Shattered Line

Chapter 16: Death and Betrayal

An eternity elapsed as her lungs squeezed each precious molecule of air from the atmosphere. They broiled under toil, her exertion forced and pained. Her labored breathing siphoned the meager energy left for consumption. No breath relieved the ache.

The truth inflicted such harm, burrowing into her heart. The accompanying thorns lacerated her skin and bones, leaving gaping holes for vermin to enter. A single chance and the pests propagated. They rushed forward, gnawing her exposed flesh and feasting on her weakness. Her hard-earned survival instinct wouldn't save her from this fear.

Yes, this feeling was old. Time failed to abolish its claim.

Though tears clung to the corners of her eyes, she fought against the scars. Their memories unleashed the wails of her inner beast. How could they be here? Why here of all places?

Reality dragged her down, her nails digging into the wall as she dropped. She closed her eyes, focusing her attention on her breathing condition. She concentrated on the process, dismissing the flood of questions and thoughts.

Her heartbeat slowed as she reclaimed herself. The fervent control she desired returned.

Her sisters had been the spark. But never would she cede them her reaction and grant them a grand showing of her surrender. They'd never understand how their existence supplemented the madness ravaging her mind. How each death blotted the white parchment that was her soul, forcing her one step more into oblivion.

Isla planted a hand to her face, wiping the moisture away. The motion did little to cool the raging inferno creeping to her cheeks.

Forget her sisters, how could she face her father on equal terms? How could she escape him—the King of Gods?

She clenched her chest, letting out a hysterical laugh from this knowledge. Everything—he had it all: the strength, the manpower, the status and wealth. He embodied the Gods.

Yet, they claimed he killed her due to her potential. What did that deplorable old woman know?

Isla rose to her feet, her legs wobbling from the shock. The notion she possessed some profound unknown power was ridiculous. She slammed her fist into the wall. They didn't understand, her hate transcended any normal vengeance, even his death wouldn't suffice.

She shook her head at the surging fury. Such emotions would dull her senses, plunging her into a single-minded mentality. But with her sleep deprivation and distraught mind, eliminating the stress proved impossible. The nagging twitch remained strong. The throbbing failed to cease. Only did hopes of sleep dampen her current thoughts.

Her gaze absorbed the long stretch of hallway leading to the living complex. She cringed at the white, sparkling walls. Their perfection and purity perturbed her disposition further. Beautiful at a glance, but misery disfigured the immaculate surface into a seething monster.

"Isla," Rydin called, standing in her path with a leather-bound book in hand.

Her eyes widened and her mouth almost dropped open. Where did he come from? Had she been so dazed and disoriented she lost her bearings? She wet her lips, a cold chill crawling up her spine.

"Isla?" His voice hitched and his forthright gaze jeopardized her fragile composure.

"I'm fine," she mumbled.

Rydin stepped towards her, blocking her view. "You look pale. Are you sick? Wait, do Gods get sick?"

Before she could respond, monstrous explosions detonated nearby. Both sides of the hallway brewed with smoke, funneling at them. The smoke rushed onwards like an enraged animal, engulfing all who stood in its path.