Tag: Creative Team

No fear touches me.

There's a difference between feeling fear and being controlled by fear. In this scene, Six offers a bit of advice. At the beginning of the previous book, nothing the Ghost Corps soldier said made it past Pietas's iron will. How could a mortal know more than he did? But over the journey across the planet, step by step, Pietas has opened his heart. Now that they are finally entering the camp where the other immortals live, Pietas must face the one person who's hurt him more than any other. His father.

Excerpt from Forged in Fire

Fists clenched, Pietas halted. His heart raced. His breath came too fast. Too shallow. I am bigger than any fear. I am unbeatable. I am unstoppable.

"Yes, you are." Six touched the middle of his back.

Pietas jerked away from him. "You aren't supposed to hear me, ghost."

"Then stop thinking so loud."

His iron discipline kept swear words from spewing out his mouth, but if ever one fit, it was now.

Six grinned. "Same to you, Ultra."

Exasperated, he turned to go.

"Hey." Six touched his arm. "Can I give you some advice?"

He tightened his jaw, faced the man, and waited.

Six stuck his thumbs under the straps of his pack. "After I signed the paperwork to become a ghost, I went home. Visited family. My abuela had died, but I hung out with my cousins. I said I was going on a long-term mission, so they put together a going away party. My birth mother showed up."

The ghost related few stories of his personal life, so Pietas paid close attention. "What happened?"

"I hadn't seen her in years. Maybe ten or more. Didn't want to see her. She'd abandoned me. Why should I talk to her? But I kept hearing my abuela's advice. 'Value family. They're your treasure.' I didn't want to believe that for a minute, but I couldn't get it out of my mind."

"You talked to her."

"I did. But before I went, I reminded myself of a few things my abuela taught me. Be aware of your emotions." He counted on his fingers as he listed them. "Don't respond to emotional chaos. Set boundaries. Don't let anyone steal your joy. Forgive those who do you wrong."

"How can one forgive when one can't forget?"

"Forgiveness doesn't mean you forget. You should never forget. To forget would mean they could hurt you again."

"Then how can one forgive?"

"You forgive because no matter what they did, or whether they deserve to be forgiven, you recognize that you deserve peace."

Pietas clasped his hands and brought them to his mouth, voiceless.

Once, when he'd trained with Armand and Philippe, he'd missed a blocking opportunity and Armand hit him in the chest. Philippe followed through not two seconds later. The twins hadn't intended to hurt him, but the double punch laid him out on the floor, unable to breathe, unsure his heart was still beating. Helpless.

Six's words hit him the same way.

How he ached to believe them.

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The blood of my enemies trickles into the pool of time.

There's a story about "the blood of my enemies" when it comes to Pietas. This excerpts explains it well.

After exiting the pool, Pietas brushed off the water and wrung out his hair. He pulled out a tray holding half a dozen clasps. He chose a silver dragon studded with six turquoise stones, twisted his wet hair and fastened it up, out of the way.

He dried his face, gathered a brush and black face paint. Leaning in close to a freestanding mirror, he outlined a bandit's mask from beneath his eyes to over his dark eyebrows and filled it with black.

He'd worn the mask in battle ever since defeating the First Division, a human special-ops group formed to fight Ultras. It came about because Pietas had slain an enemy and blood had splashed across his eyes. Thinking the blood belonged to Pietas, the Ultra troops had rallied to him and slaughtered the humans. The blood dried almost black.

Stories of how their "bandit king" had conquered the First Division filled the night.

The name stuck. To his troops, he was First Conqueror, War Leader of the Ultras.

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Excerpt Origin of Pietas

In this scene, Pietas and Six are on the planet Sempervia, and Pietas has been performing the ritual on his own. Six, being human, is unworthy of taking part.

