I swing again and War blocks my shot with his own knife. He swings for me and I block the shot. For the moment, it’s like there’s only the two of us in the whole world. I am focused on ending this, but I realize I need the team now more than ever. Even if they can’t help me kill War physically, they can help me in my mind.
I hear Aziza telling me not to drop my guard. I hear Jinx telling me to use my weapon like it’s an extension of my arm. I hear Rye telling me not to let my enemy get in my head. I hear them all encouraging me, telling me I can do this.
I duck beneath War’s blade and stab in with my own. I feel it go into his stomach, but he jumps back before it becomes a fatal wound. He bleeds though, and I know I can hurt him. I can make War bleed. I can beat him.
My victorious moment is short lived. I hear Jinx shouting at me to look out and I realize I’ve left my flank open again. War’s knife connects with my ribs, slicing through the flesh there and sending white-hot pain coursing through my body. Warm blood runs down my side and I fight the urge to press a hand to the wound. I do my best to ignore the pain and the blood and stay focused on War.
I feel warmth in my tattoo and I can no longer feel the pain in my side. The warmth focuses me, and I look War in the eye. I run towards him, my knife raised. He sidesteps and my blade misses him, but my body collides with his and we go flying. He slams down on his back with me on top of him. He looks a little dazed, and I know this is my chance. He won’t be dazed for long and he won’t let his guard down again.
I bring my knife up and before I can chicken out of it, I run it across his throat. A split opens up there, red and ragged, like the grin of an insane clown. Blood begins to spurt from the wound and I know this is it. I have to get the spear and I have to end War and save Sunday.
No pressure then.
I push myself up, wincing as my palms slide slightly in the blood on the ground. I glance down at them as I straighten up. They’re slick with blood. It’s a good visual of what will happen if I get this wrong. Sunday’s blood will be on my hands. Figuratively and literally.
I move to the bed and dig underneath my pillow. I send up a silent prayer to the gods to give me the strength to do this and the knowledge to time it right. I take the spear in my hand and touch my tattoo with my other hand. The spear jumps in my hand and it is full size again.
I turn back to Sunday. Jinx is kneeling beside him, holding his hand.
“I can’t believe we’re losing another team member,” he says, looking up at me with tears shining in his eyes.
“There might be a way to save Sunday and get rid of War. But if I mess it up, I’m sending Sunday to limbo for an eternity of misery. Nexus warned me against even trying it. But I have to try it. Don’t I?”
The uncertainty comes through in my voice, but Jinx nods his head quickly.
“Yes. You have to try. If it fails, Sunday will get comfort from the fact you at least tried to save him. Please, Sails, you have to try.”
I nod my head. He’s only confirming what I already know, but it’s good to know that someone agrees with me.
“You can do this, Sailor,” he says.
I’m not so sure I can, but I nod my head anyway. I move to Sunday’s body and stand beside him. I hold the crystal tip of the spear above the wound in his neck. At first, nothing happens, but then I feel the spear start to vibrate in my hand. I clench my fist tighter and hold the shaft with both hands, holding it steady.
My jaw tightens and I scream in agony as a dark string of smoke begins to run from Sunday’s throat. It floats up into the air and wraps around the crystal and then the crystal lights up. Radiant pink light fills the room and the smoke begins to vanish into the crystal.
I watch it, stunned into silence. I glance at Jinx, who looks back at me, his face as blank as my mind. Neither of us know what the hell we’re messing with here, and so much is riding on this uncertainty. I have no idea when to stop drawing the energy from Sunday. How am I supposed to know when the Horseman stops and Sunday begins? Or maybe it doesn’t work like that. Maybe their souls are so intertwined I’ve already screwed up and I’m already sucking both of them out.
Suddenly, a warm feeling of calm washes over me, starting at my tattoo and washing over my whole body. It holds me in its serene grip and the panic leaves me. I am the Paradox and my instincts will guide me if only I let them.
I watch the dark smoke closely, waiting for the sign that I now fully believe will come. The smoke keeps on coming. Sunday’s throat is no longer bleeding and I don’t know if that’s a good thing or a bad thing, but I choose to trust the warm feeling, the
