Rathbone scooped Cameo into his arms and headed for the portal.
"I'm not leaving." She fought the warrior--fought dirty and didn't pull her punches--but he never lost his hold on her.
Even without her memory, she wanted to help Lazarus.
His chest burned as he stalked to the goddess, doing everything in his power to mask his pain, intending to end her once and for all.
"I don't know why, but I can't get through." Rathbone banged his fists into an invisible wall.
They were trapped? Had to be Hera's fault. "Take down the wall," he commanded her.
Panting, she yanked the blade from her chest and pointed the crimson-soaked tip in his direction. Her grip shook, but it was clear her bones had already begun to heal. "Give me...the box..."
"This isn't a negotiation any longer. Take down the wall."
With a screech, she jumped to her feet and launched into a full-on attack. She swung the sword at him, but he sidestepped her. Barely. Weakened, he tripped. As he stumbled, she changed her focus, attacking Cameo and Rathbone.
Lazarus roared a denial, but he needn't have bothered. Rathbone blocked. Cameo pulled a sword from the sheath at his back and joined the fray. She thrust. Hera parried. Clang. Clang.
Lazarus jumped in the middle, blocking the next blow before delivering one of his own. The pipe met Hera's skull. She careened to the side, but she wasn't out any more than she was down for the count.
She rallied quickly and resumed the fight. She knew when to duck, jump and dodge. She knew when to spin and when to maintain her position, and what was worse, she delivered more injuries than she received. Lazarus was the recipient of most, his reflexes nearly completely shot. At least she was tiring, her motions slowing. Every time she breathed, she wheezed.
When Cameo landed a massive blow to her midsection, slicing through her stomach, Hera attempted to leave the temple. Any other day, in any other place, Lazarus could have flashed or dived in front of Hera to stop her. Today, he could only cast an illusion, the ability as strong as ever despite his physical limitations.
He conjured the worst of the worst. The monstrous form of Typhon in his prime.
Typhon had dark hair and dark eyes, like Lazarus, and his ears pointed at both ends, the tops so high and thick they appeared to be horns. Red flames crackled inside his nostrils and mouth. He had a barrel chest, with an image of Lazarus's mother branded in the center, snakes curling from her scalp rather than hair.
From Typhon's back stretched three sets of wings. One extended from the tops of his shoulders, the other from between his shoulders, and the last from his hip bones. The first two projected backward while the third wrapped forward, offering protection to his midsection and groin.
His legs were as thick as tree trunks and covered in scales veined with molten fire--with a single cut, the fire would spill out, burning to ash everyone who came into contact with the embers. His hands and feet were clawed.
Hera screamed and darted back. "You can't...you can't be here. Not like this. Your chrysalis..."
Chrysalis. The word rattled around in Lazarus's brain. Like a butterfly's chrysalis, made of pupa and silk, not crystal?
Lazarus...king...butterflies.
"He isn't real," she said. "He can't be real."
The last time Hera had faced Lazarus's father, he'd been weakened, barely able to move. In the illusion, he was at full strength. A male she could not hope to best.
Phantom Typhon breathed a stream of fire at her, hitting the floor just in front of her. The flames ricocheted upward, several landing on her boots. She struggled to remove the footwear but ultimately succeeded. Blisters appeared all over her hands.
"You were saying?" Lazarus smiled. "If Typhon isn't real, why are you burned?"
Hera's mouth floundered open and closed. If she had been born with the ability to cast illusions, she would know the mind had the power to inflict the expected injury.
As Rathbone returned his attention to the invisible wall, Cameo focused on the goddess, a weapon in hand, her brow furrowed with confusion as she watched the monster.
Lazarus stepped toward Hera and winced. The crystals--pupa? Or perhaps a mix of both in his case?--were spreading even now, rising up his neck, over his cheeks and clogging his ears. Dead silence overtook him. He heard nothing, not even a tremulous ring. The substance filled his lungs. Breathing became more difficult.
