With the plan to strike other parts of the kingdom while the subjugators' main forces stayed focused on the temple of the amorous arts, Akai took Yicel by the hand, and as soon as they said goodbye to Rey and Lía, they left down the corridor until they disappeared from sight. The vampire kept her gaze lowered, unable to understand how someone so strong could be willing to follow her.
Heliúk also left as best he could, heading the opposite way from the two revolutionaries—back toward where the first four subjugators had come from, whose stains still painted the floor and walls. Unlike the other two, he walked without looking back until he vanished from Rey's sight.
—How did you know I had no intention of leaving this temple? —Lía asked the moment she saw an opening—. How is it you still insist on following me?
—Lía, —Rey said in a gentle voice— I didn't need your blood, because just by looking into your eyes I witnessed all the suffering you've been through. You were so focused on recovering, on repairing yourself, on punishing yourself, that you didn't realize you were always you. When emotions came into your life, you didn't change—you evolved. Being a survivor forced you to face a life someone else wouldn't be willing to live. This is the moment. You've been strong long enough. Now let me continue for you. Don't be afraid to bet on me. I accept your pain. I accept you exactly as you are.
Rey's words became water for Lía—water that cleansed and washed away the guilt inside her. Pain and suffering dissolved, thinned by a vast torrent, warm and gentle. Feeling like a woman again, happy to be accepted despite her grotesque past, she claimed the boy's mouth once more with her lips. The vampire met his tongue, and the two of them played together in what became a passionate kiss between bodies finally free of the subjugators' presence.
Because of a few inexperienced movements on Rey's part, their teeth clicked together a couple of times, sending an annoying jolt through the best moments. But within seconds, once the kiss deepened, it was the boy who was trying—quite literally—to devour the vampire, no longer moving like a novice.
Meanwhile, someone very interested had been present in a separate building, close enough to stay aware of everything that had happened since the fallen-from-the-sky one arrived. It was Román, meditating in order to sense Rey and Lía's presence.
A smile lit the older man's face—the face of the person everyone called "the king's right hand."
I'm not disappointed by what you've shown me so far, little one. I was right to leave you with her. Since your mother was a vampire, it's natural you'd be more inclined to choose a woman with similar traits to procreate. Even so, setting aside whatever reproductive preferences you might have, you were able to meet every requirement the moment you chose to fight for that girl—who inside is overflowing with problems and insecurities. You even let a messenger go to draw Gilgamesh's attention. I think real calamities are coming.
Román opened his eyes and broke his meditation posture, leaving where he was to head toward the site of the incident. He believed it was the best moment to make his appearance.
Still unwilling to pull away from the kiss they were sharing, they heard the march of boots, loud against the floor as they approached. Within seconds, a dozen individuals—completely different from the subjugators—appeared in the corridor. But Rey wasn't alarmed for two reasons: he recognized Dante's scent clinging to them, and Lía was ignoring them too, as if she knew them.
—May heaven have mercy on us, —said a young woman in an immaculate, neatly pressed uniform. She was at the front of the group, and that alone marked her as someone important; at her waist hung an intimidating saber—. Not only did you dare kill a subjugator, but three of them—and you're enjoying the scene as if it were pleasure. You're sick. You're monsters. What are those four stains on the floor, and that unbearable stench of burnt flesh?
—Four more subjugators, —Lía replied.
Three plus four made seven—more than enough deaths to draw the attention of every police force, even the kingdom's military. The group behind the woman seemed to lose hope in their eyes. And yes: Rey was naked and hard, while Lía kept kissing him and touching him however she could.
—Is it too much to ask that you stop the disgustingness for one moment of seriousness? —the imposing female voice demanded.
Finally breaking the passionate kiss, the vampire added:
—Colonel Marín, security staff of this temple—don't you have work to do? Protect and educate the one who was left in your care?
—With this situation with the subjugators, that individual slipped away from me. —Marín, who disguised her red eyes with black lenses, hesitated before continuing—. I have to inform you that apparently the one assigned to watch the pure-blood vampire is the one who let the information leak to save her family.
—Mmm. If that's the case, it makes sense. —Lía looked fully convinced by Marín's seriousness—. Of the three of us, she's the one who's been acting strangest lately, taking every chance to abandon her post.
—What do you plan to do if you find Dante? —Rey asked with a teasing tone, and with a snap of his fingers he made the bodies in front of him disappear—though he couldn't do it without coughing up blood as the price.
