Fated to the Dark Elf Episode 10

Chapter 57

Thorne

“DELIA!” I scream, shaking her by her shoulders. I refuse to accept what my senses are telling me, what the part of my soul that was linked to hers is telling me.

She’s gone. I heard her heart give out with my own ears, the last, feeble beat still replaying over and over in my head as I look down at her.

She’s dead.

"It seems like you have a choice, my dear avatar," The Hedonist says from over my shoulder.

I don't turn to look at him, hardly paying any attention as I shake my mate's body again, panic and crushing grief clawing in my stomach. My hands tremble against her cooling skin, refusing to accept the reality before me.

"You can either sit there and try to save your long-gone mate, which would be ill-advised, considering she's already dead," the Hedonist continues, boredom beginning to creep into his voice. "Or you can get what you came here for."

His words sound distant as I hear them, my focus entirely locked into Delia's body laying in my arms. We've been through so much, come so far, for it to end like this. There's been too much bloodshed. The metallic scent of it fills the air around us, a cruel reminder of everything we've sacrificed to reach this point. My chest feels like it's being crushed under the weight of a thousand stones as I cradle her against me, willing her heart to beat just one more time.

If the choice is between some ancient, useless prophecy, or my mate, then it's no choice at all. I'll choose Delia every time. The power I've chased for so long means nothing compared to her.

The prophecy seems so stupid now as I look down at Delia's face, her eyes already beginning to gloss over in death. I did this. She never would have been here if it wasn't for me. This is my fault. Every step I took thinking I was moving toward greatness only led me here, to this moment of devastating loss.

Nothing, not even godhood, is worth losing her over. The fact that I ever thought otherwise shows just how unworthy of her I am. But she's already gone. Her skin grows colder by the second under my trembling fingers, and all the magic in the world can't bring back what I've destroyed. My mother's dying wishes, my family's legacy - none of it matters anymore. I'd trade it all just to see her smile one more time.

No, I tell myself, pressing my hands against her chest and pushing violet tendrils of magic into her and around her heart. No. She can’t be dead.

My magic rebounds uselessly in her chest, any efforts at restarting her heart or coaxing her organs into life once more fizzling out like dying embers against cold stone. She's gone. She's really gone, and the crushing weight of that reality threatens to tear me apart.

A broken sob chokes from my throat as I gather her cooling body to my chest, holding her closely as I begin to rock us both. Delia's arms dangle limply from her sides, her body so much heavier in death than it ever felt in life. The scent of her hair still lingers - that sweet, familiar fragrance that used to drive me mad with wanting her. Now it only drives the knife deeper into my heart.

I'll never feel her arms wrap around my neck again. I'll never hear her laugh, or watch her roll her eyes at my needling. I'll never feel her lips move against mine, never taste the sweetness of her mouth or feel the way she'd melt into me when I kissed her deeply.

We had one night, one stupid, perfect night, and now we'll never know another. That memory torments me now - the softness of her skin, the way she whispered my name, how perfectly she fit against me. It wasn't supposed to end like this.

My tears burn tracks down my cheeks as I pull away from Delia's lifeless body, smoothing her hair around her face with my free hand as I place her gently back down on the ground. Her skin is like ice beneath my fingertips, and each touch is another reminder of my failure.

I promised to protect her, I promised we'd get through this together, and I failed her. I failed her so completely that there's no coming back from it. No redemption. No forgiveness. Just this endless, aching void where my heart used to be.

Her death is my fault.

“Truly, this is pathetic,” The Hedonist sighs from over my shoulder, breaking into my grief-stricken trance.

“First you let the human strike before you, and then, when her feeble body inevitably gives out, you spit on her death. You don’t even make it worth anything, you just sit there and cry like a whelpling. I expected more of the prophesied avatar.”

Whatever living, hopeful thing Delia had nurtured inside me in our time together dies along with her. The Hedonist’s words rebound in my head, and I push myself to my feet, the numb emptiness in my limbs turning into something much more intense, dangerous.

I may be partially to blame for Delia’s death, but I didn’t kill her.

He did.

