Page 103 of The Phantom's Vice

We step through the door into yet another golden hallway, lined with even more splayed, lifeless men. Some have masks the color of arterial blood—such a dark, rich shade of red contrasting ironically with the snow-colored masks of the others. That smell of rot is heavy in this hallway, and I have to breathe through my nose as I step over the countless bodies so I don’t lose my lunch.

I do, however, lose myself to my thoughts as Orion leads me through countless hallways, up hundreds—no, thousands—of stairs, to the point where my legs become numb from the strain.

It’s only when Orion tugs at my arm that I know we’ve finally made it to the top. He pries open the metal door ever so slightly, peeking around the door for potential threats. After a moment, he pushes through the door and into—yes, another—long hallway. Although, unlike the glowing gold of the others, the walls of this hallway seem to be lined with luxurious red velvet. Only, when I run my fingers along them, it feels like stone.

They’re bare, save for nine gold-rimmed portraits spanning the length of the right-hand side of the hallway. I step up to the one closest me, a small gasp falling from my lips as I take in the gruesome depiction.

My eyes are drawn to the disfigured bodies lining the foreground of the cavernous scene, several of them lying smashed and battered against the rocks. But the sight pales in comparison to the great winged beast emerging from the shadows, clawed hands wrapped greedily around a bloody, headless body.

The ninth circle of Hell: Treachery.

Goose bumps run across my arms, but try as I might, I can’t pull my eyes away from the picture. That is, until Orion pulls at my elbow, breaking my trance.

“Come on. We’re almost there,” he whispers, pulling me down the rest of the long red hallway. I carefully step over the bodies of the white-masked Reapers lying in the center of the floor, holding my breath so as not to breathe in the smell of death.

“Okay…” I whisper, trying to keep my eyes off the eight other pictures of hell we pass. Although none of them are quite as terrifying as that first one, each time I catch sight of a fucked-up depiction, my skin crawls.

When we make it to the end of the passage, there’s a square hole in the wall, almost like the secret stone doorways to Ghost’s house. Orion and I exchange glances before rushing inside, nary a thought for either of our well-being.

A maze of corridors ensues, twisting and turning in such a way that makes me dizzy. Just when I think the horrible tunnel of doom will never end, I catch a tiny dot of light at the end of the passage we’re currently racing down.

“Orion! We’re almost there!” I say, willing my legs to move faster toward that growing blip of hope. The same hope that stutters in my chest when we come across a heap of bloody, lifeless masked men. The angle of their bodies partially blocks theway, and we have to physicallyclimbover them to make it the rest of the way.

My heart soars when we make it to the other side, only to be dashed on the cold stone walls when I make out two familiar, slumped figures toward the tunnels exit.

“Kain?” I whisper. When nothing answers, I clear my throat and dare a louder pitch. “Kain?”

One of the figures stirs, appearing to be trying to stand, and I race toward them before Orion has a chance to hold me back. The closer I get, the more I recognize the brutal panes of Kain’s masked face, his one good eye squinted in pain as he clutches his ribs on the left side of his body.

“Kain! Where’s Ghost?” I ask, crouching to shove a hand into his chest, forcing him to relax.

“I’m great, thanks for asking.” He lobs his famous glare my way, only for it to be replaced with a look of concern a heartbeat later. “You just missed him. He’s in there,” he murmurs, pointing a blood-caked index finger toward the large slab of metal at the passageway’s exit. “You can’t—can’t get in there. I tried,” he says, a rattling breath interrupting his sentence. The left half of his face scrunches in pain as he tries to sit up, and I shove him back down once more.

“I believe you,” I say, turning my desperate look onto Orion. “What do we do?”

Orion opens his mouth to speak when a horrible, rattling cough fills the air. Our gazes jerk to the other figure, nearly invisible with the way he’s curled in the fetal position at Kain’s hip.

“Oh, yeah. Mav’s dying.” Kain shrugs like it’s the most normal thing in the world. Meanwhile, my heart feels like it’s about to thump its way out of my mouth.

Orion is the first to move, stepping over and crouching by Maverick’s head. “I mean… he doesn’t look great.”

“I-it was… ne—necessary,” Maverick says, his voice cutting in and out due to his damaged voice box. With a shuddering sigh, he rips the mask from his face, only to let his arm drop limply to the pavement a moment later, the cracked black mask clutched tightly between his fingers.

“Brett.You look so much like your mother.”

My chest seizes at the voice—so much older than I had imagined. So much pain lacing his tone, it causes a shiver to run the length of my spine. His eyes are the deepest brown I’ve ever seen—pools of molten chocolate that pair elegantly with the flecks of gold surrounding his iris. Though bloodiedand raw, I can still tell he carries those raw masculine features most women find attractive. In another world, I could see my mom and him together, arm in arm strolling through the park. Perhaps if she had picked him, things would have turned out differently.

“I loved her, you know,” he whispers, struggling with the words like he’s struggling for air. “I love…loved?—”

“I know,” I whisper, reaching a hand out and placing it on his. “I know you do. Even now, I know.”

“She deserved so much—so much better than she got. I just want you to have a chance at the things she didn’t. It’s why I agreed to help…” His sentence cuts off as he dissolves into a coughing fit, and I retract my hand as he cradles his to his oozing, bloodied chest. “It was supposed to happen this way. I would not have died for a less noble cause, Brett Evangeline.”

Piercing brown eyes capture mine, stealing all the breath from my lungs with the intensity swirling there. And though I’m sure it takes the last of his strength, Maverick's voice remains strong as he utters one last order.

“Make sure it was worth it.”

A wheeze sounds out, the last of his life leavingin a shuddering exhale, and Maverick's head falls to the floor, his eyes still half-open and staring at nothing.

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