Page 78 of Thorn & Ash

Prue turned before he could speak, her senses no doubt drawn to the same thing. “Over there. Something powerful is over there.”

Cyrus nodded, clutching her fingers in his as they drew closer. Prue’s magic lit the way as they approached. Cyrus expected—hoped—to find the box, but of course it wasn’t that simple.

Instead, he found a prone figure lying on the ground, eyes closed and long, dark hair spread around him like a mane.

Prue gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. “It’s a man.”

Cyrus narrowed his eyes, crouching as he inspected the figure. The man had a mustache and beard, his tunic and trousers finely crafted. There was power about this figure. He wasn’t a mere mortal.

“Kronos,” Cyrus growled.

Prue’s eyes widened. “This is his body?”

“It has to be. His power smells the same.” Now that Cyrus was close enough, he knew for sure; it reeked of the same icy coldness that had overtaken him before.

“We have to destroy him,” Prue said. “But how? Isn’t he a god? How do you kill a god?”

Cyrus swore, running a hand along his face. “I could… with my death magic. But that—”

“Belongs to Kronos,” Prue finished.

“Yes.”

“And my magic only creates life,” Prue said. “It was never meant to destroy.”

Cyrus nodded absently. He would never ask Prue to end a god’s life like that. His own soul was tainted enough; one more murder wouldn’t make much of a difference. But Prue? Her soul was much more pure. And he intended to keep it that way.

Frustration boiled his blood, and Cyrus hissed out a low breath. Of course he would find the one thing he hoped to destroy… only to be unable to destroy it. It was torture.

He froze as something occurred to him. Slowly, he approached Kronos before prodding the god’s arm.

Cyrus’s hand passed right through it.

“Damn. It’s an illusion.” Cyrus straightened. “The place is toying with us.”

“But the magic,” Prue protested. “I can smell it, too.”

“Tartarus has the power to manipulate all the senses. Even smells. Come on, we have to keep looking.”

They continued onward, hand-in-hand, both of them tense with apprehension at what they would find next.

Then, a strangled cry poured from Prue’s mouth. She broke her grip on Cyrus and surged forward.

“Prue, wait—”

Cyrus hurried after her, but the darkness had already swallowed her completely. His steps faltered, and a single light appeared in front of him. Alarm and suspicion crept through him. This light wasn’t coming from his magic—or Prue’s.

It was from Tartarus itself. Which meant the darkness had something to show him.

This couldn’t be good.

A prone figure lay on the ground before him. For one moment, he thought it was Kronos again. But as he drew closer, his chest constricted, cutting off his breaths and plunging him in icy horror.

Prue lay on the ground, her wide, unseeing eyes fixed on the ceiling. A trickle of blood oozed from her lips. Her arms and legs jutted out at odd angles, as if every bone in her body had been broken. Bruises spotted her arms and neck.

“Prue,” Cyrus choked out, his throat closing. Gods, he couldn’t breathe. He stumbled forward, crashing to his knees. A distant part of his brain chanted, It’s not real. It’s not real.

But her body was here. She was so real in front of him. The anguish on her face, the despair and fear… The sight of her like this twisted Cyrus’s insides until he thought he might unravel completely, leaving his own body alongside hers. Deformed. Useless. A soulless, empty shell.