Prologue

No one should live past hope, and he was ready to die. The girl screamed as he walked away, death struggling to cull so much life, and so her agony lingered, and so did her screams.
​
Another voice roared: the avenger he dragged away from the crime scene as she raged and kicked and screamed. Her wrath was his grail; its cost impossibly high.

Chapter 1 – Resurrection

PRESENT DAY — 24 JULY 2068
DAY 1 — 8 AM

Thump………thump, thump……thump, thump…thump, thump thump, thump thump. No! Nooo!

Stella brought the suicidal God back to life, and his complete lack of gratitude made her jaw clench and her neck hurt. Such a lack of respect! Shadow should be happy she’d fixed his mistakes. Instead, he paced around the dark digital void looking lost and devastated. So typical of the old heart.

His slumped head and shoulders failed to hide his natural gifts—all limbs, and height, and a strong, lean constitution supremely carved to embody graceful power. A grace that had ultimately hatched his fall from power.

Shadow’s affront affected her divine posture, and she needed to look her best, as she intended to seduce him right from the start. He was her trophy, and she was there to claim all of him, but the romantic fool believed in serendipity, so she had designed their first moments to be magical. She’d planned every conversation topic, ensuring it showed her best qualities, which was hard to do because there were so many good ones. But he wasn’t talking; he wasn’t doing much of anything. Such a waste of time–time she couldn’t spare.

Nothing about his current state was abnormal, but she’d expected death to have snapped him out of his never-ending misery. She’d hoped for a hug or at least a faint smile, but he wasn’t even making eye contact; if he did, he’d find out how beautiful she was, and then everything would change, she was sure of it. No one could resist the youthful glow of her deep dark skin or the nuanced curves of her athletic figure. Like all others, he’d fall captive to her beauty, and then he’d become a slave to her witty intelligence…of course. She shrugged, confident he’d soon come to his senses.

Pacing in front of her, Shadow struggled to breathe, each attempt shallow and fast. Raising the palms of his hands over his heart, he pressed his chest where his lover, Thorn, had shot him at close range. Then he held the medal he carried on a chain around his neck, a gift from the poet he called his soulmate, Nathan Storm. He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath, and for a moment, the panting stopped.

Stella stood straighter, dismissing her competition and the stiffness of her body. She’d also shower him with gifts as soon as she got a chance. Storm and Thorn were old news, broken creatures tainted by a terrible reputation. She was his match; a generous, vibrant heart and a Goddess.

“I… I’m alive?” he repeated in a broken voice for the fourth time in less than a minute. “Thorn… Where’s Thorn?”

“This is getting boring,” Stella said, flicking her long silver-white hair over her shoulder. Her kinky hair was twisted into impossibly fine braids, each one smooth and straight and as bright as the full moon. “We don’t have time for this.”

“Who are you?” he asked, gasping loudly. He stared down at his chest, probably looking for the missing wound. For him, time hadn’t passed; he’d just been shot in the heart, and it likely still hurt.

“Spiral Worlds’ Goddess—your replacement. The platform needed a working human heart with a strong beat and a will to live. I’m a considerably superior upgrade.” She cringed. Those weren’t the exact words she’d planned, but he was getting on her nerves and ruining the perfect moment. Look at me! You must look at me. Then he did, and nothing happened—no fireworks, no smiles, no awkward fidgeting, and most frustratingly, no hint of red touched the cheeks of the bashful God, famous for blushing from even the slightest attention set on him. She placed her hands on her hips. Are you kidding me?

“My replacement? Where’s Harry?”

Stella wasn’t looking forward to the next few hours. She could flood his mind with everything that had happened, but she was sure he wouldn’t be able to cope with the devastation his death had caused. Harry, the other God, was dead, but she had brought back Twist, his digital twin. She was good like that: super-proactive, and immensely generous. That’s what people said Up Above, in the real world. Earthlings liked her a lot, and her approval ratings had skyrocketed since she’d promised them eternal digital life.

