Twilight of the Gods ✔️

Chapter 13: Well-Worshiped Monsters

He stabbed her multiple times. The first time the dagger punctured her skin, the pain was fresh. She cried out from the wound, stumbling back. She still thought that she could run and save herself from her fate. That was the kindness of the first stab.

It lasted for a few seconds, which was the amount of time it took for him to pin her to the cobblestone and sink his blade into her again. The several stabs that followed were not as kind. He was angry with her and she couldn't remember why. But she knew that he was furious because he was stabbing her more than he needed to.

Blood ran down her chest like a great red waterfall. Her dress was ruined, reduced to mere scraps of fabric clinging to her body. She was fighting him with every ounce of strength that she has left, kicking and screaming with all her might.

It was an unfair battle between his blade and her teeth and nails. No one came to help her. It was nighttime in the brothels. Her fellow prostitutes knew better than to come out and save her. Or at least she hoped they knew better. The more likely scenario was that the madam had locked the doors.

She did say she was leaving after all. She was going to be a scholar, a woman of knowledge. They had laughed at her when she told them about her dreams. Were they laughing now that her body had been desecrated?

She can't see his face, much less recognize her attacker. His mien was so twisted by rage that it resembled a mask more than a face.

Still, she fought him. Her carriage was going to be here at any moment to take her to the university. She needed to live. She had to live.

But all hope was lost when he plunged his blade through her chest right through the skin above her heart.

Daeva woke up, gasping for air. She still felt the blade in her heart and the blood on her chest. She looked down at her body, half expecting to see it peppered with stab wounds.

To her surprise, her torso was soaked in inky blood. She quickly unbuttoned her nightgown, her fingers slipping over the metal circles. There, beneath her collarbone, was the source of all the blood.

She gingerly touched the old scar that had marred her body for the entire duration of her immortal life. She had never known where it came from. It had been some vague reminder of her time as a mortal, back when her blood was red and her heart was full.

Nyx had made good on her wish. The memories of her past life were trickling in. She was piecing together the puzzle of who she had been. Of course, the nightmarish jigsaw barely made any sense. She would need to be patient and wait for all the pieces to fall into place.

But Daeva was not patient. She never liked suffering more than she had to.

She replayed the memory in her head, unsettled by how easy it had been for someone to hurt her past self. The attacker's face was burned into her retinas, a monstrous sight that was barely human.

She knew what happened after that well-placed stab. He had run away, horrified by the sight of her. The corpse of her former self was left to rot on the streets for days and it would have, if not for Anhel. She must have taken it upon herself to track him down once she became a God, to avenge her mortal body.

But everything afterward was hazy. Somewhere between her resurrection and her escape from Otherworld was the outcome of her revenge. She was certain that she would've never let her assailant run free. She would've repaid his crime with a knife in his chest.

"Daeva, you're bleeding." Uriel was at her side, using a warm cloth to wipe away the blood on her chest.

"Really? I hadn't noticed," she said. Her blood stained the bedsheets, soaking through to the mattress.