Hey peeps!

It’s only ONE WEEK until the release of Death Lord Arcanist, and I figured I would share the first couple chapters!

Last we left off, Gray Lexly was trapped in the abyssal hells…

CHAPTER ONE

STRANDED IN THE ABYSS

            Although I wanted nothing more than to return to Astra Academy, somehow, I was trapped in the abyssal hells.

            Thankfully, I wasn’t alone. Twain, my mimic eldrin, was asleep in my arms, exhausted after our fight with Death Lord Naiad. And it wasn’t just Twain who had joined me in this bizarre place. Ashlyn Kross, with her typhoon dragon eldrin, Ecrib; Nini Wanderlin, along with her reaper eldrin, Waste; and finally, Knovak Gentz, with his unicorn eldrin, Starling, had all been transported to the abyssal hells with me.

            But where in the abyssal hells were we?

            Everywhere I looked, I glimpsed strange sights. We all stood around a bizarre and freakish mire known as the Wraithborne Orchard. It was a swamp of dark water, where every ripple and wave formed the face of tortured individuals.

            Under the water, making up most of the “ground,” was a rocky surface of black and white stones. The black stones were nothing more than swirls and spirals, but the smaller white stones were carved into the shape of human faces, each with a different expression. Some sad, some delighted, some pinched in disgust.

            Staring into the water only resulted in me staring at the many tiny faces.

            It disturbed me.

            The crimson “sky” had a gray haze of clouds, but we were actually underground. Roots—gigantic roots, for a tree fifty times larger than the treehouse—traveled from the ceiling down into the Wraithborne Orchard. Black waterfalls also cascaded from the ceiling, splashing in the horrid water around us.

            Probably the most disturbing of all were the smaller roots growing off the larger ones. Each of the tiny roots was shaped like a human hand, and they grasped at anything that moved by.

            Swaths of strange fireflies danced all around, and occasionally, the hands managed to grab one. The instant one did, the root hand receded into the tree, taking the firefly with it.

            I never saw either again.

            The chill in the air went straight to my bones. The place smelled of burnt incense and sea salt. Nothing about this place was welcoming.

            And to make the situation even more tense, there was one last arcanist here with us.

            Death Lord Deimos.

            He stood in the ankle-deep waters not too far from us. Deimos’s armor was shattered, exposing most of his body. He was taller than most, with a physique that matched his history of war and violence. He was muscled, and scarred, and when he moved, Deimos did so with purpose.

            “Come,” Deimos said to us. “Before we lose the option.”

            He slicked back his black hair with a quick motion of his hand. His eyes disturbed me. They were dark—nearly black with a hint of yellow in his irises. Deimos had a cutthroat and dangerous demeanor.

            The Death Lord turned and sloshed through the water.

            “We can’t go with him,” Knovak said.

            I faced him. He was mostly unharmed, his fancy evening clothes still intact. They were wet from the mire, and wrinkled, but otherwise fine. His plain sandy hair was disheveled, and he stood close to his unicorn, Starling. The little foal trembled.

            “We can trust Deimos,” I said.

            Knovak shook his head. “He tried to kill you! Multiple times.”

            “If he wanted to kill us now, he would’ve done so. C’mon. We don’t have many other choices here.”

            I turned to Ashlyn and Nini.

            For some reason, Nini refused to unmerge with her reaper. Waste was wrapped around her, his red cloak tight on her shoulders. Three chains hung from him, each holding a lit lantern. His scythe, once rusted and dull, was now as sharp as any masterfully crafted weapon and seemingly made from gold and silver with rubies in the shaft.

            The lanterns…

            They glowed yellow, but powerful blue magic oozed out from under Waste’s cloak, disturbing and powerful both.

            Nini didn’t have her glasses, and her eyes searched my face for a long moment.

            “We should trust Death Lord Deimos,” Nini and Waste said together. She reached up and tucked her red hair into the hood of Waste’s cloak. “Gray is right. If he wanted, he could kill us.”

            Nini glanced out across the disturbing mire.

