The four men pointing AR-15s at Gretta and Sofia weren’t low-level gangsters. Their grips were steady, their stance balanced—trained, disciplined. Not military, but close. Dangerous.

But they didn’t move. Their weight shifted, grips tightening.

Sofia clung to Gretta’s back, bound hands draped over her shoulders. Gretta’s grip tightened around the girl’s legs, securing her. The men knew Gretta opposed Marcus—yet she was the one carrying the girl. That didn’t add up.

She caught the instant they realized—eyes flicking to each other, searching for an answer that wasn’t there.

A scar-faced man, broader than the others, squared his shoulders and scanned his team, searching for certainty where there was none.

"Orders?" one of them asked, voice tight.

Scar-face hesitated. "We hold position."

"Until when?" the younger one pressed. "Gabriela’s in the heart of magic. She’s not coming back out to tell us what to do."

A beat of silence. No one argued.

Cigarette Man exhaled slowly. "Then we follow the last orders we got. Keep the kid contained."

One of the younger ones, no older than twenty, exhaled sharply. His stance was too rigid, his fingers twitching toward his rifle—fighting the instinct to act before thinking. He looked at Sofia, then at Gretta. “What the hell did you do?”

Gretta didn’t move. Not yet.

Cigarette Man finally exhaled a slow plume of smoke, shifting slightly in front of the younger one, blocking his line of sight. “Put the kid down and hands where we can see ‘em.”

Gretta’s muscles screamed in protest. She’d shifted twice, been to the astral three times, cast multiple spells, and pushed past every limit she had. She had one last desperate hope—one more shift to the astral to get them clear.

Wild Mother, please—lend me your strength.

The response came, distant and pained. I cannot.

A chill ran through Gretta’s spine. Not won’t. Cannot.

The Wild Mother was hurt—wounded in a way that made her divine presence feel thin, almost threadbare.

Cigarette Man took a step forward. “Last chance. Kid down. Hands on your head.”

Gretta gently set Sofia down and stepped back, her hands raised. “They aren’t going to hurt you,” she murmured—not just for Sofia’s sake, but as a subtle reminder to the men in front of her. She wasn’t a threat. Yet.

The men didn’t lower their weapons. The one on the right, a younger recruit, hesitated. “Lord? Are you in there?” he asked, his eyes flicking toward Sofia.

Sofia flinched, her wide eyes darting to Gretta, seeking confirmation. That was enough.

“Shit,” muttered another guard. “The ritual—”

“Didn’t work,” Cigarette Man finished, realization dawning. “She should be a god by now.” He squared his shoulders. “We’ll have to hold the kid and wait for orders.”

The air behind them stirred.

A slow footstep echoed across the mountaintop. Dust swirled at the edge of the purgatory gateway, the shimmering veil of unreality parting as Gabriela stepped through.

No—not Gabriela.

Gretta’s breath caught. Red-rimmed, unfocused eyes. A sluggish tilt of the head. Arms twitching as if resisting invisible strings.

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

One of the guards took a step forward, lowering his rifle. “Boss?”

Marcus—possessing Gabriela’s body—staggered forward, his limbs jerking in stiff, unnatural motions, like a marionette with tangled strings. His head snapped sideways, too fast, as if his body was still learning how to move.

“Gone are the tulips flying,” he murmured, breathy, delighted—quoting something only he understood. Then he laughed, sharp and shrill, cocking his head at an unnatural angle, as if the bones inside had rearranged themselves.

“Plucked from the sky, no wings, no light, just falling, falling, falling.” His grin widened, stretching too far, Gabriela’s teeth bared in something not meant to smile.

The youngest guard swallowed hard. “Uh… what?”

Marcus’s eyes flickered. Not the normal kind of blink—they switched colors. For the briefest second, Gabriela’s deep brown was gone, replaced with a glowing red, then nothing at all.

He dragged a hand over his face. His shoulders shook with laughter—then stopped, like something inside had snapped. A breath hitched in his throat. His fingers dug into his scalp.