Startled to hear the small boy speaking almost perfectly in the doctor's language, Marín added:
—I hope he isn't trying to escape. He doesn't look sick, but I'm going to lock him up until he learns to listen to me!
From the shadows, Dante was hit by an unimaginable surge of delight. For a reason he didn't care to understand, he could finally understand the language that had irritated him so much to hear, and although he couldn't speak it well—his tongue kept tangling—he used it the moment he crawled out of one of the ventilation ducts.
—Go ahead, then! —he shouted defiantly.
Dante spun through the air several times, landed on his feet, and planted his hands on his hips in a posture of superiority.
—So you can talk, and all this time you only growled and screamed like a wild beast! —Marín said, more irritated than ever.
She was so angry she drew her sword and sprang at the small lycanthrope, intent on running him through—despite one of the soldiers at her side trying to stop her.
Lía understood what was happening. Just like with the feline beast, Rey's brother had learned the language through sorcery. It wasn't something he'd always known, but who was going to waste time explaining that to Marín? With tunnel-vision stubbornness, the head of security had a bad habit of capturing first and asking questions later.
In that instant, Dante planned to use the claws of his hand to block the attack, since it posed no threat at all. But something inside his mind—the same factor that had let him understand and speak the strange language—pushed him to summon his katana (saber). In one smooth motion he set the hilt on his shoulder and caught Marín's strike.
Metal rang against metal. Marín was offended all over again; she couldn't understand how someone who deserved punishment dared stop her, smiling like that. Like a mother determined to deliver the beating a spoiled child had earned, she drove her saber down with her whole body behind it.
Dante didn't so much as flinch at the furious woman's effort. She was weak—weak the way a mere human could be. But he wanted to savor his superiority, show off his strength and skill, and the temptation made him drag the fight out as long as he could.
—Savage! —Marín shouted as she jumped back and ordered her people to fire—. I'm in charge of you, and if you won't obey me the way Román says, you're useless to me.
The temple's security staff groaned at the order. They already had too much on their plates knowing several subjugators were dead—which meant the temple would be condemned as an unsafe zone slated for extermination—and now they were being told to repeat something that clearly wouldn't work. But Marín threatened them anyway:
—Like I said: if you don't obey me, you're useless to me.
To preserve their lives a little longer, the men raised their weapons and followed her firing signal. And the moment they aimed, every light in the corridor died.
Light to darkness. The floor began to tremble, and those who couldn't see in the night had no choice but to grab onto each other to keep from falling.
Amid the security team's panic, Marín's shock, and Dante's mocking laughter, a presence both intimidating and familiar made itself known. Lía didn't notice him at first, but Rey did, and he said:
—I was wondering how long you'd keep your distance.
Jhades was walking along the ceiling, defying every logic of gravity. With a casual gesture, the lights flared back on at the same time the security team's pistols vanished. He moved in slow steps, stubbornness carved into his face. It wasn't that he wanted to save his other brother—he simply wasn't about to dodge the obligations he'd accepted before their mother. But he also wasn't going to indulge the immaturity of someone desperate to show off.
—Weapons that can't kill humans won't even be able to hurt you, —the vampire said, firing rubber bullets toward Dante. Dante didn't bother dodging, and he didn't show a hint of pain each time a projectile burst against the flesh of his forehead—. And you, Rey, you need to know how to understand these humans when there's nothing worth listening to. It's wasted effort. Though I find it more interesting that you have the power to make us understand an entire language—and to return us to our Youses.
—By "Youses," you mean those felines that can turn into weapons? —Lía asked, putting the pieces together.
—A vampire? —Jhades said, recognizing the presence standing behind Rey.
—Speaking of interesting things, I see you two can use your powers freely without consequences, —Rey remarked, drawing both brothers' attention.
—Being away from you, they recovered almost completely, —Lía said, genuinely surprised.
—What consequences? —Dante asked. But when he saw his brother cough blood again, he understood exactly what the consequence was.
Rey understood that when the atomic explosion happened, he'd been the only one of the brothers who neither died nor was revived by their mother's power. It was very possible that was why he still carried the poison Lía had spoken about. Even so, it had been a long time since he'd last seen his brothers, and the ache of that absence pushed a question out of him:
—Tell me… what does it feel like to have escaped, to be free—free from dying by someone else's hand?
—I was going to live a long time. No one in the group would want the death of someone good, —Jhades said, not particularly happy, his answer cryptic.
