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The caracal stood alone, hooked blades glinting in the sun.

She wore a combination of armor and cloth—pauldrons, vambraces, bronze-plated faulds, a tight brigandine shirt wrapped in sashes of dark red linen. Grenades studded her belt. Throwing knives lined the curve of her chest. There was a scarf on her shoulders, sashes on her waist, and a pair of strapped sandals on her digitigrade feet. He almost found it elegant.

Around her, the garden was small and square. A colonnade surrounded the foliage on all sides, like a painting placed in a frame. Flowers, vines, and shrubs dotted the central ground, while shaded columns loomed in every direction, occasionally mixed with statues of gods.

Sadik marched through the shade of the colonnade. He made no effort to hide himself. Behind, his squad began to spread between the columns, watching for an ambush. Nothing glinted in the shadows. It seemed as if they were alone.

He knew better. He had not killed dozens of her clones by playing the fool.

Faustine heard his approach. When he met her eyes, he saw her burn scars glistening in the sun, traveling across her face in exactly the same pattern as Sadik’s tattoos—vines curling along the cheeks, thorns gripping the throat. If he felt any regret upon seeing her again, it died when he saw the ruin of her flesh.

She could have used Glimmer to remove the brand of the Luminous Path. It would have been easy. Trivial. Instead, she had chosen to burn the marks from her body, leaving a trail of scars and twisted, furless skin. It was a statement. A declaration of who she had been and what she had thrown away.

Sadik held Dusksong in a low stance, knuckles tight.

As he approached, Faustine twisted a flower between her claws—in a smooth motion, she plucked the blossom from its stem, took one scent from its petals, and tossed it over her shoulder. With her hand free, she raised her khopeshes out to the side.

“Still carrying a broken sword?” Faustine asked. “Don’t you know when to throw things away?”

Sadik entered the garden. Amira placed herself on the roof behind him. Isaac and Zaria maneuvered through the left side of the enclosure, keeping axe and spell at the ready, while Xaeyr moved along the right, shielding Yasmin as best he could. Instead of flanking, Kavaia marched right into the garden, warhammer in hand, casting a long shadow across the grass.

Faustine watched all of their movements, keeping track of positions and firing lines. Her posture was relaxed. She did not seem to care that she was outnumbered.

“Well, well,” the caracal said, grinning. “Amira and Yasmin. Are the vermin of the sewers finally exposed?”

Yasmin squeaked. Amira notched a wyrmkiller into her bow. Meanwhile, Kavaia planted herself behind Sadik’s shoulder, her weapon glowing alongside his own.

Faustine raised her head toward the crocodile. “The goddess of death.” Half her snout twisted in a sneer. “Oh, that’s right. It’s Kivie, isn’t it? Such a sweet name for a pet.” She gave a mocking bow. “Pleasure to meet you, exile.”

“We’ve met before,” Kavaia replied. “You didn’t survive the experience.”

The caracal grimaced. After a moment, she snorted, as if dismissing the fact.

“Of course you don’t remember,” Sadik said. “You’re not the same person. I suppose people need to live through their mistakes to learn any humility.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Faustine replied. “I’m sure the Jade Demon remembers me.”

“Hardly,” Kavaia said. “When I step in shit, I don’t stop to ask its name. I just wipe it off my heel.”

Faustine laughed. “Tough words, goddess. I hope you match them.”

Above the garden, the walls of the hippodrome loomed into the sky, the white marble clashing against the leaves of the Neheamatt’s canopy. Lanir flew along the rim of the stadium, her blue scaled wings bristling with flame. Somewhere below, a salvo of lightning arced into the air. The dragon dodged and weaved.

Sadik lowered his gaze, scanning the garden once more. He saw nothing out of the ordinary. Draping vines, blooming flowers, a calm sea of grass. There were two statues of gods standing on either side of Faustine—Volion, the human god of craftsmen, and Avthar, the scarab god of glass. The human folded his arms. The beetle held his six limbs in prayer. Both of the statues seemed freshly carved.

“Sir,” Amira said, speaking into his radio. “Area seems clear. Keep your feet light, just in case.”

Sadik pursed his lips. Every instinct was telling him to attack. Instead, he concentrated on the feeling of Kavaia at his side, trying to rein himself in.

Focus, he thought.

“So,” Faustine said, twirling her swords, “did the agent of oppression come to install another tyranny, all the way in heaven? Was he not satisfied with ruling the mortals?”

