Eternally Bound, Chapter 61: Saying Goodbye
Trigger Warning
The following chapter contains death and scenes of graphic violence. If you have issues with these topics, please proceed to the end of the chapter.
Eva
Grief clings to my skin like a second layer, seeping into pores, staining my very bones with the memory of blood and loss. Astaroth’s slaughter plays on an endless loop in my mind—a grotesque ballet of limbs torn asunder, chests caved in with wet crunches, the obscene schlick of tendons snapping like overstretched guitar strings. My stomach churns, a violent rebellion against the bile rising in my throat, and I swallow it down, hard, the taste of iron and defeat coating my tongue.
My fingers dig into Sam’s arm, not seeking comfort, but anchoring myself to something solid, something real. His muscles tense beneath my grip, a silent acknowledgment that he’s here, a living, breathing bulwark against the tide of memories threatening to drown me. His pack is my pack now, a fractured mosaic of survivors, the gaps between us howling like a winter wind through the ruins of our lives.
We lost Matt and Kim. I never got to know Matt very well, and I regret it now. I also regret how I treated Kim. I could have gone easier on her. Matt perished quickly at the hands of an orc when his head was torn from his body. Kim wasn’t so fortunate. She was cornered by a group of zombie imps that Astaroth resurrected. She didn’t deserve that! None of them did!
Steven stands a few feet away, his survival a miracle etched in the pale, drawn lines of his face. Katie’s frantic weave of healing magic and Cassius’s desperate slash with his claw had intercepted the imp’s talon milliseconds before it could skewer Steven’s heart. The image flashes in my mind, unbidden, relentless: Steven’s body shielding mine, his snarl raw with primal “Eva, you’re not dying today,” the black tip of the imp’s claw glistening as it arced toward his sternum. My breath hitches, a jagged edge catching in my throat. I owe him. I don't care about his blood debt to me. I owe him. I owe them all.
Brandon’s a statue carved from grief and rage, his Hunter’s mask a seamless facade. But I see the cracks, the way his thumb traces the hilt of his dagger like a rosary, the muscle feathering in his jaw when Pakhet intones "fallen brothers." He won’t break. Not here. Not now. But I know the cost of locking it down, the slow poison of suppressed emotion. I’ve paid that price too.
The funerals drag on, each eulogy a dagger carving into my soul. The pyres burn, their flames devouring what’s left of the fallen, reducing them to ash and smoke. The air is thick, suffocating, and I can’t breathe. My mind races ahead, past the ashes, past the grief. I’m done with mourning. The others are drowning, and grief won’t bring the dead back—but touch might.
A plan crystallizes, sharp and desperate, in my mind. I’ll take them somewhere the world can’t touch us, a deserted island where time itself seems to stand still. Salt wind and sun-bleached sand, where the rules of the world dissolve. No eulogies. No demons. Just skin and breath and the brutal honesty of bodies. I’ll fuck the sorrow out of them if I have to—Sam’s teeth sinking into my throat while Brandon’s hands pin my wrists, Vlad’s growl vibrating against my spine as I ride him, Bael’s magic sparking where our sweat-slick skin meets. It’s not healing. It’s survival. A reminder that we’re alive, that the bonds between us are stronger than what’s been torn away.
The others sense my shift, my resolve. Sam’s grip tightens on my arm, his green eyes meeting mine, unspoken questions swirling in their depths. Brandon’s gaze flickers, his mask slipping just enough to reveal the storm brewing beneath. Vincent’s hand brushes my lower back, a silent promise of strength. Bael’s magic hums in the air, a low, steady vibration that grounds us all. Eric finishes helping Pakhet with the eulogies, and a sly smile plays on his lips.
I turn to them, my voice low and rough, gravel scraping against raw emotion. "We’ll mend later. Tonight, we burn."
The words hang in the air, a challenge, a plea, a vow. They nod, one by one, their faces set, their eyes determined. We’re done with mourning. Tonight, we’ll burn. We bid our farewells to the group. I think of where I want to go, and a portal opens. We step through and aim to leave our grief behind.