Page 214 of Psycho Gods

It was blizzard conditions.

For a second, I hallucinated that the realm was sentient. The storm was alive.

I threw myself through the doorway—I walked across realms.

RJE was our preferred form of travel, but this was an emergency, and we needed an audience with the king immediately. Entering directly into his domain was the best way to get his attention. He would recognize our presence immediately.

John was waiting for me on the other side. He brushed snow off his shoulders as I pulled the darkness back inside.

The door disappeared like it had never existed.

“Let’s go, I don’t want to linger,” John grumbled as he stalked down the cavernous path that we were both intimately familiar with.

Monsters roared, rocks vibrated, and pebbles fell as the cavern shook. We both ignored the noise.

We were used to it.

My eyes adjusted to the new dim lighting. Hellfire glinted off the silver bars that lined both sides of the path.

I followed my twin deeper into the most dangerous prison in all the realms. I smirked as another monster roared.

Its existence was widely believed to be a myth. People were stupid.

The boogeyman was real, and so was the prison that housed him.

The king ran the prison, and in some ways, he was the prison because his powers were inexplicably tied to it.

Since we were his heirs, our powers were also tied to it.

John ran his fingers along the stalactite that hung from the ceiling like he was greeting an old friend, and the rocks vibrated with pleasure.

As we walked down the winding caverns—thousands of feet beneath the realm’s surface—my twin stood taller.

Power clung to him.

He was stronger now that he was within the source of his abilities.

We both were.

We turned a corner, and a Minotaur prisoner threw himself at the bars next to John, opened his maw, and screamed bloody murder.

My twin turned to him and smiled.

Dimples flashing, he tsked at the beast that had murdered thousands.

The Minotaur went wild.

I rolled my eyes at my brother’s antics. Since we were little boys and had discovered our heritage, he loved to taunt the prisoners, and they hated him for it.

I was indifferent.

Per usual.

John’s steps took on a swagger as more prisoners threw themselves at the bars as he walked past. They screamed, roared, and shrieked at him but flinched when he turned toward them, and scuttled back into the darkness.

If it weren’t for his youth and dimples, he could be mistaken for the king. His darkness formed a glittering cape that hung off his shoulders.

A dark crown jutted off his head.

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