❛WHAT HAPPENS WHEN YOU MAKE THE TEN MOST POWERFUL GODS ALIVE PLAY A GAME OF MUSICAL CHAIRS WITH ONE SEAT?❜
They fight - to the death.
They fight over three crowns and a throne with steel spiked maces. They despair a little more everyday keeping thei...
I had just begun to make sense of what I saw after I heard Nyx scream.The whiff of blood in the air was that of dead gods.
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VEZORT ISLAND, OCEMOND SEA.
EDWINA
"ED - EDWINA?" NYX WHISPERED AS my eyes widened in horror at the sight. "Is - that - w- what I think it is?"
I almost staggered backwards. Beside me, Tristan was standing firmly rooted to the spot, his face a white mask of horror. I drew a sharp breath and pulled out a sliver of power to increase the illumination drifting out from my hands. As we took a few more steps into the room, I was hit by a heavy wall of discomfort, my strength running low now.
There were two figures in the darkness.
Tristan silently put a hand on my arm, making me almost jump. I glared at him and he shot me a bitter look, signaling me to extinguish and save my strength. As I slowly receded the flames from my hands, he lit the room with a crackle of bolts.
In addition to the two figures we had noticed earlier, there was another, a third, seemingly lying on a table in a far corner.
I slowly approached the center of the room, the other both stepping in with me and we looked at the figures, the things, on the tables.
The body closest to me seemed to be that of a delicately shaped woman, lying motionless and still on the bloodstained wood. I tried to make sense of her face and leaned closer, wondering why she hadn't gotten up, eyes traveling over the wounds decorating the unknown woman's body.
My glance fell over her face and something in me broke as I recognized what was left of the golden, glinting hair the woman once possessed, the same as Endollon's third Monarch.
"It's her, we found her," I whispered. "Erida."
"This one here, it's my brother, Atherton," Nyx spoke out in a strangled voice, almost breaking with tears. "And my sister, Cymbeline as well."
"Move over," Tristan hoarsely gestured to her, and the trembling goddess took a step back as I approached him, standing at the other table to look at the rest of the prisoners.
All three were chained by wrists and ankles to staples drawn to the floor. Light danced in patches over their bleeding skin. Emaciated, whipped and cut from every possible surface, cut so badly that the skin had hardly closed, thick with congealed blood. Nearly half of Atherton's strongly built skull had been snapped off, his tall frame caving into the chains. Cymbeline's neck was littered with scars. Erida's wrists were slashed over and over again, driven thick with stitches that were useless.
