didn’t. I couldn’t have if the tears in my eyes and the cracked heart in my chest were any indication. Something inside of me broke, leaving me no longer whole. Nothing seemed right.
As I sat on the bottom of the well, my arms curled around my knees, I heard a scream in the distance. It was muffled by the viscous emotions covering me, but it sounded familiar. My chin lifted, and I heard it again. My name, someone called for me.
I took one last look before setting my jaw. I’d have to deal with this later after we were safe. Surely, I could find the monster once more. It couldn’t have died, right?
I pushed myself to my feet, bent my knees, and exploded upwards, rocketing towards the real world.
Chapter Seventy-Five
Blinking, I had only a second to get my bearings before a so-called Reaper ran at me with their blade pointed directly at my chest. Their face was twisted and deep grey, but their eyes drew my attention the most. Pure hatred shot from them like daggers, and I drank it in.
Their breath misted in front of them, puffing into nothing as they dashed through each tiny cloud. None of the Reapers around me could escape the cold, though. I spotted some out of the corner of my eyes, shivering and rubbing their arms as crystals crept across their cheeks. Others weren’t as affected, and those went on to fight.
I’d drawn far more attention than before. With Trace and Axton already down and under so many of them, I became a better option. In fact, some of those trying to get through the piles broke away and came for me. A few were distracted by the illusions that continued to flash across the room, a sign that Axton still lived.
I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and dipped my hands into my well. Emotions of all kinds latched onto me, each one eager to help. The thought that they seemed almost sentient as if they had a will of their own crossed my mind, but that didn’t feel quite right. It wasn’t so much that they had individual intentions and wants, but that they had a singular collective purpose.
They wanted to be used.
My eyes opened to the hatred coming towards me, and I sucked it in, funneling it into my well. It added itself to my stockpile of weapons, but I pushed that particular emotion to the side. Instead, I located fear and horror and sorrow and defeat. They leapt at my attention, swirling around my fingers and forming a beautiful pattern of colors that bled into each other. They continually changed as they danced together.
It almost seemed like a shame to ruin that, but I needed them. Sure, I’d somehow become more energetic, and my wound no longer bothered me, but I’d also lost my monster. Not to mention, a roomful of enemies rushed towards me, intent on eating my soul like it was a pulo dipped in their favorite sauce.
“Come,” I whispered to the colorful emotions. “Let us play.”
My permission unleashed them, and they pressed around my fingers, across my hand, and up my arm like a waterfall in reverse. The colors swirled and played in the way that fire dances like it has sprites inside. I almost got lost in watching them.
Then they hit the end, bottling up and causing pain as they swelled within me. I realized that I didn’t know how to rid myself of them. I didn’t even understand what I was doing with them. My mind raced, and my breathing sped up. My gaze darted around, and seeing that I didn’t have any time left must have triggered an instinct I wasn’t aware that I had.
They exploded out of me in a circle, leveling those that were standing. Black cloaks whipped in the air, the fluttering noise overwhelming their cries as they flew backwards, away from the bomb's source. Thump after thump sounded as they smacked into walls, hit each other, or fell to the floor.
I stood in the center of the room, looking around at the cowering bodies that huddled everywhere. No new Reapers appeared in the hall to replace those that were down, so no one stopped Axton and Trace as they climbed out of the pile of individuals on top of them.
They both wavered in place, and I took a moment to check them over. Trace seemed to be mostly fine. A few scratches marked his red skin, and they