoming living tissue that burst with magickal energy. Bram’s shadows writhe uncomfortably, and Torin looks physically ill from the overwhelming presence of pure life force. Even Tate’s usually steady magick fluctuates erratically.

“You want to destroy Death,” I say, the truth forming in my mind as pieces click into place. “That’s what all this has been about. The bloodline manipulation, the engineered evolution of my power. You want to use me to end Death.”

Her smile turns predatory, and I feel sick as my blood pounds in my ears. This isn’t just about Death; it’s about death.

Flowers burst from her skin, blooming and dying in rapid succession as I stare at her in horror. “Imagine it, little catalyst. A world without end. Pure, eternal life. No more loss, no more grief, no more endings.”

“That’s not life,” I argue, feeling the wrongness of it in my bones. “That’s stagnation. Without death, nothing truly lives. It just exists.”

“Indeed.” Life moves closer, and reality warps around her. The air vibrates, thick with spores and microscopic life that shouldn’t be visible to the naked eye. “But you’re thinking too small. This isn’t about preserving individual lives. It’s about transforming existence itself. Making it more.”

As if to demonstrate, she touches a nearby plant. It grows rapidly, becoming something impossible - a hybrid of flesh and flower that writhes with unnatural vitality. Veins pound beneath translucent petals, and what might be eyes blink wetly from within its core.

“This is what you want?” I ask, horrified. “To turn everything into these abominations?”

Tate grips my fingers tightly, his touch grounding me even as our combined magick makes reality fluctuate more violently. I can feel him trying to anchor me, but Life’s presence corrupts the connection, turning our usual harmony into something wild and unstable.

“I want to fulfil the potential of all living things,” she says, her voice taking on the edge of madness. Flowers burst from her mouth with each word, blooming and withering between syllables. It’s horrific to watch, but I can’t look away. “To free them from the arbitrary constraints of mortality. And you, my perfectly crafted vessel, are going to help me do it.”

“She’s not helping anyone,” Tate growls, his magick wrapping itself protectively around me. But the moment it touches Life’s power, it transforms, black energy sprouting tiny buds of chaotic growth.

Life laughs, and the sound makes reality shiver as Tate stumbles back. “Oh, sweet anchor. You’re already helping. Every time you try to stabilise her power, you create new pathways for expansion. New possibilities for growth.”

My power surges in response to her words, but not in agreement. The chaos magick that flows through me recoils from her touch, recognising the fundamental wrongness of her vision. Where our energies meet, reality itself seems to buckle.

“That’s why Death chose me,” I mutter, pieces clicking into place as Tate’s grip on my hand tightens. “Not because he wanted a successor, but because he needed someone who could stand against this.”

Life’s laugh this time is like breaking glass, and the flowers burst around us, their petals falling like rain. But they are wrong somehow. They are too symmetrical, too perfect, and lack the beautiful flaws that make natural things real.

“Death didn’t choose you, child. I did. Millennia ago, when I began crafting what would become the Hammond line. Death merely played his part, thinking he was grooming his own successor.”

The room continues to transform, with walls becoming living tissue that hums with sickening vitality. Vines burst through the floor, growing, dying, and regrowing in endless cycles. Each iteration becomes more twisted and wrong. Life’s corporeal presence corrupts the natural order.

“You’re insane,” Bram hisses, his Fae magick recoiling from the twisted life force filling the room. His shadows try to provide cover, but wherever they touch Life’s power, they sprout grotesque luminescent fungi.

“Natural.” Life’s beauty twists into something terrible. Her perfect features become too perfect, too alive, cells visibly multiplying and dying across her skin. “I am nature. I am life itself, and I am tired of sharing power with Death. Tired of watching my creations wither and die when they could flourish eternally.” Life’s smile turns enigmatic as reality shudders around us. “You’ll understand soon enough,” she says, her form beginning to blur at the edges. “After all, that’s what evolution is really about.”