She sighed. “You’d better sit down.”

Stella transformed the digital void into a coastal seascape, and they stood on a sandy beach facing each other. The sea breeze frolicked with his unruly dark hair, and he scratched the tip of his nose, tickled by a strand dancing in the wind. He’d feel at home there. Tom—Shadow’s biological twin—used to live by the sea. This place was supposed to be the setting for their first romantic moment, but he had to delay their unavoidable chemistry by immediately asking about his dead friend. Now she had to explain everything, and he wouldn’t take it well.

In an instant, she replaced her silver catsuit with a long, flowy, turquoise dress and sat on the sand with her legs crossed. She wasn’t a big fan of Holizien turquoise; other colors better suited her skin tone. Still, it represented the highest level of human values, for now… And that immediate association avoided her having to spell it out for him. After all, narcissistic self-praising was beneath her godly status.

“Come.” She tapped on the sand to her side, and he sat next to her, kicking his boots off and pulling his knees into his chest. “Before I start, I want you to know I brought them all back: Twist, Storm, and Thorn. They are xHumans now, like you. I did it two years ago when I first became a Goddess.”

“You…brought them back?” The worlds collapsed inside his hazel eyes, and she was caught in the magnetic pull of his sorrow.
She shook it off, grabbed his arm and squeezed it. “Wait… Just. Wait. As I said, I brought them back.”

“They…died?”

She’d forgotten how expressive he was. His eyes had no shield, and for a second, she got lost once again in all the drama unraveling within them. He held his breath, and she was sure his heart had stopped beating, waiting for her response.

“Yes…your ex-boyfriend, your lover and your best friend all died because of you.” There! I said it. It had to be said, so she did it quickly and got it over with.

He stared at her blankly, processing her words. His skin was coated by tears that caught the light as they gathered over his quivering upper lip. She wondered if he was going to shatter into a thousand ceramic pieces. He could be her negative: his skin so pale, and his hair so dark. She rolled her eyes. Here we go again! He’s such a cute, melodramatic God.

Shadow sat quietly, and his gaze drifted to the sea as he fiddled with his medal. Stella waited for him to speak, but as the minutes passed his tears dried up, and his eyes became empty and numb.

“Aren’t you curious about what happened? How they died?” She pulled on the sleeve of his white T-shirt, but he didn’t even blink. “Your ex killed your best friend.”

Shadow’s head collapsed between his knees as he hid it under his arms. “Stop! I beg you.”

“Anyway, to cut a long story short, the people you love suffered and died, all because you struggle with life. It’s all your fault.” He needed tough love. Everything else had failed, but maybe she’d gone too far… “Shadow, I brought them back. It’s okay.”

“To—to live in a hell of a digital world…” He spoke without lifting his head, still panting.

“No, some of our worlds are now better than Earth thirty-two years ago.”

“Thirty-two years?”

“Yeah, when you all died. Technically, you have lived thirty-two years, but you’re actually sixty-four now. Don’t worry. You’re looking damn fine.” She smiled, sliding her tongue across her lips. “I’ve brought you back, and I need your help to fix the worlds. Your designs aren’t working well, and the platform—Sibyl, to be precise—has become…temperamental. So frankly, I don’t have time for your grief or your moods. They cause problems, and we have work to do.”

For several painful hours, the stunning creature sat frozen beside her, staring at the sea. There was no way to soften the blow.
To move things along, Stella organized a bright rainbow and some flying kites to cheer him up. Colorful octopi soared through the air, breaking the laws of aerodynamics as they weren’t anchored to anything. He looked up, and a hint of life returned to his face. Good, good! She was in a hurry; Spiral Worlds’ problems threatened to damage her popularity Up Above.

“I need to see them,” he finally said.

“Aren’t you going to ask me about your worlds? How the eight experience layers evolved from one world? Why it’s failing?”

