“This is so fucked,” Leira said, shouting over all the ruckus. “The storm didn’t disappoint, though! I was bummed we weren’t gonna get to see it.”

  “Argh!” Cort growled, his voice warbling as he bounced along the ground in his cocoon. “Stop talking and let me out of this goddamned thing! I told you I’m fine.”

  When the ceiling blasted open, and the storm started raining—heh—hell on them, it was immediate pandemonium.

  Thinking quickly, Leira had rounded out Cort’s cast with more spores, shaping it like a baguette so that she could roll him to safety.

  Quez and Lall had taken charge, sending their warriors to round up civilians and go into the still-standing residential tiers to rescue whoever else they could. The pair led the retreat toward the bowels of the temple that offered protection against the ravaging storm. And the Leviathan invaders.

  Packed in the middle of the panicking Malikauan horde, Leira and Cort crossed through pavilion after pavilion with the refugees. All talk of demons had been forgotten.

  Leira had even gotten a few of the Malikauans to help carry their stuff. Beside her, a group of four carried Cort’s hammer.

  The band of refugees numbered some few thousand—damn near their entire population—and as they went, they gathered more stragglers. It seemed most folk had come out to participate in their little holy war, and they turned out to be the lucky ones. Those who’d been in hiding on the storm-side, where everything had collapsed… Well, Leira hoped they got along with their neighbors, ‘cause they’d all be going to the Hells together.

  With all its jumbled architecture, the temple proved much larger than Leira had thought. Quez and Lall brought everyone to a wide-open chamber that was quieter and isolated, but still within the atrium. Looking back toward the heights of the enormous cavern, Leira could see a sliver of the breach in the ceiling.

  That entire section of the temple had been pulverized, and the damage was spreading as more of the bedrock ceiling collapsed.

  The storm… The storm was magnificent and terrifying. When they were in the thick of it, Leira had been losing her shit and screaming her head off, but here, from a distance, she allowed herself to be awestruck by the expression of power. It was not too often you got to see a god let loose like this.

  The familiar clattering of a club banging against a shield rang out. A hush fell.

  “We’re stopping here,” Quez shouted, “and waiting for the rescue teams to catch up.” Some groaned their dissent at that. “It is safe enough—these are strong walls. We’ll have enough warning if the course of the Gracestorm forces us to flee, but we don’t want to go too deep… in case we’re needed.”

  Leira found herself nodding along. This chamber was formed of natural rock walls. They looked nice and sturdy, shaking only a tiny bit.

  The weird stone structures at the ends and the lines painted on the floor made her think the space was meant for playing some sport.

  This pavilion was elevated, too, so it’d be some time before the floodwaters got this high. Yeah, the people would be safe here unless the actual earth broke apart. But…

  “Cort!”

  A snot bubble in his nose popped. “Wha?”

  “How long has it been since we entered the Stormlands?”

  “Fucking hell, your spores tired me out. I have no idea. Two days, maybe?”

  “Yeah… shit,” Leira said, laughing away the despair that cropped up. “All this damage already… That Jayson guy told you the third day would be the worst, right?”

  “Eh,” Cort said, trying but failing to sit up because of the cast. “That four-armed woman will just have to stop it.”

  “Don’t call her that,” Leira said, glaring at him.

  “Challe, then. It’s her power, right? She’ll just have to fix it.”

  “I guess,” Leira said. “There’s more at play, though. The goddess and whatever else… There are not too many Hallows capable of something like this.”

  “Yeah, and thank fuck for that,” Cort said. “Wait! Stop talking to me. Cut me out of this thing right now.”

  Leira winked at him with her normal eye. With a wave of her hand, the spores withered into fragile wisps. They crumbled into dust as Cort busted his way out.

  “Hey, look at that!” Leira said. “It did ya pretty good.”

  Cort’s skin was shiny and red and covered with burst blisters and dried pus. It looked gross, but the healing was coming along decently.

  Cort grunted in an approving manner.

  The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  “Lemme see the wound,” she said. He twisted around so she could see the scalloped-out gash. Yeesh. “Yeah, I’m gonna cover this up. But this is just about the last of it, so don’t get too fucked up by the king.”

  Leira glanced up at the breach as a sputtering of spores puffed out of the Megrim flower, filling in Cort’s wound. Damn. She was just about dry on white, pink, and red. And Leira suspected that, however they got out of this mess, it’d be awhile before she had a chance to bury herself.

  She couldn’t tell what Yuma and his troops were actually doing—the storm made for awful visibility. But that giant machine had smashed through the ceiling, and they were lowering a bunch of large objects down using cables.

  The crowd parted, revealing Quez and Lall.

  “Nice, they don’t hate you anymore, Quez,” Leira said. “Well done.”

  Quez drew a shuddering breath as he came in close to Leira and Cort. He glanced over both shoulders, then whispered, “I’m terrified! This is a disaster. I don’t know what I’m doing.”

  Lall crouched beside him and took his hand.

  “Calm down,” Cort said. “You’re doing good. You wrangled all these folks and kept them safe.”

  “What is this monster that has come?” Lall said, her gaze locked on the breach.

  “Who, actually,” Leira said. “He’s your Jaguar guy’s boss, probably. He’s a…” She grimaced and bobbed her head from side to side. “So, not only has the World not ended, but we have a sort of… government. More like tyrannical overlords. They’re shit-eaters, and this asshole is one of their kings. Very powerful. If you ask me—”

  Cort put his hand on Leira’s shoulder. “They don't need to hear you rant.” To Quez and Lall: “He’s dangerous and evil, but we’re gonna lure him away so he doesn’t kill all of you. We need to get going, Leira.”

