She watched as Payton attempted to kill the man she loved.
Her eyes shifted to the ramparts, to the spot on the east wall where she knew that Mrs. Edeson and her son Ryan were standing, side by side. At her behest, Ryan was focusing his ability to unite the powers of every Ringwearer—all 299 of them—and focus them on the man facing off against Oblivion now, the man with the sword.
Pour it on,
she thought in their direction.
Her attention shifted back to Payton, who was simultaneously holding Oblivion frozen in place before him, electrocuting every inch of his rocklike skin, and punching him again and again at superspeed, with superstrength, over his entire body. Wearing thick gloves like Ethan’s, he placed blow after blow on Oblivion’s face, his stomach, his chest, and anywhere else he could land a devastating hit.
Don’t kill him . . . Don’t kill him . . .
The ground shook violently, and a portion of the ground beneath the inner garden gave way, disappearing into the dark soil. From the screams she could hear in the distance, she doubted that it was the only piece of the earth to do so.
Come on, Grant . . . Please . . .
Payton fought.
Punched. Kicked. Unleashed the full devastating array of powers now at his command.
At Alex’s request, he kept his sword sheathed at his side for now.
How do you beat a man made of stone to within an inch of his life?
More important for Payton was, how do you avoid taking that last inch?
The storm increased in intensity, howling now in a ferocious hurricane-force wind that threatened to sweep them all away. The fire pouring down from above had returned to its place behind the swirling clouds, but terrific lightning and angry thunder echoed through the skies as the blood rain pelted into his skin with giant drops.
His attack on this creature was brutal yet efficient, and he proved himself more than a match for this supposed Angel of Death. Where were the awesome powers of the Bringer now? Payton kept him too off guard, too preoccupied, never letting up, unrelenting in his aggression. Oblivion would be given no chance to fight back.
Payton found that he rather enjoyed this feeling. Maybe Devlin had been right about power corrupting, but right now, Payton didn’t care. He chipped off pieces of Oblivion’s stony skin with every hit, and it felt good. If there were still bones inside that body, he would break every one of them as well. Oblivion would pay for the sins of the past.
Oblivion was the administrator at the Catholic school, dismissing him from his post and stripping him of his title and position.
Oblivion was Payton’s brother, framing him for crimes he didn’t commit, and never even bothering to explain why he hated his own flesh and blood so much.
Oblivion was the one person in Payton’s whole life he’d given his heart to and who’d walked away when Payton needed her most. He was Morgan.
Payton froze. Sick.
Oblivion did not hesitate. Finding his feet again, he lifted his arms to end this, ready to unleash a powerful blast of psychokinesis.
Payton snapped out of it just in time, reared back, and threw a vicious uppercut at the same moment that Oblivion let loose his own attack. The two men flew backward from each other.
Both fell to the ground, unmoving.
Lifeless.
Through the terrible wind and the blood-filled rain and the frequent lightning strikes, through the shaking of the ground that threatened to send each of them crashing to the ground far below, she saw Oblivion fall.
He lay there, eyes closed. Dead? Asleep? If the skies above and the still-trembling earth were any indication, he was merely unconscious.
But how he looked like the man she loved, lying there so peacefully . . .
Come on, Grant! Fight back! Fight this monster! Do it now!
Please be in there, somewhere, sweetie . . . You have to be . . .
Please be there, for me . . .
I love you.
She teetered between a mad desire to run to him and the fear that nothing had changed.
Alex glanced sideways at the old man, who still waited at her side. Their eyes locked, and she sensed wisdom and understanding behind them. He gave the gentlest of nods, glanced at the place where Oblivion lay, and returned his gaze to her. He flashed a very quick smile.
The prostrate man on the ground was less than thirty feet away.
Alex took a tentative step away from the old man and moved toward Oblivion.
“Alex! NO!!”
She whipped around. Payton’s voice came from far off to her left, but now he was standing in front of her, blocking her way.
She looked around; most of the Ringwearers were watching them. It was as if all of the chaos of the last few minutes had paused, holding its breath.
