we have to play our parts and not tell anyone who we really are. How once we do what he needs us to do, we must place our hands on our cuffs and speak his name so that we immediately portal to his side.
The three of us are led into another chamber, but I’m preoccupied, trying to ensure that my darkness is holding up against the newest compulsion and fighting the resulting migraine that has come back in full force.
I’m tired.
I’m not sure if it’s because this is the most I’ve moved around in weeks, if I’m drained from the wounds my body had to heal, or the blood I gave to help Toreon. Or perhaps the daunting tasks in front of me are so overwhelming that my body is like, we need a nap before we either ruin the world or save it.
Judging by the tension radiating off of my sisters, I’m guessing that they aren’t faring much better. Fighting off Morax’s compulsion is exhausting.
I keep trying to come up with a plan, a way to turn the tides in our favor, but I’m finding it frustratingly impossible. I have no idea what we’re walking into. I mean...a council of the Seven Sins? How does Morax think that we could possibly get out of that alive?
I have no way to know if we can get help somehow or escape, but things seem daunting. What happens if the Sins kill us? What if Morax finds out we’re faking the mind control? There are a million things that could go wrong, and so much I can’t even anticipate. I feel jittery as the unknown skitters across my skin and foreboding creeps into my gut.
We walk into a chamber, just as dim and cold as the rest of this underground Hell, but this time, it’s filled with dozens of demons. I take in their feathered wings and too beautiful to be human appearances, and even more dread pools in my chest.
Medley told me about the attacks and the Outer Ringers who fought alongside Morax, but from the look of this crowd, Morax has been busy stirring up followers from the Inner Rings as well.
“Time to go, puppets,” Morax says, confident that he left no loopholes in his compulsion. “Let your scythes say hello to your father for me,” he adds with a smirk.
I haven’t met Tazreel, the Sin of Pride, but the fact that Morax is trying to force us to kill our own father makes him even more despicable than he already was. He’s a coward. Unable to mete out his own plan, and using us to do the hard work for him.
The Ophidian turns to his gathered Abdicated. “Blend in and spread out. Watch and listen. And when the girls strike, start cutting down as many Nihil as you can,” he tells them, power poised in the air.
“Yes, my Liege,” they all answer in unison, their heads bowing with creepy subjugation.
I look at the winged followers and disgust rolls through me. How could they follow someone like Morax? How are they not repulsed and horrified at what he wants to do? And how are we going to take care of all of these threats and Morax at the same time? If we go in there and the Seven Sins think we’re a true threat, they’re going to cut us down way before we ever get a chance to explain.
Movement catches my eye, and I see a handful of guards shuffle aside at the end of the chamber. Surprise rushes through me when I see why, but I work to keep my face stoic as Toreon is led into the room. For the first time since I’ve met him, he’s no longer filthy and covered in rags. It seems he got a similar makeover treatment as I did, except he got to keep his face and body.
Now, instead of bruises, tattoos, and chains covering his torso, he’s wearing a black blazer with a crisp white shirt beneath, and a pair of slacks and shiny shoes. His green skin has been scrubbed so much he nearly glistens with cleanliness, and just like I guessed, his long black hair is enviable. The shiny, thick strands are gathered at the nape of his neck in a ponytail that I thought only Brad Pitt in Interview with a Vampire could pull off, but it works for him.
My heart aches just to look at him. Dark lashes against a clean-shaven face, his chiseled jaw held high,