Reborn Before His Ruins

Marlowe's POV I sat with my back against stone that used to be someone's kitchen wall, listening to my own pulse instead, counting down something I didn't want a number for. "Not yet," I whispered, to no one, to the dark, to whatever was left of me that still believed bargaining worked. It didn't answer. Nothing in Aurelia answered anymore. I knew I was going to die when the black veins reached my throat. I had seen it happen before. The infection—people had started calling it the Crimson Fever—always started with a fever. Then came the trembling, the bloodshot eyes, the black lines spreading under the skin. After that came the hunger, screams, then nothing human will remain. I pressed my palm against my neck and felt the veins pulsing under my skin. My fingers were already numb. "Damn it." The word came out as little more than a rasp. I leaned against the cracked wall behind me and slowly lowered myself onto the frozen ground. Snow fell through the broken roof of the building, melting against my coat before disappearing into the fabric. I barely felt it. The world had been cold for years. Cold buildings, cold food, cold beds, cold corpses. Eventually, I stopped expecting warmth from anything. Outside, the ruins of Aurelia stretched under a grey sky. Buildings that had once held offices, restaurants, apartments, families, entire lives had been reduced to skeletons. A rusted traffic light swung over an empty road. The light was still red. It had been red for six years. I almost laughed at that. Even the traffic lights had given up. My chest tightened as I coughed on my sleeveshirt, blood spilled on the fabric. I looked at the stain for several seconds before folding the sleeve over it. There was no point pretending anymore. I had hours at most, or probably minutes. The mutation was already moving too quickly and I knew exactly who would come for me. A low horn sounded somewhere under the ruins. Three short blasts and my stomach dropped. The Crimson Territory, his territory. Dorian Wren! The Demon King was coming. I closed my eyes, of all the ways I could have died, obviously the universe had decided I deserved this one. I heard footsteps outside, several steps. Then they stopped One set continued, slow, measured and unhurried. I didn't need to look to know who it was as the door creaked open. I opened my eyes and saw him. Dorian Wren stood in the doorway. He looked exactly as the stories described him. Tall, dark coat, black gloves and a sword hanging at his side. His face was calm, almost unnaturally so, despite the devastation surrounding him. The man everyone in the wasteland feared had come personally to kill me. His gaze moved over the room before settling on me. "Marlowe." I gave him a tired smile. "Still remember my name?" "I remember everyone who has survived this long." "Flattering." His eyes dropped to my hands. The black veins had reached my wrists. "You're infected." “No." His brows tightened. I looked down at myself. "I'm actually having a very healthy day." He didn't react and thag irritated me more. Even now, Dorian Wren couldn't take a joke. "You're close to the final stage," he said. "I know." "You have maybe twenty minutes." "Then you should probably stop wasting them." He stepped inside, and I reached for the knife lying beside me. His gaze flicked toward it. I raised the blade anyway, it was ridiculous even with how I was feeling. My hands were shaking so badly I could barely hold it. Dorian didn't draw his weapon. "You don't have to fight me." I laughed. "You're the Demon King." His expression remained unreadable. "And?" "And you don't exactly walk into someone's home carrying a sword because you're here to make friends." "This isn't your home." I looked around at the broken walls. "Fine. My temporary shelter." "You know why I'm here." "Yes.' I swallowed against the dryness in my throat. "You're here to make sure I don't turn." His silence confirmed it. I hated him. Maybe I had hated him for so long that I couldn't remember when it started. I remembered the stories first. Dorian Wren taking Blackwater District. Dorian executed raiders who attacked his people. Dorian destroyed entire groups that refused to submit to his rule. Dorian built the strongest territory in the wasteland while everyone else fought over cans of food and dirty water. People lowered their voices when they said his name. Some called him a savior, most called him a monster. I had watched him become both. "You know," I said, "there was a time when I thought you were different." Something flickered across his face. "Different from what?" "Everyone else." He said nothing. "Then I watched what you became." His jaw tightened. "You don't know what I've become." "I've lived in your territory." “I know." "I've seen your soldiers." “I know." "I've watched people disappear because they crossed you." His gaze hardened. "Those people weren't innocent." "That's what everyone says before they become monsters." The silence between us stretched. For a moment, he looked tired. It almost made me uncomfortable. "You've escaped death more times than anyone I've ever met," he said. I blinked. “What?" "I heard about you." A humorless smile touched my lips. "So the Demon King has been keeping tabs on me." "You survived Blackridge." My smile disappeared. "You survived the northern raids. The Red Fever outbreak. The collapse of Haven's first wall." His voice remained calm. "You survived when most people didn't." I stared at him. "I suppose I'm disappointed." “Why?" "I thought you might have forgotten me." "I don't forget people who survive." Something about the way he said it made my stomach twist. I looked away as the black veins had reached under my jaw. My time was almost gone. I could hear my heartbeat pounding in my ears. Dorian finally moved. His hand went to his sword. I tightened my grip around my knife. "Don't." He stopped. "Marlowe." "Don't say my name like that." “Like what?" "Like you're sorry." His eyes held mine. "I am." I laughed again, but this time there was no humor in it. "You don't get to be sorry." "I know." "Then don't." He slowly drew his sword. The blade caught the pale light from the broken window. My body trembled not from fear. At least, that was what I told myself. I had survived worse, I had watched my mother die. I had buried my father. I held Junie while she stopped breathing. I had crawled through tunnels filled with infected bodies. I had starved. I was frozen. I was killed. I had survived and now I was going to die because my own body had finally decided it had enough. I looked at Dorian. "Will it hurt?" His expression changed. Just slightly. "Yes." I nodded. "At least you're honest." He stepped closer. I raised my knife again but he didn't still stop me. "You could run," he said. I stared at him. "You know I can't." "You could try." "And become one of those things?" "No." "Then stop pretending I have a choice." He looked at me for a long moment. Then he said quietly, "I'm sorry, Marlowe." I hated those words. I hated the softness in his voice. I hated that for one stupid second, I wanted to believe there was still something human inside him. I looked away. "If there is a hell," I whispered, "I hope you end up there." Dorian said nothing and I closed my eyes. My last thought came without warning. If I ever get another chance at life, I will never let Dorian Wren become powerful enough to kill me again. The sword pierced my heart. Pain exploded through my chest. My knife slipped from my fingers. The world tilted. I heard something hit the floor. Maybe my body, the knife or the last piece of the woman I used to be. Then everything went black.