Page 50 of The Demon God's Desire
“What makes you think you can sit this out, Guilri? I’m sure you’ve gathered that there are larger pieces at play than just your life and happiness. The gods are in the beginning stages of the Great Game, the war to decide all wars, and you have been chosen as a player. Do you truly think you can evade something so much larger than yourself?”
“I’m tired of war.” The exhaustion in my voice surprises even me, but I press forward, afraid of losing my nerve. “It’s always the same, no matter if it’s a war of elves, orcs, humans- even gods. War is useless. All I want is to be left alone, to be able to live out the rest of my days with the woman I love.”
The last part of my sentence slips out before I can think better of it, and I feel Bridget freeze behind me, her fingers tightening on my upper arm. Despite the danger in front of us, I glance back, hoping I haven’t overstepped.
Bridget’s honeyed eyes stare up at me, unshed tears brimming in them. I see her fear, but beneath that, I see something I didn’t even allow myself to hope for before this: love.
I turn my focus back to the deities staring at us, knowing too well that if I allow myself to look at Bridget for too long, I’ll lose myself in her. I can’t afford to be distracted, not until she’s safe.
And then I’ll be sure to show herexactlyhow much I love her.
The Hedonist’s eyes are bright with interest as he looks between all of us, the Hearthkeeper growing more and more enraged by the second, my proclamation seeming to have tipped her over the edge.
The Deceiver, however, just shakes his head, something almost sad in his expression.
“Such powerful words, from someone with no power to wield.”
Confusion and anger mingle in my gut, but before I can react, the god is speaking again.
“Your destiny was decided for you long ago, Guilri. War is your calling- and it cannot be ignored.”
As if hearing the dismissal that’s already forming in my mind, the Deceiver lifts his hands, mist beginning to swirl and gather between them. A portal opens in the pulsing mist, shimmering as though being played from underwater, and over my shoulder Bridget gasps.
The Hearthkeeper looks dangerously smug as she looks on from the corner, the Hedonist giggling quietly to himself as he watches the events within the portal unfold.
Unable to help myself, I take a step forward, trying to make sense of the fractured images flashing inside.
“Destiny is mine to make, and I refuse to participate in this war. For any of you,” I watch myself say, the half-baked refusal I was thinking of moments ago coming out of the portal version of me’s mouth.
Images begin to flick rapidly beneath the surface of the portal, each of them adding to the growing knot in my stomach. In some, I die defending Bridget, flayed open or burned alive or in pieces as she flees the temple.
In others, Bridget dies, screaming and writhing as the Hearthkeeper’s laughter and my own anguished cries echo through the temple.
In still others, we both die, either staring at each other from across the cold marble floor or with our mutilated bodies tangled together like a morbid reenactment of the nights we’ve spent together.
The portal shimmers again, seeming to signal a change in pace, and the images reverse. My words play back, my refusal to participate in the war echoing through the massive temple, but in these, Bridget and I somehow manage to make it out.
Hope begins to bloom in my chest- until more images begin to surface.
In these, Bridget and I are hunted by the Hearthkeeper. She slaughters us brutally, creatively, each image depicting a new way the goddess could make us suffer for my refusal to side with her. In some, Bridget and I seem to make it as far as a cozy cabin in the woods, supplies stockpiled around us as though we were in hiding, but no matter the setting, the ending is always the same.
We both die.
The portal shimmers for a third time, and instead of hearing my blatant refusal again, I instead watch myself refuse to fight with any of the deities, instead participating in the war as a free male. Those images end no differently, except that I only watch myself die over and over, on a blood-stained, flaming battlefield, either at the hands of a faceless enemy or at the hands of the Hearthkeeper.
In all of the images, my death is gruesome. I’m alone, surrounded by chaos and bloodshed. Without Bridget- or worse, trapped somewhere with Bridget watching on, only to meet an equally gruesome end herself at the hands of our enemies.
As the images continue to play, I become frantic. Fear, icy and swallowing, grips me. There’s no escape. Desperation and heartbreak fill me more and more with each image the portal portrays. All of the images, no matter how different, are clear: I’m doomed to die, and because I’ve involved Bridget, she’s more than likely to die with me.
I might as well have killed her with my own hands.
“Stop,” I demand weakly, my voice cracking as tears scorch the back of my throat. I can’t take it. I can’t watch her die again and again, each time more brutal than the last. I can’t live with the knowledge that I will have to live, or die, without her being safe.
The Deceiver acquiesces to my demand, the portal going dark but not dissipating between his hands.
“There has to be something different,” I say, more to myself than to any of the gods around me. “There has to be a choice, a path, some decision that I can make where we survive. Where we can be together,” I plead. Desperation, raw and anguished, fills my voice, but I don’t care.
“Show me those. Please,” I add, staring across the portal at the Deceiver. He inclines his head slightly, the only sign that he’s heard me.