  “Right.” Leira stood, and she and Cort gathered their belongings from the Malikauans who had so graciously carried them.

  Leira hiked her backpack on her shoulder. “We probably won’t see you guys again. Good luck with…” She fluttered her hand at the general disarray of the temple. “If the king comes and kills you, sorry. Just know that we gave it our all.”

  Lall stomped her foot. “Our warriors will fight by your sides.”

  “No!” Cort said, waving his hands. “No, no, no. That would be the opposite of helpful. Let us handle it.”

  Quez placed his hand in front of Lall. “It’s too big for us… But I must come with you.”

  “You must the fuck not,” Cort said.

  “I swore an oath on my life to protect Challe’Jade. Challe. I don’t care if the scriptures were bullshit. She is a friend in need, and I made a promise.”

  “They,” Leira said, gesturing at the few thousand Malikauans, “need you. Stay with them.”

  “Lall will protect them,” Quez said.

  Leira was surprised to see that the stern woman did not protest. Instead, she performed a sort of salute with her hand.

  Cort shook his head, exhaling loudly through his nose. “Gwil is with Challe. If anything happens to her, it means Gwil is dead. Which means everything’s fucked. Trust him. Trust us. Just stay here, survive, and enjoy the rest of your lives.”

  Lall wrapped an arm around Quez’s shoulders and squeezed him close. “Challe will stop the storm,” she said. “She will protect us like she always has.”

  The four of them exchanged some hurried hugs.

  “Sorry I thought you were demons,” Lall said as they broke apart.

  “Don’t worry about it,” Leira said over her shoulder. “Now you know not to get brainwashed again.”

  She and Cort set off running, back toward the storm and the king and the devastated atrium.

  “So much of this is our fault,” Cort said.

  Leira shook her head, shrugged, and winced all at once. “I know. But maybe we just accelerated something that would’ve happened anyway.”

  “That’s a big maybe,” Cort grumbled. “You got the Erithist Spike?”

  Leira reached back to pat the cloth-wrapped bulge sticking out of her backpack.

  ***

  Grizelda, the titanic Daughter of Gaia, crashed upon the shore. Overhead, a storm worthy of the primordial earth raged. The hulking, tortoise-like creature ran across barren land, trampling the bedrock under her six massive feet.

  In the distance, she sensed a menagerie of powers, both alien and Terran.

  Grizelda lowered her head, quickening her pace. She had awakened with a purpose—to protect her sister. That was what she would do.

  ***

  Gwil ground his teeth as he moved a bloated corpse out of his way. He and Octavia were searching for Challe in the waist-high floodwaters.

  He looked up at the breach. Through the hailstorm, he could see shadows of activity—people and objects swinging around on ropes.

  Gwil tilted his head back and rolled it from side to side. “Whew.” It felt good to have it back on the right way. Now, let’s see what this king is about.

  He splashed through the river and climbed up onto a pile of rubble, getting a better vantage. Octavia scrambled around below, dipping in and out of the water, all eight heads hissing and swiveling, searching with flickering tongues.

  Gwil bit down on his lip as he looked around. It felt weird with his stumpy little teeth. He thought about growing them back, but it’d be better to let his Nirva build back up after he’d spent so much.

  “Challe?” he called. “Challe?”

  He jumped down and continued down the hall. At the far end lay the wingless jade eagle statue. He didn’t think Challe could have gotten swept that far…

  “Fuck.” Gwil’s heart hammered in his chest, frantic with dread. He wasn’t worried that Challe was hurt, but…

  This was her worst nightmare. Everything she’d been trying to prevent had come to fruition.

  They’d fucked things up. He’d fucked things up especially. Gwil kicked over a piece of debris. Dammit. He’d even let Tezca get away.

  A wet object smacked Gwil in the face. He caught it in his hands as it fell.

  “My shoe!” He looked around and saw Octavia waving at him with one of her heads. Gwil laughed as he turned the shoe over to dump out the water.

  He sat on a broken column and pulled his boot on, his toes squelching in the water-logged interior. It was funny that this shoe—

  “Oh, shit! Can we drown?”

  He threw himself back into the water. “Challe! Challe! Go check back the other way, Octavia!” The snaketopus dove under the water and swam back with renewed vigor.

  Gwil had no idea if Hallows needed to breathe or not. When he got stuck under the water while he and Leira were sailing Skuld’s boat, it sure felt like he was drowning… He took a deep breath and held it… Started feeling lightheaded. He tried to fight against the buckling reflex in his lungs and then gasped for air.

  No way. No way. If her brain was still intact, it didn’t matter, right?

  “Ssss! Ssss!”

  “Just keep looking Octavia,” Gwil called.

  “Sss ssss ssss, sss sssssss sssss!”

  Gwil whipped around and saw Octavia bobbing in the water, flailing all her tentacle-heads.

  “Did you find her? I’m coming!” He dove forward and started swimming, flaring Nirva, his legs kicking like a machine.

  Octavia was struggling with something below the surface when Gwil reached her.

  Gwil felt around under the water until his hands closed on the edges of a big slab of broken ceiling. He pulsed Nirva and flipped it over.

  Something soft brushed against his leg.