“How did you get here?” Sadik asked, measuring his voice.

“How do you think?”

He looked at her. Instead of her usual black armor, she had adorned herself with bronze plates and long, burgundy sashes. The outfit seemed just as elegant and refined as anything the gods would wear. A soldier in finery.

A divine champion.

“How long have you been serving him?” Sadik asked.

Faustine shook her head, giving a humorless laugh.

“Days ago,” Sadik continued, “when Kavaia and I fell from the pantheon, you were able to find us in the streets. Rather quickly, in fact.” He released a sharp breath. “Rushan told you where we were.”

“Oh, of course,” Faustine replied. “Of course you only learn this now. Always selectively blind, weren’t you, Sadik? Always ignoring what was right beneath your nose.”

Sadik stepped forward. “How long?”

Faustine took a similar step, baring the edge of her swords. “Not long enough.”

Kavaia tensed. Off to the side, Isaac raised his hands, both his palms shimmering with wind.

“Well,” Sadik said, voice like a knife, “I suppose traitors deserve each other.”

“He is the only one fighting for our freedom,” Faustine replied. “Unlike you, I serve a god worthy of praise.”

“You serve nothing but your own jealousy.”

Her ears flattened to her skull.

“Oi, oi!” Zaria shouted. “Ladies! Keep your britches together! We’re here to talk, ain’t we?”

Sadik and Faustine glared at each other, less than a single pace from striking. Teeth and breath shredded the air.

Kavaia cleared her throat. Sadik glanced back at her, looked at Faustine, and, slowly, took a single step back.

“That’s right,” Faustine said, burns twisting with rage. “Crawl back to your goddess. I suppose you do need some large, jeweled creature to suckle against.”

Sadik took a second step back, clearing a good distance. His tattoos were as bright as molten steel. Kavaia nudged him from the side. A thigh against his shoulder.

“I think the pleasantries are over,” the crocodile said. “What do you want?”

Faustine relaxed her snarl. Slowly, her eyes travelled around the garden, taking note of every person arrayed against her—Sadik and Kavaia in front, Amira on the rooftop, Xaeyr, Isaac, and Zaria all watching from the side. Her long tail flicked above the grass.

On both sides, the statues of Volion and Avthar loomed against the colonnade, as if watching the exchange.

“Rushan wishes to speak with you,” she said.

Sadik blinked. “He’s still alive?”

“Of course he is. If the god of war was dead, a curse of madness would befall us all. We’d kill each other in droves.”

“That doesn’t seem very different from the present.”

Faustine met his eyes. “Of all the gods, you should wish to see his death the least. Not that you could kill him yourself.”

Kavaia shifted on her feet.

“The plague is giving him visions,” Faustine continued. “His infection lies dormant, and he claims to see the heart of the sickness, deep within the earth. They can feel each other’s thoughts. Share their knowledge.” She glanced over her shoulder, toward the rising walls of the hippodrome. The heavenly war raged in the distance. “He refuses to join the battle. Instead, he spends his time communing with the plague, deciphering whatever words he can.”

Kavaia grunted. “I suppose that’s how you knew we were coming.”

Faustine kept her gaze on Sadik, ignoring Kavaia.

“The plague tried to destroy the city,” Sadik said, remembering Gidros. “Now, it’s trying to speak with me. It’s . . . behavior keeps changing.”

“Evolving,” Faustine said. “Yes. Rushan described it as a frightened animal, slowly turning into a child. Apparently, its mind feels like thousands of voices, flooding together. A harmony grows.”

Despite the sun on his skin, Sadik felt a chill.

Come and see.

The caracal gestured with a khopesh, pointing toward a door at the back of the colonnade. “The plague speaks of you. So does Aldunya, in her usual way. Rushan wants to know why you’re so important.” She raised her chin. “He promises a meeting on neutral ground. Once finished, you may leave unharmed. No more, no less.”

“No,” Kavaia said, her voice stern. “Absolutely not.”

Faustine twitched an ear. “I don’t think I was asking you, goddess. Why don’t you go fondle the dead?”

“I know your master better than most,” Kavaia replied. “He is a cruel, arrogant man who will twist every word he hears. Offering clemency just gives him leverage. You and Thimera may find some pleasure in his domination, but I do not. Not again.” Her gaze shifted to Sadik. “Don’t take his offer. Nothing good will come of it.”

