𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐈𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐀 𝐒𝐔𝐂𝐂𝐄𝐒𝐒 𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐘. 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐈𝐒 𝐀 𝐑𝐔𝐈𝐍𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍.
It's the beginning of a new age when Jaylah Imperatrix seemingly returns from the dead to reclaim her throne. And in perfect timing.
In her absence, evil has be...
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Act 4 Chapter 154 JAYLAH
Jaylah expected to be attacked the moment her left foot fell across the temple's threshold. Her fingers held the grips of her swords as if they were the only things holding her from the snapping mouths of Thanatos's great Hounds. And they were. She was prepared for knives thrown at her chest, for her father's hands to pick her up and hurl her against the wall, shattering her like a porcelain doll. But he was not there waiting for her arrival.
Breathing through her mouth because her nostrils were clogged with the scent of the burning city, Jaylah entered the temple completely. She moved silently, but there was an unnatural element of stillness that she sensed she had disturbed. Where was her father? Where was the god?
There was no real reason for her to be there aside from a final stand, or perhaps just a plea for him to kill her swiftly. With the army of his dead soldiers, Jaylah could no longer stand in the way of his victory. That was why she called out, "Father?"
Her own voice echoed back to her in the mostly empty chamber, higher than it had come out.
"Father?"
Nothing.
No. He could not have left her there. He may have been callous, but he was her father. He was not always cold-blooded, not where she was concerned. Where was the father who had taken her, and only her, on trips to far away beaches, the man who whipped the first boy who dared to lay an unwanted hand on her before she knew how to bite back? The father who left her behind when he outgrew her.
Well...had he outgrown her? People called him a madman, branded him as needlessly paranoid. Could they not have shared that? Jaylah had turned away from him, disgusted, when she should have been rejoicing that she had someone willing to kill his own wife to protect her. Someone willing to protect her at all.
She felt as though she might cry or perhaps vomit. "Father...please."
The voice came from deeper within the temple. "I knew you would come here."
Her eyes adjusting to the dim candlelight emanating from the base of every statue, Jaylah zeroed in on her father atop a dais, the eight massive gods seemingly inclining their heads to him. His back was to her as he gazed out at his army, marching like a billion ants over a dying thing. It had been two years since she saw his face, and she was not enough of a threat for him to just look at her.
"Too much time has passed. You do not know me anymore," she lied.
"Do I not?" He did not so much as shift his weight. She took in the full might of his physique—his stature just a bit too hulking. The god was in the room with them at that very moment. She found she was too tired to care. "It seems I knew enough to get you here. To this point."
"Do you truly hate me that much?"
"My hatred is better reserved for insects like our late friend Ermalai Morokov or for the desert king of the east."
