Mara hands the bowl of Inanji's regurgitated blood to Lier. "I'm sorry," she says softly.

He grimaces, but drinks it down, immediately looking ill after he does.

"Go, lay down, Lier."

"Not on that bed," he mumbles. My brother and I each grab an arm and help him to the table, laying him out across the surface.

"Hold it inside, Lier, that's it," Mara encourages him in a thready voice. Her dark eyes are frightened as she approaches Inanji with the dagger.

Fingers white on the handle of the blade, Mara leans forward and plunges the dagger into Inanji's left shoulder.

A slice, and Inanji's body surges forward. Mara stumbles back with the knife, her other hand clasped over her mouth to silence a scream, but we are there to hold the Love goddess still.

Inanji's eyes roll and she slumps back down.

Mara sneaks back forward. "No," my Heart breathes.

"What's wrong?" I ask her in a low voice.

"Look at the wound," she murmurs.

We look. It seals itself together as we watch, leaving just a pink line and blood staining her skin.

"I don't... does she have the same healing ability? I wasn't ready... what do we do?" Mara turns to us, eyes blinking with tears.

"Kill her and take it all for Lier," Thelios snaps.

"That's not how it works. Patriarch showed me the scrolls of gods receiving power. The source must give up a piece. You and Thane each got half of War."

"That's right," I mutter. I vaguely remember, eons ago, shit... "what now?"

Mara looks back at Inanji. "I have to cut her in half and give two pieces away. She needs to be completely ruined to break apart."

"Two?"

Her eyes drift to the trunk holding Anthea. "Yes, two. And... I need souls, not gods. Urto disappeared into you two." She sounds faint.

"No, not her, not Anthea, my Heart," I can't keep the desperation from my voice. Anthea has been lurking around my soul for centuries and I can't have her become immortal. A goddess.

"She would be no better than Inanji."

Mara just shakes her head, tears pouring. "There's no time, Thane. We need to complete this before Inanji wakes up or Lier suffers any more."

I look at Lier, moaning lowly on the table.

Mara goes to open the trunk.

Five of us move to stop her. "We'll do it, Princess," Belen says grimly.

The trunk opens to reveal an still-unconscious Anthea.

"I think... I think the burial rites worked?"

"Does she still have Inanji's blood in her system?" Belen asks softly.

"Most likely," Mara answers.

"Cut the bitch again," Lier croaks out from the table.

"Don't. Not yet. Use this soul, my Lady. Please."

We all turn to see Erra with a small, broken-looking female by his feet.

---

It's her. Poppy's mother. My body trembles with the force of negativity and filth that threatens to crush me; jealousy, insecurity, and fear.

Poppy looks more like her than she does me. Maybe not the coloring, this female has blonder hair than Poppy; an actual strawberry-blond, with soft blue eyes, but the nose, the shape of the eyes and cheeks, the little rounded chin. It's all my daughter.

I hate it, but I won't hate her. Inanji hates me because of this seething jealousy. I refuse to do the same to this nameless soul.

"Why did you bring her here, Erra?" I ask in a hoarse voice from the putrid emotions bubbling up in my throat.

"You want to use that creature, Lady," he says calmly, pointing at Anthea, "but you know that she is too much like me. Her soul is damaged."

"Your soul isn't damaged, Erra," I protest, but I know it falls flat. Erra has been changed into a monster against his will. He, better than anyone, knows what Anthea is. Her soul is still trapped in her undead body, but it is buried under a thousand layers of malice and venom.

Erra dismisses my words without even acknowledging them. "This female soul is utterly broken," he says in that flat, emotionless voice. "Heal her with Inanji's spirit and maybe Poppy will be happy."

"Where did you find her?" Thane asks grimly.

Erra explains, "I was hoping to find this soul here. Inanji had her contained in the kitchens, in a closet."

I look at Erra, but I'm not really seeing him. I'm seeing that cellar, the pitch-black hole that Thelios descended into, only to come up with a baby and a broken female corpse.

The corpse that sparked my understanding of bonds and Inanji's grip on the souls that suffer the most from her choices for them. This female. Poppy's mother.

Inanji held this poor soul prisoner. Even here in my father's kingdom Poppy's mother wasn't free.

That bitch. A fierce sense of justice rushed through me. Erra is right; who better to force to become one with Inanji, than a soul who suffered so horrifically from her forced bond of Love?

I look at the female with a bitter taste in my mouth. Did my father know about this? Was this prophesied? Is that why he was so welcoming to Poppy?

Or am I seeing my father's plans everywhere when they aren't there?

I look at the ribbons of bonds curling from the female and know that Erra is correct; this female soul is utterly devastated. Only a few unbroken bonds remain. Four, to be exact. Two lavender strings so delicate and faded that they almost look like white wisps. A ghost of a bond. One dark, oozing, curling ribbon that is putrefying silver. Inanji's bond. I'm tempted to leave it and let Inanji deal with it. And the last bond, a faded ribbon, of the lightest blue. Thin, but strong. Poppy's bond.

