It should have been a moment of triumph.

Dante returned her soul back to her body, and Scarlet could feel her heart beat again. She was whole. The snow in the quiet place in her head was melting around them. And there, before her, was Dante. His green eyes were set on her, and he saw all of her. This time, she saw all of him, too.

His strengths were so different than hers. He lived with his heart open when she had closed her own, afraid of being alone while she was scared of being close. Dante thought things through, while Scarlet was impulsive. She was a fighter, but Dante was a healer. He would mend this entire broken World if he could. There was one thing they shared, though: they would both do anything to save the people they loved.

And in that moment, she knew exactly how she felt about him. Her lips were a moment away from Dante’s, and then—

Victory was swiped away as Dante’s scream pierced through the vision they shared, thrusting her, disoriented, back into physical space, just in time to watch Riordan strike at Dante a second time with a fistful of pure magic. A wordless scream of her own left her mouth as she lunged at Riordan.

Scarlet wasn’t fast enough. The god’s strike hit its mark. Life left Dante’s eyes as Riordan’s fatal blast of power ran through him.

Her rage rose out of her belly, flames poured out of her mouth as Scarlet continued her leap at the god, the murderer, the one who had taken her mother, the man she would kill. In his victory over Dante, Riordan in his conceit, was not expecting her. She knocked him onto his back, spreading flames over him as she did so.

His vortex neutralized most of the fire, but she saw that some broke through, scorching his skin. Perhaps he was weakening. It didn’t matter. Scarlet would kill him, all the same, her bloodthirst would break through any barrier.

Riordan pushed her off. She regained her footing and gave him no time to recover his bearings. With a primal yell, she punched fireball after fireball at him, weaving complex flight patterns to keep him from predicting their path. Each dart of magic he threw at her, she sent out a return bolt to collide with it, neutralizing his magic, all the while continuing her relentless, fiery assault.

For all the pain she had gone through under Death’s tutelage, she was going to use every trick the god had ever taught her, and every thread of magic she could possibly manage. Her soul and body fully merged once more, she was more powerful than ever.

Changing tact, Riordan fed more energy into his vortex then lashed out at Scarlet with it. He caught her wrist with an insidious tendril of magic, limiting her movement, making it easier for him to latch onto her other hand, and then her feet.

Bound, she didn’t panic. She closed her eyes, fell easily into the place Ange had taught her to reach. There, she sought out Riordan’s tendrils. She could have unbound herself from them. But, instead, she followed them to where they led, and began to unravel the vortex itself. Riordan tried to shove her away, but she held on with all her might, using his grasp on her against him.

You killed Dante, she projected at him, as she dismantled his energy vortex. And now, I’m going to kill you.

She felt a sliver of fear underneath his arrogance. He was stripped of his defenses now. Scarlet opened her eyes, summoned more flame into her hands, ready to end this god. She poured her heart into a conflagration, a streaming wall of flames that would wipe him away.

Die, Riordan.

When she was ready to collapse from the effort, she stopped, breathing hard. Slowly, the smoke cleared, and Riordan was on the ground. He wasn’t a pile of ash, like she had hoped. Even without his vortex, he must have been able to absorb enough of her magic to survive. Yet, he did not rise.

“Scarlet.”

Scarlet glanced to the source of the sound. Ange was stomach-down on the ground, bleeding. Caught in her tunnel-vision, Scarlet hadn’t taken an account of the battlefield. Dead and injured soldiers were scattered across the ground. The remaining rebel force had retreated or were helping to pull away the injured. Ange pushed herself up enough for Scarlet to see that beneath her body she protected a magus sword—quite possibly, the last one.

“Take it,” Ange gasped out.

Scarlet carefully pulled the sword out from under Ange. This was it, her chance to end this. Her heart hammering, she turned back to charge at Riordan, who was now pulling himself back up to his feet.

She swung at him, once, twice, but he dodged the blows. She cried out in frustration. If only she’d had more time to train with a blade. The crystalline sword still felt awkward in her grasp.

She heaved the sword at him again, but Riordan weaved around its arch, his unreadable eyes locked onto her. “You can’t kill me, Scarlet.”

But she could. Dante told her to use the magus weapon. It had to be something he had seen in a dream, and now she had to see it through.

She had Riordan on the defensive. It didn’t stop him from throwing out energy bolts, but she was able to disrupt or dodge them. This couldn’t last for long, though, she had to strike the winning blow soon, before she was completely spent.

Then, she noticed what Riordan was focused on—he was keeping an eye on her sword more than anything else. She feigned a swing at him, and he moved out of the way—right into the fireball she shot with her offhand. The force of the blast knocked him off his feet.

She stepped forward, kicked his chest, pushing him down onto his back. She raised the sword with both hands, tip down, ready to drive it into his chest and claim what victory she could.

“Stop,” Riordan choked out. “If you kill me, you’ll never see your mother alive again.”

Scarlet’s heart skipped a beat and she paused, sword held over the god.

Ange called out, “Don’t let him get to you. Kill him.”

Ange was right, she had to do it. But Scarlet’s brief indecision was all Riordan needed. He reached up and the sword shattered at his touch, shimmering pieces that were once a blade clattering onto his chest. Scarlet was left holding nothing but the hilt.

With a blast of magic, Riordan forced her to stumble back, off his chest. He waved a hand to open a portal and sprung through it, letting the window to the Crossworld close behind him.

There was no point going after him. The magus weapons were destroyed.

Scarlet sank to her knees. Despair began to pour out of her; sobs of pure anguish born of a misery so deep she feared it may be fatal. The World spun around her and the air was full of the scent of blood—but only of her allies, not of the god that had taken so much from her.

The moment had come, and it had passed. Scarlet had failed, and all was lost.