Beyond His Evil

FIFTY-SIX.

THIRD-PERSON POV

The bells of Heaven rang.

Arathes heard them even in exile, and through the silence he had wrapped around himself like a tomb.

They had not been rung in ages beyond counting. Not in centuries. Not in millennia.

Only once before, and he remembered that day with cruel precision.

Mirel's body had been weightless in his arms, her eyes already empty of light.

He remembered the silver eyes that took her.

The bells had tolled then, not for victory or warning, but for devastation. For a loss Heaven itself could not undo.

They rang now.

Curiosity stirred within him, but he remained where he was. He had severed himself from Heaven and Earth alike. His exile was not punishment; it was necessity. He was not a demi god. He had never been meant to exist. A flaw in divine design, overlooked and allowed to reign.

There was no place for him anymore.

Still, something was wrong.

A distortion. A wrongness in the fabric of existence. Doom whispered without a voice.

Arathes stilled.

It had been ages since he last looked upon Earth. He had sworn never to again. Not after what he had done to it.
He had shaped life, then watched it suffer beneath indifference and cruelty, his own included.

He heard their prayers still, every plea echoing across the cosmos, but grief had hollowed him. Mirel's death had taken something essential from him, something irretrievable.

Worse still was the truth Heaven had revealed too late: she was alive somewhere beyond his reach. In Almeh, and lost to him forever.

The bells rang stronger.

War bells.

The angels would already be gathering.

Whatever had stirred on earth was beyond mortal reckoning.

Against judgment, against reason, Arathes rose. For the first time since Mirel's death, he turned his gaze downward.

Earth greeted him in ruin.

Not the vision God and his brothers had shaped, not the balance they had intended. The world was fractured. There was blood and hunger, power hoarded by monsters, balance long abandoned. His chest tightened. God had been right. Creation had failed its purpose. Ending it would be mercy. Heaven would survive the wound.

Then he felt her.

The healer.

The earth's redemption.

Power radiated from her like a second pulse beneath the world's heartbeat. Crafted by God's own hand. A being entrusted with life and death both.

Arathes had dismissed the rumors once, unwilling to believe God would gamble creation on a single soul. Responsibility of that scale crushed even demigods but there she was.

Chained.

Unconscious.

Surrounded by vampires.

His attention sharpened. Symbols burned into the earth around her, etched in the sacred tongue. A language only Heaven knew.

He read the words, and something cold coiled through him.

I shall rise, and take the glory that should have been mine.

Zalas.

Hell strained against its seals.

Arathes' attention sharpened. Zalas was bound to Hell. His prison had been absolute. For this message to exist meant they were preparing an escape.

Then Arathes saw him.

Even concealed, the presence was unmistakable. Ancient, familiar darkness clung to him. His silver eyes confirmed what Arathes already knew.

The offspring of Mirel and Zalas.

He had not remained a child.

Understanding unfolded slowly, inexorably. The healer had not yet awakened her full power, but she would. The son of Zalas carried the strength born of an immortal and a demigod, with a potential that had no clear limit.

Together, they could tear open Hell itself. Catastrophe in it's itsst form.

For the first time in ages, fear stirred in Arathes's chest.

If this succeeded, Heaven would be forced into war. Not against monsters alone, but against Earth. Against creations Arathes had once sworn to protect.

The bells rang again.

This time, they did not mourn.

They summoned.

***

Zethar felt it the moment Kira began to wake. The chains tightened as her power stirred. Good.

After years of preparation, nothing had gone wrong. Zalas's son was here. He had warned Zethar again that this plan would fail, as the others had. Yet he had stayed to watch; and agreed to help.

That alone meant everything.

Kira's eyes snapped open.

The first thing she registered was the weight in her arms. The chains. Then the low voices, too many of them. Her chest tightened.

"Get me down from here," she said. Her voice was weak, and she hated that it was.

The murmurs grew louder.

Zethar stepped into her line of sight.

"After all this time," he said evenly, "we have reached the moment."

"Get me down," she snapped, forcing what was left of her strength into her voice. "Now."

He watched her struggle against the chains, unimpressed.
"You don't need permission," he said. "Gethum should not bind you."

Her eyes searched his face. There was no urgency there. No doubt. Only expectation.

"Zalas will never rise," she said.

Zethar laughed.
It was brief, and controlled. The vampires surrounding them followed, their amusement sharp and unsettling. Kira's heart began to race.

When the sound died down, he was closer. She hadn't seen him move.

"I will make you awaken what you are," he said quietly. "When you do, the seal will weaken. That is all that is required."

"He won't come back," she said, though her hands had begun to tingle again as she fought the chains.

Zethar's eyes darkened slightly.
"His son is already here," he said. "Born of Mirel and Zalas."

The half demigod

Her breath caught. "That's not possible."

"You will meet him," Zethar continued. "It's destiny. "

He leaned in just enough that she could feel the weight of his presence.

"You were never meant to resist this," he said. "Only to unlock it."

Then he straightened.

"Fear works better when the body remembers how to feel."

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ALMEH is the realm of lost souls.