And finally Dillon leapt through the hole.
An instant of black, numbing cold as he crossed the boundary, then the feel of gritty sand beneath his feet. He didn’t turn back to watch Okoya scrutinizing his actions from the other side of the hole: Instead he marched deeper into the Unworld, until the breach was nothing more than a speck of light behind him.
Nothing had changed here. A sea still spilled from a distant tear in the sky. Rusting wrecks of cars, planes, and other, less-identifiable vehicles littered the sands, filled with the bones of the dead occupants, slowly turning to sand themselves. He took inventory of the only landmarks he knew, as if recalling them could give him some sense of comfort in this alien place.
To the left was a great ship, lying crushed on its side, and somewhere beneath it were the remains of Winston’s furred beast. Far to the right, was a mound of rotting blubber, its stench weaving in and out of the wind—all that was left of Lourdes’s beast. Beyond that, was the shore where Michael’s parasite of lust had dissolved into the sea. And just before him was the old propeller plane, which had become the tomb of Tory’s hive of disease. The parasites had all been destroyed. All but two—Deanna’s, and his own.
Dillon continued toward the mountain palace in the distance for hours, letting the steady cadence of his own footfalls hypnotize and numb him. He knew what he had to do—Okoya had left him little choice. The question was, could he go through with it? With each step toward the mountain palace in the distance, his longing grew, and yet he stopped only halfway there. The hole through which he had come was completely out of sight many miles behind him. The urge to get to Deanna was almost overwhelming, but he fought it, forcing himself to stay put. There was little to hear in the dead air around him, but still he waited, keeping his ears attuned to the slightest rustling of the dry briar-weeds around him.
“I’m here!” he called out to the sky. “I’m waiting for you. Show yourselves!”
The light in the sunless ice-blue sky never changed, so he had no way to measure the passing of time. He waited there for hours . . . until at last he heard them.
It began as a distant whoosh, whoosh, whoosh in the air, chased by the sandy hiss of something slithering across the ground. He turned to see his winged creature of destruction approaching in the distant sky, with the Snake of Fear winding the sands beneath it.
So they were still here! Still waiting for a great soul to leech upon, for they could not survive outside the Unworld any other way. Dillon knew that these hideous creatures wanted a way out of this place. But he also knew how to keep them from leeching onto him. All he had to do was refuse to invite them in.
The Spirit of Destruction circled above him like a vulture, perhaps wondering why Dillon had chosen to return, then it flapped its huge wings as it settled before him, creating a dust cloud. The Snake of Fear came in from behind, darting from rock to rock, cautiously making its way closer.
Dillon had anticipated this moment, just as he had anticipated that Okoya would punch through to the Un- world and bribe him with Deanna. He knew coming here would lead to this confrontation, and although he feared it, it was also something he was counting on. He only hoped Okoya’s arrogance had blinded him to what Dillon was about to do.
Before him, his creature snarled, its gray face a hellish forgery of Dillon’s own. Its muscles rippled, and it flexed its sharp talons as if it were about to pounce and gouge its way back into him, burrowing into his soul. It said nothing to him at first—it just watched, waiting for some part of Dillon’s soul to open so it could squeeze its way in.
All I have to do is refuse to let them in, he reminded himself.
He turned his gaze to the spirit of fear slinking up behind him. “Out where I can see you,” he told it.
It recoiled, then gave him a wide berth as it saddled up beside the creature it partnered with. Dillon tried to forget how much the terror-serpent’s face resembled Deanna: a twisted image of her with no eyes.
“He’s come to kill us,” hissed the serpent.
Dillon showed them his palms. “With what weapons?”
The Spirit of Destruction regarded Dillon a moment more, trying to divine his purpose here, but Dillon chose not to reveal it just yet. As long as his intentions were secret, he had the upper hand. Finally his parasite spoke. “I’ve missed living in your flesh,” it said. “I’ve missed being a part of you.”
“You were never a part of me,” Dillon told it. Dillon could sense its hunger for destruction, its hatred of him, and its resentment at having been cast out. Did it forget that it had won their last battle?—that it had ultimately destroyed what mattered most to Dillon: Deanna.
It unfolded its wings, taking on a looming, imposing stance. “Why are you here?” it demanded.
“I’m here to give you an escape from this place.”
His creature did not take its eyes off him, its distrust oozing like a fume in the air.
“It’s a trick!” hissed the serpent.
“No trick,” said Dillon.
His beast folded its wings once more, and although it did not move any closer, a slight turn of its head told Dillon that he had snagged his deadly doppelganger’s curiosity. “You would bring us back to your world?”
Dillon took a moment to look toward the palace one last time. Yes, Deanna was there, and yes, his longing for her had been almost insurmountable. But there were things far more pressing now, and so Deanna would have to wait. He knew Deanna would understand.
“I can offer you a bargain,” said Dillon. “Step inside . . . and we’ll discuss it.” The creatures slowly began to advance, the beast of destruction clicking its talons, the serpent of fear salivating at the prospect of freedom.
All I have to do is refuse to let them in . . . But instead Dillon bared his own spirit, and gave them permission to crawl deep inside.
Okoya did not see Dillon returning toward the portal, for he had approached from a different direction. There seemed to be something strange about the boy; there was a look in his eyes—a look that spoke of both insatiable hunger and deep-seated fear. Okoya knew what this meant; it was Dillon’s hunger to rule the world, and his fear of Okoya—the very two things that gave Okoya complete control over the young star-shard. He only hoped the one called Deanna could be as handily yoked as Dillon.
“Where is she?” asked Okoya. “Didn’t you bring her?”
“She’ll be here soon.” Dillon made no move to step through the breach. He stood just inside the Unworld, as if waiting for an invitation to come in. Which in fact he was.
“May I. . . come in?” Dillon asked, slowly and precisely.
“You’ve taken much too long,” Okoya said impatiently. “It’s a simple resurrection. I don’t like my time wasted.”
“Yes,” said Dillon, “but may I come in?”
“I hope you don’t plan on being this irritating in the future,” said Okoya. “Yes!” he said, “By all means, please come in!”
“Thank you,” Dillon leapt through the breach at Okoya, and his momentum took Okoya to the ground. That’s when he saw the truth behind Dillon’s strange expression. Okoya tried to resist, but was too late, because he could already feel a new, unfamiliar hunger burrowing into his gut, and a cold sense of terror constricting his mind.