Page 71 of Hell's Secret Omega

Shouts rise. Cyrus fades.

The snarling vision above him sinks into blackness. Cold beckons at the edge of his consciousness, alluring. Peaceful.

What would it mean to enter that dark, empty place? Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. His whole body is heavy—hissoulis heavy.

Everything goes dark. Until the only light left is deep inside, in the most primal part of his soul—the place that glows with the rich, golden warmth of the bond. Cyrus sinks toward it, falling fast.Maybe I can spend my last moments here.

Memory and sweetness enfold him, threads of Mezor’s touch, his gentle words, the fierceness of his gaze. The secrets he shared with Cyrus. The things he made Cyrus feel. The moments of happiness. The days of longing. The fire and floods of pleasure, of perfect agony. He wraps the bond around himself and curls inside.

But even as he does it, the bond begins to fade. Gold turns silver, and silver turns grey. Frantic, he tries to pull it closer. The warmth leeches away and leaves him with brittle, dry threads of nothing that crumble away into the void, and the void opens to him, and his soul drifts free from his body, and he sees his body as if he’s above it all, watching himself die.

A shadow passes over his vision.

With a screech, the shadow arcs across the sky. Its eyes blaze—two golden flames as bright as stars. In Cyrus’s half-dead vision, light seems to pour from those eyes, melting and dripping until the shadow is transformed into something brilliant and burning. The fiery creature dives. The pressure on Cyrus’s neck disappears, and the cruel figure above him howls. Light pierces his enemy and rips him open.

Darkness pours forth.

Cyrus gasps, choking on nothing as his breath returns to him.

He sits up to see Ekko toss his head back and swallow Magnus’s remaining eye. The Quartermaster’s chest is torn open. Ekko’s claws are stained with gore. He swivels his headand looks at Cyrus with his golden eye. He’s no longer a vision in fire, but triumph is clear in his intelligent gaze.

Across the training yard the door slams open, and the bond blazes to life.

Chapter 40

MEZOR

Mezor rematerializeswith no breath in his lungs, surrounded by the chaotic pressure of water on all sides. It’s pitch black except for the gate’s faint glow and the answering flicker from his own marks. He pushes off blindly, heading away from the gate. A powerful current tugs at him and he kicks harder until his fingers hit stone. Following the wall, he finally breaches the surface with a gasp.

The bond is in turmoil—desperation, pain. For the first time since longer than he can remember, true fear pricks him. He has no idea where Cyrus is or what’s happening to him. Did Mezor send him into a trap?

He realizes now it’s unlikely Cyrus is hiding out in safety. The flood, the fire on the mountainside, they’re signs of a deep upset in the Court. Cyrus could be in the middle of it all.

I could lose him.

He swims to the exit, feet finding the stone staircase. He drags himself out of the water and pauses to catch his breath. Sounds of water echo off the stone. His life in the grotto is over. When his duty to the King is fulfilled, it will be time to leave the realms behind. His body will become the King’s vessel. His soul will go into the aether.

The bond will break.

I never really had him.

Mezor searches his heart for the stoicism that once protected him, but it’s out of reach now.

Across the bond, Cyrus’s muddied distress turns sour. Urgency blooms behind his ribs. He sent Cyrus into danger when he should have taken him across the gate. Now it might be too late.

A fresh spike of pain stops him in his tracks as he follows the pull of the bond. This pain is different. It’s bright, deep, and sharp. Like it’s touching his soul. The bond flares high with Cyrus’s panic.

Then, horribly, the feeling fades.

Thebondfades.

Mezor’s heart twists.

He leaps out of stillness. The walls blur as he barrels in the direction the bond pulls him. He pays no mind to the twists and turns of the Court’s halls. His whole being is focused on the shriveling bond, the tiny bright sparks that flare and die as something slowly snuffs out Cyrus’s life force. He bellows with rage as each spark winks out one by one.

“No!”

The bond drags him upward, toward the midlevels. Torches flare to life on either side. Mezor’s vision narrows to a pinprick. A furious rhythm pounds through him. He passes the feast hall, all its doors closed. He recognizes this route. His feet are taking him to the training yard.

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