Page 210 of Famine
“War and Pestilence were both willing to save humanity. You are not.”
I know for a fact War and Pestilence would’ve happily razed the earth, no questions asked, if it meant keeping their wives. That’s simply the way we work.
My grip on Ana tightens.
Slowly I look up at Thanatos, and I am filled with menace. There is a reason men don’t cross me and live.
“Bring her back,” I demand. Once again the rain is picking up and lightning is flashing overhead, and the earth is openly revolting and every blade of grass around us is dead.
BOO—BOOM!The thunder roars.
My brother stares at me piteously.
“You have my terms.”
I stare down at Ana’s lovely face, and her shining, sightless eyes.
Next to me, Death looms. “My other offer still stands.”
His offer.
His ridiculous, shitty offer.
I let Ana go, her body slipping from my arms, the ache inside me growing and growing.
“I wasn’t lying when I said that hurting her would be the end of everything,” I say as I rise to my feet. Already I can feel the land dying, and the last of Taubaté’s skyscrapers falling to the ground under the quaking earth. The wind swirls around me and hail pelts at the dead foliage.
I hadn’t realized I cast aside my scythe. I pick it up now, spinning it in my hand, and approach my brother.
“You would hurt me?” Death says.
In response, I swing my scythe, aiming for his neck.
Thanatos barely moves in time.
I lean into my follow-through, spinning with the arc of my weapon. I bring the scythe up overhead before arcing it back down, the tip angled to impale Death’s chest.
My brother has to leap back, his expression alarmed.
“Famine—”
Rolling my wrist, I swing the scythe around, seamlessly readying another attack.
One of Thanatos’s black wings snaps out, hitting my arm with enough force to knock the weapon from my grip.
No matter.
I come at him again, bringing my arms up and fisting my hands. I have a dagger strapped to my side, but I don’t bother going for it. I want to feel the burst of pain as my flesh lays into Thanatos.
My arm snaps out, and I punch Death in the chest so hard his silver armor dents inward.
He grunts, but has barely any time to recover before I follow the hit up—
Another damning blow, another dent in his armor.
I am not a man, I am something else, something bigger, and all I feel is pain and anger.
Again and again the blows come, each one landing against Death’s chest and caving in his armor. He barely has time to catch his breath—a sensation that is strange and foreign to him—as he stumbles back.