            Deimos waited next to his eldrin—a monstrous abyssal dragon.

            It was a beast both terrifying and powerful. The dragon’s wings were made of grafted souls, cobwebbed together and a bright, sickly blue, the same color of Waste’s new magic. Human faces dotted the wings, their eyes circles, their mouths open as they softly moaned and cried.

            Deimos’s eldrin turned its massive head to face us. The monstrous dragon had six eyes, and they glanced around the Wraithborne Orchard independent of one another. It was difficult to know if the creature was fascinated by us, or the strange roots in the area, since it stared at both at the same time.

            Abyssal dragons had rotted scales and muscles that oozed mucus. But Deimos’s eldrin was in worse shape. One of its front legs had been sliced off just before the elbow. A nub of bone jutted out of the dragon’s rotted flesh, and blue ooze dripped from the wound. As I watched, the ooze hardened and formed muscle around the bone, adding to the arm.

            It appeared the dragon was slowly regrowing its limb, one tortured strand of flesh at a time.

            “Are you sure we can trust him, Gray?” Ashlyn asked.

            She shivered.

            Unlike Knovak, who had near-pristine clothing, Ashlyn had fought against corpses, and their claws had torn her beautiful sapphire gown. Crimson stains and finger-length tears spotted her outfit. Her gown had no sleeves, and her bare shoulders were pale.

            Ashlyn, even as scruffy as she was, remained beautiful.

            However, I couldn’t allow her to get cold in the middle of the abyssal hells.

            I removed my school robe and wrapped it around her. She met my gaze as she gently tugged my clothing tightly around her body.

            “Thank you,” Ashlyn whispered.

            “Don’t mention it.” I gestured to Deimos. “Trust me. We need to follow the Death Lord. You and Knovak shouldn’t be here.”

            I wanted to tell her, “You’re both dying,” but I kept that to myself. Knovak shook, and his eyes were wide. He wouldn’t take the news well, and I couldn’t drag a hysterical man around through the abyssal hells while we were trying to avoid a Death Lord.

            “If you trust him, I will, too.” Ashlyn stepped closer to me. “Let’s go.”

            Her eldrin, Ecrib, splashed through the mire. His blue scales seemed dull in this environment, even though they were typically vibrant. He lowered his head and sniffed the water.

            “This place smells of the salt water found in the midnight depths,” Ecrib said. He lifted his draconic head and the fins along his back twitched. “So much salt. And death. The bodies of fish and countless whales contaminate this place.”

            Knovak’s unicorn whinnied and lifted his legs as though he wanted to fly out of the swamp and never look back.

            “Knock it off,” I snapped. “C’mon.”

            I placed my hand on Ashlyn’s shoulder. Together, we made our way through the Wraithborne Orchard. Nini followed close behind, her reaper merged with her no matter what. Knovak and his unicorn were much slower, but they eventually picked up their pace when I neared the Death Lord and his dragon.

            Deimos regarded me with a cold glare and then jutted his chin in the direction we needed to go. Deimos didn’t walk—his dragon lowered its head, and Deimos took hold. His eldrin lifted him out of the water and carried him along.

            Despite missing a limb, the abyssal dragon managed to walk just fine. Its soul-covered wings remained spread, creating an eerie canopy over us as we traveled.

            The roots of the massive tree were so gnarled and thick, I wondered what kind of plant they even originated from. It was no tree I had ever seen in my life, that I knew for certain.

            Ashlyn leaned on my arm.

            We walked without conversing. In a normal swamp, the cries of birds and the chirp of crickets would be common. Here, the moans of anguish and the sharp snaps of something being broken were all I could detect outside our splashes through the water.

            Deimos’s dragon turned around a root, where a small island awaited us. The rotting dragon dragged itself up onto the dirt and then lowered its head. Its six eyes gazed, flitting in all directions.

            Deimos slid off the creature, but held on to its shoulder for support.

            “Is this the spot?” I asked.

            It was just an island of dirt next to a giant root.

            No plants.

            No animals.