Taking care in the slippery mud, Pietas left the creek and once more, knelt beside the fire. He unwrapped the leaves holding the small amount of paste he'd created for his mask and applied it with his fingertips. There was no mirror to guide him, but he'd performed the ritual countless times. Once satisfied the mask blackened his eye area, he rested, preparing himself for the injury he must suffer.

He would perform this part alone, having no one worthy to accept his sacrifice. He picked up the knife.

"I, First Conqueror, War Leader of the Ultras, suffer for my people. I bleed for my people." He made a cut along one cheek, not as deep or long as Dessy had made. He bent forward to pull his hair toward the top of his head so he could cut it and was stopped, cold, by the inability to lift his arms far enough to reach. His muscles were still too tight, too drawn and withered to allow the movement.

Pietas remained on his knees, casting about in his mind what to do. How to complete the ritual.

The presence of Six brought both relief and a spike of anger. He sat up and tilted back his head to meet the man's gaze.

"Look, Pietas, before you yell at me, let me speak, okay?" Six knelt beside him. "I'm sorry. I know you said not to watch, but I couldn't look away. I can tell you're having trouble with this part. Let me help you. What do you need?"

The point of this part was to surrender his pride, was it not?

"I'll bow. Pull my hair toward the front and hold it in your fist. Then say, 'What sacrifice do you offer as proof of devotion?' After I answer, cut off the hair in your fist." He held up the knife.

Pietas resumed his position of supplication.

Six lifted Pietas's hair and drew it upward, toward the top of his head.

The sensation of being in his friend's capable hands sent a shockwave of gratitude over Pietas.

"What sacrifice do you offer as proof of devotion?"

"I surrender my pride."

Six's knife went through the wet hair in one clean motion.

Pietas righted himself. "I want to see how you sharpen knives."

Though it was full daylight, they were in shade and the firelight cast flickering shadows on Six's face. "Oh?"

"That blade is impressive."

"Thanks." He folded the knife and holstered it. "It does the job."

"However, you disobeyed a direct order."

Six fastened the safety on the holster, securing the knife. "See, I'm not one of your soldiers." Using a thumb, he wiped away a smear of blood from Pietas's cheek. "Which means you can't give me an order. Therefore, I did no such thing."

He met the man's unwavering gaze. "How you frustrate me, ghost."

"To quote you, 'Good.' Now, what's next?"

"When I performed this ritual before my people, whoever cut my hair had sex with me afterward."

Six's eyes went wide. "You're...kidding, right?"

Pietas let his gaze travel slowly down Six's length and back up before breaking into a smile. "Yes, I am."

"Not funny, Ultra. Anything else?"

"The ritual is complete."

Six gestured to his own eyes. "So that mask is part of your ritual."

"I never wear the mask until I've made myself worthy. And I'm ready for war."

"That means the day we met, you'd done the ritual."

"Yes."

Six cursed under his breath. "So, what else do you need?"

"I'll settle for you helping me up."

"The great Pietas, War Leader of the Ultras, wants help from a mortal? How the mighty have fallen."

Pietas narrowed his eyes. "Ghost, don't make me eat you."

"Yeah? I got two words for you, Ultra. Bring. Salt."

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I am powerful, as fire is powerful.

When I conceived the idea of Pietas performing a ritual to remind himself of his own prowess, I knew it would have to include the elements of fire, air, water, and wind. That he used to do it in public but now only in private made me wonder... Why? Why did he stop performing this in public? Why only with his twin sister? He and Dessy cannot be in the same room without sniping at one another. He doesn't trust her, not after she betrayed him many years ago. So why her?

I realized it had to be because he showed her his most vulnerable side to prove he had no fear. Not of injury, not of ridicule, and most certainly not of her.

But it was not until I wrote book two, Forged in Fire, that I realized why he started doing the ritual in the first place. More on that later in the ritual series.

Pick up the first story in the Bringer of Chaos series, Lights Out, plus an illustrated look at the series free by signing up for my newsletter
https://kayelleallen.com/immortality