“No,” he whispered. “No, no, no—”

The word echoed strangely, warping in the air. The ground cracked beneath him, dust spiraling upward as if drawn by invisible strings.

Then, all at once, his face twisted in rage. “You will not tell me what I am!”

His voice boomed in three tones at once—a shriek, a growl, and something lower, something wrong. The air collapsed inward.

The guards took an uneasy step back. Cigarette Man gestured sharply. “Mrs. Ramirez, please—”

Marcus snarled. His borrowed hands flexed, and red energy crackled across his fingers. “You will NOT tell me what I am.”

A concussive blast erupted from Marcus, a ripple of raw power so fierce that the nearest guard was vaporized where he stood. Another tumbled off the cliffside, his scream cutting short.

The youngest—the twitchy one, the one who had hesitated—was thrown back like a rag doll, slamming into the rocky ground. His rifle skidded away.

He didn’t get up. But Gretta could hear him—a ragged, choking breath in the dust. The scrape of fabric against stone—someone dragging themselves away in a blind panic. She didn’t look back. She couldn’t.

Gretta barely had time to react before Marcus’s bloodshot gaze locked onto her. His fists began to glow.

Sofia sucked in a breath, her whole body locking up. Gretta saw her fingers twitch, like she wanted to pull them back but couldn’t.

The air thinned around them.

“No,” Sofia whispered.

Darkness curled from her fingertips, unfurling like ink in water—not spreading, devouring. The air didn’t tremble. It ceased. The ground beneath darkness burned away, not with fire, but with absence.

It wasn’t just blackness. It was the unraveling of existence itself. Stone vanished soundlessly. Dust ceased to exist. The wind died mid-breath.

Gretta felt it—a pressure, a hunger.

Within the void, three distant stars flickered—green, purple, and white—the trapped gods, their light distant but unwavering. Tiny pink lights swarmed around them, writhing and shrieking—not insects but demons. The gods were under siege.

Sofia’s breath hitched. She didn’t move.

Marcus—trapped within Gabriela’s stolen body—didn’t fall. The void claimed him. Shadows coiled around his limbs, yanking him downward. His mouth opened—maybe to scream, maybe to curse—but no sound came.

Then, with a final, violent pull, he was gone.

The void pulsed—once, hungrily—then collapsed inward.

Silence.

The world returned, but it felt thinner. Less real.

Gretta’s legs buckled, knees slamming into the dirt. Pain flared through her ribs, every muscle trembling from too much shifting, too much magic.

She forced a breath—jagged, burning. Her vision blurred. The weight of everything pressed down. She slumped against the rock, breath slowing. Not giving up. Just done.

Sofia stood frozen, arms wrapped tightly around herself.

“I—” Her voice cracked. Her fingers flexed uselessly, as if trying to undo what had just happened. “I didn’t mean to—”

Gretta forced herself to sit up straighter, biting back a groan. “You saved us.”

Sofia sniffled, squeezing her eyes shut. “My dad said not to do it again,” she whispered. “He said—” Her voice faltered. Hands clenched into fists, shoulders trembling. “I didn’t mean to hurt anybody.”

Sofia sniffled, eyes squeezed shut. “My dad said not to do it again. He said—” She bit her lip. “I didn’t mean to hurt anybody.”

Gretta touched her shoulder. “You didn’t. That was a god. You can’t hurt a god.”

Sofia wavered, caught between the instinct to cry and the realization that no tears would come.

“Rowan was a god,” she whispered. “And now he’s gone.”

Gretta’s breath caught. Instinct kicked in—she reached, not physically, but through that thread of chaos magic she’d always felt. There was nothing.

She inhaled sharply, fingers clenching into the dirt.

Sofia wrapped her arms around herself. “Before… I could feel him.” A whisper. “Like a promise.”

Her gaze lifted, weary but steady. “And it’s never coming back.”

Gretta swallowed, staring up at the too-bright sky.

The sun shone bright. A breeze stirred the dust. Birds called from somewhere in the distance. The world looked unchanged. But something was missing, and no matter how normal the morning seemed, the absence remained.