—Shut up, mama's boy. You were going to be killed by Mother and Father too. You think they couldn't see through your act? Rey, to answer your question—it feels good to have this whole world under my feet to conquer. If you're sick and you're going to die, it doesn't matter. I'll take care of you.
The three brothers spoke in the ancient tongue, so Lía was the only one who could understand them. She'd already concluded they were unwanted sons who'd escaped their families' execution, but she stayed silent.
Marín kept grinding her teeth with helpless rage. Despite everything happening—and how many times she'd tried to take control—it infuriated her that that savage wouldn't listen to her. She no longer saw any hope of finding a way, because she couldn't use force to make him understand.
What can I do to make him respect me? she asked herself. Mmm… thinking it over, and setting aside the fact he's naked, that one—despite being the strongest of the three—looks much more docile and behaves more civilly than the other two. What did Lía do?
As she thought, Marín remembered that when she'd arrived at the scene, the doctor had been kissing and indecently caressing the body of the fallen-from-the-sky one Román had assigned to her—right in front of everyone—as if pleasure were a way to reward good behavior. After all, even though Marín was in charge of security, she was also a priestess of the amorous arts.
Suddenly, the three small figures who'd been speaking with such familiarity shifted in an instant. Their eyes hardened, wary, defensive, as they all looked toward the far end of the corridor. To Rey, Jhades, and Dante alike, whoever was approaching was someone worth fearing—someone powerful enough to stand against their parents and their masters.
The abrupt change in the three "fallen from the sky" also caught both Lía's and Marín's attention.
Román was the one who appeared, walking down the corridor. The older man approached with a gentle face, and the moment he was close enough for his voice to carry, he began to speak.
—Who has the right to be called a monster? —asked the man who, despite being draped in loose garments, carried the unmistakable build of someone who had walked the warrior's path—. Demons with human hearts, or humans with demon hearts?
The people there fell silent at a question that didn't even seem to fit the situation. Rey, however, could grasp what it meant—using what he'd seen in the vampire's memories, plus everything he'd lived up to now—so he answered the man as if he were speaking to his former master.
—The reason humans enslave those they don't consider the same race, —Rey began, stepping forward—, isn't that they've reached some peak of technological and cultural development. It's that they fear the progress of other, similar species.
—If it took a hundred humans and ten days to build a castle, a single god could do it in one day, —Román continued, his smile widening.
—Which means a god among humans will never be a true god among those who are, —Rey finished.
As convoluted and out of place as this drifting talk of monsters, humans, and gods might have been, even if Lía, Marín, Jhades, Dante, or anyone from the security staff wanted to speak, the intimidating presence of Rey and Román kept the words trapped in their throats.
In the middle of a conversation with someone who seemed to understand him, Román let out a deep laugh and spread his hands in delight. From his perspective—and for hundreds of years, since he'd become one of the "accursed"—he'd wandered in search of a "trained sorcerer," and he was thrilled to find more and more signs that he was on the right path.
—Oh, I owe you a thousand apologies for my rambling, —the old man said, addressing everyone—. Because of certain circumstances—such as the death of seven subjugators and the testimony that we're sheltering a vampire—this temple of the amorous arts will be discontinued and placed under quarantine.
Lía, Marín, and the rest of the security staff there remained expressionless at the news. They were condemned, with no salvation, from the moment they gave shelter to the "fallen from the sky." In the past, when similar cases occurred, only the temple's owner was spared the death sentence.
—Even I've now been labeled a slave—an object of society. I'm no longer your guardian, —Román admitted, as if it hurt, and yet he looked almost happy—. Even so, I have no reason to run.
The downfall of someone known as Gilgamesh's right hand hit the people who understood the implications like a hammer. Marín threw the question into the air:
—Where is that traitor?!
—Dead, —Jhades answered, cutting the matter short. The pure-blood vampire seemed to be the only one who didn't intend to ally with anyone in particular, and who didn't want to feel included in whatever plans might be formed. He refused to believe fighting would change anything, bring him more freedom than he already had, or spare him effort by partnering with incompetent people—. With or without action, her life would have stayed the same as always.
—He isn't wrong, —Román said, ignoring the vampire's personality and the way he made it clear he wanted benefits in exchange for doing anything—. That girl was executed by two of the subjugators guarding the entrance the moment she left the temple—the same ones who sealed the entire place as soon as Heliúk came out and gave his report.