            No gate.

            Nothing.

            Why were we here?

            “The waters of this orchard steal your strength,” Deimos stated. “We’ll wait here for a moment. Then, we’ll swim to our destination.” He pointed with a finger to a root off in the distance. “Once we’re in the water, Naiad will abandon her pursuit.”

            Nini, Knovak, and Ashlyn all walked onto the small island. I joined them, but I wasn’t sure what we were supposed to do while we waited. If Knovak and Ashlyn only had so much time to live, wasn’t waiting here just killing them? Wouldn’t it be better to push forward as fast as possible?

            Then Deimos collapsed to one knee, blood spilling from two injuries along his ribs. He grabbed at his wounds, his fingers practically sliding into his flesh, but it didn’t stop the blood flow. A stream of scarlet marked his ruined armor and then fell to the ground, quickly seeping into the dirt.

            I set Twain down and hurried over to Deimos. “Are you okay?” I reached out to examine his injuries.

            Deimos tensed and snarled. “Touch me, and your life is forfeit.”

            I stood straight and withdrew my hand.

            The others leapt to the far edge of the small barren island, their eyes wide. Even Ecrib, the mighty typhoon dragon, was shaken. And why wouldn’t they be? Deimos’s eldrin seemed just as upset. It lifted its disgusting head and peeled back its cracked lips to showcase the many fangs in its undead mouth.

            After a long, strained moment, I leaned forward and placed my hands on my knees. “I don’t know if you’re aware, but you’re bleeding,” I sarcastically whispered. “And sure, you’re immortal, but it’s really demoralizing to see you like this.”

            Deimos met my gaze with the iciest glare. “I’d rather the foul winds of the abyssal hells carry my ashes over this orchard than listen to your blighted jokes.”

            “Harsh,” I quipped. “But noted.” I inched a little closer. “Then why don’t you let me help you, so we don’t have to watch you bleed out like a stuck pig?”

            Deimos didn’t reply. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

            A fragment of his soul still resided in me, and his thoughts occasionally crept into my own. He felt worried. Something about his soul. He was damaged. Death Lord Naiad had attempted to graft his soul to her eldrin, and in the process, she had damaged him at a fundamental level. He wasn’t healing as quickly as he should be.

            I touched my collarbone and felt under my tattered shirt. Vivigöl, Silencer of the Damned, the weapon made of abyssal coral, was around my neck and shoulders in the shape of jewelry. Since it had absorbed some of my mimic magic, it had the ability to transform, and I contemplated removing it.

            “Would having Vivigöl make you feel better?” I asked.

            Deimos slowly opened his eyes, his expression filled with contempt. “If you condescend to me, child, I will—”

            “I’m being serious,” I interjected. “Maybe it would make you feel better to have your weapon back?”

            Deimos exhaled. Then he closed his eyes again, his hand red with his own blood. His injuries continued to gush vital fluid.

            “Hold on to it,” he commanded. “We may need you to wield it against Naiad. Or one of the others.”

            “The others?” I whispered.

            “Death Lord Kallikore or Umbriel… They are both aware I’ve come here.”

            “How do they know?” I was genuinely curious.

            “Death Lords seldom travel to the first abyss…”

            I stood straight and glanced around. The first abyss? Nasbit had once told me about the many layers of the abyssal hells, and I struggled for a moment to remember what he had said. There were five layers, and the first was for all souls. It was a place of reincarnation. At least, from what I could recall.

            “Is there something I can do to help?” I motioned to his wounds. “Twain can transform into an abyssal dragon. I could use its magic to fix this.”

            “Feh.” Deimos almost laughed, but he stifled it with a growl. “You’re still a student who has yet to master your magic. I have little faith you can mend my damaged soul.”

            “You’re a skilled arcanist, aren’t you?” Again, I inched a little closer, until I was near enough to reach out and help. “You can guide my hand. You’ve transferred your skills to me before, right? This’ll be easy.”

