Page 87 of Snatched By the Sandman

Nyxion’s intent is clear: he will risk everything to stop Thanatos from touching Zenya. Cold and mocking laughter spills from Thanatos’s lips, echoing through the narrow corridor.

“Oh, did I touch a nerve there, my dear nephew?” Death taunts Nyxion, his voice dripping with sardonic amusement.

Zenya releases her father and dives to the floor, curled up in the fetal position to protect herself.

Gritting my teeth and raising my hands, I war with my uncle’s power, wrapping each sharpened icicle in my shadows. I cannot destroy them, but I may defend Zenya. I save nothing for myself and take the slashes and splinter cuts from Death’s force. If one were to draw her blood, then her soul is forfeited. She loses.

Zenya’s eyes widen with horror from the effects of the ice—how they slice through the fabric of my skin, shredding it to strips until my muscles and skeletal structure are exposed. Blood drips down my wings from the loss of countless feathers. The pain is of little importance compared to her safety.

“Morpheus!” she cries out.

No, not Zenya. In the midst of the swirling vortex of lethal ice, she rises with a clenched fist and dark eyes—Beastie—prepared to do whatever is necessary to defend her host. How many times has she protected Zenya without Zenya ever knowing?

“Go, Morpheus,” Beastie urges me, but I hesitate, concerned for her safety and what could happen if my shadows retreat.

A smile crosses my face a second later as Beastie weaves countless blankets and pillows into being, ones laced with steel threads. I shake my head in disbelief with an airy chuckle.

Beyond these walls, the sound of my brother’s battle is evident. His snarls and howls prove how unmatched he is compared to Death.

“Morpheus…” Beastie narrows her eyes on me from a gap in her fort. “Help your brother. And tell him thank you for the inspiration.”

Trusting her, placing all my assurance within Zenya’s dark protector, I retreat, shadow-traveling until I reach the prison’s main yard where my brother has felt the sting of Thanatos’ ice far too many times.

Even as more frost grows along his bones, Nyxion tightens his grip around Thanatos, his teeth bared in a snarl.

“If you take her,”—my brother seethes,—“I will crawl into the Underworld on my knees and plunge into the vast inferno of Tartarus to retrieve her soul—even if it damns mine.”

It would damn him. While we cannot be killed, we can be…regenerated. We are the embodiment of dreams and nightmares. If this cycle of Nyxion and his nightmares should perish, a new one will arise—with no memories of this era. Only the essence remains.

Before Thanatos can respond, I surge my shadows around the Death God, shackling him. I click my tongue. “What a pity, Uncle, that I wasn’t invited to the party.”

Nyxion straightens, squaring his shoulders, relief lowering his tattered wings, but he still maintains an unchecked resolve. Our eyes burn with dark intensity, a mutual need to protect the woman we love. The first time we have fought together.

“Ahh, Morpheus, the maestro of dreams,” Thanatos lilts in his mocking tone even as the shadows bind him. “It seems I’veblindsided you, though I believe your brother did far more.”

We growl in unison, our combined rage like a threatening sword poised in the air. A low, dangerous rumble resonates from Nyxion’s chest.Never liked your humor, Death.

Thanatos chuckles, a sinister sound that could freeze the blood in the most hardened of criminals. “Touchy, touchy.”

When he thrusts off his hood to reveal the impregnable black skull but with a strange new perma-frost etched into the bone, I tilt my head, my curiosity piqued. “Color me intrigued, Thanatos. Love the icy update. You had dark flames not just a year ago, I believe.” Black crystals grow from his neck like skeletal tree branches. I even notice a couple of dead rose petals on his robe.

He tips his head back with a laugh. “So I did. I traded them. When they say ‘Cold as Death’, I thought it was time for a change. I see my adoring nephew is still copying me. Imitation is such a form of flattery, isn’t it?”

Nyxion shrugs.You call it imitation. I call it evolution. Eldritch symbols aren’t your style, after all, Death.

“True, and I appreciate yours.” Thanatos frees his hand, a hand with skin as silky and nearly as dark as my shadows. Donning a pair of leather gloves, Thanatos cracks his neck to one side. “I suppose we should get down to business, eh?”

“Sheis none of your business, Thanatos,” I retort, my voice cold and authoritative—not as authoritative as Death but far more determined. We have more to lose.

“Au contraire,” Thanatos replies with a smirk. “I’d say she is myfirstorder of business. Death shall have his order. And if I must, I will give you your marching orders.”

“You can try.” I smirk, too, my voice steady and unyielding.

Tension thickens the air as we face off in a flawless stalemate of God vs Daemons, our auras clashing in a crazed tide of dark energy. Nyxion’s eyes gleam with fierce protectiveness as he steps closer to Thanatos, his muscles coiled and ready to strike again.

Thanatos’s grin widens as he meets Nyxion’s gaze, his eyes gleaming with malevolent glee. “Oh, I will more than try, dear nephews. The order of Death is inevitable, and Zenya’s fate is sealed. It’s not the first time I’ve stalked her. If you desired to stalk her, I would have pointed you in the right direction years ago.”

With a roar, Nyxion lunges at Thanatos again, his fists connecting with the God of Death’s skull. Thanatos staggers but quickly regains his footing, his laughter turning into a battle cry as he retaliates with a swift, bone-chilling blow to my brother’s jaw. The clash of their powers reverberates through the prison, shaking the very walls. Nyxion is thrown back, and I blanket him with my shadows.

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