The Touch of Demise │18+

47: Oikos

GRACE

Nothing made sense and everything buzzed around her. Chaos erupted so quickly that she was unable to digest everything that had occurred. Her sword was wielded in her palm and clashed against another almost instantly.

Fae and wolves surrounded her as they entered into battle. She could hear her blood rushing through her skull and her skin becoming red from exertion. Faintly, she could hear Goliath's grunts of effort. She looked up for a moment, just in time to see shadow erupt from her friend's palms. It covered the field, darkening the view of the fae. And then he simply..disappeared. A breath later, he reappeared on the other end of her vision. He'd...traveled somehow...someway through the darkness that poured from him. 

She thrust her sword into the abdomen of a fae and promptly slit their wings off. There were so many of them drowning their world from the other realm. She realized that those soldiers wouldn't stop unless that portal closed. She ran toward the pulsating whirlpool, sliding under a sword, and tearing through a fae that stood in her way.

"Prima!"

That was Rosalie shouting to her over the carnage.

"The portal," she yelled. She hardly could hear herself over the clashing of silver. "We need to close it!"

She heard a curse and then her heartbeat filled her ears. As she neared her destination, she looked through and saw Adalind standing just on the other side. Grace held out her hand through worlds and beckoned her.

"Come!"

Grace knew Adalind was the enemy, but she had saved them. She had saved her family. She had saved her Kingdom.

Adalind turned around to look at the onslaught of soldiers running toward the opening. Time  slowed as the fae woman turned back toward Grace. The look of pure anguish struck her as Adalind's eyes lowered. Watching as Adalind made fists, Grace realized that she wouldn't be coming over.

"Protect my mate, Prima Grace." A resigned goodbye.

Then Adalind's hand rose and a bright light erupted from that palm, closing the portal, trapping Adalind in the fae realm and Grace in the Lycanthrope realm.

"No! No!"

She shrieked as an ache consumed her side. She landed on her back with a fae on top of her. Shadow crept from the forest, drowning the fae in obsoletion. Grace took the moment to kill. 

Chaos faded into unfathomable silence. She felt her mate behind her. The sea of wolves and fae parted, and at the other end was Ophir. In his arms, on his knees, was Malik. Her bother. The only blood family she had left.

"Wait! Stop!" She hardly recognized her voice. She tried to run toward him, but something held her back, something physical. It was as if a wall was built in front of her, jailing her. Demise, Goliath, Xerxes - anyone on this side - fought against that invisible fortress.

"Kneel."

She knew her eyes were bloodshot from the tears that threatened to pour. Pain radiated through her sides, but nothing compared to the grip of fear on her heart. Magic, she realized. Magic is what kept her here.

Ophir smiled. "Kneel and your brother lives. Give me your crown."

Malik's eyes met Grace's. He looked resigned. He looked as if he understood. "Mom always said you were destined for 'graceness.' You make her proud, Gracie."

"You don't have to do this, Ophir. You want power? Wealth? Fine! You can have the fae realm. You can take what you already have!"

"I want more," he whispered. "I've grown bored." He grinned, his dagger pointed toward Demise. "Ah, you're thinking about it aren't you?" His voice trailed high. "You love her so much, you'd give up your crown for her happiness? Endearing." Ophir looked at Malik.

As Grace stood, she realized that Ophir was untouchable. Not because of his strength, but because of the strength he stole from others - from Regents. It was pathetic. That wasn't real power.

"Run to her. If you can get to her before one of my men can fly to her, I'll let all of you live a glorious, pathetic happy life. If he doesn't, well," he trailed. "I'll re-open the portal, kill him, and take your kingdom."

He let Malik go. Malik took off in a sprint. Wings, larger than Demise, flexed outward. Wings versus feet; wolf versus fae.

Grace banged harder. She felt her hands grow numb and blood warmed her skin to her elbows. "Malik!"

Across the field, she watched as Ophir raised his hands and raised the Earth into enormous layers of rock. He threw them in front of Malik, stunting his speed.

"That is not fair!" She yelled.

One fell. Malik ran around it. Another. He passed it. And then, only a few yards away from her, fire consumed him from the skies.

"No!" She felt her mate wrap himself around her. She thrashed against him. She watched, snarling, as her brother burned alive in front of her.

That invisible barrier that imprisoned her didn't stop the smell of burning flesh that drowned her. Nor did it stop the sound of Malik's screams of anguish. It didn't block her from seeing her brother fall to his knees with his arm out, reaching for her. The look in his eyes would forever haunt her - because he didn't look fearful, he looked at her with love. As if she didn't just get him killed.

She screamed on her knees. When she looked up and found her feet again, she screamed, not as a sister, but as a Queen who demanded revenge. Her hands at her side opened as if pushing the power out of her.

Ophir's ground was de-rooted as the roots of the forest behind him were pulled upward. It destabilized him. When he fell, the moss of the floor grew and expanded, covering his ankles and wrists.

The world bloomed around her.

The barrier fell and the wolves were released. Grace fell to her knees as she neared her brother, cradling his head on her lap. Whatever had happened above her she couldn't tell, she didn't care.

She couldn't recognize him through the scars.

"Grace, Grace," she heard her mate's voice through the sound of her heart breaking. "Grace, I know, my Grace. I know it hurts, but," he grabbed her head with his hands and forced her to look at him. "You cannot give up. You cannot let that bastard win," he said thickly. He took her sword and showed her the engraving that Goliath didn't translate. "It means if you want peace, prepare for war. Not war with others, but war with yourself. You have prepared so rigourously for physical battle, but this begins the mental. Prepare for war, Grace." He kissed the top of her head. "Oikos," he whispered.

From the pit of her stomach, buries under whatever hatred and anger that burned, mustered the strength. If not for herself, then for her brother, for her kingdom, and for her family.

Oikos.

She would not lose her brother or her kingdom today. Not ever.