Luckily, the weird gong noise doesn’t go off like it did the first time I walked this path, so there’s no loud ass noise that rings out to deafen me. Which is a really good thing, because we’re on edge enough as it is. I think we were all half expecting for Morax to be here waiting to ambush us, but the long cavernous space is completely empty and quiet—thank fuck.
I don’t dare entertain an ounce of relief though; I’ve learned my lesson in thinking, oh good, this is going well.
We walk in alert silence, but nothing is hiding out in the shadows or leaps out to attack us. Echo disappears a few times, his body seeming to evaporate in the blackness around us, like he’s double-checking nothing is lurking around, but with a few sweeps in the shadows, he soon confirms that we’re alone.
We make quick time to the Hellgate, and I’m once again awed by its presence. Even more so now that I know beings like me helped to make this thing work.
I look up at the massive double doors made of blood-red flames, my eyes sweeping over their spiked tops. Instead of a sense of foreboding like I had the first time I saw it, I’m just filled with curiosity.
Now that I’m looking, and I mean really looking at it, I can see that it seems...tired. I know that’s a fucking weird thing to say about the doors of Hell, but some of the flames don’t look as thick or as strong as they should. There’s supposed to be a solidness to them—the flames should be so thick it should be just a conglomerate of layered red, barring any sight past them.
But instead, the Hellgate’s fire is completely out in some spots, and I know that’s where Morax’s army was able to break through.
“As Gate Guardians, you’re not only tied to protecting your portal, but your powers are also feeding into this Hellgate to strengthen it, right?” I ask.
“Yes,” Iceman answers.
I turn to him. “This looks bad, Iceman.”
He grimaces at the sight. “It does.”
“It’s pulling a lot of fucking power from us too,” Echo says, and I look at him with concern. We just got done with a huge energy-depleting battle. It’s not good that the Hellgate is draining their already compromised reserves.
“So...now what?” I ask. I really wish Tazreel could’ve kept sleeping for two more minutes so Nefta could’ve spelled things out for me, but it seems nothing in my life is meant to be easy.
“No fucking clue,” Crux says as he and the others stare at the beat-up looking Hellgate.
“I guess I’ll just...look around,” I say with uncertainty. I move to approach the Gate, but a warm hand closes around my arm, and I look back in surprise to see Jerif.
“Just in case you touch the Gate,” he grumbles. “I don’t know if it’ll do anything to you since you’re not a Guardian.”
“Aww, look at you, riding in on your noble steed and shit,” I tease.
He pokes my wing, making me shriek in an obnoxiously loud giggle as I flinch away from the ticklish touch. He smirks at my reaction, but keeps hold of my arm. “Jumpy much?”
“Shut up. They’re sensitive,” I say as I try to bat him away, but my wings have other ideas. It seems that just by touching them, they’re now greedy for more. It’s like a puppy that you stop petting, so it comes over and moves your hand and won’t stop giving you the puppy dog eyes until you pet it again.
My wings come out, and the one Jerif touched stretches until it’s around his back and curling inward, as if it’s giving him a hug. My other wing is getting frisky too, and is trying to flirt with Echo as it reaches out to stroke his ass. “Not now,” I scold as I give them both a light tap with my elbows. “We have to focus.”
My wings slouch in disappointment, but they settle back against me like good pets, and I give them a stroke. “Good girls,” I coo. They perk up a little at that. My wings and I have come a long way.
“Okay…” I say, shoring myself up with a little breath. “Nefta said that my scythe was the key…”
I step back a little and hold the scythe out. The Gate doesn’t react at all.
“I am here to save you,” I declare, my voice dropping in pitch for some reason, and I hear Crux and Jerif snicker behind me. “You guys are going to feel so dumb if that works,” I tell them imperiously. I turn back to the flaming Gate. Nothing.
Well, crap, they’re never going to let me live that down.
I try waving my hands, and I’m almost ready to do a little ditty in case the Hellgate is a fan of a good song and dance, but I decide to save that for when I get really desperate.
I look from the Gate to my scythe, studying them both.
“Ah ha!” I exclaim.
My scythe is dormant right now, so maybe I need to activate it. “Queen of Hearts,” I command, “...do your thing!” I hold it out and watch my Swiss Army scythe reveal its sharp blades. I hold it up to the Gate again, but the doors still refuse to acknowledge my existence.
“Do you think Nefta meant key literally?” I ask.
Crux looks up at the doors and scratches the short blond scruff on his jaw. “I don’t see a keyhole…”
I bite my lip in thought as I run my gaze over the flickering red flames.
Ahh, fuck it.
I take a few strides back, and then in my best Olympic javelin thrower impression, aim to chuck my scythe at the door, straight blade first. I get all medieval and spear throwy, but maybe this bitch wants it a little rough. I mean, I certainly wouldn’t be one to judge.
The guys all call out