“I know what you’re thinking, Alex,” Payton said. “But he’s
not Grant
.”
She looked at him. She was tired. Tired of pretending to know how to lead the Ringwearers in Grant’s place. Tired of arguing with everyone about Grant. Tired of living without him.
“I don’t think I care,” she said softly. “I just . . . I need to— one last time . . .”
“You touch him, you
die,
remember?”
Alex never took her eyes off of the pitiful creature prostrate on the ground before her. “I remember,” she whispered.
She sidestepped Payton and walked slowly forward, searching Grant’s gray, rock-hard face for the man she believed was still in there.
“Alex, he’s right,” said Daniel, who stood not far away near the old man and his small army. “What do you hope to accomplish? It’s insanity.”
“No, it isn’t,” she replied, kneeling on the ground next to Oblivion, close enough to touch him. She glanced back at Payton. “You said that death consumes everything.” She faced Oblivion once more, swimming and lost in his face. “But I believe there’s something more powerful than death. Just one thing.”
Tenderly, but without caution, her hand reached out and cradled the side of Grant’s face.
Eyes still closed, Grant’s hand came up and grabbed hers. It did not push her away. It simply clasped her hand tightly. And Alex squeezed back, alive and flowing with joy.
Grant’s eyes opened, and they were real eyes. They were bloodred, but they were no longer on fire. They fixed on her face, and then they blinked closed again, squeezing out tears that ran down the side of his rocklike face.
The entire world seemed suspended in this moment as the rain continued to howl and blow against them like a storm at sea and aftershocks shuddered. No one dared move; no one dared breathe. They watched.
Grant opened his eyes. A torrent of memories flooded his consciousness. It was overwhelming, all that this being had done within his skin. And somehow he knew it still lived within him. It was there, it was going to wake up, and it would reclaim him. There was no time for recrimination, yet he couldn’t stop himself, the death toll was mind-boggling, the horror of what Oblivion had done . . . what
he
had done . . .
Everything was terribly confusing, and here inside this body that felt so alien now yet was utterly familiar, he was uncertain where he ended and where Oblivion began.
Both of his hands came up to his face as if to block out the world, to hide himself from what he’d done and all those he’d done it to.
Alex peeled away his hands and gently lifted his downcast chin. She smiled at him, the kind of gentle, loving smile reserved for the most profound bond that can exist between two people.
“What do your eyes see?” she whispered.
Grant heard the words that recalled the phrase that his sister had made all of them memorize. It was a lifetime ago that she’d done that. Wasn’t it?
He looked around at the crowd of men and women watching, some from close by, others from the tops of the castle walls. Some of their faces were written in horror, aghast at the sight of the embodiment of death. That was what he’d become, wasn’t it? But those he was closest to showed more concern.
And the one before him, the only one he noticed now. All he could do was focus on Alex’s burns and scars and remember how this pain had come to her because of him . . .
Grant stared at his hands, which were outstretched before him. He saw no pale flesh or wrinkled skin.
He saw blood.
Tears spilled down his cheeks.
It was the blood of so many who had died because of those hands. Just like Morgan’s blood had once stained them . . . Just like Hannah’s . . . Just like his sister’s.
What did it matter that he wasn’t directly responsible for any of those deaths, or all of the horrors Oblivion had caused? They were the same hands, the same fate.
He pulled away from Alex, crawling backward as if trying to escape from himself. His mouth moved but nothing resembling words came out. Only guttural sounds of anguish and pain.
He was shaking, as if trying to will away the memories that filled his mind, the intimate knowledge of all that Oblivion had done. It was more than knowing what he’d done; Grant could remember how Oblivion had felt in carrying out each and every action. He felt vile, corrupted; he felt tainted. These hands, this body, they had been permanently stained and would never be okay again.
He trembled violently, fell flat on his back— Another set of hands clutched his, steadying him.
Grant’s eyes slowly, as if fighting his command to obey, followed the trail of these hands. His hazy, tear-filled eyes flowed carefully up one narrow, burn-damaged arm, across the shoulders, climbed the neck, past the mouth and the small button nose, to look into the other person’s beautiful brown eyes.