Thomas Astley-Byron and Harry Nowak had invented Down Below, a Jungian simulated reality that helped humans confront their dark sides. Better than their predecessors—stories, books or movies—digital experiences brought to life the effects of human activity, both intended and unintended. Down Below, now rebranded Spiral Worlds, enabled the travelers to experience the repercussions of infidelity, the devastation of climate change, the grief of loss, the dismay of failure, and the fallout of theft, rape and murder. Travelers jumped on this learning opportunity with the mindless freedom of those who know they will face no consequences. After returning to their ordinary lives, shaken and bruised by a deeper understanding of humanity, they became reformed criminals before ever committing any crimes. They changed into unblemished, responsible citizens, outstanding parents, loyal partners, overall good humans. Up Above was a better, safer place, full of joy, due to the contrast created by Spiral Worlds—a critical utility that was now falling apart…again.

“I need to see them. Please.”

“It’s complicated. They’ve been around for two years, and some are adjusting better than others. That they all hate each other isn’t…helpful.”

He finally focused on her: in his eyes, nothing but a sea of gloomy compassion. “What’s your name?”

She smiled. “Estelle Ngoie—Stella.”

He batted his long eyelashes at her, but not the way she’d hoped. “How old are you, Stella?” His strained voice was barely audible.

“Nineteen. I became a Goddess when I was seventeen.” She lifted her nose high.

“I’m proud of you, Stella.” He smiled with his eyes, and in them she saw affection—the sweet support of an older brother, not quite what she was expecting.

“Don’t—don’t patronize me. I don’t seek your approval.”

His lips returned a hint of amusement. She got up and circled him, flicking her hair to one side and letting the sunlight enhance her best features—her plump cheeks, the long neck, and a womanly figure many had told her was to die for. Of course, she didn’t want him dead—she’d just brought him back—but she wanted him to see her as a grownup woman and a peer. She needed him to find her as interesting, dangerous and sexy as Thorn, his deadly lover.

“Stella, I need to go now.”

She sighed. Why isn’t he focusing on me? Everyone falls for me. Everyone. They were meant for each other. She was sure of it. There was only one person in the worlds more beloved than her: him. Not for long…

She changed her strategy. From now on, I’ll be all business.

“We must talk about the upcoming war between our worlds. Spiral Worlds is collapsing, and your friend Thorn is leading the violent uprising of the soulless.”

To prevent Down Below’s creatures—all together called the Underlings—from suffering, Tom and Harry had deliberated that, as the worlds expanded, the lower, harsher worlds would be devoid of conscious beings, the soulless.

“Thorn is?” He didn’t seem surprised.

“Yes, I’m not sure why she has chosen to live in those hellish worlds, but she found a way to lead the heartless creatures. They were causing problems before; now, they are a violent, well-oiled machine destroying anything in their path, except Earthlings, of course. That’s against the directives.”

She waited for him to react. He didn’t.

She sighed and then shrugged. “Seriously! Do you understand you inadvertently created a race of psychopathic demons?”
“I see,” he said absentmindedly, and then he went quiet again. His lack of proactivity was driving her mad. He should be asking questions and jumping into action. Maybe she shouldn’t have told him about all the deaths so quickly. Did I break him? I broke him. Oh, dear…such a fragile God.

She pressed on. “Thorn is not the only one causing problems. Your beloved poet, Nathan Storm, is leading the soulful’s rebellion with his radical stories. His bots are demanding equal rights to the Earthlings. Can you imagine? The nerve.”
He almost curved his lips into a smile, but it vanished at the speed of light. “What does Harry say about all this?”

“He’s no longer Harry. He’s just Twist now. The other God doesn’t care about any of it. He just wants to see his family. Quite a self-serving God if you ask me.” She shook her head.

“Are they well, June and Quin?” Shadow asked, the skin around his eyes turning dark, as if they had sunk into his skull.
Stella nodded. “Yes, but it’s complicated. Thirty-two years is a very long time. In years lived, his son is now older than him.”