            Deimos tightened his grip on his injuries, his own fingers seemingly agitating the wounds. The more blood that wept from his ribs, the more splashed onto the dirt, creating a blackish mud.

            His abyssal dragon lowered its head, its fangs close, its putrid breath hot on my back.

            I refused to inhale while Deimos deliberated.

            We needed Deimos. If he became incapacitated—or was killed by another Death Lord—there was no way we were navigating out of the abyssal hells by ourselves. So, it was either help him get better, or a slow death in the land of the dead. I wasn’t going to choose the latter.

CHAPTER TWO

EAT NOTHING

            Deimos closed his eyes. “Very well. Have your mimic transform into an abyssal dragon.”

            With a nod, I turned around. Twain was still asleep. He was the smallest creature here—just a tiny orange kitten, rolled into a loaf as he slept. He had no tail, just a nub, and his ears were larger than a normal house cat’s. He had the ears of a lynx, with tufts of fur at the tips. I called him a kitten, but he was a little bigger than when I had met him, and I wondered how large he would eventually grow.

            I walked over and scooped him into my arms. Twain purred as he opened his strangely colored eyes. One was gray, and the other was rosy pink. I patted his head.

            “I know you’re tired, but do you think you can transform for just a short while?” I scratched behind one of his ears. “I’m going to attempt to help Deimos.”

            Twain closed his eyes and yawned. “I think… just for a little bit.”

            “Thanks. You’re the best.”

            He dismissively waved a paw. “Oh. Stop.” When I said nothing else, he twitched his whiskers, opened his eyes in a playful glare, and ended his purring. “But actually, keep going. I need more praise.”

            “You’re the best mimic in the abyssal hells,” I said.

            Although he was the only mimic in the abyssal hells, he seemed to accept that as praise enough. Twain resumed his purring. I placed him back on the dirt and then mystically sensed the thread of magic that led to Deimos’s abyssal dragon. When I tugged it, Twain’s body shimmered.

            I stepped away as he grew larger and larger, his body taking on the massive form of the dragon—including missing an arm. The wings were identical, complete with tortured faces, and I wondered what it meant to “duplicate” the souls like this. Were they real? No. Obviously. But still… it made me wonder.

            The arcanist mark on my forehead was usually blank. Everyone else had a picture of their eldrin wrapped around the points of their stars, but mine was empty. Except for when Twain transformed—my mark burned as the image of the abyssal dragon appeared etched into my skin.

            Our tiny island of dirt wasn’t large enough for everyone. Deimos’s dragon lowered itself back into the brackish waters, its rotting flesh becoming bloated.

            Knovak, Ashlyn, and Nini watched from afar, all of them at the edge of our land.

            With the power of the mighty abyssal dragon, I returned to Deimos’s side. The man remained on one knee, his hand still gripped tight on his injury. He stared at the ground, his eyes unfocused. When I approached, he tensed and shot me a glare.

            “Present your hand,” he commanded.

            I held it out.

            Deimos grabbed it, his palm cold and sweaty. Although I wanted to ask him what I should be doing, I said nothing, opting to wait instead. He closed his eyes and exhaled. His thoughts drifted to the forefront of my own.

            Soul manipulation…

            Abyssal dragon arcanists could manipulate the souls of others. And since a person’s soul was the heart of their magic—really, the heart of all magic was souls—the abyssal dragons had the ability to warp them.

            Deimos’s soul…

            It didn’t feel right. Not only was it missing a piece, but Naiad’s assault on his being had left him exhausted. With Deimos’s guidance, I attempted to use my magic to help. Manipulating something I couldn’t see was more difficult, however. I closed my eyes, trying to imagine my work.

            Deimos’s soul was like a rag that had been twisted one too many times. Untwisting it required most of my concentration. I couldn’t do this quickly. Deimos’s thoughts told me souls were fragile. If I messed this up, I could damage him.

            Or worse—rip his soul straight from his body.

            As a matter of fact, Deimos’s heart beat harder than before. His anxiety permeated his thoughts and emotions. He was afraid. Not of me failing, but that I would betray him, and attempt to use the abyssal magic to remove his soul and graft it to Twain…

            Which was the only way to kill a Death Lord, really.