“It’s your only chance,” Faustine said. “If you refuse, he will come for you, and his attention won’t be divided any longer.” She pointed a sword toward Yasmin. “Do you want to see your allies in tyranny fall, just like the rest?”

The rat hid herself behind Xaeyr’s leg. Sadik heard the distinctive creak of Amira’s bowstring, beginning to draw back.

He took a deep breath. The statues of Volion and Avthar seemed to lean in.

“In the throne room,” he said, “Thimera told us that Rushan and Ilios met with Aldunya in private. A secret was revealed. Something that drove the jackal to cause all this chaos.”

Faustine did not respond.

“What did they learn?” Sadik asked. “What is Aldunya hiding from us?”

The feline assassin snorted. “Oh, sure. Now you want to hear me speak.”

“Answer the question.”

Her burn scars twisted in a scowl. “Ask him yourself.”

To the side, Zaria and Isaac waited at the edge of the colonnade. Xaeyr drew water from the flowers and grass, pulling it into a boiling mass.

“Well,” Sadik said, “ordinarily, I would be happy to accept the jackal’s offer, just so I could look into his eyes while I tell him what a sick, despicable creature he is. However, I serve the goddess of death, and she has given her opinion on the matter. I can’t disobey.” He gestured with Dusksong. “The answer is no. Leave this garden at once. If you don’t, I will give you what all traitors deserve.”

Faustine took a long, slow breath. Her eyes never left his face.

Slowly, the wind began to change.

“You know,” she said, “I was hoping you’d say that.”

Above, a heavenly war raged in the sky. Branches burned and fell. Ash drifted like rain.

“Are your clones hiding in the shadows?” Sadik asked.

Her face split in a grin.

“Sir,” Amira said, speaking in the radio. “Permission to engage?”

Faustine stepped forward, raising her swords to the side. The hooked blades seemed gruesome in the morning light.

A soft breeze whispered through the garden.

Sadik braced his own sword. The blade was nearly as wide as his torso, and it was more than capable of cleaving through stone. With her unmodified body, he could easily cut her in half.

Of course, she was fast. She had always been faster than him.

The breeze grew stronger. There was almost a voice, just on the edge of the gust. A warning.

“You’re outnumbered,” he said.

“And you’re a fool,” she replied. “A broken sword, a fallen queen. What do you think you’re defending?”

Isaac and Zaria moved to the feet of the Volion statue. Xaeyr rose against the statue of Avthar, pulling streams of water between his hands.

“I don’t even recognize you anymore,” Sadik said. “All this time, I’ve asked myself—would it have mattered, if I had guided you better?” He breathed. “Was all of this really my fault?”

She took another step. Little distance remained.

“Sir,” Amira said, voice growing tense. “There’s no movement. Fuckin’ nothing. If she’s got something up her sleeve—”

“Hit me, Sadik,” Faustine said. “Give me your wrath. Show me exactly how well I killed her.”

“Walk away,” Sadik said, gritting his teeth.

Kavaia hefted her hammer. The statues began to twitch.

“Oh, my star,” Faustine said, mimicking Hisana’s voice.

Rage seared through his heart. Flowers bent and swayed.

“Please. Oh, please. Run! Run!”

Dusksong shook in his hands.

Faustine raised a claw to her throat, pretending to slice across. In his mind’s eye, he saw a hippo’s head, rolling across the floor. A wet splatter. Trailing blood.

“Oh, please! Not our child!”

Sadik slashed and roared.

Faustine caught his blade with her swords. Behind her, the statues of Volion and Avthar began to shatter, revealing flesh beneath the stone. It was only a thin shell of marble. The two gods had been hiding in plain sight. If nothing else, the god of craftsmen was said to be crafty.

“Ambush!” Amira yelled.

The human god, Volion, swung at Isaac and Zaria. The scarab god, Avthar, tackled Xaeyr to the floor, attempting to shred him with six glassy limbs. With a snarl, Faustine broke her cross with Sadik, hooking Dusksong with one blade and slashing forward with the other.

He dodged away. She pressed the attack, stabbing straight for the throat. He ducked, weaved, swinging Dusksong in reply. When she parried the blow, he bashed her with his shoulder, only barely feeling the scrape of a khopesh across his armor. Amidst the flowers and shrubs, a vicious duel began. Blows rained. Snarls erupted. The air boiled with steel.