He had mere minutes left.
Though he wanted to go to Cameo, to stare into her exquisite face as he met his end, he lumbered toward Hera. The goddess had no place to go. Typhon's fire surrounded her. She narrowed her eyes, lifted her chin. Ever rebellious against the inevitable.
Kill the threat to my woman, welcome eternity. He swung.
A look of horror contorted Cameo's features. She screamed and lunged in front of Hera. No time to pull his arm back or angle the direction of the weapon. The Paring Rod pierced her chest. She gasped and shook. He roared.
No! What had she done? What had he done?
He'd hurt the woman he loved. He might have killed--
No, no, no. "Why? Why did you do this?" He attempted to yank the Paring Rod out of her. Any moment now, the artifact would suck her spirit through a portal...but the tip of the weapon remained caught in her sternum. To remove it, he would have to remove her entire rib cage. Her lungs would collapse, and her already damaged heart would stop.
The injuries would agonize her, but they would heal.
First...he shoved the pipe over the Rod, sheathing it. "Live forever," he commanded. "I demand the demon leave you. Demand your spirit remains inside your body. Do you hear me? I own the pipe and therefore the compulsion. It was a gift. I demand that you live. Obey me!"
Blood poured from the corners of her mouth as she tried to speak.
She was still dying.
No! He gave a final yank, the Paring Rod at last pulling free. It took only half of her rib cage with it. Hardly a silver lining. Her back bowed as her legs and chest collapsed. She released another scream as her knees gave out, and he tossed the artifacts aside. Beneath her skin, veins of black appeared, tentacles seeming to writhe inside them. Her entire body seized.
The demon was leaving her?
Black soon turned to gray and gray to blue, until the tracery of veins beneath her skin appeared normal, healthy. Then a black mist rose from her shirt--no, not her shirt but the pendant underneath her shirt.
Yes! Her demon.
The mist hovered over her, neon eyes glowing from within. Those eyes locked on Lazarus. Fangs snapped at him before the mist darted out of the temple, unencumbered by the invisible wall.
Had his Cami survived?
Lazarus dropped to his knees, knew he would be frozen in this humbled position for the rest of his life, but didn't care. He had to touch Cameo, had to learn her fate. Trembling, he smoothed his fingertips over the softness of her cheek.
The healthy color had vanished, leaving her chalk white. She panted and wheezed. But she hadn't entered the spirit realm. Why?
"He's...gone," she said. "Misery...gone...cleansed...happiness...remember..."
She remembered...Lazarus?
He wanted to shout with joy. He wanted to sob. What would happen next? She couldn't die. She couldn't!
"My apple!" Hera, who stood on Cameo's other side, reached for the pendant.
Rathbone caught her wrist and wrestled her away. Leaving Lazarus to his goodbye.
No! Hell, no. This would not be Cameo's end. Only his.
"Why?" he demanded.
"She was...about to...stab you..."
Hera had cast an illusion, then. And Cameo had thought she was saving him. Him, a man she hadn't even remembered at the time.
How could he let her go?
Lazarus...king...butterflies.
Butterflies had always been drawn to him. Why? Because like was drawn to like? Was he... Could he be...
Caterpillars transformed into butterflies when they entered a chrysalis.
>
Hydra, his ancestor, could not be killed. Typhon could not be killed. Chrysalis... As a spirit, Lazarus had passed through a portal meant for mortals. Because of the pupa--or forming chrysalis. Because it had caused his physical body to change...to regenerate?
Because it strengthened him rather than weakened?
Chrysalis... The butterfly could not escape without fighting free. Could he fight his way free? Would he be stronger if--when--he emerged?
His father hadn't fought his way out of his chrysalis. But then, his father had hated his monomania. He'd had no reason to fight. Lazarus loved his sunshine. And love trumped hate every time.
Lazarus...king...butterflies.
What if he could help Cameo with the pupa?