—What can we do? —one of the others asked, stunned by the death sentence hanging over them.
—Die fighting, —Lía replied, suddenly convinced there was hope in battle.
—If we fight, one way or another, I have hope we can make a difference, —Román said—. I believe in you, "fallen from the sky." After living so many years, this body has stood at the center of so many stories that should have flowed in chaos, and in the end they all flowed in a circle.
—Another ramble? —Dante asked, irritated at having to think more than usual.
—It means life is a cycle. Every beginning has an end, —Rey clarified.
—Yes. A hero never dies, —Román said, his expression sour. To him, the saddest thing wasn't death, but how shattered the one bearing the title of hero would end up after the war.
Jhades, Dante, Lía, Marín, and everyone else felt warmed by that phrase, as if it lit a soft, invincible fire in their hearts.
Rey, though, as he had from the start, could see the dark side hidden inside the older man's words. Rey didn't want to be a hero—not after losing White and reviving her as a Youse under the forced condition of turning her into a weapon-slave. From that moment on, to him, being a hero didn't mean someone who never lost. Being strong enough to face any opponent and walk away victorious didn't mean the people at your side, following your steps, were exempt from danger.
—We'll be survivors, —Rey whispered, drawing a deep breath.
He could have said, we'll be victors, but he shared Román's view of the fate waiting for a hero.
What had seemed like mere tremors and vibrations escalated until they felt like an earthquake—so loud and violent it alarmed everyone even more. Could there be earthquakes on a moon called Sun? The answer was no. There are no earthquakes on the moon. But there are moonquakes—strange as the name sounds, it's essentially the same thing in the sense of seismic shaking produced by tectonic movement. Only this wasn't natural.
—The temple has to be getting moved, —Lía said, so sure of her conclusion she was ready to swear the tremors rattling the facility were being induced artificially.
—"Fallen from the sky," —Román said as he faced them, lowered his head, and even knelt before them—. My people are in danger. You can help us fight. The non-humans who live on this planet are in decline, and no one has the strength to rise up against Gilgamesh—the hero of humanity, and the antihero of those who aren't human.
—Román, it's better to avoid direct confrontations, —Lía said, choosing the most cautious path—. Gilgamesh doesn't know the difference between arrogance and a whim. Every time he solves a problem, even if it's out of precaution, he creates something completely worse to deal with. Belldewar could end up in ruins—could even be destroyed.
—It's not like we're doing great, —Marín said.
Jhades shook his head, while Dante puffed his chest out harder than ever, already imagining all the glory and recognition he could claim.
—Owning ruins and freedom is better than continuing as someone else's slaves. Gilgamesh is hated by many who could be our allies. These hundreds of thousands of condemned souls could follow our steps and become followers, —Román continued, stating what was already obvious to convince Lía—because he understood perfectly that if the vampire wasn't on board, Rey wouldn't be either.
Rey understood a lot—among it, the situation Román was describing—and he didn't care if others thought poorly of him for it. But he also knew the man working so hard with words was the strongest on the face of the immense moon they called Sun—so strong he was a true god. And yet he kept talking, kept trying to persuade, instead of taking the initiative with action.
—Despite your motives and your reasons, —Rey said, distrustful—, we owe you for making our lives easier. You also knew the consequences of giving us refuge, and you still gave up many privileges for us. I accept your proposal—as long as I don't find a reason to distrust you in the future. Action must be taken, but I'm sure Lía will know the right moment.
Marín and the security staff pulled bitter faces. They couldn't understand how Rey could distrust a victim who'd helped the needy the way Román had. To this day, he was known in the alleyways and sewers for granting slaves many freedoms, helping selflessly, treating them as equals—no matter how close he stood to Gilgamesh. Many even prayed and were willing to make democratic decisions if he would take the throne as emperor, because they believed that with Román as leader, the human-populated moon would be a far better place for those who weren't human.
Rey ignored the security staff's crestfallen looks. He knew he was standing in front of an excellent manipulator—someone like the Great Wise Mage, an individual capable of using everything around him, but who would never dare do good for others if, in the end, he couldn't still carry out his master plan.
—If you plan not to fight directly, I should tell you— —the old man rose, relief on his face— —once this facility lands, the subjugators' attacks will begin.
—Then… we're floating?! —Dante exclaimed, not believing it. He wanted to go out and hunt down Gilgamesh to fight him, but if they were in the sky, the fall would be a serious problem.
