Page 98 of Hell's Secret Omega

“I’ve just had enough of water for the time being,” he protests when Mezor raises it again. “A little more time.”

“There are demons who are more than ready to take up the roles of protector and guide,” Mezor points out. “Some glad to stay in Hell for a long time. When they’re ready to leave, who knows—maybe one of my brothers will wake at last.”

“Maybe I’m alsoeager to stay for a long time,” Cyrus mutters. They’re at the top of the hill overlooking the sea. The dawn light softens the sharp angles of his frown.

“The sea won’t take us. I feel it.” And then, because he sees the flash of fear in Cyrus’s eyes, he gentles his tone. “The sea won’t takeme, Cyrus. I’m past that now.”

Cyrus turns to him. For a moment Mezor catches a glimpse of the Cyrus he once knew, lost and vulnerable and hanging onto any certainty he could find.

“You still carrythatMezor inside you.”

Mezor pulls him in, his heart aching. “I always will. And you still carrythatCyrus. Come now. Let’s step into the unknown and show those two what their future can be.”

Cyrus takes a deep breath. “Okay. But we’ll need to put a roost for Ekko in the boat.”

Mezor grins, his eyes going to the sky, where a the flicker of shadow flies in endless circles, waiting, as always, for them to realize what he’s always known. That a new beginning is on the horizon.

A shudder rocks the boat.Mezor comes awake in an instant, leaping to his feet before he remembers the cabin is only tall enough to accommodate Cyrus, not him. With a groan, he rubs his head and staggers above deck—right into the middle of a storm. The boat creaks warningly as it stumbles over the waves. Ekko is nowhere to be seen.All else being fair, he’s probably made land by now.

When Mezor went to sleep, they were drifting on the calm outward tide of Hell’s black sea.

Now he tastes salt in the air.

Earth.

It’s dark, but not a kind dark—rather a looming, unhappy charcoal. Spray bursts from the boat’s bow. A moment later they crest over a wave the size of a rolling hill. Mezor barely has the presence of mind to grab hold of something before they’re tumbling, crashing into the trough nose first.

“What’s happening?” Cyrus cries behind him, and Mezor whips around.

“Get below,” he yells over the noise of the storm, suddenly terrified Cyrus will pitch overboard.

Cyrus’s eyes flash. “You too!”

He’s about to protest when a different type of water smacks him on the forearm. A moment later, the sky unleashes a torrent on them.

He and Cyrus stumble into the shelter. It’s not much comfort with the storm raging and the boat heaving under them. He ties a wet rope around Cyrus’s waist, his fingers fumbling in the icy cold, and ties the other end around himself. He might be a god, but he’s never felt so mortal. The planks under their feet groan in despair.

Another wave takes them soaring into the air, and Cyrus grabs his arm as the deck bucks beneath them.

“Will we make it to land?Isthere land?”

“We’ll make it,” Mezor growls. He lashes the rope to the bench so that if the worst happens, they won’t be lost to the waves.

A massivecracksounds above them. The door of the hatch tears away, snatched by the wind. Down they go again, slamming into the ocean with a thunderous shudder. Water is everywhere—it’s impossible to tell if they’re leaking, or if it’s just waves and rain. Mezor has a feeling the boat won’t survive the next wave.

“Hang on,” he tells Cyrus as they go up again.

The sea pitches them forward. Instead of breaking in two, the boat tumbles, and they go tumbling with it. Mezor grabs for Cyrus as they land upside down in the tiny shelter, on the underside of the roof. The wood cracks under the force. Water rushes up to meet them.

“Hold your breath!”

Under the water is silence. Disoriented, Mezor kicks free of the ruins of the boat and swims for the surface. A shadowy figure slices through the water and surfaces at the same time. Cyrus gasps for air and swims back to the wreckage, grabbing on. Mezor follows, looping one arm around Cyrus’s waist and the other over the hull.

“Hold onto the boat,” he shouts. “It’s going to be a long trip.”

It is—long, brutal, and possibly the worst battering Mezor has ever endured. Cyrus never lets go of their capsized vessel, filling his heart with pride. Together they ride the storm out.

At last the waves seem to shrink to gentler swells and the howling winds subside. Mezor heaves Cyrus up onto the exposed hull, letting him rest. The downpour lifts and the clouds lighten. He breathes a sigh of relief

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