"Why do human always have to make things difficult for themselves?" he asked, almost philosophically.
I raised Amaya. The sword howled inside my head, a scream that was part anger, part frustration. Her fire spat through the thick darkness and, just for a moment, I saw him—or rather, saw the shimmer of his energy, because he was little more than a pulsating mass of quicksilver. Then it disappeared and all that was left was a sensation of power—power that was amplifying, growing stronger, burning my skin as it skimmed around my arms and snapped tight.
The minute it did, it felt like my arms were on fire. They burned and burned, until it felt like flesh and muscle were being peeled away layer by layer, until all that was left was bone. Bone that fissured and cracked as the flames continued to eat down. I screamed until my throat was raw and no sound came out, but somehow, through it all, I still managed to hold on to Amaya. Energy flowed from her, fueling my body, feeding my will to resist.
But the flames grew stronger, and one by one my fingers began to shatter, until there was nothing left to hold the sword. She fell to the floor, her scream an echo of my own. The power eating my flesh slithered from my arms and wrapped around her. She slid across the floor, well away from both me and the Aedh, and was suddenly silenced. It made the thick atmosphere within the tomb even more frightening and, for a moment, I feared the worst. Then I noticed firefly flickers down her bright edges. They might have silenced the spirit within the sword, but they certainly hadn't killed her.
Relief surged, but for several minutes I could do nothing more than rock back and forth, nursing the broken remnants of my arms as tears streamed down my face. Eventually, the pain eased, and when I finally gathered the courage to look down at my hands, they were whole and unburned.
It had been an illusion. A painful, all-too-real illusion.
"Bastards," I said, scrubbing an arm across my tearstained face and silently rejoicing for the fact that I could do it.
"We desire your help," the disembodied voice said, "and we will get it, whether you wish to cooperate with us or not."
"You can guess which end of that spectrum I'm going to fall on," I said resolutely and no doubt stupidly.
But I just couldn't give these beings what they wanted, because, in the end, what they wanted was the permanent closure of the portals to heaven and hell. And that, in turn, meant no souls ever being reborn. Not only would the world become filled with the ghosts of those unable to move on, but many of the babies born would be without their assigned souls, and therefore they would be little more than lifeless flesh.
"You would be wise to reconsider your options," he said. "It would be easier for you if you willingly comply."
I snorted softly. "Since when has my welfare been a consideration in any of our dealings?"
"It isn't. It is merely practicality."
"Well, you can take your practicality and shove it where the sun don't shine."
"You do not wish to acquiesce?" His energy began to build again, a maelstrom of power that rumbled like distant thunder across the outer edges of my senses.