Page 33 of The Ascended
Every single one of the Legends was standing now, their expressions ranging from grave to shocked. Even Xül had risen from his throne, his eyes fixed on the spot where Drakor had been standing seconds before.
The god was gone. Completely, utterly gone, as if he had never existed at all.
And my powerless brother had killed him.
Chapter 9
The Pact
The world twisted,and we were somewhere else.
I hit the ground hard. The magical rope bit into my wrists, cutting off the flow of power before I could even think to reach for it. Beside me, Thatcher stumbled.
Gasps. Whispers. Dozens of voices rising in shock and revulsion.
I looked up to find myself in a large room—high ceilings, polished floors, benches filled with other contestants. All of them staring at us with wide eyes and dropped jaws.
Right. We were covered in blood. Head to toe in it. Drakor's blood. I didn’t want to think of what other pieces of him might still be clinging to us.Gods. What had Thatcher done to him?
"Move," the guard behind me grunted, shoving me forward. Another guard grabbed Thatcher's arm, pulling him in the opposite direction.
Absolutely fucking not.
"No." The word tore from my throat. I planted my feet, throwing my weight backward. "You will not separate us."
The guard's grip tightened on my arm, but I thrashed harder. "I will kill everyone here if you take him away from me again."
More murmurs from the crowd of blessed.Good.
"Not with that rope around your wrists," the guard said, yanking me forward.
The rope. Like the palace, it kept my powers locked away, useless. But he was wrong if he thought that made me harmless.
"You think I can't find more creative ways to take you down?" I snarled, throwing my elbow back into his ribs. He grunted, his grip loosening just enough for me to wrench free and stumble toward Thatcher.
"Just put them in a cell together," huffed the guard holding my brother. "It’s not like they can use their powers."
"Yeah, listen to your friend here," I spat toward my guard, who was already reaching for me again.
They yanked us both through a door, and the guard behind me tightened the ropes on my wrists until I cursed before finally releasing me from their hold. Then, finally, the door slammed shut behind us.
I turned to look at Thatcher, and my heart cracked.
He looked... empty. Blood matted his dark hair and streaked down his face in rusty trails. But his eyes. They were blank. Staring at nothing. Like he'd gone somewhere far away and hadn't found his way back yet.
I rubbed my wrists, watching the rope burns fade. This place was nothing like the dungeon I'd originally woken up in. It was clean. Comfortable. Crystal goblets sat on a polished table. Bottles of various liquids lined the shelves above. There was one small sitting area and no escape route except the door that had just locked behind us.
I walked directly to the bottles and popped a cork, inhaling. Alcohol. Strong enough to burn. This would do.
I took a long pull, the liquid fire sliding down my throat, then turned back to Thatcher, extending the bottle.
He didn't take it. Didn't even notice I was there.
"Thatcher." My voice came out rough. "We need to make a plan."
He blinked slowly, like he was trying to force the room into focus.
"Are you not at all concerned?"