But the eyes of hatred, accusation, and vitriol that he deserved were absent.
Instead, the eyes that delicately held his were full of light and hope.
“Alex . . .” He had coughed the name out through his terrified quivering. It was not the ear-shattering sound of Oblivion’s voice that came out. It was his voice, the voice of Grant Borrows.
Alex’s breath caught in her throat. Tears streamed from her eyes, but she made no attempt to stop them.
“Grant? Grant, is it you? Really?”
“Alex . . . ?” Grant whispered. “What’s happening?”
“I’m here, I’m here, it’s okay . . .”
“No no no, it’s not okay . . . I remember it all. Everything I did, everyone I killed . . .” His eyes shifted down to the tender scars on her arm from where she was burned. He was horrified.
Alex hesitated only briefly, and then placed a hand over his heart and looked past his eyes and deep into his soul. She offered him the softest hint of a smile. “It wasn’t you,” she said. Her voice was gentle but firm, and full of conviction. “You didn’t do this to me, and you didn’t hurt anybody else.
It was
not you.
”
Another set of memories raced into his mind, and it was like a charge that went off. He blinked, looked around, settled his earnest gaze onto Alex.
“I know how to end this,” he said urgently. “I know how send it back! We can make everything right—”
“IMPOSSIBLE!!” called out a hate-filled voice. From somewhere off to Payton’s right and not far above.
Devlin.
Grant, the normal flesh tones of his skin returning and his eyes blue once more, recoiled in horror at the sight of the Keeper of the Secretum as he emerged from the far end of the courtyard.
“You couldn’t have planned this!” Devlin screamed. “I was with you! The whole time! You never had a single discussion about
any
of this!”
“Actually, that’s just how you
remember
it,” called out Nora’s voice from somewhere on the southern ramparts.
“But—but . . .” Devlin mumbled, and Alex flashed Grant a tiny satisfied smile. The realization that was coming to Devlin right now, Grant understood instantly. Nora had tampered with his memories.
Devlin’s expression darkened. “This world is dark and evil and it must be destroyed to balance the cosmic scales, to make way for the new world!” he shrieked. “Do you really think your deception—or this
touching
display of emotion—makes any difference?”
“It makes a difference to me,” said the small, tired voice of Grant Borrows.
Devlin became even more enraged. “The Bringer will finish this, one way or another. So it is written, and so shall it be! DESTINY CANNOT BE DENIED!!”
He took another step forward, raising his hand toward Grant. The hand that bore the one and only silver and blue Ring of the Keeper, the Ring with the power to see the souls of man, and Shift them . . .
Grant was processing it too slowly . . . It was already too late when he realized that Devlin meant to exchange bodies with him, and allow Oblivion to return and reign in him . . .
Into his peripheral vision, Payton was a blur running toward him, but he was going to be too late . . .
What power could prevent the Shifting of souls?
Grant put up both of his hands, as if he could prevent what was about to happen through surrendering. But there was nothing he could do except to watch the gruesome satisfaction apparent on Devlin’s face as his Ring began to glow a bright blue light.
He closed his eyes tight, trying to block out what was happening, but he was powerless to resist. A warm rushing sensation went through his body, and then everything in the universe blinked and suddenly the sounds of shouting coming from the crowd were changed. They reached him from a different angle now and he knew it was done.
Devlin’s hand—now Grant’s—was still stretched out in front of him, its bright blue glow beginning to fade.
He ran across the courtyard, toward the place where his former body lay, now possessed by Devlin. Grant watched a wicked smile spread across the face that had been his only moments ago. Alex still held to Devlin’s hand, but she quickly turned loose at the look on his face, and Devlin stretched Grant’s arm straight out, unleashing the powers of the Bringer. The earthquake returned with vengefulness and brought everyone standing to their knees. The clouds overhead parted, the fire pouring out again . . .
Devlin cackled with a demented malice. “You cannot defeat Oblivion! No one can defeat Oblivion! The plans of the Secretum of Six will prevail, and the God of Cain will reward his servants in the afterlife—”