Page 33 of Pain Run Rampant

Invictis walks on water like it’s no big deal to get back to us, and I can tell the asshole’s in a good mood thanks to the fight. When he reaches Frederick and I, he muses, “A shame these creatures weren’t more challenging.”

The creatures were meant to keep regular humans out—which they did, mostly. They succeeded until they failed, but I guess that could explain literally everything in one way or another. You’re safe until you’re not. You’re awake until you sleep. You live until you die. I doubt the first high empress ever imagined people from another kingdom would come and unleash Invictis upon Laconia.

Frederick doesn’t address Invictis. Instead, he says, “Let’s get to the final altar.” He starts off, and I watch him go for a few seconds, well aware Invictis is watching me while I do it.

I think we’ve spent a lot of time with each other lately. A lot has happened. It will be good for us to have some time to ourselves… although, I’m never truly alone now, thanks to the bond with Invictis.

I ignore Invictis’s heavy stare and hurry after Frederick, slowing only so I can match his pace as we walk around the circular lake to reach the inner chamber.

The door, which was magically sealed before, is open now that the creature in the labyrinth has been defeated. Since I know what to expect inside, I take the initiative and enter the short hall that opens up into the prison first.

It’s almost eerie how painstakingly similar it all is to the others. These places had to have been created with magic to be so similar. I can’t imagine the power it must have taken for the first high empress to do something like this, let alone do it three times—and for her power to remain, eons after her death.

It puts me to shame, really.

Frederick sets down his bag and heads straight to the altar, where more words are etched on its stone face, words I can’t automatically understand. I’m sure if I searched my memories—the empresses’ memories—I’d be able to read whatever it says, but honestly that’s the last thing on my mind.

I need to touch that box, the metal box sitting atop the altar, the one that housed a piece of Invictis while Laconia grew and its people spread as the centuries went by.

As much as I hate to admit it, Invictis was right. My human mind cannot comprehend eternity. I can’t even really imagine what it was like when the first high empress stepped foot in an empty city. I don’t know exactly how much time passed between then and now, so it’s even harder for me to imagine atime before, to the people who used to call this land home, pre-Laconia.

I stand before the altar. Frederick is busy taking etchings, and Invictis stands close to me, probably waiting for me to pass out, as I’ve been doing each time I touch one of these things. The hairs on the back of my neck stand straight up, as if knowing what the outcome of this will be.

It’s what we came for. Might as well get it over with.

My hand lifts, fingers stretching toward the box. The very second my skin comes in contact with the square box and touches its unearthly, cold metal, the world around me goes black.

Chapter Fifteen

A gasp escapes me when I open my eyes to find I’m standing in a world of dusk. Beneath my feet, a thick liquid undulates, having no color of its own with no light to reflect, but I know what it is: aether. I stand surrounded by a sea of aether, so vast it’s near impossible for my mind to grasp. The sky above me is dark; only the very edge of the sky, a small sliver right where it touches the aether in the distance, holds any traces of light. It’s like I’m in the middle of an eclipse, the path of totality.

I turn around and spot a statue of Invictis on an altar eight or so inches above the aether. His six golden wings are outspread, his metal hands palms-up and arms open, as if he’s welcoming any and all into his embrace.

Death welcomes all.

Moving to stand before the altar, I angle my head back and gaze up at his head. No face, just a metal outline where his chin and cheeks would be, continuing up and curving where a head would. A light emanates from inside him, making it look like a golden halo. A golden, eight-foot-tall figure, anyone who didn’t know what they were seeing would assume he’s heavenly, angelic, here to deliver them.

But he’s not. His golden form and that light are just facades, lies. He is nothing more than a being of pure destruction—and my heart does funny things when I think about him too long. How pathetic is that? How fucked up am I?

Don’t answer that.

With all that he’s done, all that he would do if I unbound him from me, I still can’t help myself. I step up onto that altar and stand inches away from him. Even though it’s nothing more than a statue, I can close my eyes and smell him.

Sun-kissed skin. Sweat. Warmth. The scent of burning wood with just the slightest hint of ash.

I open my eyes as I reach for him. I place a hand on his lower chest—basically all I can reach since this form is stupidly huge—and I’m immediately met with a flood of heat surging through me. My breath catches, and for the quickest of moments I want nothing more than to surrender to him and all that he is.

But I don’t get the chance to, because the moment I touch his golden form, it ripples. The metal sizzles and changes, and I’m frozen in place as I watch him morph into something else. The light inside him dwindles to the point where it dies completely, and the gold that makes his form shine dulls as a result. It rusts to an ugly reddish-brown hue.

I try to take a step back, to push away from the changing figure, but the statue’s arms come to life. They creak as they move, and two seconds later they’re wrapped around my back, stopping me from leaving.

That’s when I notice it’s not done changing yet. The rust peels off, bit by bit until a new figure stands before me. The sky above me changes, as does the dark, murky aether below. It’s like someone flipped a switch. The sky turns to a bright white, and the aether beneath us glows a silvery hue.

I don’t feel warmth anymore. I feel so cold.

A low, deep, monstrous voice enters my head: “You toy with forces beyond your kin, mortal.” It reminds me of the voice Invictis used in my dreams, when he was trying to get me to give into him, to let him drive me mad as he drove the other empresses—but it’s not the same voice. It’s different. Deeper. It makes me want to be sick, like it’s a timbre my ears shouldn’t hear.

In an attempt to push away from the being, I duck in an effort to untangle myself from it, but it responds by tightening its armsaround me and slamming me against its body. I’m held so tightly against it I can hardly breath, and I can barely angle my head up.

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