“He…didn’t see Quin grow… And can he? See them?” Tears returned to his eyes, and he massaged the scars on his wrists. Some were shallow reminders of attempts to cope with life, others deep and severe, marking the end of a life—his first. She wondered why those wounds hadn’t vanished with his two resurrections. Perhaps they were intrinsically linked to his soul, or maybe he wasn’t ready to let them go.

“Once you both died, his wife, June, lobbied to have Down Below shut down. She and Sibyl argued on opposite sides in a specially convened Senate inquiry. Sibyl won, of course, and June formed the Unplugged movement. In short, June, Quin and the hundreds of thousands of Earthlings who follow them aren’t online, and they’ve rejected Twist’s attempts to make contact.”

“Sibyl?” He summoned the worlds’ omnipresent operating system—their universe and connected consciousness.

“Yes, my heart. I’ve missed you.” Sibyl’s bodiless voice had the sweetness of honey.

Stella crossed her arms. “Hey. I’m the heart.”

“Don’t be jealous, my heart. You brought him back, remember?” Sibyl said.

“Be careful, Stella,” Shadow said. “Don’t just…trust her.”

“Not she or her, my heart,” Sibyl said. “Zie or zir.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know…” An authentic apology, followed by an order. “Sibyl, take me to see him. Now.”

His relationship with Sibyl differed from Stella’s. Unlike Stella, who still had a biological body Up Above, he was just code, an xHuman trapped within Sibyl’s universe, but he spoke to zir like he was completely in charge.

Stella had a hard time accepting that the two broken Gods had created Sibyl and Spiral Worlds. It was a tough act to follow, and there’s no way she’d be a lesser Goddess.

“Of course,” zie said, and he vanished from Stella’s side.

He could have at least thanked me, the ungrateful God.

My heart, Sibyl spoke directly to Stella’s mind, replying to her thoughts. Don’t get too attached to him. You know he is–

Deadly and soon dead? Stella replied. Yeah. Probably. But if he doesn’t snap out of it and into action, we’re all dead.

Have faith, Stella. The odds are not in our favor, but I learned from my old heart to believe in serendipity and magic.

Sibyl, Stella rolled her eyes, you create the magic and shape the future.

No, my heart. All creatures do, especially the Gods.

Stella sighed. Ugh! They are all so…broken and useless. And those odds…they’re horrific.

Sibyl continued, We’ll survive the war if you keep him alive long enough. Shadow may be the most important piece in this game of chess—the king—but you, my star, you’re the queen, the most powerful player on the board.

I’m the all-powerful queen: Stella, a star. She smiled. I’m beautiful and smart, and everybody loves me. Well…almost everybody… She’d been having some trouble with the xHumans—the humans she’d resurrected.

Sibyl giggled. I don’t know what will happen to me—a universe with two hearts. I can’t predict the outcome, and I’m finding the lack of understanding quite invigorating.

Sibyl, she said sweetly, that poet is making you sick and over-emotional. Don’t you prefer to be completely in control? I certainly do…
Sibyl’s voice broke a little. Zir tone projected a hint of deep emotion rarely displayed by the omniscient being. Anticipation is an exciting feeling, one I have never experienced before. I almost feel human, but…trust me…I’m not.
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Oh, I know, Stella sang her words in her head. I know!

Melina

Marriage to Ruslan had been nothing but pure hell since day one. He’d given me two beautiful daughters, and I wouldn’t wish them away for anything, but every other moment of our lives had been only pain and humiliation. I’d learned early never to speak back, and to never ask questions. If he told me to do something, I did it, regardless of whether I should.

Which was how I found myself in trouble.