            “You need to stop worrying,” I whispered. “It’s making everything difficult.”

            “I’m not worried, child.”

            “You’re a terrible liar.”

            After a few moments of untwisting, I was halfway through the process. Unfortunately, my magic waned. I glanced over my shoulder and caught sight of Twain’s dragon form. He huffed and collapsed to the dirt, rumbling the little island. A second later, he untransformed, becoming a small orange kitten once again.

            I pulled my hand away from Deimos’s.

            I had helped him a little, but not fully repaired his injuries.

            Deimos exhaled. When he removed his hand from his injury, the flesh began to mend itself. The blood flow slowed, and with his teeth gritted, he managed to stand.

            He was taller than me—which I hated, for some reason—but I tried not to let it influence my thoughts. The fragment of Deimos’s soul in my mind allowed him to sense some of my emotions as well.

            Deimos glowered down at me, but said nothing.

            “Normally, people say thank you after someone does something nice for them,” I said, my tone sardonic. “You can try it now, if you want.”

            “The only reason I’m in this situation is because of you,” Deimos darkly stated. “If I had entered the realm of the living when my twin brother, Zahn, completed his Gate of Crossing, none of this would’ve happened. Furthermore, if a fragment of my soul hadn’t been sealed away in the realm of your dreams, I wouldn’t have gotten caught by Death Lord Naiad, and I never would’ve been injured.”

            With a nervous shrug, I said, “Can you really know that for certain, though?”

            “The intelligent course of action would be to kill you and take back my weapon and soul.” Deimos tightened one hand into a fist and then released. “But I will concede you came to my defense when Naiad attacked, despite not needing to interfere. And now… when I was at my weakest… you never faltered in your aid.”

            “And we really don’t want to fight here.” I motioned to Twain. “I mean, we’re evenly matched, and it would be rough.”

            “Your mimic is spent,” Deimos said. “It would be a short and pathetic fight.”

            “R-Right,” I muttered.

            Deimos smirked. “You need to stop worrying.It’s making everything difficult.”

            That actually got me to smile and choke out a laugh. “Oh, you got jokes now, Dee? That’s definitely an improvement over threatening to kill me every other sentence.” I pointed at him. “Look, let’s just agree we’re not going to murder each other, and get out of here as quickly as possible.”

            Deimos didn’t agree or disagree. He simply faced the location of the massive root he had pointed at earlier. With a simple gesture of his bloody hand, he garnered everyone’s attention. “The Wraithborne Orchard takes its souls into the roots. We need to enter one, and ascend.”

            His statement left everyone silent for a long while.

            “Enter one?” Ashlyn eventually asked. “How?”

            “Are they hollow?” Knovak rubbed his arms, his teeth chattering.

            “They are,” Deimos stated.

            No one had any other questions after that. What were we supposed to ask? Why? Seemed like it wasn’t relevant at the moment.

            I grabbed Twain and held him close to my chest. He purred, but otherwise offered no other interactions. Then we all walked to the edge of the dirt island. Deimos entered the knee-deep waters before everyone else. His blood stained the dark liquid until an opaque cloud slung around the shore.

            “We’ll need to swim,” Deimos said. He glanced over his shoulder, his expression cold. “I assume you children know how that’s done?”

            Everyone slowly nodded.

            “Good.” Deimos walked a few feet out. “Follow me.”

            “Wait,” Ashlyn said as she held up her hand.

            Death Lord Deimos stopped, but he didn’t turn to look at her. Due to our connection, I knew he was already irritated. He didn’t much care for interruptions.

            “My typhoon dragon magic can help us.” Ashlyn motioned for everyone to gather close. “I can augment people so they can breathe underwater. That way, there’s no chance of misfortune.”

            “Thank you,” Nini and Waste whispered as one.

            Knovak stepped close. Ashlyn touched his arm and augmented him first. Once he had the dragon’s ability to breathe water, he stepped away, his stomach grumbling.

