I move quickly, silently. The blade glides from its hiding place, its weight familiar in my grip. One strike. Straight to his heart.
I lunge.
But before I can land the blow, something cold wraps around my wrist—his fingers, unyielding as iron.
His grip tightens, twisting my arm painfully, forcing the knife away from its target.
"You really thought it would be that easy?" His voice is calm, almost amused. "Did you think I wouldn't see this coming?"
I grit my teeth, twisting in his grasp. He's too strong, his power pressing down on me like an unmovable force.
But I don't stop. I bring my knee up sharply, aiming for his ribs. He shifts at the last moment, deflecting the strike effortlessly.
"You've learned," he murmurs. "But not enough."
I shove against him, breaking free for the briefest second. The knife is still in my grasp, and I slash at him, aiming for his throat.
He dodges, the blade grazing his cheek instead. A thin line of blood appears, dark against his pale skin.
His expression shifts, something darker creeping into his gaze. "You're going to make me kill you, aren't you?"
"Try." I barely get the word out before he moves.
He's faster than I am, faster than humanly possible. One moment he's standing before me, the next he's behind me, his arm snaking around my waist, pinning me against him. The knife is still in my hands, trapped between us.
"You should have stayed," he murmurs against my ear. "You should have accepted what I was offering."
His grip tightens, his power coiling around me like a snake. The air becomes thick, suffocating. My vision blurs. He's trying to break me.
No.
Not now. Not when I'm so close.
I shift the knife in my grip, angling it downward-
And then I drive it into his chest.
His body jerks, his breath catching. For a moment, we are frozen together, the blade buried between us.
His hands tighten around me before they loosen, his fingers slipping away. He staggers back, his eyes locked onto mine, disbelief flickering across his face.
Blood blooms across his chest, staining the fabric of his robes.
For the first time since I met him, the God of Death looks mortal.
His lips part, but no words come. His eyes darken, something unreadable passing through them. And then, finally, he falls to his knees.
I stand over him, breathless, my grip on the knife tightening.
"It's over," I whisper.
But the look in his eyes tells me something else.
This isn't over.
Not yet.
The knife is slick with his blood. My hands tremble as I lift it, pressing the tip against my own chest.
His eyes widen. "No."
I inhale sharply, feeling the cold bite of the blade against my skin. "Yes."
"You don't have to do this," he breathes, his voice no longer mocking, no longer cruel. "There are other ways.."
"No, there aren't," I whisper. "This is the only way."
His blood. My heart. The cycle will end.
I tighten my grip.
And then, with one final breath, I plunge the knife into my chest.
Pain erupts, blinding and all-consuming. A choked sound escapes me, but I don't stop. I push deeper, past flesh, past bone.
The world begins to fade.
The last thing I see is him, still on his knees, staring at me with something I can't name.
Not rage.
Not hatred.
Something else.
Then, darkness.