Twilight of the Gods
Chapter 26: Tristan's Visions

Daeva wasn’t the sort of person to change her mind often, especially when it came to revenge. But Vivian’s words haunted her as she walked back to her room.

They brainwashed us into being their servants and removed our free will. The sentence echoes in her head. She shakes her head, trying to banish Vivian’s voice. But the more those words repeated in her head, the more she couldn’t deny that the Elysian was telling the truth.

Anhel and the rest of the Gods were monsters. Granted, she already knew what he was capable of. Nearly all of her killing sprees were motivated by his bloodlust. But she never thought that he would go as far as to enslave an entire race of people. She was still reeling from the shock of it. Her Anhel, the reliable old chaos God, was an interdimensional evil. The Elysians who tortured her were his victims who wanted revenge. And Daeva, who had been an innocent mortal before the events of the last few years scarred her soul, was caught in the middle of their eternal struggle.

But the most surprising thing of all was Anhel’s silence as she screamed her thoughts in her head.

Are you there? She was afraid that he had left her body again.

Yes, he said. You’ve been awfully quiet since we left Vivian’s room. You had to eat her raw heart without my assistance. Are you faring well?

Truthfully, Daeva was feeling extremely unwell. The taste of Vivian’s blood refused to leave her mouth. The newfound knowledge that Vivian implanted in her brain was making her nauseous.

On the bright side, Anhel could no longer read her thoughts without her consent. Their minds were finally separate. The suffocating closeness that Anhel had complained about before would no longer be an issue.

I think I need to lie down, she said, finally answering Anhel. Privately, she thought she needed Uriel. It had been a while since she spent time with him. Lately, he was off on his own, doing things she didn’t know of. While she was glad that he was making his own decisions, she missed him.

You’re not a monster for doing what you did, he interjected. You did what you had to. I’m sorry you had to face that on your own. I’ll kill Vivian for what she did.

She suppresses the urge to laugh at his attempt at comfort. No need to kill her. I just want to forget that I did anything at all. She slumps on the cushions, getting comfortable in front of the fire.

For the first time since Nyx’s game started, Daeva realized that she was tired. Every round was wearing her out. She was having countless nightmares from having to relive her trauma. It felt like she was sacrificing more than she bargained for. She was starting to wish that Nyx would never return. Frankly, she wasn’t sure if she could play another round, much less crawl to the Board to begin another game.

The memory of eating Vivian’s heart replays in her mind. She could feel her teeth grinding against the sinews of the flesh and the warm blood dripping down her chin. She consumes Vivian’s body in an endless loop, feasting with a ceaseless appetite.

She feels a warm hand on her shoulder, snapping her out of the trance. Her eyes travel up to see Uriel who was looking at her with concern.

“I’m alright,” she said, sensing his worry through their Blood Bond.

“You feel guilty,” he replied. “I wouldn’t call that ‘being alright.’ You can tell me what’s bothering you.”

She sighs, the turmoil within twisting her guts into knots. How could she tell him that it was everything that bothered her? It was the air in Otherworld that made her itch to climb out of her body. It was the monster she was turning into by playing Nyx’s twisted game. And more importantly, it was her grasp on her sanity, which seemed to only grow looser with every second she remained there with him.

These things were supposed to be easy to tell Uriel, who had been her confidant throughout the duration of her second life. But something stopped her from baring her heart to him. She couldn’t quite put her finger on it, but there was a terrible feeling coming from Uriel. It went beyond the worry on his face. The best description she had for it was a dark miasma that surrounded him, an evil aura that was uncharacteristic of the angel she thought she knew.

“I just want all of this to be over,” she confessed. Beyond that, she didn’t tell him more.

He nodded, choosing not to pry. Instead, he said, “I have some good news if you’re in the mood to hear it.”

Daeva perked up instantly, lifting her head and straightening her back. “Good news?”

“Great news, actually. I found another angel. And I need your help to revive them,” he said.

Impossible, Anhel said. The other angels are dead.

Despite the outrage in Anhel’s voice, Daeva sensed the hint of hope beneath it. If the angels were alive, then the Gods could claw their way back to their former glory. It would be the war all over again, except this time the victors would glitter with the bloody gold of their lost servants.