A shadow fell. Kavaia swung Dawnstar from overhead, smashing the floor with an eruption of soil. Faustine rolled to the side, hooking the crocodile’s shin with her khopesh. There was a wrenching pull. Flesh teared. Kavaia fell to a knee. Faustine raised her twin blades, preparing for a slash to the neck, but Sadik rushed forward, putting all his weight into a broadside swing. When she barely managed to block, Kavaia punched her in the chest, denting the bronze plates and sending the caracal stumbling in pain.

Man and crocodile rose together. Faustine threw a grenade at their feet, burn scars twisted in a snarl. Kavaia pulled Sadik away. More soil erupted. Shrapnel raked through skin and scales.

Time slowed. Concussion spread. The battle rolled in a daze.

Volion kicked Zaria with the flat of his heel, cackling loud. The hyena blocked the blow with the haft of her poleaxe, but the strength of the blow left her stumbling, and, with a single touch, Volion began to transmute her weapon into copper, the metal drinking the wood like water. Zaria threw the axe in fury.

“I’ll make you rich,” Volion said, catching her weapon. “A silver tongue. Golden blood!”

Isaac blasted the human god with a lance of concentrated light, melting flesh like wax.

“Oh, fuck! Shit!”

Meanwhile, Xaeyr was pinned to the floor of the garden, his flanks continually stabbed with shards of glass. Avthar opened his chelicerae, darting a sandy proboscis toward an eye—instead, a wyrmkiller shot into his side, cracking straight through the chitinous shell. Avthar recoiled, spraying sand. Xaeyr kicked the beetle away with a simian screech.

Sadik blinked. Ahead, Faustine emerged from a shower of dirt and flame, reaching for the throwing knives on her chest.

He ran forward, limping through the shrapnel in his legs. The first knife bounced off his armor. He blocked the second knife with the flat of his sword. When Faustine threw the third knife, he was already bracing for an upward swing, the knife stabbing through his bicep right in the middle of his slash. Blood sprayed. His blade met nothing but steel.

Faustine kicked him with a sandaled paw. He fell onto his back. She raised her twin khopeshes, eyes as green as grass.

A shadow fell again. Kavaia swung Dawnstar in a broad sweep, the glowing hammer like a comet in the air. Instinctively, Faustine raised a khopesh in defense, and the sheer strength of the blow shattered her sword into pieces, letting the steel fragments rain across the garden. The caracal was thrown to the floor.

“Fucking magic!” Volion yelled.

Somewhere, Zaria screamed in pain. Avthar collapsed, shredded with arrows and steam.

Kavaia stumbled from the strength of her swing. Faustine leaped back to her feet. Just as Sadik managed to stand, she slashed a khopesh at his neck.

There was a moment of pain. Quick and sharp.

The world began to spin. The sky lurched overhead, the colonnade appeared to flip, and a bed of grass rose up to meet him. His vision grew hazy as he struck the garden floor, rolling like a stone upon a hill.

There was a distant thump. Through the haze, he saw his own headless body slumping to the floor in front of him. Dusksong fell to the grass. Blood gushed from the open stump of his neck.

When he tried to gasp, he found that his lungs were no longer there.

Slowly, as if in a dream, Faustine stood above his body, blood dripping from her sword. Her face was locked in triumph.

The haze grew strong. Darkness poured into his eyes. All he could do was open and close his jaw, feeling the last of his blood drain away. Somewhere, he could feel the phantom sensation of his limbs, the hardwired instinct to breathe and move and fight. With the last strength he had, he thrashed for every possibility.

Seconds passed. Nothing worked. Every reflex betrayed him.

In his last moments of consciousness, Sadik let his eyes fall on his body. Bronze armor. Swarthy skin. A broken, melted sword.

Was that who he was?

His vision went black. Lips twitched for air.

Sounds echoed. Voices. Shouting.

Where was the light?

Vibrations. Soil.

What did—

Motion.

He. . . .

. . .

. . .

. . .

Pain.

Burning. Agony.

The smell of searing flesh.

He twitched, feeling a rush of blood.

When he opened his eyes, Kavaia filled the sky. Her snout was clenched in pain, and her eyes were wide with terror. Godly fingers grasped at his neck.

Sound returned with a slam.

“Sadik! Sadik!”

His head had been planted back onto his shoulders, and the goddess of death was rapidly healing it into place—stitching muscle, bridging airways, connecting bone and skin and nerves. She was working so quickly that the excess heat was melting her neck. Steam erupted in a thin, burning collar.