All of the weariness, numbness, and heartache resonating in my bones turns nuclear. I will kill him. Not for the prophecy, not for godhood. For Delia.

I roar my fury as I charge the Hedonist, his smile falling from his face as violet, swirling tendrils explode from my body, racing towards him at lightning speed.

My vision goes red as his face sharpens in my sight, white flashes of his magic blinking between us as he tries to fight off the many violet spears of power raining down on him. He’s not fast enough, however. He won’t escape me, he won’t escape punishment for what he’s stolen from me.

Delia won’t die in vain. Her murderer will not go unpunished, god or no god.

My mate will rest well once I put him in the ground.

My energy, the well of my power, no longer wanes as I edge closer to the Hedonist, fending off his attacks as I advance closer and closer to him. I might have to bring him to the brink of death using magic, considering his status as a god, but I’ll kill him with my own two hands.

Even if it means dying with him, I need to make sure I feel his life force ebb and then vanish completely with my own hands- much like he made me feel Delia’s.

I thought I’d reached my limits in terms of my magical ability, but the pulsing fury and agony of my mate’s death has opened an entirely new level to my abilities. Power crashes out of me in near uncontrollable waves, all directed at the Hedonist.

Whether from Delia’s prior blows or the onslaught I’m throwing at him now, the god is getting sloppy. Evidently, even they get tired. I’m fueled by my loss, by my anger- there’s a small, feeble part of me that hopes he kills me too.

A life without Delia, especially after knowing what could have been, would mean nothing to me.

The Hedonist stumbles beneath a particularly thick wave of power, and I take advantage of his prone state, unleashing a killing blow of chaos magic. The blow finds its mark, flinging him backwards and into the wall, the stone cracking beneath the force of his collision.

He slides down the wall, a smear of blue-black blood left in his wake as he topples to the floor. I expect him to be dead, or near death, but instead the temple seems to react to the Hedonist’s blood, the shattered stones absorbing it as if it were… drinking it.

A part of me is repulsed, scared even, by the strangeness of the sight, but the emotion doesn’t last long, swallowed up by the bloodthirsty excitement I feel at seeing my opportunity for vengeance laid at my feet.

I start toward the Hedonist, ready to claim retribution in my mate’s name, when he begins to laugh. My steps falter as confusion and wariness take root. Is this all another trick? What’s so funny to him?

“You drew blood,” The Hedonist rasps, as if in answer to the whirling questions inside my head. “You spilled the blood of the world,” He adds, motioning to the last few drops of his own blood as the temple sucks it up greedily.

The realization falls over me like a bucket of ice water, my knees wobbling as it hits.

“Your blood… your blood is the blood of the world,” I say numbly. I was wrong all along. Delia never had to die- she may have the blood of the earth, the lifeblood of the elements, but the gods created Protheka. Only a god’s blood is the true blood of the world.

She died for nothing.

“And now, the temple will bestow upon you its gifts,” The Hedonist confirms. He rises slowly to his feet, waving a dismissive hand and setting his appearance back to its original, pristine state, the rest of the temple room following suit. It’s as if no battle ever took place, as if nothing ever happened at all.

The only sign of what’s transpired is Delia’s still body, laying where I left her in the center of the floor.

I screw my eyes shut as the temple floor begins to vibrate gently, nothing like the violent tremors before. This feels more soothing, more like a purr of the ancient building as it fulfills its purpose.

Part of this feels like some terrible, cosmic joke. I finally take hold of my destiny, am granted godhood, only to live for all of eternity knowing that I endangered my mate, and she died because of it.

I suppose it’s fitting. I always thought godhood would be a personal helias of sorts, that it would be everything I wanted and more. Instead, it’s a glacies of my own making, an eternal state of torment as retribution for all I’ve done.

I’m so lost in my own self-pitying thoughts that I don’t realize the temple has stopped shaking until several minutes after the vibrations are over. I open my eyes reluctantly, confused. I don’t feel any different--I thought godhood would at least feel different.

I’ve given up everything, willingly or not, to reach this final goal. Being a god was supposed to fix everything, but now, I’m not sure it was ever even worth it in the first place.

But all I feel is empty.