            “Are there fish in the water?” Knovak glanced over at Deimos. “Or something we can find and cook?”

            A group of fireflies danced down the dirt island right after Knovak asked his question. The tiny creatures swirled about, first circling Knovak, and then heading for the base of a root. As if asking for our collective attention, they bobbed by the bark.

            It was only then I spotted something growing out of the roots. They were grape-sized berries, each glowing a pale blue. They grew right where the water touched the root, half-submerged, half-above the water’s surface. The little glowing grapes blended well with the environment, but as the fireflies danced, I realized there were more around on every root.

            “Are those insects helping us?” Knovak asked. He walked across the dirt island, heading straight for the grapes. “Oh, thank the good stars. I thought everything here would be unrelentingly evil.”

            “Stop,” Deimos growled.

            Knovak stopped dead in his tracks, his face paling.

            The Death Lord sloshed the water as he turned on his heel. “Eat nothing here. Do you understand me? Nothing. No matter how tasty it may appear—or how many things may tempt you. Consume nothing.”

            Knovak wrung his hands. “Is… is something wrong with the fruit?”

            “It isn’t fruit, simpleton.” Deimos once again turned on his heel, his back to us. “Everything in the abyssal hells, from the water to the plants, to the architecture, is a product of death—fragments of souls, bones, and blood. The abyssal hells have nothing else, no matter what it may disguise itself as.”

            His statement sent an icy silence through the group.

            Everything here… was made of souls and gore? Even the glowing berries?

            “What about the fireflies?” Ashlyn whispered. “Are they souls, too?”

            Deimos nodded once.

            Knovak leapt back into the company of the group, his skin covered in goosebumps. He practically rubbed shoulders with me in an attempt to distance himself from the glowing berries. “But… but why would the fireflies try to tempt me? What do they have to gain?”

            Deimos growled something under his breath. His irritation was reaching an all-time high, but he calmed himself a moment later, probably because we would need to know this information if we were going to survive.

            “If you consume anything here, your magic will become twisted—infested with the souls of others who desperately want your body. If your eldrin consumes anything here, it will grow in size and power. It will become an elder creature… And it will lose itself to the lust for power.”

            As if my stomach wanted to tempt me as well, it knotted with hunger. I rubbed my gut, trying not to think about it. We would be out of here soon, after all. We would be fine.

            “What if…” Nini and Waste hesitated a moment before asking, “If we ate one another? Since we aren’t part of the abyssal hells, will the consequences be the same?”

            “That’s a morbid question,” I said, completely sardonic. “Have anything you want to share with the group, Nini?”

            Her face brightened red as she shook her head. “I… I was just curious.”

            “You may eat each other if you want,” Deimos said, no mirth in his voice. He was as deadly serious as when he had given us the warning. “I care not. However, if you want to escape, you’ll stay close to me—and do exactly as I say.”

            The others nodded.

            Ashlyn then augmented the rest of us, her magic soothing. I met her gaze, and her eyes told me she was frightened, but determined to get home. I appreciated that. Unlike Knovak, who I would need to watch, I could count on Ashlyn to have my back.

            I needed that kind of support in a moment like this.

CHAPTER THREE

THE ROOTS

            Death Lord Deimos sloshed forward, away from the barren island. His dragon hobbled after him, walking oddly due to its healing limb. The beast’s soul-grafted wings moaned and writhed, creating an eerie chorus of suffering in the otherwise silent abyssal hells.

            Nini hurried after him, her demeanor different than before. She seemed… more comfortable around the Death Lord, and I briefly wondered if it was because she was still merged with Waste. That reaper of hers loved death, and perhaps this was his true home.

            “What should I do?” Starling asked.

            The little unicorn foal trembled at the edge of the island. He pointed with his horn, gesturing to the water. His thin little legs, frail body, and glistening mane were not really suited for swimming. He was large enough—about three feet at the shoulder—to make this all difficult. Carrying a unicorn foal while trying to swim through normal water would be rough, and apparently these depths sapped strength.

