🐲 Dragon and Phoenix (Path of Light and Fire Book #2) (Completed) 🐲

Epilogue: The Beginning of the End

Invictus sagged against his chains, reeling from the blow of the Curator's newest cyborg. The brown-skinned human's hair shook with each blow, its blue-threaded dreadlocks flapping in the hair. 

Invictus's metal skin had longed since failed him. Without access to the enchanted mineral water or a Wade, he was just a ganero.

He was so close to infiltrating the tower and breaking the barrier. If that human hadn't interfered, the veil would be down. Without control of the access to food and water, the G.U.A.N council would fall. But most of all, they would all be free from the tyranny of the Curator.

He'd tried to flee the song of the alkonost, only to wake here, trapped in a place only spoken of in whispers.

The Museum.

He'd snuck inside once to steal a Wade, and now he would die for his hubris.

Invictus had lost track of the things he'd told the cyborg to stop the pain. He spilled everything he'd done, from his conspiracy with the Essencia to his aiding of the Serien near the barrier.

Nothing had stopped the assault.

The cyborg had stopped his questioning, and the only sounds were the rhythmic beating of his flesh.

"A shitty life is still a life," Invictus's family had said. He'd balked at them, chastising their willingness to live as cattle. He would rather die on his feet, he had said.

Now he would get his wish.

The cyborg's metal arm whizzed with each punch, carefully given with enough force to hurt, but not enough to injure. The Curator would want him alive, so he could be the one that killed him. To make an example of him for future generations. Like he had with the other would-be heroes before him.

Another blow crashed into his solarplexes, knocking the wind from him. He could almost time the blows now. So measured and sure. Never in the same spot twice.

"That is enough," a voice commanded from the corner.

For a moment, Steven thought he was hallucinating. It was a common side effect of being deprived of human interaction. Yet the wall shimmered and an unhcegila stepped forward, all grace. 

Her soundless steps unnerved him more than her sudden appearance. 

She had skin the color of the true sky and eyes as green as emeralds. Black lines cut through her skin, giving it the appearance of a broken tapestry. She wore blood-colored leggings and a sleeveless black blouse that spoke to her wealth and power.

"So, the Curator sends a snakespawn to do his dirty work," Invictus said, unable to focus on a snappier retort. "He's not even brave enough to show his own face."

She laughed, the piercing sound sending a chill down his spine. "What if I were to tell you that the Curator doesn't exist?"

Invictus tried to spit in her face, but the fluid wouldn't come to his lips. "I've seen the Curator in person," he said. "We all have. He is a disgrace to all ganero!"

She yanked him by his white hair, her green eyes giving her an appearance of kindness he knew did not exist.

"No you haven't," she said. "I am the Curator."

Invictus had never seen this woman before, but the steel in her eyes assured him it was true. The liquid metal of a Wade slid up her arm and formed a half-moon blade she placed on his fingers.

He shuddered, wondering just how gruesome his death would be.

I should have never tried to be a hero.