Her eyes were wide and panicked. She only stopped screaming his name when her larynx was severed.

As his throat sealed, Sadik gasped for air, taking a breath so deep that it strained the scales of his armor. His brain boiled with a wild surge of blood. He felt every pore on his skin, every spasm of muscle, every inch of flesh that he had never appreciated before.

Training returned. As Kavaia gurgled above him, her neck lurching like a half-sawed tree, he felt his eyes roaming across the garden, fingers already reaching for the sword at his side.

Avthar was dead, lying in a mixture of blood, sand, and broken chitin. Nearby, Zaria writhed on the floor, clutching a hand that was rapidly turning to silver. Beneath the shade of the colonnade, Volion scrambled for safety, holding a broken slab of marble as a makeshift shield. Arrows cracked the stone.

“Enjoy your new statue!” the human god shouted.

With a feline grace, Faustine climbed toward the roof of the colonnade, using the arches and friezes for leverage. Once above, she sprinted toward the heavenly war, her bronze armor and burgundy cloth outlined against the hippodrome. Blood wept from her swords.

She glanced back. Sadik met her eyes. Across the distance, there was a moment of remembrance. Then, she was gone.

Screams filled the air.

“Xotra’s bleeding cunt!” Zaria yelled, thrashing on the ground. “Fuck!”

Xaeyr propped himself against a marble column. His moon shined upon a bloody, glass-shredded toga. Meanwhile, Kavaia gripped her throat, barely keeping her spine from breaking at the fibers. With an unsteady lurch, she rose to her feet.

“Help her!” Xaeyr shouted, pointing to Zaria.

The crocodile hesitated.

“Tend the mortals!”

Kavaia sprinted for Zaria. The hyena was squirming and writhing, barely aware of Isaac kneeling at her side. Volion’s touch had turned her hand into silver, and the transmutation was steadily growing up her forearm, drinking the flesh in a slow, inexorable crawl. The fingers were already petrified. Every hair was as sharp as a needle.

It would reach her heart in less than a minute. Her entire body would turn to a glittering metal. From the way she screamed, it would not prove a pleasant transition.

“Get it off!” she screamed. “Get it off!”

“Isaac,” Kavaia said, kneeling. “Hold her arm down.”

For a moment, the human wizard could only stare, watching the growing metal with a look of horror.

Kavaia grabbed his wrist, slamming it onto Zaria’s upper arm. “Hold!”

Isaac held.

“Sadik!”

Sadik stumbled to his feet. His limbs felt slightly alien, like his nerves had not quite aligned.

“Amputate the limb!” Kavaia yelled.

Isaac’s eyes widened. Zaria arched her back against the grass, black muzzle bristling with teeth.

Sadik marched into position. Dusksong glinted in the sun.

“Wait, wait!” Isaac shouted, holding up a hand. “Hold on—I can—I—”

Kavaia gripped his shoulder. Isaac released a shaky breath, gaze lingering on the silver. In the end, he leaned down and cupped Zaria’s face in his hand, whispering gently into her ear. The hyena could only shiver. Her elbow grew as silvered as a door knob.

Sadik raised his sword. He looked down, as if waiting for permission.

“Fuck it,” Zaria said.

Sadik swung. His blade tore through flesh and bone in a single blow. He had aimed for the center of the bicep, a few inches above the spread, and Kavaia quickly grabbed the severed arm by the last few bits of flesh, flinging it away. It rolled like a morbid candle.

Zaria moaned on the garden floor. Isaac cradled her head in his lap, gently stroking her brow.

“I can regrow the limb,” Kavaia said, “but she will take Glimmer in the process. It will be substantial.”

The human did not answer.

“Isaac.”

“Is it. . . .” Isaac swallowed. “Permanent?”

Kavaia took a moment to finish healing her neck. Flesh bubbled in a ring. “It will flush away, eventually. She will suffer withdrawals.”

“She might die,” Isaac said.

“Yes.”

Zaria’s eyes fluttered open, lidded and dazed. Blood soaked the grass.

“Do it,” Isaac said, his voice thick.

Kavaia placed her hand on Zaria’s arm. Immediately, her own arm began to sag at the bicep, the scales and skin sloughing in layers. New meat grew from Zaria’s stump, frothing and hot. Both women hissed in pain.

