Page 279 of Vasmora

He didn’t move. His chest didn’t rise, or fall, with breath.

“We’re going home. You gotta wake up.” He gave another shake, and when the boy didn’t twitch, he laid him onto the web and stroked a hand over his forehead. “C’mon, open your eyes.”

Gavroche remained still, his face a sickly shade of white.

Zevander clenched his teeth. “Ah, fuck.” He dragged a hand down his face and swallowed past the lump in is throat, turning away from the boy. “Fuck!” he growled. “You shouldn’t have been here.” A sorrowful fury tore through him, and he stroked his hand back and forth over his skull. “You should’ve stayed back, like I told you!”

He pushed to his feet, standing over the boy.

“I’m sorry,” Branimir’s voice chimed in his mind, and Zevander squeezed his eyes shut, shaking his head. When he opened them again, he was staring down at his brother’s ravaged body.

A suffocating pain raked through Zevander’s chest. “I failed you. I should’ve been there. Not you. Not you!”

“I only wanted to keep her safe.”

Zevander’s body shook, remorse gnawing at his throat. He paced, his pulse hammering.

Keep it together.

Dragging his feet to a halt, he flexed his hands, every muscle locked and trembling as he fought the tide of emotions rising to the surface. His knees buckled, and he collapsed alongside his brother, eyes screwed shut.

When he opened them, it was once more Gavroche lying before him, and he stroked a gentle hand over the boy’s head. “You did good Gavroche,” he said, his voice catching on the words. It was then he noticed a faint pulse in the boy’s neck. Slowing. Slowing. Until it finally stopped.

A protrusion moved across Gavroche’s chest.

Pestilios.

Zevander shot to his feet, carefully backing away, palm raised.

Gavroche’s body jerked, his spine splintering with a crack. His eyes flipped open to show obsidian black orbs, and spiders crawled from his gaping mouth, carried on the air where they dissolved into black smoke. More spiders scampered out.

Dozens. Hundreds.

They carried upward, and Zevander lifted his gaze toward a black cloud hovering above him. It circled like a tornado and exploded through the ceiling of the web dome.

A shrieking sound tore through Gavroche’s chest as a skeletal form burst from his ribs and barreled straight for Zevander.

The force struck his chest, sending him flying backward, and like a flash of lightning, Pestilios darted for him again.

The host-less god swiped up his leg, black teeth bared and ready to sink into his limb.

Zevander threw out his palm, sending forth a blast of the ancient godsflame that hurtled Pestilios backward. Black fire crawled over the god but failed to disintegrate him. He lurched again, and Zevander held his hand poised, trembling, the power inside of him tearing through his veins in searing pulses.

Pestilios cast his palm forth, and an invisible force clamped Zevander’s lungs and muscles, tightening across his chest.

Zevander ground his teeth and drove his mind to focus.

One slip, one moment of weakness was all it’d take for Pestilios to gain the upper hand.

Purple fissures split across the back of his palms, the ancient flame inside of him bubbling and seething, as the god’s crushing power bore down on him.

Flames danced over the god’s skeletal body, and he snarled, clawing his way toward Zevander.

Muscles locked and shaking, Zevander held steady, the ruthless godsflame lashing beneath his skin, his scorpions crawling and stinging him from the inside. Weakness sank into his muscles as his vivicantem waned. He let out a roar of pain, and while he knew the glyph he’d summoned would devour the last of his energy, he refused to relent.

Claws tore into his leathers as Pestilios dragged himself closer, teeth snapping. The god’s power closed in around Zevander, the pressure threatening to snap his bones.

Hold!