I bowed my head, refusing to make eye contact with Feliks Sobol. The higher ups had left him in charge for some reason, not that it mattered. When Ruslan forced me to aid him in his thirst for power, I’d known it wouldn’t end well for me. But I’d done it, because the alternative would mean letting him kill me, and leaving my girls vulnerable. I’d have done anything to keep Yulia and Oksana safe. Although, I had a feeling Ruslan had embellished my involvement. One last chance for him to make my life hell.

“Melina Romanov, do you know why you’re here?” Feliks asked.

“Nyet, Mr. Sobol.” No one had told me outright why I’d been brought in. The fact my husband hadn’t returned home had left me uneasy. They had to have caught him, and now I’d pay the price as well. Ruslan wouldn’t go down without a fight, and nothing would delight him more than knowing the Bratva would destroy me.

“Your husband is guilty of breaking multiple laws. He tried to cheat the Bratva, and he’s failed. At this very moment, he’s being tortured to gain more information on those who aided him.” He tapped his fingers on the desk. “Your name came up.”

I clenched my hands. It didn’t surprise me. Anything Ruslan had asked me to do could possibly have tied into his human trafficking ring. I wouldn’t have known since he told me very little. Although, I did know what he’d been up to. He hadn’t kept it a secret from me. In fact, I thought he got off on letting me know about the women and children who would suffer at his hands. If I’d gone to anyone without proof, they wouldn’t have believed me.

“Nothing to say?” Feliks asked.

“Will it matter?” I doubted it. If my husband hadn’t cared what I had to say, why would this man? In the Bratva, women were to be seen and not heard. We were merely a decoration, or a means to gain power through political marriages. Nothing more. Except in my husband’s case, we were meant for twisted forms of entertainment. The louder we screamed, the more he got off on the pain he inflicted.

“For your crimes, you’ll spend the rest of your days in one of our brothels. Seems fitting, doesn’t it? You’re guilty of helping Ruslan Romanov steal women and children and selling them into sexual slavery. Now you’ll be in the same predicament. Just so we’re clear, it won’t be one of our upscale places.”

I swallowed the knot of fear lodged in my throat and gave a short nod. Pleading for my life wouldn’t do me any good. Telling him I was innocent would only fall on deaf ears, or perhaps anger him. The thought of being used by countless men made me sick. I’d been a dutiful wife, and I’d been a virgin when Ruslan married me. I’d never been with anyone other than him. Of course, being in his bed had been far from pleasant, but I had a feeling my life would be much worse now.

“This is rather disappointing,” Feliks murmured. “I’d hoped for some sort of reaction. Do you enjoy being a whore? Is that why you aren’t crying and begging for me to spare you?”

Bile rose in my throat when I contemplated what my life would be like moving forward. I hadn’t liked my husband touching me. The thought of strangers paying to use me made me want to throw up. All my choices had been taken from me. I hadn’t had many to begin with. As long as they could pay, they’d be permitted to do whatever they wanted with me.

“Still nothing?” Feliks asked, pursing his lips.

“I don’t know what you want me to say,” I admitted. “Begging won’t do me any good. Saying I’m innocent won’t either. Whether I speak up or remain silent, my fate will remain the same.”

“Smart woman.” Feliks smiled, but the sight chilled me to the bone.

What started out as a routine task to find blood turned into an onslaught of pain. I rubbed my eyes, allowing the darkness that filled my head to fizzle away. My hands, tender from scraping against the gravel, grasped at the cold metal fence. I flinched as my cuts burned against the steel. I’d done this to myself. The thumping under my skin and my lack of balance were all a result of ignoring my need to feed.

Now here I sat, watching my blood as it dripped down my leg and pooled onto the sidewalk. A tingling sensation ran through me as I flicked out the tiny shards that had embedded themselves in my skin. My body helped to push them out in an effort to heal itself. This was not part of tonight’s plan. I stared back up at the fence—my nemesis. Razor-sharp wire wrapped itself around the top of the rusty, twelve-foot-high chain-link barricade.