Off to the side, Yasmin and Amira had gathered around Xaeyr, pulling raw glass from his flanks and dabbing vials of Glimmer on the open wounds. The baboon breathed toward the sky as glittering light raced through his skin, dancing and sparkling like sand between a sieve. It was a crude treatment. At the same time, gods were made as vessels for Aldunya’s blessing. They could withstand the most prodigious gifts.

As the chaos faded around him, Sadik returned his gaze to the hippodrome. The arena loomed in the distance. At its feet, a battle was abating. The flashes of light and noise were retreating into the distance, as if one army was routing another. From his position, Sadik could not tell who had been victorious.

He imagined broken marble, the waterfalls of shattered xylem. Sap dripping upon the floor.

Wasted. All of it.

Avthar laid dead on the floor. The god of glass. Right now, a sandstorm would be brewing on the outskirts of the city, ready to flay the flesh of any who dared emerge from their homes.

How many curses was that now? How many mortals would have to suffer?

Amira patted Xaeyr on the chest. With their difference in size, she had to lean over his shoulder to whisper in his ear. He nodded, gesturing her away. She kissed him on the cheek. He said something that made her smile.

Amira made her way over to Sadik. By the time she arrived, the smile was gone.

“Sir,” she said. “You got a bit shorter, for a moment there.”

“I am already ahead of it all.”

She stared at him.

“Get it?” Sadik asked. “A head?”

A small snort cracked through her expression. “Fuck you.”

“I regret nothing.”

Amira glanced at the blood staining the grass. Her face darkened again. “Permission to bitch?”

“Of course.”

Amira anchored her bow. “Well, sir, bein’ honest and all—I’m getting real sick of this shit.”

“Likewise.”

“Everything, really,” she said. “Famine, plague, revolution, eating rats, losing men, killing every cunt from cliffs to cactus, having a dozen more sprout like flies on shit. Never fucking ends.”

“It’s all so tiresome.”

“After weeks of that, seeing your protégé was like a fist of sand up the backside.”

Sadik nodded in agreement.

“And now,” Amira continued, “she’s talking some shit about plagues and children and whatever the fuck. Feels like we’re the only ones who haven’t lost our gods-damned minds.”

“What should we do about it?”

“The gods are still fightin’ ahead.”

“Not anymore. The war has ceased, for now.”

Amira dragged a hand across the trophies on her greatbow. Wyrm scales, human teeth, bits of claws and fingers. “If that’s so, I want to find a new battle. I want to be there double time. And if any of them gods want to stand in our way, they better end up jumping off the tree, lest I get my fuckin’ hands on ‘em.”

To the side, Zaria’s arm had finished regrowing. Kavaia’s arm had been reduced to a shriveled husk, hanging thin and boneless at her side. Both were rising back to their feet.

“Z?” Isaac asked, as if she might grow a second head at any moment. “Are you—I mean—how does it feel?”

Zaria flexed her new arm. If Sadik had not personally cut the last one from her shoulder, he would have thought that she had never lost the limb. “Fuckin’ dandy. It’s like. . . .” Zaria shivered. Every muscle was shaking. “All tingly. Strong. Like I’m half my age, swingin’ from a top sail. I could belt a shanty.”

Isaac hesitated. After punching the air with her arm, Zaria grabbed his waist, leaned him horizontal, and kissed his lips with her snout. There were several muffled protests. When the hyena pulled him back, Isaac was blushing furiously.

“Right, then,” Zaria said, wiping her mouth. “Onwards. I’m down an axe, but that’s no mind for me. Feel like I’ll be leapin’ mountains by the minute.”

“It will not last forever,” Kavaia said, clutching her withered arm.

Xaeyr returned to the group. His clothes were bloodied, and his shattered moon spun in loose orbit above his head. There was a fresh anger on his face.

Sadik glanced up at the hippodrome. There were scorch marks, dustings of ash, entire cracks in the stone. For now, the sky was empty. Only flames remained, crackling along distant branches.

“Let’s go,” he said.

They left the sunlit foliage of the garden, leaving behind blood, severed limbs, and the body of a god.

---

The sandstorm grew quickly.

At first, there was only a sharpness to the wind, whistling through the leaves and marble corridors. When Sadik emerged into an open plaza, the surrounding architecture receded into the distance, and he was able to see all the way down to the land below, where a swirling, brown cloud gathered along the desert. The sand blossomed over the glow of Acheron’s walls. By the time Sadik was approaching the hippodrome, the vortex was snaking its way above the scarlet clouds, like a colossal worm emerging from the blood-soaked earth.

