Goddess Liv Savell (best autobiographies to read .TXT) 📖

was no mortal, his powers strange and deadly even to Enyo. They could not hope to beat him. Better to run, to leave this place while he was still distracted.

At least, if he killed the Goddess, Alphonse would be trapped no longer.

Only, Delyth was moving in to attack, the long, finely made sword in her hands. She moved faster than Etienne had ever seen her, drawing the point through the meat of Mascen’s thigh then up and across his back.

Any human man would be dying, flayed open by the wounds, but this God hardly flinched. Instead of blood, something slow and thick oozed from his back. Red and crusting black. It hardened in the open air and then crumbled away seconds later, leaving his skin and clothing untouched. Etienne gaped in horror. This was no God in a human’s body but in his natural form, untouchable by common steel.

Mascen turned to appraise Delyth curiously where she was already raising her sword for another dizzying barrage of attacks, only this time, even she was too slow. In a movement Etienne could not perceive, Mascen backhanded the warrior, sending her skidding into the dirt, her clothes and wings tearing beneath her.

Etienne gripped his staff. He could run now. They were all too distracted to see him. He could make it back to Moxous, tell them he and Alphonse had parted ways. Go back to his studies, easy and familiar in a world of rising Gods.

But he had made a vow, and he would not break because things had gotten more difficult.

Etienne threw himself forward, swinging his staff overhead so that it thudded heavily into Mascen’s temple. He had to get the God’s attention away from Delyth.

Despite the blow, Mascen merely grunted, unimpressed. He didn't even bother to retaliate, instead returning to his original pursuit.

༄

Delyth pushed herself to her feet, bruised and bleeding from dozens of small cuts. This God had sent her flying with ridiculous ease, more powerful than Enyo had been in any encounter she’d had with the Goddess.

“I recognize my mother’s pets when I see them, priestess,” Mascen murmured, prowling forward with the same eerie grace that Enyo possessed. “You should be happy to die as a sacrifice for her, though she too will join you. How easy this has been. A bit disappointing, really.” He reached for Delyth, fingers shimmering with heat. Is that what he had done to Enyo? Burned her from the inside?

Had Alphonse felt it?

Even as Delyth hefted her blade, a spear thudded into his flesh. In heartbeats, lava welled up to burn through the wooden shaft, breaking it off and covering the wound. He turned witha snarl where Meirin hurried to collect rocks to pelt him with. Her hands shook, but her face was set in a mask of forced calm. On his other side, Etienne did the same, pale but determined.

They were trying to save her, trying to keep Mascen’s attention turned away. They were both so brave, but it wouldn’t last. He would kill them effortlessly, tossing their bodies like their little stones. And then, he would turn to Enyo. He would take the wrist that Delyth had once kissed and drive those horrible, black veins into Enyo and Alphonse until they were both destroyed.

For the first time in her life, the warrior stood facing an opponent without any heat in her breast. She felt no battle fury, no bloodlust—only a deep, frightening cold. Delyth named it fear, then hoisted her sword anyway.

She would not let Alphonse be killed by this creature. Nor Etienne or Meirin.

She could not.

“Stop!” Delyth yelled, not to the God, but to her companions. “Meirin! Take Etienne and run!”

She didn’t turn to make sure they did as she asked. There wasn’t time. Already, Mascen was turning towards her, seconds dissipating like so much steam. She lifted her sword point towards Mascen but reversed in her grip, and in the moment before he spoke or moved to attack, she threw the blade like a spear, sinking it to the hilt between Mascen’s eyes.

Magma fountained on both sides of the God’s head, streaming down him like a second set of clothes, his figure and features obscured. The sword bent, white-hot in the middle and melting, its handle on fire from the heat. Delyth didn’t have time to see what became of it.

She skidded forward, raking her fingers through the runes that bound Enyo and Tristan, breaking the bonds that held them captive. Free, Enyo would be able to protect herself. Imprisoned, she and Alphonse both would surely die.

And that was one life Delyth would not gamble with. Not even to stop Enyo.

Then, the warrior was on her feet again. She swiped Etienne’s journal from the ground and then launched herself into the air, looking down as the sword melted to nothing at last, and Mascen stepped free of crumbling rock, unscathed.

“I’m not her priestess,” she whispered, but only the wind heard her.

❂

Enyo stumbled, free at last, but her arm was a rock forged to her skin, useless and heavy. Scalding pain raked up her flesh, well after Mascen had let go, and the Goddess fell limply to her knees.

“Va'al,” she whimpered, broken. The mortal body was failing her.

Mascen chuckled as Va'al appeared at Enyo’s side, his strong arm looping about her waist and hoisting her up. He was glaring at their son, but Enyo could feel the rigidity in his touch. He was afraid too. Afraid of Mascen. Afraid of what they had created.

“I think I’ll let you live, mother. I’ve had a wonderful idea—Father, you’ll enjoy this.” Mascen grinned humorlessly. “Since you love Rhosan more than you ever cared for me, I will take Rhosan and all her people, and I will make her mine.”

Despite the pain and fear Enyo felt, she gripped Va'al’s arm with her good hand, snarling in defiance. She’d not let this sniveling brat take what was rightfully hers. “You will not—”

“You don’t like that, do you mother?” Mascen crooned, stepping forward. Va'al pulled them back,