—Obviously, —Marín said, making it clear she wasn't shocked—. Once it was contaminated, this temple lost its physical recognition. In other words, it's no longer a valuable structure in this human-ruled world—whose economy is mostly sustained by slaves.
—Economy sustained? —Dante asked, confused by the complicated words—. What does that have to do with us?
—It means that since everyone in here has lost their identity, it's no surprise they'd throw this entire structure into the vastness of space and let us perish, —Lía said, drawing on earlier events from a very distant past she remembered almost perfectly.
—That sounds straightforward, not smart. That's how I like it. Learn, learn, idiot, —Dante snapped at Marín.
In a burst of fury, Marín hurled her saber at the lycanthrope without caring what that sharpened object might do or who it might hit. Dante didn't even move, because he could sense the attack had no intention of killing him.
—There are already millions of ships and facilities in space with creatures condemned not to perish that can fall onto any planet and contaminate it, even though it's illegal, —Marín said as soon as her sword finished bouncing and clattering across the floor—. Besides, it's more likely Gilgamesh will come execute us personally.
—Even better. Saves me the trouble of going to find him, —Dante shot back, cracking the fingers of his right fist.
Jhades closed his eyes in denial. There was so much talking, and still no one had said anything that benefited him.
Marín stood there with her mouth open at the lycanthrope's expression—because he clearly hadn't even heard the word execute us. She finally understood Dante was a lost cause, stubborn to the bone, that her explanations were wasted breath, and that if she didn't handle him properly, she'd have to leave him behind.
Lía, on the other hand, stayed quiet and watched Román—who was deliberately not saying the part about how likely it was that Gilgamesh would cling to his barbaric custom of fighting one-on-one, leaving the winner with the right—and the absolute truth—to any argument.
—What do you have in mind? —Rey asked Román, who looked more agitated with every second.
—First we have to save as many lives as we can, but we don't have much time left to keep talking.
—Do you know something we don't? —Lía asked, surprised. After all, he'd just confirmed the facility was floating.
—The evacuation zone could be turned into a decontamination area. The people there are in danger. We have to hurry.
Without another word, the older man turned and left—nearly running—toward where he meant to go. Rey, Lía, Marín, and the security staff followed Román's urgent footsteps, while Dante and Jhades came along reluctantly—not because they cared, but because they had nothing better to do.
It makes sense, Lía told herself, running just behind Rey and Román. The evacuation area is where everyone gathers in an emergency. If it becomes a decontamination zone, the subjugators will wipe out almost everyone in this temple at once. And with Rey in the condition he's in, he can't fight Gilgamesh directly—because even if he wins, he'll be worse off than if he lost. The more allies we have, the better. And now that I think about it… Lía sighed, swallowed by her own thoughts. In moments like this I can never stop remembering my father… I won't make the same mistake he did.
Up the stairs, Rey, Dante, and Jhades surged ahead and signaled the others to stay back as they reached what looked like a luxurious main corridor. The place felt intimidating because it was so desolate you could hear every footstep echo perfectly off the walls. For the three brothers, silence and calm went hand in hand with ambushes and surprise attacks, so they moved with caution until two gigantic doors stopped them.
Román, familiar with the terrain, didn't waste time. He used as much force as necessary to break the security mechanisms holding the two sheets of solid gold shut.
The group swallowed hard as they watched the old man pry open—easily—something they might not have managed even together, using pure brute force.
From the other side of the doors as they gave way came a harsh red-and-white light, flashing on and off as if its only purpose was to blind anyone foolish enough to keep their eyes open. At the same time, an unbearable emergency alarm blared—so loud it felt designed to make ears bleed.
Another tremor hit, and the entire facility shuddered. Since the temple was built from solid blocks of gold, silver, and bronze, it didn't crumble or collapse no matter how violent the vibration. But Rey's sharp eyes didn't take long to adjust to the intermittent flashes, and he noticed the columns, walls, floor, and ceiling beginning to warp, losing the symmetry they'd had at first.
He also saw the hundreds of people packed inside the immense space wearing little clothing—or none at all. Women, girls, and men in full panic: some fainted, others sprawled on the floor vomiting, many with their heads between their knees, and the rest clinging to each other as they cried and squeezed their eyes shut.
The security staff recoiled from the doorway, covering their ears with all their strength. They couldn't keep their eyes open long enough to look inside because the flashing light nearly blinded them. Lía and Marín, in particular, were hit hardest by the combined assault of sound and light.