The death of Avthar, god of sand and glass, was not going to pass unnoticed.

The storm would reach the pantheon in a matter of minutes. It rose above the city of Acheron, bypassing the walls and streets entirely. Perhaps Aldunya only intended to punish the gods, for a change. Perhaps she wished to smother the heavenly war beneath a veil of splitting sand, preventing any of the deities from continuing the battle.

Perhaps she was trying to stop Sadik, in particular.

He continued on toward the hippodrome. Piles of ash crunched beneath his sandals. Fallen branches lined the plaza, the splinters of wood glimmering like holy spears. Above, a massive fire continued along the crown of the Neheamatt, slowly spreading toward the upper canopy. The air throbbed with power.

Surprisingly, there were no bodies. Despite the cracked stone and splattered blood, he could not find evidence of a single death. The gods were trying not to kill each other. They knew all the destruction that would be wrought.

Of course, a mortal invader would not receive the same mercy.

There was movement along the stadium. Gods rushed between the rows of archways, visible by halos and wings. Some raced to aid the wounded. Others attempted to fortify breaches in the hippodrome walls, piling chunks of stone into the sagging gaps. Judging by the chaos, Lanir’s forces were still reeling from the assault. No one watched their approach.

Sadik stopped around a hundred feet from the stadium walls. His squad fell into position at his back.

“Goddess, my lord,” he said. “If you please.”

The two gods stepped in front. Together, they drew a breath.

“Lanir!” Kavaia shouted.

“Get down here, you flaming cunt!” Xaeyr yelled.

Their voices echoed across the plaza. All movement paused. For a brief moment, silence reigned in the pantheon, bathed in the light of the morning sun. The walls of the hippodrome held their breath.

“Hostile!”

“Form a line!”

“Assault! Assault!”

Gods emerged like ants from a hive, gushing through the gates and archways. Sunspears braced against marble columns. Many brandished their divine powers—a vortex of leaves, arms morphing into swords, chunks of stone flying from the rubble with the wave of a hand. Above the rim of the stadium, several avian gods ascended into the air, forming a tornado that spun and shrieked with every flap of their wings.

Sadik stared at the powers aligned against him. A week ago, the show of force would have been intimidating. Now, he was furious.

“Drop your weapons!” a lion god shouted, his body spiked with thorns.

Sadik raised Dusksong high above his head. Less than half of its runes remained alight, but, with a twist of the haft, the sword glowed as bright as a star. Shadows deepened across the plaza. Divine eyes shined with light.

“I served Ilios!” Sadik shouted. “I still carry the sun!”

Two warning shots were fired—a burst of sunspear lances, melting the stone in front of Sadik’s feet, and an explosion of green liquid above, raining a noxious sludge across the battlefield. Venom. The god of serpents, Cyton. Amira almost notched an arrow.

In response, Sadik smoldered every tattoo on his body, letting them join the brightness of his sword. With his bronze armor reflecting the light, he became a pillar of radiance, erasing any shadow that dared approach. Several gods had to turn away.

Beside them all, a sandstorm sliced across the sky, growing vast and tall.

“Lanir!” Kavaia yelled, half-shielding Sadik. “Is this your justice?”

Xaeyr stepped forward, covering the mortals behind him. “Go on! Kill another god! I dare you!”

Many of the gods hesitated. Jewels and finery shifted between the marble columns. It was obvious that several of them were suffering from the curse of armors—weeping blisters, fur and feathers sloughing away. No one wanted to add another affliction.

“Lay down your weapons!” another god shouted, slightly calmer. “If you want to surrender, you must—”

A shadow appeared above.

Lanir, goddess of truth and justice, crested above the walls of the hippodrome. Avian gods scattered through the air, shielding their faces from the flames. With a flap of her wings, the dragon descended from above, her body so large that it blocked much of the Neheamatt’s canopy from sight.

She had several wounds. Her left eye had been gouged into a vacant hole, and one of her wings was a torn patchwork of skin and bone, barely able to keep her aloft. Sadik remembered her fighting Rushan—from the look of her injuries, she had taken several grievous blows.

Still, she was alive. Most did not survive the jackal’s wrath.

Lanir landed upon the plaza. Ash sprayed in a cloud. As Sadik shielded his eyes, the dragon sauntered forward, tall and blue of scale, folding her wings against her back. The heat of her flames drew close.

