He twisted the dagger and Wrath coughed dark-colored blood. I forced myself to watch, to stand. I couldn’t fall to pieces yet. The Umbra demons holding on to the demon of war must have let go; Wrath slid to the ground, staring down at the brutality of his injury.

Envy lifted his blade again, but I couldn’t bear it.

“Stop!” I choked on a scream as Envy ignored my pleas and stabbed him once more for good measure. He stepped back to survey the damage. Wrath struggled to look in my direction, but couldn’t quite make it. He never struggled. I didn’t think it was in his nature.

“Please . . . Emilia. I—” He gasped; the sound raspy and labored. He was dying. Truly dying.

Something stirred in me.

I rushed to his side, hands fumbling, and tried to stop the bleeding. “It’s all right. It’s going to be all right. You just have to heal yourself.”

Once again, I had no spell, no magic to call upon to bind his wound together. I was too rattled to think clearly. I only had my two hands, and the hope that he could heal himself quickly enough. He slowly turned to me, the light leaving his eyes before he met my pleading gaze. This couldn’t be happening. I needed him.

“No.” Now more than ever, he had to get up and be okay. I shook him a little. He was unnaturally still, pupils fixed. I knew what that meant and couldn’t . . . he couldn’t be dead. This stupid, arrogant demon was supposed to be immortal. “Get up.”

He needed to heal. He just needed some time. I could hold his wound for a few more minutes. That’s all he needed. A few minutes. I could do that. I could stay there until he stitched himself together again.

I was still kneeling there, hands full of gore, when his body vanished from this realm.

I stared at the wet blood on my palms. There was so much of it. Too much. No mortal would survive those injuries. Wrath had always healed instantaneously before.

He was hurt, but not dead.

Just like Lust when he’d been struck with Wrath’s blade. He couldn’t be dead. That was the point of immortality. But . . . I’d seen life leave the demon’s eyes. Lust hadn’t looked like that. He’d still been breathing when he’d vanished back to Hell. I suddenly couldn’t breathe. Without him, I . . .

I held out my hands; they were shaking. I glanced down and watched in a strange, detached manner as my whole body violently trembled. Seeing my sister’s mutilated body had been horrible, but watching someone get eviscerated . . . I rubbed my hands down my skirts, but the blood wouldn’t come off. I scrubbed and scrubbed and—