The volume and strobe were intentionally extreme—installed by humans as an anti–low-class non-human system. With only minimal regeneration and healing, any lower-class being who couldn't adapt would be condemned to suffer indefinitely, while an ordinary human would go blind and deaf after only a few minutes exposed to that combination.
Román, who lacked the privileges non-human eyes possessed, was forced into a grim trick: he kept his right eye closed and opened it only when he needed to see in the dark, while his left eye stayed shut and opened only when he needed to see inside the light. One eye adapted to light, the other to darkness—so he didn't have to take a full, blinding blast head-on. Still, over time his hearing began to fade.
—Save my people! —Román shouted—. I have to stay here holding this, so it won't close!
Rey leapt over Román. Dante slipped under his right arm, and Jhades under his left. The three of them pushed in without being bothered by the shriek of the alarms or the blinding red-and-white strobe—and without asking what danger they were supposed to be saving everyone from.
Jhades drew his pistols and fired at the lights and devices he could identify, along with the speakers. He meant to reduce the factors fueling the atmosphere, stripping the room of what made it such perfect ground for panic.
Dante and Rey entered ready for any physical confrontation they might meet. Fighting was what they knew.
Scanning for enemies, Rey felt something shift beneath his bare feet. The floor split into two sections—and became a void.
Within seconds, the floor ceased to exist, and the hundreds of people inside were left hanging in midair, prisoners of gravity.
Dante stopped dead and backed away, obeying his instincts to survive. From a safer distance, eyes wide, he watched countless women's hands clawing for anything—anything at all—to grab before the fall.
Staring at the desperate faces, the eyes lost in confusion, and hearing the ragged, gut-wrenching cries, the lycanthrope froze in place—not out of fear, but because some part of him insisted the right thing was to do nothing. Besides, all he had in his hands was a sword. What he knew best was fighting, striking, and enduring pain. How could he be prepared to save people who couldn't save themselves?
Then a fearless shadow shot past his side: his hybrid brother.
Rey, driven by the instinct to save and help, didn't slow. Using the enhanced conditions of his body, he grabbed one woman by the hand and hoisted another onto his shoulder. He slammed into the opposite wall of the hole and used it as a foothold, bracing his feet for a spring back up to the surface. He repeated the sequence again and again—snatch, lift, plant, jump—moving like a machine that refused to stop.
The brother without a surname, under Dante's red-eyed stare, always seemed to do more than necessary in everything. He even looked like he needed to learn, adapt, and surpass himself without anyone else as competition. Dante also knew Rey did unnecessary things—like not sleeping—just to carve out more time to train, living by the motto, "I seek knowledge," even if he didn't claim to seek strength.
That motto seemed stupid to Dante. He called it unnecessary and hypocritical, because Rey did it to avoid raising suspicion among adults—because his white-eyed brother was getting much stronger, and with his muscles he'd passed his master's training and solved problems, just as Dante had.
What bothered Dante even more was that among the pack, Rey always earned the adults' attention without even speaking—while Jhades was the one who knew everything and said exactly the right, heroic lines to "please" them. But one thing was obvious to Dante in that moment: by saving a handful of people, Rey would win the admiration of many more. The fact that Dante's instincts made him retreat while his brother didn't hesitate to advance made it impossible to deny it—Rey was a rival worth surpassing if Dante wanted to become the leader.
During the time they'd lived in Heavens, Dante had felt the gap in power. Now it looked three times more unreachable. Even though he'd said he would defeat Gilgamesh, the old man and the others seemed to rest all their hope on Rey's strength—not his, the one of the three brothers with the most defined muscles. Dante kept watching as Rey shoved and yanked human bodies toward safety, even pushing closer to the most dangerous edge, where one misstep could send him into the bottomless drop with no chance of saving himself.
After all, if being a leader means doing what he does, I can do it better, Dante told himself, newly fired up by how naturally Rey moved. He dove headfirst into the chasm to imitate him. Using his transformed limbs—four claws he could hook into and release from the metal that made up the structure—the young wolf managed to haul out four people.
Just as Rey was nearly at the lip of the hole again, his foot slid completely. In the chaos, he hadn't even noticed a slick film—like oil—coating the wall. The slippery substance made all his calculations useless. Falling into the void, he switched tactics and hurled the two girls he'd been carrying toward the rim.