            “I’ll carry you,” Ecrib growled. He stomped over to the unicorn and then scooped Starling up in his arms.

            “You can swim like this?” Starling kicked his legs, his hooves glittering.

            “I’m a typhoon dragon. I can swim under any conditions.”

            Ecrib cradled the unicorn close as he stomped out into the water. It wasn’t yet deep enough for swimming, but the dragon continued to carry the foal regardless. Knovak walked alongside Ecrib, staying close to his eldrin, despite his own obvious fear.

            With Twain still in my arms, I stepped out into the water. Ashlyn followed, and for a few minutes we kept pace with Deimos, but eventually Ashlyn’s outfit slowed her down. It was her long flowing gown. The hem was soaked and kept getting caught on the strange stone faces. Pointy noses and sharp chins would hook the hem of her dress’s train, and Ashlyn would be yanked back for a moment, and a slight tear would appear.

            “Ugh,” Ashlyn said as she yanked her clothing off another rock.

            I grabbed her upper arm. “Take Twain. I’ll fix this.”

            She lifted an eyebrow, skeptical but trusting. Ashlyn took Twain from me, and I grabbed Vivigöl from my body. The golden weapon click-click-clicked as it transformed from ornate jewelry to a keen sword with a guard made of six flared spikes. Vivigöl transformed into whatever object I needed in the moment, but it couldn’t change its mass. I had wanted a small knife, but a sword was the best it could achieve.

            I stepped forward. “May I?” I asked as I gestured to Ashlyn’s dress.

            She still wore my robes, and she tugged them tightly over her shoulders. “That’s fine.”

            I knelt and sliced through the tattered blue fabric with Vivigöl. I slowly cut away at the dress, removing the lower half to give Ashlyn more room to maneuver. Although the weapon was quite sharp, she didn’t flinch away when I cut close to her legs. Once finished, I tossed the ruined cloth into the water and stood.

            Her dress now fell halfway down her thighs—short and frilled outward. Still dirty, and torn, and probably spotted with blood, but it was a little too difficult to tell. The lighting in the abyssal hells wasn’t… natural. Everything felt like a bizarre mix of twilight and haze.

            My robes hung longer than her dress now, and I was tempted to cut those as well, but Ashlyn removed them and then swaddled Twain.

            “What’re you doing?” I asked.

            “I’ll carry him,” she said. With a confident smile, she added, “I’m a typhoon dragon arcanist. I can swim under any conditions. You’ll need your strength.”

            Ashlyn used the sleeves of the robes to fashion a sling over one shoulder, and then tied Twain tightly to her chest, like a mother would keep a child.

            “Don’t stray from me,” Deimos shouted, his voice distant.

            I turned around and spotted him by the far root in the orchard, almost out of view due to the lingering haze. Nini and Knovak were close to him, both staring at me with wide eyes.

            “Coming,” I called back.

            Ashlyn and I splashed our way over. With her legs free, Ashlyn had better mobility, but the stone faces beneath our feet were still uneven. Running was out of the question.

            With her face slightly pink, she shot me a sidelong glance. “Staring is improper,” she said under her breath.

            “I can look at disgusting plants and mire water, or I could look at a beautiful woman,” I said, my tone both sarcastic and questioning, as though I were puzzled over which would be better.

            Ashlyn didn’t reply, but the slight twitch of her lips betrayed her approval of my comment.

            When we reached Deimos, he glowered at me. Then he pointed to a dark patch of water. “Here. We swim down, and then up into the root. The Fingers of Rebirth shouldn’t reach for you, since you’re all still alive, but they might if you panic.”

            Knovak ran a hand down his paling face. “W-What are the Fingers of Rebirth?”

            Death Lord Deimos motioned with a jut of his chin to the creepy hands sticking out of the roots. They grabbed at fireflies like snakes snatched at their prey.

            “They will touch you,” Deimos said, “but you mustn’t worry. If you panic, they will think you’re close to death, and they will strike.”

