Everything mortal died.
For that matter, Alexion himself had died twice only to be reborn to his current state. But as he stared into the eerie red mists of the sfora—an ancient Atlantean orb that could see into the past, present and future—he felt an unfamiliar twinge of emotion.
That poor woman-child. Her life had been too abbreviated. No one deserved to die by the hands of the Daimons who sucked the souls out of humans so that they could artificially elongate their short lives. And certainly no human deserved to die at the hands of the DarkHunters who had been created solely to kill the Daimons before those stolen souls perished from the universe forever.
It was the job of all DarkHunters to protect life, not to take it.
As Alexion sat quietly in the dim light of his room he wanted to feel outraged by her death. Indignant.
But he felt nothing. He always felt nothing. Just a cold, horrifying logic that bore no emotions whatsoever. He could only observe life, he couldn't live it.
Time would march on and nothing would change.
It was the way of things.
But her death was a catalyst for something greater. With Marco's actions, he had set into motion his own demise, just as the girl had the moment she'd decided to study late.
And just like the girl, Marco wouldn't see his own death coming until it was too late for him to avert it.
Alexion shook his head at the irony. It was time for him to return to the dimension of the living and do his duty once more. Marco and Kyros were drawing together DarkHunters and trying to convert them to their misbegotten cause and they wouldn't stop until he forced them to.
Their plan was to rebel against Artemis and Acheron. And Alexion's job was to kill any who refused to see reason.
Standing up, he started away from the orb when he saw the images on the wall around him change. Gone were the Daimons and Marco.
In their place was her.
Alexion paused as he saw the French Dark-Huntress fighting another group of Daimons not far from her own home in Tupelo. She was intrepid and quick as she danced around the male Daimons who were trying to kill her. Her movements were beautiful and swift, like a frenetic dance.
She laughed defiantly at them, and for an instant he could almost feel her passion. Her conviction. She reveled in her life so greatly that her feelings were able to reach out across the dimensions that separated them and almost warm him.
Closing his eyes, he savored that fleeting twinge of humanity.
Her name was Danger and there was something about her that almost touched him.
And for some reason he didn't comprehend, he didn't want to see her die.
But that was foolish. Nothing could ever touch the Alexion.
Even so, he could hear Acheron's voice in his head.
Some of them might be saved and those were the ones Acheron wanted him to focus on. Save what you can, my brother. You can't decide for anyone. Let them choose their own fates. There is nothing to be done for the ones who won't listen—but for the one who does…
It's worth it.
Perhaps, but what concerned him most was how little he cared whether or not they lived anymore. Duty. Honor. Existing. Those were the things he knew.
He was becoming unsalvageable. How much longer until he refused to even render a choice? It would be easy, really. Pop in, strike them down, and come home.
Why go through the motions of trying to save anyone when the DarkHunters were the ones who damned themselves to begin with?
No, he wasn't Acheron after all. His patience had run out long ago. He no longer cared what happened to any of them.
But as he watched Danger slay the last of her Daimons, he did feel something. It was quick and fluttering, like a dull spasm.
For the first time in centuries, he wanted to change what was to come—he just didn't know why. Why should he care?
Holding his hand up, he banished the images from his walls.
Even so, he continued to see the future clearly in his mind. If Danger continued on her course, she, like her friends, would die during the Krisi—the judgment Alexion would soon deliver. Her loyalty to them would be her death.
But she wasn't the only one who could perish by Alexion's hand. Alexion closed his eyes and summoned another DarkHunter into his mind.
Kyros.
He was setting the course for the downfall of not only himself but for all the others too.
This time, there was no mistaking the pain Alexion felt. It was so unexpected that it actually made him flinch. It was the last remnant of his humanity and he was relieved that he still held even a tiny ounce of it.
No, he couldn't just stand by and see the man die. Not if he could help it.
"Nothing is ever truly set by fate. In one blink, everything changes. Even though it should be a clear, sunny day, the softest whisper into the wind can became a hurricane that destroys everything it touches."
How many times had Acheron told him that?