Moving together, we angle our bodies to pull the blade together toward us. With a great heave, we make the second slice through the box.
The Captain’s voice turns menacing. “If we break this door down, the King will punish us all, but you’ll get it worse.”
The huge wooden doors rattle harder, bits of black lacquer chipping and tumbling to the chamber floor. The staccato screeches of flying monsters are added into the mix. Long talons make scratching noises as they claw at the door.
“Bring the battering ram!” cries the Captain.
Lincoln and I finish the third slice in the box-top. We both dig our fingers into the edges of the opening, hoping to peel back the lid and free our son, but the metal doesn’t give. Damn.
Great booming footsteps sound in the hallway outside. Scraping echoes from the outer passage as larger, stronger, and slower demons drag what sounds like the metal battering ram up to the door. With every approaching footstep, the floor vibrates beneath our feet.
“Set the ram in place!” A cacophony of howls sounds outside the door. “Now, heave!” A great boom reverberates through the throne room as the ram slams into the door, making the surface splinter. My breaths tighten in my chest. Maxon’s low whimper slips from the metal box.
We’re running out of time.
Lincoln and I reposition our bodies for the final cut. “Together on my mark,” he says quickly. “Three, two, one…”
Fear and determination combine for our greatest effort yet. We pull the blade through the metal, faster than ever before. As we make our slice, I can see Maxon’s peeping at us through the long slits in the steel. His mismatched eyes are red-rimmed and borderline hysterical. “Mommy, Daddy! Get me out! Hurry!”
The blade catches halfway through the metal. “One minute baby. We’re almost there.”
“One final haul and we’ll do it,” Lincoln says. “On my mark. Three, two, one!”
We start to make our final slice when a new sound echoes through the throne room. This time, it isn’t the din of demons and monsters at the door. There are no loud roars, screeching cries or thundering feet.
This is a ticking sound. And it’s coming from the helm.
My gaze snaps over to the shiny black helmet, which now starts to glow in ever brighter shades of red.
Unholy Moly. We’re out of time. I pull frantically at the baculum blade, trying desperately to make the last slice and free my son. Every cell in my body is focused on this final movement. My palms turn slick with sweat. Around my hands, Lincoln hauls harder than ever before. Whatever our blade is catching on isn’t giving.
We have to make it. There’s no other choice.
Suddenly, bright red light fills my senses along with an ear-splitting boom. A pain sharper than I’ve ever known slams into my chest. I’m vaguely aware of falling backward down the black stone steps, and then everything turns into darkness around me.
Within seconds, my consciousness fades into oblivion.
Chapter Twenty-One
Little by little, my awareness returns. At first, only hazy shapes cloud my vision. I know that I’m sitting in a chair made of ice-cold stone. Shivers roll up and down my spine. I try to move, but my limbs are secured in place with heavy bindings. Slowly my vision clears, until a terrible realization slams into me. I’m not sitting in just any chair.
I’m bound to Onyx’s old throne, right next to Armageddon’s.
I press my eyes closed and try to conjure igni. I know Anubis warned me not to, but at this point, I’ll do anything. Where I normally hear their tinkling laughter or grating voices, there is nothing at all. Instead, an emptiness fills my soul where their precious presence would normally reside.
What’s happened to me? Where are my igni?
My heart pumps so hard, I think it could burst out of my chest. I crane my neck around, scanning the scene. Lincoln kneels before me, his hands and legs bound together, his head lolling forward onto his chest. His body armor is partially shredded. Beside Lincoln there sits Maxon’s prison box, the top panel still lined with our blade marks. My heart cracks. We came so close to freeing him. My son’s soft whimpers echo through the throne room; my chest constricts with grief and rage.
A drumroll of footsteps sound up the black stone stairs, each footfall growing louder as the figure draws nearer. It’s Armageddon. He pauses once he reaches the top platform. A pair of Leech Guards stand behind him—nasty humanoid demons with a nearly impenetrable outer skin and long dangling arms. Their tiny heads hold beady eyes and long, needle-like mouths.
“Look who’s awake,” Armageddon pauses before my chair, his mouth stretching into an impossibly large smile.
Damn, I knew it was too easy to kill that bastard.
Somehow, I muster a badass face. “You’re alive.”