I approach the female on weak knees. She is sitting with her knees pulled to her chest, her dark eyes vacant as she stares into the distance. When I reach for her she flinches away.

Bile rushes up into my mouth. She is dead. This is the Underworld. Yet the pain she suffered in the above has followed her down here. The grime of her pain wasn't washed away even by the end of her life.

A few of my tears fall. I didn't even know that I was crying. One hits Inanji's foul bond and it snaps just that easily. The ends sizzle and curl away from my tear as if set on fire.

Well, so much for keeping it.

The female jumps a little, her gaze focusing on me. Eyes widen on me and she shrinks away from me, rocking back and forth to comfort herself.

"H-hello," I have to swallow to get even that greeting out. "What is your name?" I ask her.

She shakes her head. My heart bleeds. Does she not know?

She finally mouths a word, 'whore.' I jerk back, which makes her flinch away hard enough that her teeth clack together.

Did she just call herself 'whore?' I would almost rather she called me that, but I know she didn't. Her mate must have called her that, or his wife. But didn't she have a name before he found her?

"I'll call you Napthia," I tell her with a soft smile. "That will be your name. A strong name. A beautiful name. Do you like it?"

She just stares at me vacantly. I have this fear that violence and pain is all she understands.

Thane walks over to me, his eyes bright with curiosity. "How will we do this?"

I take a deep breath and take out my other dagger from the cloth I wrapped them in. Well, Thelios' daggers... that he gave me for our wedding. The ones I then used to kill my males with.

"Ouch, Firesprite," Thelios murmurs to me, kissing my head as he examines the hilt of the daggers.

"Sorry. They are the only sacred blades I have. Alnue saved them for me."

"We have blades in the forest," Thane says in a low voice. He can't even look at the daggers in my hands, but he takes one when Thelios does.

"I am going to pour Inanji's blood down Napthia's throat, first," I say shakily. "Erra, will you help me?" I whisper.

"Yes," Erra pins Napthia down by her shoulders and I straddle her frail frame to tip the last of the blood down her throat. There are only a few drops left in the bowl, but it will be enough. It has to be enough.

We wait with bated breath until Napthia lets out a scream. Erra claps his hand over the female's mouth, his eyes hardset on her face. Her body flops, weakly. She isn't fighting Erra so much as trying to escape his touch. It hurts my heart to see this. Even with jealousy souring my stomach I know that this soul deserves another chance.

When she falls still, Erra releases her. I nod to my males. "Cut Inanji apart."

My males turn, muscles rippling, eyes rimmed red with War, fangs bared from the macabre grins of hellish glee painted on their faces.

The Basru hold Inanji, one male per limb and another on her head, spreading her body out. Thelios starts to carve into her face, but Thane goes straight for her heart.

It wakes her up. Not even the Napthia flowers can keep Inanji asleep while the gods of War slice her apart.

She screams, her body jerking, but my males are carving into her, pieces of her scattering, breaking off of her body as if she's made of sandstone. A painted shell with porous, easily broken rock underneath. Silvered blood pours forth and the scent of burning flesh fills the air. My Basru grimace, tails, horns, fangs, claws, scales, all flickering in a dance of death and deliverance.

Thane yells triumphantly while Thelios laughs uproariously. The twins of War are drunk on violence.

When Napthia starts to scream again I know it's working. The heat in the room is broiling, sweat pouring down my face, stinging my eyes.

Suddenly I remember the fire with Urto. I grab Napthia and start to pull the resisting female towards the bed with Inanji. Silvered blood rises into the air, lashing my skin like whips as it desperately seeks another source.

Lier is there, on Napthia's other side, his strength a boon to the struggle to get closer to Inanji.

I can hear my Basru shouting, their words garbled in their fang-filled mouths. Blood scents the air. My males, all of them, are getting hurt.

The room is so hot that the air shimmers. I can't seem to catch my breath.

The explosion rocks me backward. I hit the stone wall, covered in just a thin tapestry, and my entire body is jarred. I hit the floor. Everything is black, with spots of light dancing in my vision.

I don't know if my head has been injured, or if the lights are gone. I can hear moans and groans of pain and discomfort.

Then, a soft voice, "where am I? Hello?"

I blink my eyes, trying to see, but everything is still dark. I lick my lips and try to speak, but my mouth is too dry and the words can't come. All I feel is a tiny flutter in my lower belly. My baby. Oh, gods, is my baby alright? I try to touch my belly, but my arms are too heavy to move.

"Mara?" another, familiar voice. This time I manage a small whimper for Belen.

Hands touch my face, my arms, feeling for injuries as Belen mutters, "gods, Mara. You're bleeding. I need to get you to the river. Fuck. I can't... this is too much... so much blood," he whispers.

When my friend picks me up a moan of agony escapes rises up from my throat.

"Hold on, Mara. You'll be better, soon." Belen sounds panicked as he stumbles from the room. "Shit, fuck, I can't believe this is happening."

