“I will teach you a final lesson, daughter. Perhaps it will keep you complacent.”
If magic was a language, then Demeter’s confessed hatred. Immediately her power gushed in a wave of fierce energy, knocking Persephone back into a wall, which crumbled beneath her weight. She landed upon her feet, only to find Theseus armed with a blade from Hades’ collection.
“God-fucking bitch!” he growled as he swung.
Persephone lashed out; the tips of her fingers spiked with black tips that released like bullets into the demi-god’s chest. He stumbled back, his shirt darkening with blood, his eyes flashed, glowing unnaturally bright. Then he struck the ground with his fist and the earth began to tremble, jarring the weapons on the wall and causing Persephone to lose her footing.
At the same time, Demeter called forth another blast of energy. It struck her hard, sending her flying once again. As she landed, Theseus lifted his weapon over his head to strike. Persephone held up her hands and as his blade met the energy she had gathered there, he crashed into Hades’ armor. Persephone called forth vines that restrained him where he landed.
Then Persephone turned her full attention to Demeter. Their magic clashed—each burst of energy met and exploded, each vine and thorn, tangled and crumbled. The Goddess of Harvest threw out another blast, this one stirred the air, causing it to gust, tangling Persephone’s hair and clothing. Demeter reached for the blade Theseus had used during his attack, swinging it at Persephone. She countered with her magic—with whatever she could summon fast.
“The gods will destroy you,” Demeter said. “I would have kept you safe!”
“What good is safe when the rest of the world is under threat?”
“The rest of the world doesn’t matter!” she seethed.
It was the first time Persephone saw Demeter’s true fear for her, and for a brief second, they both ceased to fight. They stared at one another, both on edge, but the words that came out of Demeter’s mouth were broken, and they broke Persephone.
“You matter. You are my daughter. I begged for you.”
There was a raw truth to those words, and while Persephone could understand her mother’s action to a point, there were some things she would never agree with. Hades, too, had begged for her. Hades, too, wanted to protect her—but he was willing to let her fight, to watch her suffer, if it meant seeing her rise.
“Mom,” she said, shaking her head.
“Leave with me,” she said, desperate. “Leave with me now and we can forget this ever happened.”
Persephone was already shaking her head. “I can’t.”
For her mother to suggest this was actually insane, but Persephone had grown to understand something about the goddess. Despite how long she’d lived, she was no longer well. She was broken and she never would be whole again.
Demeter’s features hardened, and she threw out her hand, sending a bolt of magic toward her while lifting her blade. Persephone blocked the magic, and summoned her own, calling to the darkness which manifested in shadow—the wraiths charged Demeter and as they shuddered through her, she stumbled, falling to her knees.
When Demeter met Persephone’s gaze again, her eye glowed. She rose, screaming her anger, her magic gathered fast like a screaming wind.
“You were right about one thing, mother,” Persephone said.
“And what is that?”
“Revenge is sweet.”
In the next second, the sharpest weapons rose to Persephone’s call—spears and knives and swords—and descended, striking Demeter, pinning her to the ground.
A horrible silence followed as the wind died suddenly. Persephone dropped to her knees, breathing hard.
“Mom,” she rasped, crawling toward her.
Demeter did not move and did not speak. She lay with her arms spread wide, her fingers still clasping her blade. Her eyes were wide, as if she were in shock, and blood dripped from her mouth.
“Mom,” Persephone breathed.
She managed to stand and start to pull the weapons free. When she was finished, the goddess lay on the cold, marble ground and Persephone sat with her, waiting for her to heal.
But she never moved.
“Mom,” Persephone grew frantic, rising onto her knees, shaking the goddess. She had wanted a lot of things from Demeter—for her to change, to be a mother, to let her live her life but never death. Never this.
Then she remembered something that Hades had said about the weapons here—that some were relics and could prevent a god from healing.
“Mom, wake up!”
“Come, Persephone,” Hecate said, appearing behind her. She hadn’t even felt the goddess approach.
“Wake her up!” Persephone demanded. She placed her hands upon her body, which was now growing cold, attempting to use her own magic, willing her mother to breathe again, but nothing worked.
“Her thread is cut, Persephone. There is no bringing Demeter back.”
“This isn’t what I wanted!” Persephone cried.
Then Hecate placed her hands upon Persephone’s face, forcing her gaze to hers.
“You will see Demeter again. All dead come to the Underworld, Persephone, but right now Sybil and Harmonia need you.”
Persephone took a few deep breaths, her eyes stinging. Finally, she nodded, and let the goddess help her to her feet, but as they started toward the door, she halted.
“Theseus!”
She whirled to where she’d restrained him earlier and found that he was gone.
“The helm!”
The two goddesses started to search the arsenal when the Underworld shook violently and there was a horrible cracking sound.
Persephone’s heart pounded in her chest, and when her gaze connected with Hecate’s, the goddess was pale.
“What was that?” Persephone whispered.
“That,” Hecate said. “Is the sound of Theseus releasing the Titans.”
THANK YOU FOR READING!
I sincerely hope you enjoyed reading this book as much as I enjoyed writing it. If you did, I would appreciate a short review on Amazon or your favorite book website. Reviews are crucial for any author, and even just a line or two can make a huge difference.
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AUTHOR’S NOTE
Gods. Where do I begin with this one?
First, let me just say thank you to my readers. There are so many of you and I appreciate all of you—the reviews, the posts, the messages—all of it keeps me writing. It’s because of you that I was able to become a full-time author, and it’s because of you that I can continue doing what I love.
Also, a huge thank you to my Street Team. You all are the best hype team I could have ever asked for. I appreciate all the time you spend investing in me and my books. Ya’ll are the best.
About the Book:
Writing this book was a blur—it was a messy mix of exhaustion and agony and grief and some hope it would all get better. Reflecting on the process, I cannot say how I got here, but I’m really glad I did. I’m very proud of this book—beyond proud. I know we all have our opinions about Ruin, but I hope you can tell why we suffered, why that journey was so important—it was to get to this. To the power of Malice. Looking back on who Persephone was in Darkness, her struggles in Ruin, and who she is at the end of this book, it makes me proud. Her journey gives me hope—that the hardship and the trauma and the grief just makes us powerful.