The rain had returned, falling in whispering sheets against the windows of Marc's flat. London's lights smeared through the glass like melted gold, and thunder rolled in slow waves across the city's bruised sky.
Howard stood at the window, shoulders tense. "You realize it's only a matter of time," he said quietly. "William's got his claws in everything—surveillance, government, private networks. If he doesn't already know who you are, he will soon."
Marc leaned back on the couch, arms crossed. The faint shimmer of lunar energy still glowed under his shirt collar—a pale silver vein tracing across skin that hadn't aged in years. "I know," he said flatly. "We'll relocate soon. Somewhere off-grid. Maybe Norway, maybe one of the old Aetherian fields—they won't risk exposure there."
Howard turned, his face drawn. "You can't hide forever."
Marc smirked faintly. "That's what immortals do best."
The attempt at humor didn't land. Howard took a slow breath. "Then why didn't you kill Juarez? You had him. You had that… weapon."
Marc's expression darkened. "Because Tecciztecatl said the stars are in their favor. Divine law protects them. I can't harm them—not truly. Not until the favor fades."
Howard frowned. "You make it sound like astrology."
Marc looked up, his eyes catching the dull light. "Call it what you want, but gods and stars are the same thing in different languages. The heavens choose sides whether mortals believe or not. For eighteen more days, any divine strike I throw will bend back on me."
Howard crossed his arms, voice tinged with disbelief. "Right. Divine harm. But what about the Aetherian weapons? That axe of yours cut him open. It hurt him."
A slow smile crept across Marc's face, one that made Howard take a step back. "Exactly," he murmured. "Aetherian weapons are not divine—they're ancient, older than our myths. They belong to no god, only to those bold enough to wield them. They pierce divine protection because they were made by those who defied the heavens themselves."
The gleam in Marc's eyes unsettled him. For the first time since Enttle, Howard felt the weight of what Marc had become.
"Marc," he said quietly, "you're scaring me."
Marc chuckled. "Good. Fear means you're paying attention."
The silence between them stretched long and heavy, until Howard broke it with a confession that had been gnawing at him for years.
"I have to tell you something," he said finally. "Something I should've told you after Enttle."
Marc looked up, half-amused. "Go on."
Howard's voice trembled. "I'm not… entirely human."
Marc raised an eyebrow. "You'll have to do better than that."
"I'm half-Aetherian," Howard blurted. "My father was one of the first emissaries who stayed behind after the Treaty of Veiled Stars. He worked in covert research before disappearing. I've spent my entire career pretending to be human, hiding what I am."
Marc's expression didn't change, but his gaze sharpened. "I had a feeling," he said softly. "You weren't affected by the Aetherium fields in Enttle. You touched the jetpack barehanded when everyone else needed radiation suits. That's not normal."
Howard looked at him in disbelief. "How long have you known?"
Marc stood and walked toward him, the air around him humming faintly with lunar resonance. "Long enough. The veil between gods and men thins when you're standing in both worlds."
Howard took a step back. "What does that even mean?"
Marc's voice dropped, heavy with power. "It means I see you for what you are."
And then—he changed.
The light in the room bent toward him as if drawn by gravity. The air shimmered, the temperature dropping several degrees. His eyes burned silver-white, pupils gone, and the faint outline of a crescent moon flared behind his head. His voice deepened—not echoing, but layered, as though multiple beings spoke through him.
Howard fell to his knees, unable to breathe beneath the pressure of it.
"Marc," he gasped, "what are you?"
"I might not be a god," Marc said, his voice low and resonant, "but I am no longer mortal either. When Tecciztecatl bound himself to me, he fractured the divine balance. Some of his essence became mine."
The power receded, though the air still buzzed. Howard remained kneeling, his pulse hammering in his ears.
Marc looked down at him, voice calm again. "I am a demigod now—half man, half death."
Howard swallowed hard. "What god are you tied to? The moon?"
Marc nodded slowly. "I am the moon's herald. But I'm not his shadow anymore." He paused, eyes distant. "When I died, I wasn't revived as his servant. I was remade. Tecciztecatl needed a vessel to anchor his power to Earth, and in the process, he created something new—something the pantheon didn't approve of."
Howard's voice was barely a whisper. "New god of what?"
Marc turned toward the window, staring at the rain-streaked city. "Death and destruction," he said quietly. "But not in the way you think. Death isn't the end—it's the reset. Destruction isn't cruelty—it's the clearing of corruption. That's my purpose now."
Howard looked shaken. "Then what happens to Tecciztecatl? Where does that leave him?"
Marc sighed, shoulders heavy. "He's fading. Gods tied to belief grow weaker when mortals forget them. When he gave me his essence, he gave up a part of his immortality. Soon, he'll be a whisper, a guide at best. I'm the continuation of his will."
"So you'll take his place?"
"I already have," Marc said simply.
Howard stared at him, awe and fear warring in his expression. "You talk like you don't even want it."
Marc's smile was bitter. "What man would want to be a god in a world that stopped believing?"
Lightning flashed outside, illuminating his silhouette against the glass. For a brief second, he looked inhuman—an echo of something celestial wrapped in mortal form.
Howard finally rose, still pale. "If you're really what you say… then maybe that's why William fears you. You're not just another hero. You're competition."
Marc turned, his eyes softening. "William doesn't fear me yet. But he will."
Howard hesitated. "And me? What do you want from me now that you know?"
Marc placed a hand on his shoulder. "You're still my friend. But now, you're also my bridge to the stars. If we're going to bring him down, I'll need Aetherian tech—and someone who understands it better than I do."
Howard nodded slowly. "Then you've got me."
Marc looked past him, toward the horizon where thunder rolled again. "Good. Because when the stars turn against him, I won't just end William. I'll end his god."
The rain thickened, drumming against the glass like the ticking of a clock. Somewhere in the dark, Tecciztecatl's faint voice whispered approval.
The moon rises again, my Champion.