My males. Oh, gods. Where are my males?

The soothing water of the River Crone envelopes me. Everything seems hazy and out-of-sorts, but I know one thing; My father is raging. Death is livid. And my males are right in his path.

"Belen," I can't hear myself, my voice is so weak.

"Easy, Mara. You're healing. You can... you'll be fine. Just give yourself time."

There's no time, Bel. I reach for his hand as my baby flutters again. I spare a moment of worry; it's far too early to feel a baby, isn't it? Then again, I don't know how long I've really been in the Underworld. Time moves differently here. And, at least the flutter lets me know that she's alright.

Belen captures my hand in his.

"It's time, Belen," I manage to say. "The Basru need their new Commander."

"Now, Mara? Mara," he says with tears choking his voice. "I swear on my very soul to serve the Lady Grief. I am Basru."

I smile, "thank you, Belen."

He laughs, a sad sound, "it seems like it should be more difficult."

"It's sincere," I murmur.

"Can you open your eyes, My Lady?" he asks.

I pry my lids apart. The sky of the Underworld is dark. It's still night. I would have thought that days had passed since Inanji broke apart, but apparently it's only been a couple of hours at the most.

In the darkest part of the night I can see the ceiling of the cave above us. There are clouds in the sky, but far above the wispy clouds is a dark, bluish-black, stone ceiling.

No stars shine and the sun doesn't exist down here. It's amazing, the world my father has created.

I meet Belen's worried gaze with a smile. "Collect the Basru, Belen."

"I won't leave you alone."

"I'm not alone, Commander. I have been alone just once in the last two years and even then..." I inhale and feel my lungs finally expand normally. "Even then I could feel my companions."

"I-"

"Go, Belen. Go."

He helps me stand and leave the river, first, before he leaves.

I look out at the Eastern Gate. It's skeletal warning stretches into the sky, the dark bones disappearing at the top into the darkness.

My wrists tingle as Rasted and Gired slip out of the shadows to take their positions on my right and left. I see my gargoyles, their sweet beastial faces looking grimly demonic as they look out. I smile to myself. My oldest companions and my newest will accompany my first steps onto the Field again.

The others will come. My bonds dance in all directions, strong and graceful. Magnificent.

My unborn child's pure golden ribbon stretches from me, out into the Fields of the Lost. The baby Fate has chosen is trapped in that desolate, hopeless place. As I walk closer and closer to the Gate my legs get steadier, my will becomes stronger.

It's time to meet my baby's soul.

---

We slam Love into the bed. Unfortunate that it's soft. We could burst her head like a melon, otherwise. As it is, the bitch is crumbling in our claws. Bone is ground to dust, flesh is torn to shreds.

Our Heart gave us our daggers back for this duty. The blades slice through even a goddess with no trouble.

Our Heart.

After our babe is born we will take her to the forest and wrap her in our furs. Show her we are the best hunter, the best lover, the best provider.

We are the best.

Love splinters apart, her pieces falling to the bedding, the floor, skittering like insects towards whole vessels. Blood calls to blood.

We stand, triumphant. We will take Our Heart, now. She is ours. We look for her.

She is not here.

Rage bubbles over. Stone and plaster and wood dissolve under our claws. The roof of this house is gone. Most of the rooms destroyed. Eyes watch us, wary but hard.

The golden god is here. The father, he calls himself. We rage at him, spitting our words of hate. He's not our father. He has never been that to us. Has he stolen her from us?

"Calm down, War, Thane, Thelios," the father god says to us.

Calm down? What good are words when swords can speak for us.

"Mara is fine. She has bathed in the river. She is guarded and healed from her wounds."

We snap our fangs at him. She is healed? Why was she ever allowed to be hurt? Why did this male never stop the harm we caused her? Why did she ever feel any fear or humiliation or pain from us?

Another wall is demolished.

The dark god comes. He carries Pestilence in his hands. Deliverance in his palms. We do not want him angry with us. He is Our Heart's father.

"It is her choice, Thane, Thelios," Death says. "Her choice."

We pound on our chests with the flat of our hand. "We are her choice, old male."

Death sits, settling in a plume of plaster dust on an ornately carved bench that survived destruction. It is an odd thing to do. The Black Scythe lays across his knees, its desire for blood quiet.

I blink our eyes, disoriented. I am two, now. Strong males, trained in the Pits of the Underworld for the Princess.

Our Heart.

I look at Death.

"Mara?" I don't which one of us spoke. It doesn't matter. Twins, we are both War.

"Winning the war over Fate, Thelios," Death replies.

"How?"

"She is bringing the lost souls home. She will need your help, my sons."

War tears through the sky towards the looming Gate. Souls are battling in the Field. The seven-headed demon named Basru is already fighting. We land and rush through the Gate with a battle-cry that makes every eye turn to us.

The Forgotten ones, the damned, swarm us. We laugh joyously. This is fun.