Page 58 of Destruction of Two
Twenty-One
Izara
The night is perfect and the five of us stay up late into the night.
Then we fall into a heap of tired limbs and into a steady sleep. Dreams claim me for their own, images that quickly become nightmares.
I haven’t had bad dreams since I came back. Not really. Just a clash of memories with reality when I hear snarls or loud, triggering sounds.
PTSD, I’ve heard people call it. I don’t want to say I have that, but I have to admit that when I see a winged Prod shoot down from the sky, my mind flashes back to those dinosaur demons with eyes on their tongues and I steel myself for an attack that never comes and feel absolutely useless afterwards when I never feel the stirring of power within me to begin with. Sometimes the harsh screeches of fighting and shifters remind me of the ice cold hands that shredded my wings. Other times, the stomping footsteps of the Academy’s trolls remind me of my father’s.
Most times, I feel like my father is watching me; or at least, his lackeys are, waiting for the perfect moment to whisk me back and chain me to that hell throne.
The only reprieve I have from the fear and yes, even anticipation, are in my dreams.
Not tonight.
Tonight, the nightmares invade. In them, I’m in the sixth circle and Osmodeus is forcing the fast flickering images of me slaughtering my loved ones in cold blood. It’s like a fucking movie, and I can’t seem to look away.
The power of my Prod is uncontrollable once more. It’s consuming and I watch and smile as it unleashes a fiery blade straight towards Syko’s throat. His neck arches back to reveal the cruel slashing line curving up his neck, like the sick parody of a smile. Blood pours from the wound and he can’t heal himself fast enough because my power is destructive. Chaotic. Deadly.
Syko falls to his knees, and he dies.
“No!” I reach for him, but the scene changes all over again. Osmodeus is over me, laughing as those flickering shadows he has for fingers reach out to choke me. They feel solid as they grasp for me hard enough to leave bruises. Those pitless eyes stare at me, seem to cleave straight through to my soul. They redden in the way they did when I shoved the force of my power straight into his body. Liquid fire pours out of his eyes and that wide mouth opens in a disturbing smile.
“You thought you could kill me?” he demands in a booming, threatening voice.
“Let me go!”
“Now, you’ll spend eternity killing all whom you love.”
“No! No! No!”
“Izara!”
I shoot up in the dirt, my chest heaving, my mouth opening in gasps that can’t seem to take in any bit of air my lungs desperately need. No. Nonononono—
Blood. My vision is clouded with it, it taints my hands, a stain on my soul. Not just Adam’s, but theirs too. I killed them. I killed them each time and couldn’t stop myself. And my Prod? She enjoys slicing them open and no matter how hard I fight against her, she doesn’t relent.
Not even for the men I love.
“Izara! Breathe. You’re okay,” the soothing voice whispers.
The haze along my vision fades slowly at the sound of Syko’s voice. Cool hands press against my skin, a touch I recognize as Saint’s, but it carries with it the traces of worry.
No. Nonono.
“Breathe.” It’s a firm command that my body obeys. Syko’s voice is like a tether that pulls me back to reality, and when it does, it’s to taste the salt of my own tears sticky against my lips. As if I’ve been crying for hours.
I suck in a grateful heave of air. In. Out. In. Out. I focus on this task alone until my breathing has become a steady thing, even while my heart thunders dangerously against my ribcage.
Malek and Phoenix sleep on the other side of the campfire. Syko and Saint were still awake and oddly alert when I fell asleep. I can’t help but wonder if they’ve slept at all.
The flickering fingers of the flames before me drag me back to reality, but the memories are still prominent in my mind. The blood, Syko’s blood…
My head snaps to the side where he’s sitting up, staring at me with an infinite amount of worry in the depths of his gaze. Behind me, I feel Saint, his hands a steady beacon on my bare hips.
My fingers tremble as I reach for Syko, as I touch his neck where the gaping hole I caused had been. An illusion, it had been an illusion. But even those words don’t bring me comfort. They bring fury and they bring heartbreak. If only I had the power to rid myself of nightmares like I rid the sixth circle of its lord.
