Page 91 of Hex
Idon’t know if it’s been two or three days, possibly close to a week, but I do know time has passed. Time without my best friend. Time without my brother.
However long it’s been, I have sat at the foot of this ridiculous coffin. When Dei Hekate suggested we put Slash inside the glass structure to keep him in stasis, I almost lost my shit. He would hate this. He would lose his fucking mind to be seen broken and silenced.
I’m surprised no one has come demanding we leave the premises. Instead, they’ve let us occupy this space as our own private grief chamber. Aside from conjuring up a million and one different ways of killing djinn, all the fucking djinn, without repercussions, we’ve done nothing but mourn. We haven’t eaten, we haven’t showered. When the need is too strong to ignore, we walk ourselves to the bathroom just outside the chamber to take a piss. It’s only out of respect for Slash that we don’t just piss where we sit.
There’s no reason for us being here, a couple of demons who are trying to understand how the fuck this can even happen. Theonly thing we know is that moving away or leaving Slash alone for however fucking long, is out of the question.
Pierce is beside me, still staring at his hands as though they’ve betrayed him. He’s been like this since we gave up trying to bring Slash back. Blood covers them, covers us. It’s like we’ve bathed in it and we refuse to clean it off.
Meanwhile, Slay has been following Reilly, the murderous djinn, this whole time. We have no idea how he’s refrained from ripping that asshole’s heart straight out of his chest. I want to hold the djinn’s head in my fingers and show it to Slash as proof that we always have each other’s backs.
The problem is, Slay may be Death, but it’s rare for him to kill unless it’s a direct order from Samhain and that almost never happens. You’d have to care to want to see someone dead and our Dei doesn’t consider anyone important enough to care about. This time though, we’re talking about the Four Horsemen. The four separate souls that he hand-picked among all the others. For all intents and purposes, we are his children and no-fucking-body is allowed to kill us without running the risk of the full fledged army of demons retaliating. An army led by our Dei, the king of the fiery pits of Heyl.
For Slash, Samhain will care and Slay will kill. He’ll rain his shadows down and suffocate the unworthy if it means avenging his brothers. Processing emotions isn’t easy for him, but no matter what he says or doesn’t admit, wearebrothers and we are the only family he has.
“The fuck is taking him so long?” I ask the question knowing damn well Pierce won’t answer. He hasn’t spoken since he tried and failed to bring Slash back.
Guilt is worse than death itself. It gnaws and it rots from the inside, destroying everything in its path. At least with death we can always hope for a rebirth, like a do-over without the memory of the past.
When Samhain chose us to be his four horsemen, he didn’t just toss a coin. He curated, he searched, and he brought the hand of damned salvation upon us knowing we would be the four pieces to form the perfect puzzle.
As Conquest, rage and singular focus is my stronghold. Slash thrives on the thrill, he welcomes the pain that reminds him he’s alive. I’m well aware that I’m referring to him as though his soul is still with him, but I just don’t have it in me to shut the door or to turn the page. Not yet. Maybe not ever.
Pierce is our healer, the bearer of the weight of the world as he tries to rid the souls of hunger, literal or otherwise. If he fails, he turns all that pain inward, owning it like he owns his own mind.
Death? He can separate the logical from the emotional and it’s the reason everything he does, he perfects. Killing out of rage brings about mistakes and Slay doesn’t make those.
So here I sit, filled with a neverending source of rage that’s ravaging my veins as I watch over my best friend. Soon, I’ll have to take care of Pierce before he shuts down completely. Then we’ll stand as a unit, backed by our Dei, and we’ll slaughter. One or a thousand, it doesn’t matter. Nothing will be okay until blood, that is not our brother’s, is shed.
“Zelos.” My eyes snap up to collide with those of my chosen. She’s the only reason I don’t go on a murderous rampage, because getting myself killed is a sure way of putting her in danger and I’m just not wired for that. “I brought you both some food.”
My attempt at a small smile is weak at best. I don’t need to look over at Pierce to know he’s still lost in his own Hell and probably hasn’t even registered her presence.
“Satapti.” It’s all I can say before my throat chokes up like a fist is closing it off and effectively quashing anything after that.
“Hey, it’s okay.” With grace only she possesses—and maybe her mother—Sage falls to her knees and wraps herself aroundme. This whole time, she’s been with Hekate doing I’m not sure what. Last I heard, I needed to figure out what good a soul is without a body, but truth be told, I still have no fucking clue.
None of this makes sense to me.
Not the trial, not the magical imprisonment from Atlantis, not the ridiculous idea that Sage was trying to escape.
Mostly, I want to know why the fuck Slash thought it was a good idea to come running in here like a fucking warrior on a killing spree. And every time that last question rings in my head, the answer is the same.
Reilly wasn’t aiming at Slash. His intended target was Sage, possibly even me if he could get a two for one special. My brother felt this threat from the deepest recesses of his war demon soul and he did what he was created to do.
He fought and this time he lost.
I wish I could cry but my rage is all encompassing, not allowing for any other emotions to come through.
“I’m not hungry and I don’t think Pierce can even move.” We both look over at Pierce, whose hands are now hanging between his legs as he sits against the coffin, head back, knees folded.
“I failed, Hack.” Pierce finally speaks for the first time in what feels like years, and a small weight is lifted from my chest. I don’t outwardly react, though, just in case it pushes him right back into his silence. “What good am I if I can’t even save my own brother?” Fuck, his voice is so raw, like his words are pure products of guilt itself.
Sage reaches out, placing a timid hand on Pierce’s forearm. Before long, a halo of light illuminates the area where they touch and even I can feel the warmth. She doesn’t speak, doesn’t try to reassure him or give him meaningless platitudes. The only thing she does is give him her support, showing him with actions that she’s there for him. For me. For Slash.
“Horsemen.” At the booming sound of Samhain’s voice, we all snap our attention to where he stands at the rotting wooden doors of what used to be—probably will be again—the chamber of the Dei. “The Moirai have spoken.”
Like a switch turning our brains from grief to purpose, we stand as a unit just as the familiar billowing of smoke gathers around our Dei. Slay is back, but we are not whole.