            “You probably would’ve gotten better results if you hadn’t told us any of that,” I said, trying to hold back the sarcasm.

            Nini held her golden scythe close. “I’ll swim ahead and cut them all down. My magic is so much stronger now…”

            Deimos shook his head. “No. The Fingers of Rebirth harbor no malice. They are part of an elegant cycle—they’re ancient and necessary. Only harm them if you must free yourself. Leave the rest to their sacred duties.”

            No one replied to that. When I glanced at the hands, I shuddered. Were they ancient? Yes. Were they necessary? Perhaps. But were they elegant? Oh, definitely not. Their gnarled fingers and grasping motions were straight out of my nightmares.

            Deimos didn’t offer any more explanations. He leapt into the water and dove.

            His dragon followed him. The massive beast slammed into the darkest point of the water and disappeared beneath the surface, the soul wings moaning the whole time.

            Ecrib went next. He slid into the water as elegantly as a dragon could. With Ashlyn’s augmentation, Starling could breathe even while submerged, but the little unicorn still held his breath as Ecrib plunged them both under the surface.

            Knovak and Nini went afterward.

            When it was just me and Ashlyn, she glanced over, as if silently asking for reassurance. I transformed Vivigöl back into a piece of jewelry that wrapped around my neck and shoulders, and then I gave her a playful shrug.

            “Better than staying here,” I said, grinning.

            That seemed to ease her anxiety. Ashlyn nodded once and then dove. I went with her, my own heart racing. Swimming wasn’t a problem for me. I had lived on an island, after all. Swimming was everyone’s favorite pastime. But this wasn’t a beautiful beach I was familiar with. This was the abyssal hells, and apparently there were hands and arms ready to grab me if I lost my composure.

            Not a pleasant thought.

            The water was dark, and I couldn’t really open my eyes. The moans and whispers of Deimos’s dragon were clearer now, and the haunting melody of suffering actually served a purpose—I followed the sound.

            There were more stone-face rocks, and I clung to them as I pulled my body downward, going deeper and deeper. This was some sort of tunnel. It was a wide tunnel, thankfully, but a tunnel nonetheless.

            And it was perhaps twenty feet straight down? My ears were starting to hurt.

            Was Twain okay? I couldn’t see.

            The tunnel turned, and we were no longer going down, just straight. Breathing was fine, thanks to Ashlyn’s magic, but I suspected she couldn’t maintain this long. How far did we have to go?

            My thoughts became dark.

            Then the Fingers of Rebirth started grabbing at my legs. They clawed at my trousers, the wood cutting through portions of the fabric and leaving splinters in my skin. I tried to think of something other than the fact that I was in the realm of souls and dead people, but it was difficult. The horror of being lost in the abyssal hells was all too real.

            And then more hands grabbed me.

            One ripped off my boot.

            My arms felt tired.

            All those tiny facts started to pile up.

            My heart beat harder, like it wanted to slam out of my chest and leave me to the Fingers of Rebirth.

            But then Ashlyn grabbed my arm. Had she known I was in trouble? I knew her grip—her long slender fingers, and the calluses she hid on her palms. She tightened her grip on my wrist, and swam upward, helping me get away from the grasping hands that lined the bottom of the tunnel.

            And Ashlyn was right. No one swam like a typhoon dragon arcanist.

            She manipulated the water around us and shot away from the fingers. We sped through the rock-face tunnel, angled upward, and then headed for the surface. I was basically dragged along. I kicked my feet to help, but I didn’t think it was necessary.

            When we broke the surface of the water, I gulped down a breath. I didn’t need it, but I appreciated it. Ashlyn threw her head back, her long blonde hair halfway slapping me in the face as she did so.

            I laughed, and she bit her lip, holding back her own chuckle. She lifted Twain’s head, even though his body was still swaddled in robes. He looked like a drowned cat, his orange fur so stuck to his body his head was a fraction the size it normally was.

            “I hate water,” Twain whispered.

            Then we all glanced upward.

            The inside of the root…

            Was beautiful beyond reason.

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