Vibrations shuddered through the air. As Lanir focused her gaze upon him, Sadik felt a pressure on his mind, speaking a word directly into his thoughts.

Mortal.

Her right eye shimmered with power. Flames licked at the open cavity of her left. There was a subtle trace of Glimmer sparkling within the cavity of her skull, slowly rebuilding the eye.

Why have you come?

Yasmin breathed. Isaac and Zaria watched the gods on the hippodrome. To the side, the sandstorm continued to snake through the sky, spearing for their position.

“There is sickness in these branches,” Sadik said. “I have come to prune.”

Lanir cocked her head.

“The mortals suffer below,” Kavaia said. “So long as the gods fight, they will not be safe. We wish to bring peace.”

How did you return? The dragon shifted her attention from Sadik, peering into Kavaia’s eyes. The god of cataracts was sentenced to death. You were sentenced to exile. A mortal life of shame.

“Aldunya had other plans,” Kavaia said. “As she often does.”

It was my decree. I am an instrument of her justice.

“You were wrong.”

The dragon’s scales brightened with flame. The air shuddered with force.

The fighting is borne of your actions. None other sowed a coup within our halls. If any blame should be given, it is on those who drew the first blade.

“I did what I must,” Xaeyr replied, his moon grinding its pieces together. “Given the chance, I would do it again.”

That is what I fear.

“You are the one who failed!” The baboon stepped forward, pointing a furry finger. “You held the courts! You let Rushan make a mockery of our justice! If you weren’t so impotent in the face of tyranny, I would’ve never been forced—”

“Shut up!” Sadik yelled.

All three gods looked at him, startled. He marched between Kavaia and Xaeyr, standing before the goddess of truth and justice. He was only barely tall enough to reach the top of her foreleg. Even still, Lanir leaned back from his presence.

“I am sick of this bickering,” Sadik said. “Twice now, I have come to this pantheon, and I have seen nothing but petty strife and pointless words. There is a storm of blood beneath your feet. Have you grown so fat and listless that you forget it exists?”

Lanir opened the frills on her neck. Temper your words, mortal.

“No,” Sadik replied. “I will speak plain. Decadence and ceremony are how a society falls.” He gestured with his sword. A dozen gods flinched. “Rushan is our common enemy. You need my help in slaying him. To that end, I have come to strike an alliance. Something better needs to be done.”

You overstep yourself.

“I don’t care. If you are my enemy, strike the first blow.”

Lanir blinked her one remaining eye. She did not respond.

“If you do not need my help, say it to me now.”

The dragon glanced back at the hippodrome. The walls were cracked. The gods were tense. It was a desperate shelter, crumbling away.

A sigh shuddered through his mind.

I have no recourse.

“Good,” Sadik said. “Now stop wasting my time, and let me win this war.”

The goddess of truth and justice watched him carefully. Behind her, dozens of gods braced their weapons. A storm of sand began to tear at the edge of the branches, vast and swirling.

There was another sigh.

Very well. Follow me.

The dragon turned on her haunches, striding for the gateway to the hippodrome. Several gods raced into the interior of the stadium, beginning to work the mechanism behind the metal shudders. An open path emerged through the stone.

Sadik followed behind the dragon. His tattoos crawled with light, like streams of boiled metal. He felt as if he would melt the marble beneath his feet.

“Sir,” Amira said, almost amazed. “Got some lungs, there.”

Sadik did not respond.

There was a rumble at his side. When he raised his head, he saw Kavaia looking down at him. Amusement curved through her maw.

“What?” Sadik asked.

“You’re cute when you yell.”

A blush broke through his scowl. “Goddess, please.”

“Oh, that made it worse.”

Xaeyr leaned down from the other side, presenting a closed fist. When Sadik merely stared in reply, Xaeyr gave an insistent gesture.

“Thanks, but no.”

“Bump my fist.”

“I respectfully decline.”

Xaeyr nudged his shoulder with a furry knuckle. Sadik sighed, bumping the baboon’s fist.

“I can’t have one moment of triumph,” Sadik said. “Can I?”

“Eat shit,” Amira said.

They entered the shelter of the hippodrome gateway. Orders were shouted. The portcullis began to close. Ahead, Lanir marched into the racing track, spreading her fiery wings.

Soon after, a sandstorm slammed into the pantheon, blanketing the world in a furious haze.