Page 29 of Death God

A flash of memories hit me like a black wave.

I’d once lain on that altar like the other victims, pinned by War’s spear while he’d soaked his bloody hands in my insides, his mage and witch minions chanting in satanic ritual. He’d tried to absorb my essence, but my spirit had finally succeeded in fleeing to the human world, unable to bear the horror.

War had been hunting me for sixteen years until he and his dark mages created a dark spell by sacrificing hundreds of powerful beings and used that spell of abomination to summon my spirit back into my body. My alter ego had then vanished from the human family and their world that shielded me.

I was the only survivor on that altar.

One by one, the spirits appeared, until a horde of hundreds gathered.

Those powerful beings, among them light mages, white witches, Fae, shifters, hybrids, and other species, had once been my cage mates until one by one we’d been brought to be harvested on the altar.

I still had holes in my memories, so the spirits shared theirs with me.

You’ve returned, Ophelia, the leading male voice said in sorrow and satisfaction at the same time. You finally came.

The spirits knew both my names. They’d stayed where they’d been tortured to death to wait for me, believing that I would return one day.

I trembled, and then I started to cry as the horrific past dragged me under in dark waves.

Instead of comforting me, the spirits swarmed toward me to attack me, their shrieks bombarding my head, their collective black wind whipping me to the bones.

I threw up my hands to fend them off, screaming back, yet their onslaught only increased. Pain and misery showered me like black, icy hail.

“I was just as much a victim as you were!” I screamed at them. “Why the fuck didn’t you attack those who tormented and murdered you, cowards? Are you a bunch of worthless douches who bully only those who are weaker than you?”

Make us surrender, the spirits challenged, and some among them pleaded.

I screamed like a maniac, lashing out at them. My fangs were bared, my claws slashing at the phantom wind, only to pass through it.

A force rammed into me, knocking me onto my ass. Clenching my teeth, I rolled up to my feet. With one knee still on the ground, I attacked the cuff on my left wrist with my blade-like claw, trying to slice it off.

If I didn’t get them the fuck off, I wouldn’t have enough power to fend off the vengeful spirits, and they’d kill me.

Instead of coming off, the cuff only shocked me, the runes on its black, shiny surface swirling a menacing crimson. While I panted in cold panic, a thread of black lightning from the spirits tore into me and hurled me up, suspending me in the air, spread-eagled.

I remembered that same humiliating and horrible pose. The black mages had suspended me in the air with chains to whip me after their lord failed to harvest my power. My agony could fuel their energy.

“No, you don’t, fuckers!” I screamed. “No one shall ever touch me again!”

Roaring, I gathered my will with all I had, and it swirled into simmering power like a living thing.

I was Death’s daughter. I was death. As I called for my birthright, the magic of death welled up in me, infusing my blood like nothing I’d ever experienced. Death flames sparked to life in my eyes.

The runes on the cuffs hissed, then winked out.

Nothing could bind Death.

The spirits didn’t rule me. I was the mistress in the domain of death. I commanded them. Not the other way around.

“How dare you?!” I raged as I crushed their black lightning, turning it into useless ash.

My death power whipped them, sliced them, and burned them mercilessly, until they dropped to their knees, their black lips kissing the ground in surrender.

Part of me felt bad. I should’ve shown mercy toward the spirits of my former cage mates, as we’d once suffered the same fate. But they’d attacked me first, unprovoked, and that shouldn’t go unanswered.

I was no longer that Ophelia.

The more I punished the spirits, the more powerful I seemed to grow. Now I knew how the dark mages and witches had harvested my power and fed on my agony and suffering. It felt wrong, yet I drank in the high.

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