Without a word, the Nephilim giant hobbled behind me and out of sight. I heard the clanging and rattling of metal for a few seconds, and then the oaf returned, limping across the cement floor to his forge. He carried a rusted battle-axe. Sitting at the grindstone, he set the blade to it and began to sharpen the edges. Sparks scattered across the floor.
I rolled my eyes and opened my mouth to speak, but the Nephil interrupted me before I had the chance.
“Metal is a strange thing,” he said. “Strong, durable, reliable. Yet, with enough heat and pressure, it will soften and mold into whatever design I desire.”
I almost yawned as loud and exaggerated as I possibly could, but then thought better of it. See, even I can grow and mature. I also very much feared what he had in mind with that battle-axe. So, a little respect and biting of the tongue might serve me well.
Hephaestus removed the blade from the grindstone and inspected the razor-sharp edge with a careful eye. He ran his finger over the blade, drawing a thin line of blood. I wondered how such a crude weapon could harm a Nephil, but that thought wasn’t given much time to flower. In a blink, he threw the axe at me.
The sharpened blade that had just injured a Nephil crunched into the chair a half-inch from my skull, removing a few strands of my hair. Before the chair exploded into shards of wood, I think I shit myself. My manacles, with nothing anchoring them anymore, dangled from my wrists and ankles. With nothing left to sit on, I fell hard on my ass. The shop spun and a heat wave of nausea tickled my lips.
Hephaestus moseyed toward me, dragging his dead left leg. “Stand up, mortal. If you want to leave so bad, then kill me and leave.”
I scrambled to my feet, never one to back down from a fight. Hephaestus stood across the way from me, bulging eyes narrowed. Sweat beaded on his forehead and cheeks, reflected the overhead lights above.
“Don’t hold it against me when I kick your ass,” I said, swaying and searching for my balance. “This was your idea.” My magic had returned with a fury. Had Hephaestus fully charged me for the battle? Power pressed against my skin, ready to burst free. I had never felt so much energy before. Hephaestus taketh, and he giveth… but why giveth me such an overwhelming amount? The chair must have possessed negating properties that not only restrained me physically, but magically, as well. When the Nephil giant had shattered it with the axe, he had also broken the negation. But that didn’t explain the surge.
I muttered the Nephilim word for fire, and I moved my hands away from each other in a massive circle—a physical rendering of what I wanted to evoke. The ball of fire formed in front of me, a burning sphere the size of a car tire. Without something to channel the magic, I didn’t have a lot of control. It didn’t matter, though. With no innocents in the way, I could only harm Hephaestus, which I fully intended to do.
Years of regret and anger toward the Nephil built within that fireball. Hephaestus had lured me— a nineteen-year-old kid who wanted nothing more than to fight back against a world that always kicked him while he was down—into accepting his pact. He had used me, manipulating me through the years. He hadn’t protected Callie, hadn’t cared when she disappeared, hadn’t helped me find her. Yeah, the Nephil was powerful and imposing, but I didn’t care. He was also a self-centered prick who preyed on the vulnerabilities of the young to attract them to a lifetime of servitude. I had dreamed of this moment for years, now.
When the fireball grew to a size I could no longer contain, I shoved the spell toward the Nephil with all my strength, picturing Mel in my mind for an added boost. The fire rocketed through the space separating us and slammed into Hephaestus, wrapping around his massive body like a blanket, enveloping him in flame and smoke.
After a second, the burning subsided, fizzling to nothing.
Hephaestus remained standing in the same spot, unscathed by the most powerful attack I had ever used—like the White Walker not phased by the dragon’s breath. He bellowed laughter. “You insect,” he said. “I imbued you with your abilities. I gave you fire. You really think your diluted version of my own powers could harm me?” His deep guffawing continued.
I scratched my chin. “Well, when you put it that way,” I said.
His comment had changed the nature of our battle. My magic came from Hephaestus, which meant he was immune to it. I was nothing but an ant to him—and not a badass bullet ant, but one of those harmless black ants that are impossible to get rid of. Except, I probably wasn’t even that difficult to exterminate.
His eyes turned to flame, and fire built in the palms of his hands. “Do you think you, a mote of dust floating through a world of dirt… that you, a whisper drowned by the screeching hurricane, could defeat me?” Hephaestus hobbled toward me, favoring his shrunken leg. Seeing him move, you wouldn’t think he could banish me from the realm of existence with nothing more than a passing thought. “Now,” he said, standing a foot from me, “sit.”
One option remained, and I wasn’t above using it. Some men, probably lesser men than me, who preferred death over life, would not have taken
