Page 167 of The World Undone

This was always your army, Max, Atlas’s voice filtered through my panic. This is what it means to be a community, the kind worth being a part of anyway.

Besides, you can’t have all the glory, Little Protector. I quite like the idea of going out a hero—no one would ever expect it.

As if the others had heard Darius’s words, the lines of connection grew more urgent, forceful, carving into me with a ferocity that matched that of the shadow magic lining the realms.

The world shimmered and shifted, the ground shaking and fracturing at our feet.

Still, they held steady, their strength infusing my own as power, unlike anything I’d felt before, flooded through me.

The portal tore open, until I saw The Styx shimmering through it, and beyond it, Lucifer, Sam, and Serae—their expressions hard and unyielding.

When they saw me, Lucifer and Sam tore into the water, eyes wide and urgent when they saw the others there too. Serae’s eyes gleamed from the shoreline, and when they met mine, she nodded once.

But The Styx would kill them, wouldn’t it?

Their power pulsed through me as the distance between us closed.

The amulet vibrated against my chest, emitting a soft glow—a warmth that seeped into my skin like lava.

A sharp light eclipsed my vision, bright and unyielding, until I could see nothing else.

Still, I felt them all, the threads of their power braiding together with mine. They multiplied and pulsed, nearly as bright and fortified as the bonds that tied me to my team. Different, but just as strong.

And then a new thread, this one unfamiliar and unseen, but I could taste it as it flooded through me. It was similar to mine, but also not, and it barreled into me with purpose.

I clung to it desperately as all feeling and senses blurred at the edges into nothingness, my body no longer mine.

There was an ear-shattering crack, and then the absence of sound, one sharp tether of pain, gripping taut at my chest—and then it was cut, undone, the worlds slipping away into nothing.

34

WADE

14 Days After the Ritual

“Fucking finally.” I exhaled in relief when I saw Max.

She was asleep, her brows pinched slightly and her skin, paler than usual, was covered in a soft sheen. Every few minutes, her muscles would spasm, limbs contorting awkwardly, like she was battling something—or someone—in sleep. While her expression in the physical realm was one of peace, here she seemed almost pained, like she was fighting off some sort of psychic pain. A final boss that only she could see.

For some reason, I couldn’t seem to do anything. I hovered over her, unable to move, unable to wield my usual dream-walking powers.

It was fucking tormenting. To do nothing but watch her.

I reached towards her, desperate to ease the furrow in her brow or press her hair, slicked with sweat across her forehead, back behind her ear. But I was limbless here. I might as well not have a body at all. I just observed, awkwardly, uselessly.

As annoying as it was, I was just glad to actually reach her, however limited that reach was.

After the ritual, we’d all been knocked out—all of us who’d linked to her, anyway, which was almost everyone nearby. Some of us were out longer than others.

The rest of Six and I woke up after about a week, from what we were able to gather. And we’d been slowly recovering since.

My body ached in a way I’d never felt before, and none of us had been able to access or use Max’s powers. We couldn’t even feel the bond, an absence that fucking terrified me every time I tried to reach for the familiar warmth—a terror that could only be quelled by pressing my fingers to her pulse, feeling the slow beat.

She was alive, but it was like she’d been locked off from us all, a protective cocoon around her as her body healed.

Because she would heal.

She’d wake up.

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