“Are you sure? Is this really another angel? Not all winged beings are celestial,” she warned.

“I’m certain,” Uriel said. “They’re alive, but they need Gods’ blood to wake up.”

Her blood. She sighed in relief. Was that all? It was certainly no problem as long as he didn’t take too much. The last time that had happened, she was out for days.

“I’ll gladly give my blood,” she said. “But can I see them?”

“They’re in critical condition. The sight may turn your stomach,” he confessed.

She sensed that Uriel was keeping the angel from her for a different reason, but she chose not to pry. She was afraid that the angel didn’t want to see her because she was a God, a deity that enslaved their entire race. Sure, she wasn’t directly responsible for brainwashing and subjugating them to centuries of servitude, but her relationship with Anhel made her feel responsible.

“I’ll give my blood right now,” she said, the guilt crawling up her throat. “I’ll give every drop from my veins.”

Careful, Anhel said. You’ll end up giving everything to him if you can help it. He will ruin you, ruin us.

Not more than we ruined them, she thought.

What are you talking about? They serve their purpose by being at our beck and call. Without us, they would destroy the universe. And they nearly did, on their reckless hedonistic, pleasure-seeking crusade. Everything in this universe has its rightful order for a reason, he admonished.

She sighed, shaking her head. He never liked it when she sympathized with what he considered “lesser” beings. Still, his words gave her pause. They clashed directly with Vivian’s account of the Gods. It made her wonder who the real villains were: the Elysians or the Gods?

It’ll just be a little blood, she thought. It’s not like he’s asking for my soul.

Uriel returned to the room, carrying a few clear pouches with several tubes in hand. He wipes her arm down with a foul-smelling liquid that stung her nose, sticking in a needle that fed her blood to one of the pouches. She watches her blood slowly trickle in, anxiety creeping up her fingers.

She knew that Uriel didn’t mean it, but having her blood drawn transported her back to Sabine’s lab. Bright lights and scalpels flash in her memory.

You’re not there anymore, Anhel reminded her. They don’t hold that power over you anymore. Breathe, Daeva. This will be over before you know it.

She follows his instructions, slowly inhaling and exhaling while focusing on the air passing through her. She was no longer the helpless victim of the Elysians. Despite all that she had sacrificed for the game, it put her on equal footing with her former tormentors.

Uriel pulled the needle out of her arm. “Thank you. You don’t know how much this means to me.” He carefully held the pouches of blood, making his way out of the room. Maybe Daeva was imagining it, but she swore she saw a hungry look in his eyes.

My angel is no longer innocent, she thought sadly.

He was never innocent to begin with, Anhel interjected.

Before she could argue, a bell tolls ominously in the distance. Nyx returned to the palace and so had her exhaustion. She groaned, sinking into the cushions.

I can’t keep doing this. This game will be the death of me.

Only two more rounds, he reassured her. One for every Elysian, right?

Two more rounds, two more Elysians – who would she need to confront next? Would it be Ezra, the man who started all of her sufferings by trapping her in Otherworld? Or would it be Tristan, the man who nearly drove her to end it all?

Neither path appealed to her. But the strings of fate pushed her down the marble halls to that dreaded game.

In the dining room, Nyx and the Elysians awaited her. Haydn stood off to the side with a dazed look. His eyes kept darting to Nyx, the confusion growing on his face. Before Daeva could ask what was bothering him, Uriel took his place by her side.

“You Gods never cease to amaze me,” Nyx said. Her dark eyes flutter over their forms, sensing the completion of their individual rounds. “You finished your tasks so quickly that I almost can’t tell who is more worthy of the Board.”

Haydn rolled his eyes, glaring at the Lady of the Night. He muttered something under his breath, words that Daeva assumed were unpleasant. Nyx frowned as if she could hear what he was saying, but Daeva knew that was impossible. She was standing right next to him and she could scarcely make out a word.

Nyx summons the Board, the game piece materializing over her outstretched palms. “Step forward and place your hands here.”

Daeva does just that while Haydn hangs back, his eyes covered in shadows. For a moment, she thought he would forfeit the game. But then he steps forward, reluctantly placing his palm on the Board. Nyx smiles triumphantly.

