1
I’ve experienced a few world-ending moments. The battle with the Morrigan. Fighting in wars lead by Odin. It felt like the world ended when the god stripped me of my immunity after I violated my loyalty to him, Freya, and the Valkyrie. And it was a different kind of hell when my girlfriend Andi died, a victim to the evil that passes between worlds.
Every time, I made it through. That made me cocky. Can you believe that? Cocky about surviving the apocalypse.
Well, that shit ended when Marshal stood before me, coughing up blood, and said, “The apocalypse has begun.” A different sort of chill ran down my spine.
First of all, I’m not even there. The apocalypse, that I’d been sent to the Academy of the Immortals to stop, was happening without me—on the other side of the portal, while I stood in a peaceful Japanese tea garden working on my serenity.
Stopping the end of the world was my mission. My promise to the Guardians and Morgan, and I’d failed.
Unheroicaly.
My instinct had been to run—to crash through the portal and join the fight, but then Marshal fell to the ground, blood coating his lips, and I knew that despite our past, he is part this—part of my role in winning this battle.
Because that is what lies ahead; a battle, another war, the fight between Upper and Lower realms, between demons, fae, vampires, and every other type of immortal that exists.
Unfortunately, none of them have the Legion of Immortals on their side. None of them have what it takes to end it.
Me.
“How is he?”
The woman by the bed frowns and wipes the sweat from Marshal’s forehead. He’s had a fever all day, presumably from the wound on his lower belly, just above the hip. The injury is nasty—the edge raw and infected. It looks like it’s from a blade, possibly coated in poison.
If Marshal dies…
No, I tell myself, it’s not possible.
If he dies, we all die. The Upper Realm dies with him.
“He’s still fighting the fever, which is good,” the woman says. She’s one of the caretakers that live here—here being Miya’s home and garden. I’d been brought here to recover from the attack during the challenge at the Academy. I’d finally healed and now…I sit beside him and reluctantly take his hand. It’s burning with fever.
“I’ll sit with him,” I say.
“Don’t forget your own rest.”
I nod and keep my gaze on Marshal’s pale but beautiful face. I’ll rest when he’s better. And when he’s better, I’ll get the truth out of him once and for all; what side is he on? What game is he playing? Will I have to hurt him again? Or will he go back to the academy with me and fight?
He’d spent weeks aligned with Roland and Victorine in the Academy, watching the challenges from a box seat in the arena. Watching me nearly die in the arena, with a girl sitting on his lap and a drink in his hand. Bastard.
Yet, he found me. He knew how to find me, which means that the Legion told him where to get me. This is Miya’s retreat, and Agis is the one that brought me here. The access point is a painting in Miya’s room at the Academy. At least on that side. I haven’t been able to find my way out of here from this side. Miya’s staff is of no assistance with that. Maybe they don’t even know.
I study Marshal’s long, elegant fingers. They look like the fingers of someone that avoids hard work, not of a centuries-old killer. As a Valkyrie, I thought I understood the complexities of the realms. I knew about magic, about power, about victory and death. I’ve learned that what I know is a speck in the vastness of the gods' game, and that’s fucking intimidating.
So I’ll prioritize. I’ll get back to the Academy and find my men, and the rest of our allies. With their help, I’ll figure out what Marshal’s up to. If he’s trustworthy or not. Then, we’ll go kick some apocalyptic ass.
2
Luke
“Anything?”
Elizabeth strides into the room. She tosses the weapon onto the red velvet couch and shakes her head. “No. I searched the entire grounds. No sign of either Hildi or Marshal.”
She frowns at the painting over the fireplace—the one of the six-eyed monster. When Roland and Victorine led the charge through the temple, we took over the headmaster’s office. Not that there are any students here. We’re the only ones left at the Academy. Everyone else is either dead or followed Roland into the temple.
“I hate that painting,” she says. “I hate everything about this place.”
“Well, we won’t be here long enough to redecorate.”
On cue, the walls whine, followed by the shuddering of the building. We both grip the nearest heavy object for stability. The entire foundation of the Academy has been compromised and won’t hold much longer. But we can’t leave. Not until we find Hildi and Marshal. It was a direct order from Agis, although he had the backing of the other Immortals as well; Wait for Hildi. Bring her to us.
That was before I realized how much damage the building had sustained. A closer inspection revealed that when the temple was opened, it caused a ripple effect through the abyss that held the Academy’s realm together. This realm apparently was temporary, nothing more than a conduit to allow passage to the other side—to whatever realm was hosting the apocalypse. I have no proof, but I’m pretty sure that the gods want everyone in play—otherwise people would attempt to hole up in the Academy for safety—or maybe just to plan. The longer we stay, the more frequent the quakes rattle the building, which, at the current frequency, means our time is running out—for both staying here and finding them.
“They have to be in one of the portals that link to the school. Armin said that Marshal went to warn her.”
Her eyebrow raises. “And we trust Marshal?”
“I don’t know. I trust Armin.” I catch her violet eye. “Don’t you?”
“I do.” She sits on the couch. “A hundred percent.”
Another tremor runs through the walls, this one big enough to crack a window. Cold air from outside rushes in; the chill of the abyss.
“How long do you think we have?” I ask the fairy, as she shakes dust from the ceiling out of her hair. She’s healed from the ambush at the challenge. The bite wounds nothing but faint scars. She’s stronger too, spending a few hours of every day sparring with me while we wait.
“A day,” Elizabeth replies to my question. “Maybe two.?
?
Probably less. Only the gods know, and they sure as hell aren’t answering right now. There’s one thing we do know for certain. The Immortals, the Upperworld…they won’t win without Hildi, which means we have no choice but to figure out how to get her back.
“Well,” I say, grabbing a blade off my desk and tucking it into the waistband of my pants, “we’ll keep searching—room by room—until we find them.”
“And if we don’t?” she asks.
“We will.”
Find Hildi. The words echo in my head day in and day out. I’m not sure if it’s just the directive from Armin lingering or something else. The urge to get to her, to make her safe, is undeniably strong.