Xadezhda
Tall double doors stood before her. Dry blood painted drips down the front, so old it almost matched the black of the doors.
Xadya gave one last look of thanks to Oliwia and started for the stairs. She remembered it closely, her Initiation. Being dragged down those stairs. There had been so many. Now, they felt less. Her heart hammered in her chest as she descended, anything could have awaited her in the Below.
Scraping.
Xadya squinted into the darkness and tried to make out where the sound was coming from. And what it could have been.
The walls were stone, cold, dripping with blood as she remembered. There were no screams that evening. Perhaps there were no Initiates, either.
Xadya went deeper into the Below, pushing through the darkness and forcing her eyes to adjust.
She came upon a room, and lifted a hand to her mouth in horror.
Bones covered the floor. Blood, too, and skin. Hair. Pieces of torn apart humans scattered the place, coating what had once been the stone floor in an omen of death.
Malakhai—or some version of him—sat before her on a makeshift throne of bone and blood.
"Xadezhda."
She blinked.
"Zlatčka."
He grinned. She stared at the floor and understood why there had been no Initiates. Malakhai had eaten them. Not just their hearts. Them.
"I've been waiting, milaczek." She flinched at her pet name. "You've finally found me. What have you to say to me now?"
She raised her chin, meeting his black eyes. An ache settled in her chest. In her heart. Perhaps he would eat her, too.
"You nearly killed Jamie," she accused.
"And so you seek revenge?" he laughed. "I ought to do the same, since it was you who took him from me."
"He is missing a finger," her voice wavered, "and half blind. Don't you care?"
Malakhai tilted his head. Beckoned her closer. She found herself going to him.
"I discovered something, you know." He leaned in close to her. Xadya was quiet. "I hold memories of everyone who has ever been Initiated, alive and dead. Would you like yours back, Xadezhda?"
Her colourless eyes were wide. She gave the slightest shake of her head. How was that possible? Malakhai grinned down at her, a sick thing, and twisted a taloned finger into her raven hair.
She looked up into his features, pale and tinged with chaos. Horns had broken through his skull and twisted up toward the stone ceiling. She could hardly stomach the copper smell, the bodies, and yet...
Malakhai slid an arm around her waist and yanked her on to his lap. His hands were coated in red, she did not care. He worked them into her hair and his lips crashed against hers and she fought to get closer to him. It wasn't enough.
Xadya gripped the horns on his head tightly and his mouth pressed hard into her neck, sharp teeth grazing her skin and before he could stop himself, or she could stop him, he pierced her skin.
She caved to the pressure, Malakhai's hands working her sides, up and down, talons digging into her back as he kissed her again.
Did he have control? She didn't know. Didn't care.
Xadya wrapped her arms around his neck and a hand slid up her skirt. She leaned into him, blood and bone and all, he kissed her throat, her neck, her jaw.
Blood dripped down her collarbone and he pressed his long fingers into the red, putting them to his mouth. She watched, focused pulled to his hand on her thigh and back to his fingers coated in her blood.
"Human," he breathed, shocked.
Xadya leaned in close, whispering in his ear. "I am going to take you apart for what you've done to me."
He pulled back and she thought she saw pride in his eyes. On one side, his talons dug into her skin. With his other hand, he pressed a finger to her forehead, not unlike when he had stolen her powers.
Chaos.
Bruises and shouting and shaking hands. Plates too small, a house too full. Death flooded Xadya's mind and the memories—
"No," she gasped, she had not wanted this. Empty as she was, a shell of a human being, Airo and James had kept this part hidden for a reason. She had just begun to understand their reasonings.
"Take it back," she pleaded.
"Oh, she begs."
Xadya wrenched herself away from him. How had she let her feelings get caught in the way of her revenge? She was supposed to be down here making him regret what he had done to her, to James, to all of them.
"Please," she whispered, clutching at her hair as she remembered the violence, the death, the destruction she had wrought. Some had deserved it. Her siblings less so, but she had killed them anyway.
And she remembered the gods.
They had not lied to her. They had been with her from the very start. Pre-Initiation, pre-Arcane. They had chosen her and she had failed them. Now she would be forced to watch the boy she loved destroy the world before her eyes.
"I'll not send you back," he said, and she was glad for a moment to be drawn from her thoughts. "You'll be of use." Malakhai leaned in, that sick smile on his face. "Your gods won't be around much longer."
"What does that mean?" she demanded, but he had strolled away. "What does that mean?" Again, no response.
He had left her alone in the room with the torn-apart Initiates and when she tried to leave, the stairs were gone.
She followed him into the darkness.