The wood beneath their palms softens to flesh, growing warm and soft under their skin. This time, the Board continues to heat up until it scalds their hands, nearly becoming unbearable before the warmth vanishes entirely. They pull their hands back, relieved and with their latest task stuck to their palms.

Daeva turns the slip over, carefully reading the words. There, in a flourishing gold script, read Shatter Tristan’s glasses.

She glanced at the Elysian, who was already regarding her with his snake-like eyes which were hidden by a pair of circular shades. He gave her a knowing look as if he already knew what her task was.

Tristan was the last straw in her Trials for her Right of Existence. The mind games were bad enough coming from Vivian, but he had kicked it up a notch with his magical abilities.

Unlike the other Elysians, he had the gift of sight. He was a seer with a clear line of vision into the future, or, to be more accurate, the many possible futures that may stem from a single event. His worshippers were the anxious, wrist-wringing mothers and rulers of kingdoms who wanted a peek into the one thing that mortals were never certain of: the coming times. Only he would know who would win the war or the sons that would come back safely from treacherous voyages. For whatever the earthborn could give him, he would lend them his gifts and nudge them in the direction of their desired futures.

But if anyone asked the other Elysians, Tristan was truly pushing the mortals into the future he wanted. Ezra may have his spells and books acquired from his endless ambition, but Tristan held everything that was to come. Of course, his brethren didn’t see it like that. To them, he was just a confused seer who could barely decipher the future. And that was the truth most of the time, but he had his lucid moments.

Like when he had tortured Daeva.

She breaks eye contact with him, grateful for his shades. She spent longer than anyone should, mortal or immortal, looking into his eyes. He had shown her awful things after Vivian had sent her in circles around the palace, dangling her escape like a morsel of meat in front of a starving dog. Her mind was flimsy and weak by the time she entered his hands.

He didn’t need to do much to break her. She had already been hurt physically and mentally. But there was one last way he could make her crumble at his feet.

Tristan would make her desire her own end. He did so by showing her the many ways that she could die. It was illogical since she was immortal. She couldn’t die no matter how hard she tried. But he made her think otherwise.

In Tristan’s reality, anything was possible as long as he willed it. If she died a hundred deaths in his head, then she died a hundred deaths in the corporeal world. All at her own hands.

Sometimes she’d poison herself. Other times she’d use a blade and hack herself to death. Mercifully, there were moments where he’d just let her drown. He’d overwhelm her with such a strong feeling of self-hatred that every second of being alive was painful. To this day, she didn’t know how she broke free from his control. All she knew was that it was a miracle that she ended up on the Celestial Road afterward.

Confronting him was going to be difficult. She was afraid to enter that warped reality again. The task the Board assigned her frightened her. The glasses that Tristan wore were more for the protection of others than for himself. What good would it do to unleash his power? What pain could it possibly bring to him?

Because that was Nyx’s goal, right? To punish the Elysians? She didn’t understand why she was using her to exact her revenge or what the Elysians had done to warrant this, but she knew that’s what the game was really designed to do. Mortals will always do as they pleased, whether it was starting a war between two powerful kingdoms or lapsing in peace. The Board could only do so much to influence their actions.

It was all becoming clear to her. She was a pawn in a greater game. Whether she sided with the Elysians or the Gods did not matter. Regardless of what her morals were, Nyx was going to get what she wanted.

For some reason, that left a sour taste in Daeva’s mouth.

The Elysians dispersed from the room, retreating to their respective abodes. She thought about how they were fallen angels, mages, and a God in hiding. They all kept secrets from each other and yet they still lived in the same palace, blissfully unaware of the skeletons in each other’s closets.

Haydn remained in the room, staring at the task in his hands. The game was seeming more futile to him by the second.

Daeva stuck to the shadows, trailing after Tristan. She follows him into his incense-scented room, pushing aside the heavy curtains that served as the entrance to his territory.

He sits among the red cushions, taking a long drag from his pipe. A plume of smoke rises from his lips, curling around his slicked-back hair. He stares at the spot where Daeva was standing, his eyes heavy-lidded and lazy.

“Daeva,” he said. “I’ve been expecting you.”

Of course he had.