Page 127 of Dark Fate

"So you mean… I can't die?" The question tumbles out of me before I can stop it, and I instantly feel like a newbie at a supernatural convention.

Jophiel's reply is patient—a lesson in cosmic custodianship. "Mortality's embrace remains, ever looming, for the stone's judgment is not ours to command—it chooses when, how, whom it aids, and indeed if it chooses at all."

My confusion is clear as I try to understand the idea of an inanimate object that decides, judges, and discerns. It's not just a ‘get out of death free’ card.

"This stone is imbued with the breath of the ancient gods, entwined with the very fabric of existence itself. It is not merely a tool to be wielded but a divine entity with its own will. It is no gatekeeper to immortality but a sovereign of restoration, guided by a wisdom far beyond your mortal grasp."

Well, alrighty then. We're dealing with a choosy stone with a sense of self—or at least a discerning taste in life paths. Noted!

I take a deep breath, steadying my nerves before finally voicing the question that's been burning inside me. "I need to know why I have been given this task—why Elysium himself couldn't defeat Moretemis?"

"Danica, Elysium's strength and his light are vast but not infinite. As he is bound by the very fabric of Atheria and its need for balance, there are limits to what he can do against Moretemis."

"But still," I press on, frustration lacing my voice, "he is a God. How is it possible that Moretemis, banished and shadowed, could be beyond his reach?"

Jophiel's gaze, as warm and expansive as the sunlit heavens, meets mine. There is sorrow there and the weight of unspoken eternity. "Danica, if there were a way for Elysium to vanquish Moretemis himself, he would have gladly done so. But the balance of our realms, the intricate fabric of power that binds everything, prevents him—us—from acting directly against him."

I become defensive, the frustration gnawing at the edges of my resolve. "So the realms get to stay 'balanced' while my life gets turned upside down? What kind of balance is that?"

He smiles, a gesture both melancholy and tender. "Balance does not mean an absence of strife. The shadows exist as a counterpart to light. We are bound by cosmic laws, restrictions that Moretemis relentlessly seeks to exploit. His banishment and locking of the realms were the extent of Elysium's influence. But the bastard’s playing dirty, trashing the rules and tipping the scales—just like the old gods and prophecies said he would."

A laugh bubbles out, all sharp edges and irony. Here's Mr. Holiness himself, slinging slang like some street corner prophet, and here I am, yanked into this celestial tug-of-war.

Universe, your sense of fairness is seriously whack.

"Danica," he says, his voice resonating with the undercurrent of creation itself, "your destiny is not merely chosen. It is forged by who you are, by the light you carry within. You are born of two worlds, and this unique lineage is the key to transcending the limitations that bind Moretemis and Elysium."

I shake my head, disbelief shadowing my thoughts. "And if I can't do it? If this power I'm born with isn't enough?"

He approaches—the light of his being casting no shadow, an awe-inspiring reality I struggle to accept. "It will be enough, for it must be. There has never been another like you, Dani. You embody the hope of all seven realms, the promise of renewal. Your journey will awaken all the power that slumbers within you. When you collect the stones and face Moretemis, it will be as an equal—light to his darkness."

Rhyland

59

Here I am again. Rotting in some goddamn black pit, only this time that bastard Azrael is banking on using me as fucking bait to lure Dani to him.

These damn stone walls might as well be bleeding black, trapping me in a pitch pit stinking of death and old shit.

Shadows slink around like live things, a thick blanket of darkness choking out any speck of hope. I can almost hear the ghost of my old self, that green kid, rattling off prayers to my Norse gods, who have turned a deaf ear. Now? I don't bother wasting my breath on begging. My trust's in the toughened core of my endless vampire soul.

Nothing but heavy silence down here, broken up by the screech of these rusty-ass chains every time I try to suck in some air. Suspended from the ceiling, arms wrenched above my head—chained up tight. Can barely brush the ground with my feet.

I've lost track of time being suspended down here, trapped here with nothing but my own thoughts for company. Time down here bleeds together into one endless, nightmarish stretch of existence.

Days?

Weeks?

I have no fucking clue anymore.

Time has lost all meaning in this hellhole, each moment stretching out into an eternity of pain and despair. The darkness presses in on me from all sides, a suffocating blanket threatening to smother the last embers of my sanity.

I drift in and out of consciousness, my mind playing tricks on me, conjuring up visions of my worst fears and deepest regrets.

The pain's intense, like a motherfucker, with my body stretched tight, and I can barely draw a breath against the crushing weight on my ribs.

This is some hardcore bullshit. But I'll be damned if I give these assholes the satisfaction of hearing me complain. Just gotta ride out whatever sick game they've got planned next. Not the first time trying to break me, but I swear it'll be their last.

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