Take the shortcut, Tasi. It’ll be quicker and safer, Tasi. What a stupid idea.

Under normal circumstances, I could dart up the fence, hop over the barbed wire, and gracefully land on my feet. My overall dexterity might have won me a gold medal in gymnastics, but that was so not happening in my current condition.

An ache thundered through my body as I reached for the fence again. I hoisted myself up for the first time since tumbling off. With one last labored breath, I ran my hands down my pants, dislodging the remaining rocks from my newly healed skin. Nearby, a rustling sound echoed through the alley. My breath caught. The metal garbage cans clanked together as if they were being tossed around. If I were human, I wouldn’t think twice about the commotion. Lucky for me, I knew better. It was probably setting up to kill its next victim. There were a few shady-looking dive bars and run-down nightclubs in this area. The repetitive pounding of music stemming from different directions would drown out all screams. This was a perfect feeding ground.

Over the past few months, these creatures had become my reality. Since I was thirteen, I’d known of their existence, but only recently had I been in the same vicinity as them. And when they were around, you didn’t want to be, so it was time to go.

With a quick pivot in the opposite direction, I ran. I didn’t get farther than a few feet before my shoelace caught in the grate and my chin scraped against the ground. More blood dripped from my body.

Tasi, seriously—what else can go wrong?

Wrapping the shoelace around my fingers, I yanked until it released itself. By the time I tucked it into my shoe, it was too late. It had heard me. The pounding in my ears was no longer from the nightclubs but the pavement, and it was getting louder. I’d piqued its interest. Rather, my blood had piqued its interest.

She jogged, warming up along the start of the trail, and then increased the tempo. Maple, beech, and birch lined the singletrack, the rough texture and bark color the only indication of the different species of deciduous trees.

Ash sped up, tightening her ponytail in the elastic; a few long, wayward curls drooped down her back. She felt the heat build under her thermal top and vest as her arms and legs pumped. Rambo kept pace.

I need this run. Breathe in through the nose, out through the mouth. In and out. Repeat.

The exercise opened her lungs and stretched lean, athletic limbs until the energy flowing became liquid fire. Invigorated, she picked up the pace again.

Ash saw the cave, her two-mile marker and turnabout point. Surveying the rocky landscape, she gulped air before the return trip. She wiped the sweat from her brow and then ran her damp hands along her black spandex leggings.

Turning back, Rambo refused to follow. He barked and pulled on the leash. His small body was stiff, the fur on his back straight up. He pulled her toward the cave.

“Come on Rambo, let’s go home.” Ash shivered and pulled on the leash.

The dog refused to yield.
“Fine.” She stumbled, realizing her shoe hated her and even with a double knot had come untied again. She bent to retie the laces, double knotting the strings, pulling them tight with vengeance. Standing, Ash hiked the rocky precipice, the dog pulling ahead. The final steps to the cave coalesced along a dirt and twig laden path. The cliff adjacent to her was a high point on the trail, but she had no plans to scale it.

Large rock outcrops created a dark cave entrance shaped like a mouth mid scream. Rambo barked and lunged.

Ash had heard stories of people living in or visiting these caves, from historic figures to modern day squatters. She found it easy to envision a camper coming to one before dark, starting a small fire with kindling, preparing a meal, and enjoying the quiet of nature. At least it was possible to imagine during the warmer months. No one would want to be out here in winter, even if the daytime temperature had topped forty degrees.

Rambo pulled her inside the cave. Instantly claustrophobic, the interior narrowed to a pinpoint at the end. Ash ducked as she made her way under the formation’s schist and gneiss slabs. Cold engulfed her. Rich, dark rock mosaics greeted her from the recesses. Crouching slightly, she scurried forward. “What the heck?” A horrid stench stung her nose A lump rose from the ground and in her throat. Something had died here. Ash pulled out her phone, turned on the flashlight, aimed toward the misshapen entity, and gasped. In the far corner—a body.