Page 165 of A House of Gold
Croesus is the last to leave. He cups my face, presses his forehead to mine.
"Survive," he whispers. "Whatever it takes. Survive."
"I will."
He kisses me, desperate, claiming, terrified, and then he's gone.
I stand alone in the center of the abandoned complex. Truly alone, for the first time since the ritual.
Except I'm not alone. Through the bonds, I feel all seven of them. Distant now, miles and dimensions away in their houses, but still present. Still connected.
Still ready to pour their power through me when I need it.
Minutes pass. The sun rises higher. Nothing happens.
Maybe they're not coming. Maybe the vision was wrong.
Reality BENDS.
It's the only word for it. The air twists, warps, and suddenly there's a column of white-gold light so bright, it hurts to look at.
When the light fades, he's there.
The archangel.
He's massive, eight feet tall at least, with armor that gleams like polished pearl. Six wings spread behind him, each featherlooking sharp enough to cut. His face is beautiful in that terrible way angels are, too perfect, too symmetrical, inhuman.
And his eyes. Gods, his eyes are burning white, like looking into the sun.
"Raven Vesper." His voice is thunder. "The last of the Vesper line. You are called to account."
I try to speak, but my throat won't work. He's too much. Too powerful. Too divine.
"You have seen what should not be seen. Known what should not be known." He draws a sword that seems to be made of pure light. "For this crime, the sentence is death."
He moves.
I barely have time to think before he's on me, sword raised, about to strike,
I PULL.
On all seven bonds at once, desperate, terrified, acting on pure instinct.
And seven deadly sins flood through me.
Gold erupts from my hands, Croesus's greed, turning the archangel's sword arm to metal. He stumbles, surprised.
Fire follows, Kael's wrath, burning hot enough to scorch his armor. He screams.
I move with impossible grace, Seraph's pride, making me perfect in combat, anticipating his counter-strike.
Envy lets me see what he wants, to kill me, to silence the truth, and I twist away from his grab.
Lust makes my movements fluid, distracting, harder to track.
Gluttony lets me pull at his divine energy, draining it.
And apathy... apathy slows time around me, makes me faster by comparison.