I won't have time, even if I pull out my wings, Rey thought. In four seconds I got eight people out, but there are still hundreds. Even if Dante decided to help, it won't be enough. What can I do?
The moment the deafening speakers and the flashing lights were finally cut off by Jhades's gunfire, a shout rang out through the space.
—Get out of here!! —Román roared again and again, watching a few girls scramble back up to the surface, blinking and swaying, disoriented, unsure what to do next.
Even those who grabbed each other's hands and fought their way toward the exit could barely hear clearly, but the firm voice still reached them in fragments, enough to make them turn their faces toward the way out.
This is insane, and he thinks he's going to keep going?! Dante thought. He wasn't willing to keep competing with risks like these.
—Rey!! —Dante shouted, digging his claws into the wall and refusing to go any lower.
Rey ignored the call to come to his senses. With the eyes of someone about to attempt something reckless, he spread his wings and leaned forward, forcing himself into a faster fall, dodging the people flailing and clawing for anything to hold onto.
Dante snarled, furious at being ignored. He turned his glare on the person he had in his arms. The man, dressed in luxurious, extravagant clothes, saw the transformed arms holding him and the grotesque outline of something he didn't recognize—and he fought like hell to break free, as if he'd rather fall than be in a beast's hands.
—You're telling me you'd rather fall into the void than be saved by me, —Dante said through clenched teeth, his ears almost flattening like a dog about to bite someone's throat. The anger on his face sharpened into rage. —Unlike my brother… —he bared every tooth and let his mouth shift further into its monstrous shape— I hate humans. Even more when they're the kind who do nothing but look down on those who aren't. Sad, pathetic, frightened rat. I hope you die from the fall.
On that last word, the small one with red eyes shining faintly through the black rubber released his grip and let the man drop. Those eyes—accusing, disgusted—looked as if they blamed Dante for everything that had happened and everything still happening.
Without looking back, Dante reached the edge of the newly opened hole with hardly any effort, like someone who'd decided he was done playing. His vampire brother was firing the last shots into the devices embedded in the walls—the ones that had screamed and flashed. Román was still holding the doors, and a few people managed to escape.
—Rey is going to do something, —Dante said, and Jhades snapped back immediately:
—Mmm?
—Dying, —he answered, staring toward the few people still slipping out through the door Román refused to let close—. I don't know. Just so we're clear, I'm saving my strength to kill that Gilgamesh.
Back at the hole that seemed bottomless, the fall had already lasted more than thirty seconds for those caught in it. Their speed had multiplied—thirty times over—and kept increasing by the second under gravity's laws. Many women had tired of screaming and let their hands fall open, ready to embrace the imminent death waiting for them.
The oldest prayed they wouldn't feel pain when their bodies exploded in a spray of blood, their bones splintering as they smashed into whatever waited below. Others wished they'd die of a heart attack right then, just to escape the agony of continuing to wait. But they kept dropping with the same question gnawing at them: If we're falling so fast, why is this torment so long?
None of them could see in the darkness of that hole that seemed to have no end, so they couldn't notice the winged beast's body that shot past them like a bullet. That creature was Rey, who, with powerful wingbeats, positioned himself beneath the first person falling. He stopped time by forcing his heart to race, then pressed his palms together in front of his chest and summoned one of the most efficient invocations he could think of—the one he remembered perfectly.
Conjuration circles are what sorcerers use when an invocation escapes logic, going against nature in what should be possible, Rey thought. With letters, colors, lines, strokes, and silhouettes of different shapes and sizes, I can break the barrier between the possible and the impossible for a limited period of time.
Then he spoke:
—Untamed horses of wind, hear my call.
He snapped his hands open and made a full conjuration circle appear. To invoke in my current state—at the quantity and power I need—a conjuration circle is the safest way to gather the highest concentration of wind-element energy. It's best if the circle also functions like a firm support point, a base that replaces me; otherwise my falling speed will multiply exponentially. But that isn't what worries me.
The moment the circle flared neon blue in front of Rey, a burst of liquid-gas erupted. Wind, returning to its natural state, blasted outward in a colossal stream of air that pushed slowly in the opposite direction from the face of the circle—up and out of the hole. Everything that struck the walls became white horses, galloping at lightning speed, whinnying with furious freedom. The manifested beasts filled the empty space and blew against the hundreds of falling bodies, halting their descent and driving them upward—while Rey kept dropping at the same speed.
