Page 186 of The Ascended
And I ran, the remnants of my gown clutched to my chest, the sound of ghostly laughter echoing in my wake.
Thatcher.I had to find Thatcher.
Chapter 44
When Heaven Falls
My heart thunderedagainst my ribs as I raced back through the corridor, the elegant architecture that had seemed so enchanting mere moments ago now a labyrinth of death. Sweat slicked my brow, remnants of heat still clinging to my skin.
"Thatcher," I whispered. I reached through our twin bond, only to find it clouded, as though shrouded in the same smoke that now curled through the hallways.
Which door? Which godsdamned door had he disappeared behind? They all looked identical now. I tried to remember the flash of silver-white hair, the direction they'd turned, anything that might guide me to my brother before?—
Before he burned.
A scent hit me then, so visceral and wrong that my stomach heaved.
Burning meat.
I stumbled toward an open doorway, drawn by some morbid instinct I couldn't name. What I saw branded itself into my memory.
A contestant writhed on a bed of silk sheets that were rapidly turning to ash. Their back arched in what might have been mistakenfor ecstasy, except their skin wasmelting, sloughing off in blackened chunks that hissed and bubbled. Flames licked up their limbs, consuming everything they touched. Beneath them, an illusion flickered and faded—a perfect replica of some divine being, dissolving into nothingness as its victim burned alive.
The contestant's mouth opened in a silent scream, lips already charred beyond recognition. Their eyes—gods, their eyes were still intact—bulged from their sockets.
Bile scorched my throat as I tore my gaze away and staggered backward. My heel caught, and I nearly fell, catching myself against the wall with trembling hands.
I looked down.
My heart stopped.
Olinthar lay sprawled on the marble floor, his handsome face frozen. A starblade—mystarblade—protruded from his chest, buried to the hilt in the exact spot I'd pictured driving it countless times. His blood pooled black and viscous around the wound, spreading in a perfect circle that was far too symmetrical.
The scream building in my throat died as a terrible understanding bloomed. This wasn't real. This wasmyillusion—crafted from the secret I guarded most fiercely. The revenge I'd dreamed of.
My hidden desire, made manifest.
Cold horror drenched me, dousing the panic with something far worse. The viewing portals. If they could see the illusions—if all of Voldaris was watching right now—then everyone knew. My most carefully protected secret, the darkness I'd managed to conceal through the first two Trials, was now laid bare for all to witness.
They could see what I truly was. What I truly wanted.
My legs gave out, and I crashed to my knees beside the phantom corpse, more bile rising in my throat.
Shame. Guilt. Pain.
I was exposed.
The air around me compressed, squeezing my lungs until I couldn't breathe. I dragged myself to my feet, forcing leaden limbs tomove, to carry me away from the evidence of my darkest desire. None of it mattered now. Not the trial, not the divine court. Nothing mattered except?—
"Thatcher!" I screamed, both aloud and down our bond. I pushed forward, forcing my legs to carry me past the horror of Olinthar's body, past rooms where more screams erupted, more flesh burned.
The smell was overwhelming now, a miasma of cooked meat and scorched hair that coated my tongue, my nostrils, seeping into my very pores. I tried not to gag, tried not to think about what—who—I was smelling.
Door after door yielded nothing but empty chambers or scenes too ghastly to comprehend. I slammed each one shut, moving faster now, desperation lending speed.
"Thatcher, godsdamnit, answer me!" I couldn't feel him anymore, couldn't sense that familiar presence that had been with me since before birth.
I threw open another door, expecting more death, more fire.
