When the power the gate emitted grew stronger rather than weaker, Keras looked over his shoulder at Ares where he stood with his arm outstretched. One ring of the gate rotated through his wrist, slowly turning red as it passed through his brother’s arm without harming him.
“Starting to see why you kids passed out when doing this,” Ares grumbled, his tone warm and the humour in it out of place.
“Not really envying you for once.” Daimon glanced back at Ares. “Holler if you need an assist though.”
“Nah, I got this.” Ares squeezed his fist and more blood dripped from the cut on his wrist.
How much blood would it take to give Ares the control he needed over the gate in order to seal it?
Daimon had spilled a lot to close the New York gate, and had been out cold for close to five days as a result of sealing it.
The Paris gate was older and had been more powerful before they had started sealing the gates, condensing the power that ran between them down to only three.
Sweat beaded on Ares’s brow and turned to steam as he gritted his teeth, the heat that danced around him rising as his brother called on more of his strength. The air warmed, the subtle scent of fire beginning to fill it.
“Watch your power.” Keras didn’t want to end up singed because Ares had pushed too hard and had lost control of his power over fire as a result.
He would heal, but Ares would feel terrible about it, would be a constant thorn in his side for at least a few weeks, apologising all the time. He needed Ares strong and confident, his usual brash self, not moping because his power had gotten the better of him.
“Trying,” Ares said, strain in his voice.
Keras turned his focus to the world again, stretching his senses out far and wide to scan for daemons. Behind him, Ares grumbled something, and the smell of his blood grew thicker in the air. The power the gate emitted began to fade, signalling that his brother was finally managing to seal it.
And still no daemons.
Keras’s hand dropped to his pocket, the urge to take a pill growing stronger now that he felt sure that no more daemons were coming. He needed the release. He tamped down that urge, denying it once again.
Behind him, Ares muttered something to Marek, and Keras sensed Marek move. He glanced over his shoulder at them, checking them both. Ares was on his knees now, his arms shaking as he tried to hold them out in front of him. Blood dripped from the wounds on his wrist, spilling in thick rivulets onto the shimmering rings of the gate.
The power of the gate dulled further, fading more swiftly now.
“He good?” Daimon asked.
Marek nodded. Ares grunted and sagged further, leaning forward.
The rainbow coloured rings of the gate began to shrink, the first of them disappearing into the central disc. Keras watched it as it closed, his senses still fixed on the world around them so no daemons could sneak up on them.
As the final ring of the gate shrank into the central disc, the sense of power it emitted disappeared completely, as if the gate wasn’t there. The violet disc contracted too, and then winked out of existence in a bright violent flash.
Ares sank onto his side, hitting the pavement. Daimon rushed to him and dropped to his knees beside him.
Marek checked Ares over and then looked up at Keras. “He’s out cold.”
“It was to be expected.” Keras looked down at his brother where he lay sprawled on the pavement. “We should get him home.”
Because Keras was itching for a pill and needed his brothers away from him, occupied so he could be alone.
Marek dutifully stooped and picked Ares up off the ground and stepped with him, teleporting him back to Tokyo.
Daimon lingered.
“I’ll clear up this mess.” Keras kept his gaze away from Daimon, scanning the dead daemons for any sign of life, the itch to fight still burning in his veins, colliding with the urge to take a pill.
Daimon still lingered.
When Keras looked at him, it was clear his brother wasn’t convinced, suspected something. Keras brushed that off as paranoia. He wanted a pill and was worried he wouldn’t get it, that was all this feeling was. Daimon probably didn’t want to go because he didn’t want to leave him alone, vulnerable to attack.
“Go.” Keras waved Daimon away and unleashed his shadows, sending the black tendrils spreading outwards to devour the remains of the daemons. “I have this. Cassandra will be worried about you.”
The mention of the female was all it took to have Daimon stepping, giving Keras the peace he badly needed.
He was finally alone.
He slipped his hand into the pocket of his black trousers, pulled out the small stone pillbox, and slid the lid open with his thumb.
He plucked one of the tiny onyx pills from the box and placed it on his tongue, and swallowed.
Anticipation curled through him, almost as sweet as the high he knew was coming.
His eyes slid shut as he waited for the endless silence and emptiness he craved.
In a matter of seconds, cold spread through him, obliterating his feelings, stealing him away from the world. He savoured the cool rush of numbness, the slow fade of his pain. He was so used to feeling it now that it was welcoming, soothing in its own right, a promise that everything would be fine in only a few short minutes.
Keras sank to his knees in the middle of the terrace, aware of what his pills were doing to him and of what he was doing.
Abusing them to take away his emotional torment. Hiding within the silent euphoria that they created. It was wrong of him, but he couldn’t stop. Not now. On some level, he knew that he was addicted, knew that this would only end with more pain. One day, someone was going to discover what his pills did to him and how far he had fallen.
But for now, it was so easy just to roll with it. So much easier than trying to stop or facing his pain.
The chilling numbness sank deeper into his bones, stealing away the last shred of his emotions, freeing him from them.
But not from the gnawing hunger in his gut, a craving for violence, an itch he couldn’t scratch no matter how many daemons he killed, or how many times he danced close to death.
That persistent itch, that constant need, rode him harder and harder each day.
Keras stared at the city, and then the few remaining dead daemons as his shadows swirled around them.
The fight tonight hadn’t satisfied him as it normally would have, but he was too lost in oblivion to muster the hunger to hunt and kill more daemons. The pills began to dampen that need too, and the part of him that wanted to fight wasn’t pleased.
He sat there in the middle of the terrace, hazy and calm, trying to shed his desire to kill and wanting to just accept the peace flowing over him.
He raised his hands and stared at them, at the black blood that was drying against his skin like tattered gloves. Patches of white skin shone through, stark against the darkness. His hand slipped out of focus as he sought the quiet warmth within, but it evaded him, that persistent itch for violence plaguing him.
He stood on a snarl.
Tried to muster his fury so it wouldn’t be just empty killing if he went out to hunt more daemons.
Tried and failed.
He pulled the pillbox from his pocket again and stared at it, a war erupting inside him.
He wanted another pill, but was deeply aware he couldn’t do it. As much as he craved the oblivion, the release from his hunger for violence and his emotions, it would be too risky. There was a chance he might be needed tonight. If his brothers needed him and something happened to them because he had let the oblivion of the drug claim him and was unable to help, he would never forgive himself.