Hot metal pressed against my head. I didn’t have the strength to lift my gaze and meet my destroyer. So, I just allowed my head to lull against my chest. Before I had the chance to say something witty, a heavy, palpable darkness overcame me.
And I knew nothing more.
I awoke to a rank odor shoved up my nostrils. I coughed and gagged, struggling to orient myself in the swaying room. At first, my vision only picked up hazy images, but as I came to, I picked out details—most importantly, I was upside down, hanging by a rope or chain tied tight around my ankles. The room shifted back and forth, glowing with bright light, drowning every possible shadow. On the ground below me pooled a puddle of dark blood. Upon seeing it, the familiar pains returned to me, and I remembered the two gunshot wounds I’d suffered.
An itch burned my nose, and I moved my left hand to scratch it—to eradicate at least one small discomfort—but my hands were tied together behind me back. That singular itch bothered me more than any of the injuries.
Glancing up—or was it down?—I confirmed that they had chained me to the ceiling by my feet, and the line slowly twisted, turning me along with it. As I spun, my surroundings changed. A half-dozen men wearing black uniforms stood in a cluster, holding assault rifles against their chest as if awaiting orders. Xander was stripped to his boxer briefs, tied to a column. He had a gag shoved in his mouth, his left eye was completely shut, and blood beaded his body like sweat. Twisting around further, I saw Gladas holding Annabel’s hand. They were speaking with a tall, skinny woman. She had raven-colored hair and eyes so dark, they could have been black. She held open the white lab coat she wore, exposing a collection of vials and potions. Allowing the fold to close, she opened the other side, showing a similar, if not more vast, assortment. I twisted away from her, returning to my first position, staring at cement walls.
Footsteps clacked against the ground as someone approached. A melodic voice—one half-stuck in song—said, “Joseph Hunter.” The woman wearing the lab coat circled around me, following my slow twirl. “I’ve heard so much about you.”
My mouth was sandpaper, my tongue a desert sponge. Still, I managed to say, “Nothing from Medea, I bet.”
That comment earned me nothing from her. The soft smile remained glued to her face. Her hands remained stuffed in her lab coat pockets. Her eyes remained hard and fixed on me—showing no emotion at all. “We can discuss Medea at a later time,” she said. “For now, let’s get acquainted. I’m Circe, as I’m sure you’ve surmised. You’re the infamous Joseph Hunter—hunter of monsters, oath-breaker, Arkos.” She spat down at me after the last name, the same one Medea had called me. “You’re unnatural. An obscenity. Though, like cancer, you still serve a purpose.”
“W. T. F,” I said. “Like cancer? And I thought I was dark.” My mind reeled though. I’d understood the intent behind hunter of monsters and oath-breaker… but Arkos? What did that mean? And why had she called me unnatural?
“Your purpose was a great one, my child. Through your blood—and your blood alone—we possess the key to unlock the thirty sealed gates. The Nephilim Council will fall, as will their universities and monopoly on power.”
I coughed. “Medea already went through all this. But can I get some… water?”
Circe opened her lab coat and fingered a few vials before removing one and popping the cork. “This is a potion of vitality,” she said. “It will restore you to a semblance of health. Do you wish to partake?”
I cleared my dry throat and shook my head. I preferred not to drink anything this lady offered to me. “Gladas,” I said, “it’s good to know I read you right. Did she offer you the cure when you handed Xander over to her?”
“His mission was to bring you to me. And he failed at that,” Circe said, recapping the vial and placing it back in her coat. “Before you die, Joseph Hunter, I want you to know how important your life was—that way, you know that you lived for something.”
“Wow,” I choked out, “you’re incredibly… kind.”
“With your blood shed into the Holy Chalice and over the Tetradrachms, we now have the key to open the thirty sealed gates.”
“You said that already.”
“Because I want you to understand something before you die. You started the Apocalypse, and you can do nothing to stop it.”
I had no idea what she meant by that, but I would be damned if I allowed her to kill me while I dangled upside down. “Gladas!” I called, forcing my voice to rise over my dried tongue. “You heard her. She… she’s not planning to”—I paused to swish saliva around my mouth, a feeble attempt—“to give you the fucking cure. You want her dead, yeah?”
Circe, as quick as a blink and as powerful as a baseball bat, kicked me in the mouth to shut me up. Blood rushed over my tongue and lips, providing moisture to the drought.
I chuckled with glee—the idea of pain had long ago faded from my mind. “You stupid bitch,” I said. Circe stiffened. I’d gotten to her. “Not you. Sorry. I meant Gladas. He’s a stupid bitch. You’re—you’re a dirty asshole full of burst hemorrhoids.”
Before she could reward me with another kick, my fantasy boyfriend sprinted across the warehouse and speared her to the ground. I saw Annabel’s slight frame run and hide behind a column, probably unable to shift at will. She would be of zero use. Turning my shoulders, I spun on the
