The Coffin Club Presents

Nia did not hear her goddess’ arrival.

She hadn’t heard much in the past few hours. The gun was loud. It hit her in the chest with every shot. She’d braced herself against a dresser in the sisters’ quarters to steady her shaking hands, protect her begging shoulder, bruised ribs. The soldiers had followed her, but she knew the building.

Once the dead started piling up at the door, they stopped chasing her. Or she hoped they had.

It was hard to think, move, lean.

Her goddess moved in through the doorway. She fired without thinking. There was a corona of sparks, a tired look, and the gun was taken from her.

Her goddess was saying something. Nia’s mouth was dry, voice a whisper. She reached into a pocket and withdrew a tube. With one swift motion, she pressed it to Nia’s neck.

A click. A hiss. Sweet relief.

Nia was awake. Her body felt fine, her hearing dialing into focus. She could see straight.

All she could see was her goddess.

Pale skin. Red hair in a long braid. A full, heavy body clad in a full-body singlet, pouches and tools slung across her body. Her goddess inspected the gun as Nia caught her breath.

“Can you hear me?”

Nia nodded, rubbed her fingers as circulation rushed back with a roar of blood.

“Alright. You did well. Who needs to die.”