Oblivion

“Then again,” whispered Lilith, “you could take your stand against me now. Vanquish me however you choose. Finish my story, send me to hell if you wish.”

“You belong there,” Varen said.

“So say it,” Lilith hissed. “You must already know how it ends.” Looping an arm around him, the demon pressed a palm over his heart and grasped a fistful of his shirt. “In here.”

Seconds passed and nothing happened. Varen seemed to deliberate, his eyes on Isobel. But Isobel had already decided she would not beg him again. It had become clear that Varen would now believe—and do—whatever he wanted.

Finally he slipped free of Lilith’s grasp, his steps carrying him toward Isobel. He stopped at the foot of the open grave, the toes of his boots poking over the edge.

“I’m sorry,” he said, “but I’m not who you think I am.”

Isobel gaped at him, the hand that held the ribbon slackening with her shock.

“But don’t feel bad,” he added, his expression cold. “No matter what, you could never have stopped this.”

With that, he turned to face Lilith again. He raised an arm and extended his hand toward the demon, palm open.

A surge of winds swept out from behind Isobel, flying in from nowhere to course through the courtyard.

The gales rushed strong past Varen, causing his hair and coat to flutter. As they surged between the statues, the currents of air rose in a chorus of whistles. They clashed with Lilith and lifted her veils and hair into a frenzy.

All around, the shrouds of the other statues began to unravel, peeling away as they turned to fabric. Curling under and over, fluttering like white flags, the loosed veils then vaporized, dissipating into smoke.

Beneath Isobel, the stone floor began to erode into pressed dirt mottled with dead grass.

She watched Varen shut his fist and curl his arm in. Suddenly the howling bluster switched courses. Lilith’s veils redirected themselves, flowing now toward Varen instead of away.

The shift in the harsh air current scrambled Isobel’s hair, blocking her view.

Then the statue’s hold on her faltered. Slipping free of its grip, she fell—not into the awaiting pit, but onto a hard patch of frozen turf.

Isobel’s ribbon flew out of her hand, up and up. Craning her neck skyward, she watched the once-pink sash sail toward the ceiling of gray that, with a crack of thunder, tore suddenly open.

Through the atmosphere’s ripped seam burned a host of faraway stars.

Her ribbon danced toward the rift and then beyond it, disappearing behind the clouds.

Isobel’s breath left her in a rush as she looked to Lilith, whose shroud had begun to funnel and twist, cocooning the demon’s form as it bound her arms together.

The glowing veils merged and lengthened and, like wool being spun into thread, wound into a single strand.

The long, oscillating tendril slithered through the air, inching its way closer to Varen, whose focus was zeroed in on the thread as if pulling it toward him with his eyes.

A silver cord, Isobel realized the moment the luminous string connected with Varen’s chest, its glow intensifying as it shot straight into him.

Throwing her head back, Lilith began to laugh once more.

“Foolish boy!” she bellowed as Varen drew her nearer and nearer. “Have you forgotten that you and I are already one? Destined for the same inexorable fate?”

Isobel clutched the grass beneath her, staring on in horror and grim fascination as Varen took the demon’s awful face in his hands and drew her to him.

“No,” she heard him say as he leaned down slowly, closing the distance between them. “But I think you have.”

He kissed Lilith through her veil then, and as he did, the winds ceased their raging.

Isobel felt a coldness steal over her even as she watched Lilith fold in on herself, her brilliance dying as the last of her light and essence caved into Varen, leaving his hands empty.

Silence screamed.

For a moment, nothing happened.

Then, staggering in place, Varen lifted a trembling hand to his chest.

He glanced back toward Isobel as a long streak of thick black liquid spilled over his bottom lip.

“Oh,” Isobel uttered, climbing quickly to her feet.

She stopped, though, when she realized that Varen wasn’t looking at her.

A sharp scrape of metal sent a warning chill up Isobel’s spine. Turning her head fast, she saw Reynolds duck out from behind Lilith’s disintegrating tomb, the walls of which had begun to collapse into ash.

Reynolds held a single blade at the ready, those black coined-size holes fixed on Varen.