The real problem is now, because I have to make the next invocation or I'll die on impact. Another conjuration circle will take too long, be harder to control, and be inefficient from where I am. I need the air to propel me—not to hang there, static.
Time was running out. He didn't think the hole had a bottom, but then—while he assessed the situation—Rey coughed up blood, again and again. The poison had reached a point he could no longer control.
Coughing and blood ruin my pronunciation. One small word can turn into catastrophe. I have to do my next invocation silently. But for that, I need absolute control over my heart and mind—and I need to flood my twenty-four vortices with clean energy, to blunt the symptoms the radiation poison is forcing on me.
Rey focused on solving the immediate problem instead of spiraling into everything that could go wrong—miscasting, misdirecting energy, losing control.
What happened when a sorcerer made a mistake? He'd read about it during his training nights. The answer was brutally clear: death, a shortened lifespan, permanent damage to body, mind, and soul, among other consequences. And sorcery had never been a reliable combat art to begin with—that was why no one should invoke under stress. If anything went wrong—pronunciation, heart rhythm, loss of focus, a blocked vortex, unmet conditions—the spell could end the caster's life.
Rey knew, for example, that leaving out a component while calling a living being could get you cursed—by a creature that might cling to you like a parasite until you died. Or the sorcerer could transform into the thing he tried to summon. Or lose his mind forever. But in this case, he would call another blast of wind, because no animal could save him here. That had to be less dangerous, right?
No. It wasn't better at all. He could destroy himself, because what he meant to use was the wind element—an element that could manifest anywhere inside his body, causing anything from tiny embolisms to inflating him like a balloon until he burst into a thousand pieces.
With great power there were always great consequences. Invoking had always been dangerous—always a gamble—but… Rey drew a deep breath, choosing a necessary risk. I'm not human.
Up on the surface, Román couldn't quite hide the disappointment on his face at Dante's and Jhades's attitude. It wasn't that those two couldn't have saved everyone who'd fallen into the void; it was that they had no interest in pushing far enough past their limits, because their lives didn't depend on it.
Then, in the middle of his thoughts, the older man felt a vibration in the floor—the signature of an explosion. Smiling, he looked toward the hole, because there was still the work of the one in whom he had placed all his hopes.
The two brothers turned at the strange vibration in the floor, and after ducking in place, they chose to cover their eyes. A powerful blast of air—preceded by the gallop of countless horses—erupted into the evacuation hall. The vibration came from inside the hole, like a volcano belching lava and smoke into the room, and the transparent four-legged shapes that embodied the wind became visible.
Before the three onlookers, the wind slammed into the ceiling and walls of the vast chamber, then surged toward Román and swept past him.
The pressure of that wind—of beasts competing to see which could burst out first—hit Román so hard it tore every garment from his upper body. The defined musculature of that body, refusing to let the doors close, was fully exposed as he dug his feet into the floor to keep from being shoved back. After several seconds of enduring the unrelenting torment of the winds, Román saw the room flash over with a sheet of ice, and then the hundreds of people who had fallen into the hole were hurled upward until they struck the ceiling and were pinned there by the force of the air.
—Don't just stand there!! —Román shouted at the women, girls, and men who were writhing in pain when he noticed Dante's and Jhades's indifference—. If you want to live, move to the side before the air freezes you!
It wasn't the first time the brothers had heard Román's shout. For a human, his voice could make bones vibrate. That wasn't normal—it sounded less like an old, decrepit man's warning and more like a war cry: deep, commanding, motivating, like an order from a general.
Up on the ceiling, with one or two bones already fractured, those who were still conscious chose to move. Only the women helped one another, while the men did what they needed to save themselves. And of course, it was only logical the windblast wouldn't last forever—once it ended, anyone still above the hole would fall back down if they didn't do something to prevent it.
—Move to the side! —Román kept shouting.
Hearing the voice of someone they respected—someone they held in such high regard—hundreds of women, already colliding and scrambling against one another, tore themselves free of the ceiling with the little strength they had left. Then the air itself carried them, slamming them into one of the side walls.
The crush of bodies hitting metal under the wind's shove, the screams of pain, the crack of breaking bones—those sounds calmed Román considerably, because despite the terrible state they were in, everyone in the temple was still alive.
Once again, you surpass my expectations, Román told himself as he watched the last of his priestesses clear the danger zone, while the security staff did what they could to arrange bodies out in the corridor and administer first aid. You managed to save the ones who were going to die… but how are you going to save yourself?