PublicBookshelf Book Club
Weekly tips on great novels to read.
For the first time in far too long, Death stepped from the portal room in Hell into his own domain. A towering, muscular form dressed all in black, he surveyed the world that was his with eyes darker than night. Power swept over him then retreated, lingering in the forests of the underworld, a sign he had not yet won the right to command his realm.
But he felt the tension around him. His magic recognized its rightful master and was struggling not to come to him. He was meant to be here, to break down the dam between him and the magic of the dead that was rightfully his. The souls were calling to him in a faint, mournful wail, their peaceful existence threatened by his weakness.
Hang in there, Gabriel urged them silently. I'm one step closer.
He had never been as relieved to be home as he was this moment, standing beneath the milky grey skies where even the weak midday sunlight never matched the power of the setting sun on the mortal plane. He found himself no longer squinting the way he did in the human world.
The trees moved, leaning away from him while their branches slithered like snakes far above his head. Shrubberies and other small plants scurried out of the way of the three invaders. The air was cool and light. It grazed his skin, bringing with it the familiar mossy scent of the forest.