bChapter /bb157 /b

I square my shoulders, close my eyes, and imagine threads extending from my fingers–like a puppeteer. In the few days I’ve been exploring my powers with Atarothz, I’ve learned that my core gift is, as I suspected, the ability to eradicate souls. A power too vast and terrifying, because if a soul ceases to exist, there is nothing after death. What could be more devastating than that? My gift makes me a nightmare for bany /bliving being. What’s more, my blood is incredibly powerful. The red liquid running through my veins makes me practically immune to any gift turned against me—just as it would for anyone who consumes it. I also have all the abilities of a vampire: speed, enhanced senses, and… immortality. Atarothz says that the moment I broke the threads that hid me as a mortal, I froze in time. This is the face I’ll have foreverb. /b

I don’t know if thatforts me or terrifies me.

“Do you see all the threads?” he asks. b“/bFollow the one that leads to the soul.”

The thing is, it’s not as simple as it sounds. From each thread, others sprout–some shining more brightly in an attempt to distract me. The one leading to the soul protects itself as much as it can, nting little traps and distractions to mislead me. Until now, my survival instinct has done what it could–but it wasn’t right. I wasn’t extracting those souls properly–I was absorbing them into myself, attaching them to my own. Now, with the knowledge I’ve gained, I’ll destroy them without needing to absorb them.

Unless I choose to.

“When you find the right thread, your hands will burn. Do you feel it?”

Oh, I feel it. The tingling turns into intense heat that gradually reaches painful levels. I clench my teeth, my eyes, never letting go of the

visualization of those threads.

“The closer you are to the soul, the more heat you’ll feel.”

The hardest part is holding on until the end. A hiss escapes between my teeth as I burn more and more–or at least that’s what it feels like. When I open my eyes, my hands will be intact, but the sensation is no less real because of that.

“What do you see?”

It takes me a moment to respond–I’m still pulling on that thread, getting closer to the source of the heat–until I see it. A luminous, silvery

orb that blinds me.

“Light,” I say.

I visualize my hands cradling that light, feel a more pleasant warmth against my palms. Now all I’d have to do is snuff that light out–bring my hands as close as possible until they touch and extinguish the soul.

Which I can’t do–because the soul in my hands is mine.

I sigh, open my eyes, and the heat fades. I blink several times to adjust to the brightness in the room.

“It would be more productive if we went to the woods and found an animal to practice with.”

“I don’t want to do that to an animal,” I reply.

Again.

“If you want to practice the final step, it’s necessary.”

A bitter taste settles in the back of my throat just thinking about eradicating the soul of an innocent animal.

“Do you know anything about Lilith?” I ask, trying to change the subject.

Icatch the surprise on his face. My father–damn, it’s harder than it seems to think of him as a paternal figure–despite being ba /bman with a stoic face and restrained emotions, can’t fully control them when ites to my mother. I won’t mention again how strange it is to think of that biblical, cursed figure as my mother. The fists of his strong, long fingered hands clench as he tightens his jaw, making the muscle pulse.

“She’s in the Pits, burning, most likely.”

Though his voice is neutral, his face is more than enough to reflect his emotions. Rage is consuming him.

“Buming?”

“Most likely fallen Lucifer is punishing her. He does every time she manages to escape.”

“When did she escape?”

“You saw her in that cell, didn’t you? She told you one day she’de for you, and that you needed to be ready.” I nod. “Then she came to me –to beg me to protect you, though it wasn’t necessary. I’ve always kept an eye on you.”

“She… begged you?”

“There’s no pride between us, ra. What we share is far too deep for something so petty to get in the way.”

Hearing those words, my chest swells, and for the first time, I think I feel something close to admiration–mixed with deep sorrow for the two

of them. It can’t be easy for the person you love to be tied to someone else–someone who causes them suffering, who burns them as punishment.

“Do I look like her?”

More often than I’d like to admit, I find myself remembering her image, trying to spot some resemnce between us–as if my mind needs convincing that all this is real, that she truly is the one who gave birth to me…

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