Azrael's claws stop a millimeter from my eye.
He's not smiling anymore.
"YOU'RE NOT SUPPOSED TO FIGHT BACK YET," he hisses. Blood drips from his mouth. Not his. Mine. I don't remember him hitting me.
The black fire crawling up my arms isn't mine either. It's theirs. The six doors behind me are shaking, and I hear them now.
Little girls. Screaming.
"Let them out," I say. My voice layers. Seven voices. Mine, plus six I haven't heard in ten years.
Azrael's collapsed-star eyes flick to the doors. For the first time, he looks nervous. "You don't understand what you're asking."
I grab his wrist. The one trying to gouge my eye out. Bone snaps under my fingers. He howls.
"I UNDERSTAND YOU LIED," all seven of me roar. "OPEN. THEM."
I don't touch the doors. I don't need to.
They explode.
---
Six bodies hit the floor. Twelve years old. Bleeding. Shaking. Wearing school uniforms from ten years ago.
They're me. All of them.
Door 2 Zara scrambles up first. Missing a front tooth. Blood on her plaid skirt. She looks at twenty-two-year-old me, sees the black fire, sees Azrael on his knees clutching a broken wrist.
"Holy shit," she says. "We got tall."
Door 3 clutches a burn on her face. Same burn the fake Zara had in Ch8. "He did this," she spits, pointing at Azrael. "He said if we were good, he'd let us see you again."
Door 4, Door 5, Door 6. All me. All twelve. All pissed.
They form a line. Between me and Azrael.
Little girls, barefoot, protecting the adult version of themselves from a demon.
Something in my chest breaks.
"Zara," Door 2 says without turning around. "The ritual. Dad said we had to do it together. All seven. You're seven. We're one through six. Where's seven?"
Azrael laughs. It's wet. Pained. "She's already here. You just haven't met her yet."
The seventh door doesn't open.
It implodes.
Sucks inward like a black hole. The room temperature drops sixty degrees. The black fire on my arms goes out.
A man steps through the hole where the door was.
Not Azrael.
Bigger.
No horns. No theatrics. Jeans. T-shirt. Dad's face. Dad's eyes. Dad's missing front tooth from the hockey accident when I was six.
Except this dad has both eyes. And no scars. And he's twenty-five.
"What," I say.
"Hi, pumpkin," Not-Dad says. He has my voice. "Miss me?"
The six twelve-year-olds turn to stare at him. Then at me. Then at him.
"Dad?" Door 2 whispers. "You're… young?"
"He's not Dad," I say. The black fire reignites. Hotter. Blue now. "Dad's dead. Azrael killed him ten years ago. I remember."
"Do you?" Not-Dad tilts his head. Same gesture Dead-Eyes Zara used in Ch7. "Or do you remember what Azrael wanted you to remember?"
He snaps his fingers.
My head explodes.
---
Memory. Not mine.
A lab. Seven tanks. Seven girls. All twelve. All me. Tubes. Wires. A man in a suit watching — Dad, but older, forties, grey hair.
"Subject Seven is the only one that took," Suit-Dad says to someone off-screen. "The others are fragments. Echoes. But Seven… she's stable. She can hold him."
"Hold what?" the off-screen voice asks. Azrael's voice. But human.
"The god," Suit-Dad says. "We call it Azrael. It needs a cage. Seven cages. Seven Zaras. One prime, six anchors. If the prime dies, the others follow. If the anchors die, the prime goes insane and becomes the new god."
On-screen, Tank 7 opens. I step out. Twelve. Naked. Shaking.
"Hello, Zara," Suit-Dad says. "Do you know who you are?"
Twelve-year-old me looks at the six other tanks. At the girls floating inside.
"I'm seven," she says. "They're one through six."
"Good," Suit-Dad smiles. No warmth. "Now let's meet your god."
The memory cuts.
---
I'm on my knees. Vomiting. The six mini-Zaras are screaming. Not-Dad is still smiling.
Azrael is crawling toward the hole where the seventh door was. Trying to escape.
"Dad," I choke out. "What did you do?"
"Saved the world," Not-Dad says. "Seven billion people. Cost me seven daughters. Fair trade."
He looks at the six twelve-year-olds. "You six were never supposed to wake up. You were batteries. Fuel for her." He points at me. "For the prime. But Azrael got hungry. Started eating you early. Made you think you were real."
"We ARE real," Door 2 snarls. She picks up a piece of broken door. Holds it like a knife.
"You're code," Not-Dad says gently. "Echoes. When she dies, you vanish. When you die, she fractures. That's why Azrael kept you alive. A fractured god is easier to eat."
Azrael reaches the hole.
Not-Dad doesn't look at him. He snaps his fingers again.
Azrael freezes. Then reverses. Crawls backward. Stands up. Wrist unbreaks. He's rewinding.
"You're not Azrael," I realize. "You're wearing him."
"Azrael was my first attempt," Not-Dad says. "I needed a god to test the cage. Found one. Shoved it in a demon. Shoved the demon in you. You held for ten years. New record."
He walks to me. Cups my face. His hand is warm. Dad's hand.
"But you're breaking, pumpkin. The anchors are awake. The prime knows. Time to reset."
He presses his thumb to my forehead.
The six mini-Zaras scream and charge him.
He doesn't even look. They hit an invisible wall and bounce off.
"Night night," Not-Dad whispers to me. "When you wake up, you'll be twelve again. You won't remember me. You won't remember them." He nods at the six. "And we'll try again."
Black fire explodes out of me. Not his. Mine.
His eyes widen. "What—"
"I'm not your cage," I snarl. Seven voices. Plus six new ones. The mini-Zaras. We're thirteen voices now. "I'm their sister."
I grab his wrist.
And I remember.
Not the fake memory. The real one.
Dad, forty-five, dying in the lab. Azrael, human, standing over him. "The experiment failed," Human-Azrael says. "She's too strong. She won't break."
"Then we don't break her," Dad gasps. Blood on his lips. "We join her."
He rips something out of his chest. A light. Shoves it into Human-Azrael's mouth.
Human-Azrael screams and becomes Demon-Azrael.
"Keep her safe," Dad whispers. "Keep all seven safe. You're their dad now."
Demon-Azrael — Dad-Azrael — nods. Then his eyes go black. The god takes him.
Not-Dad isn't Dad.
Azrael is.
He's been Dad for ten years. Protecting us from the thing wearing his face right now.
I let go of Not-Dad's wrist.
He stumbles back. The Dad-mask slips. Under it is nothing. A void. A hole in the shape of a man.
"You're not him," I whisper.
"I'm what's left," the void says. "He gave me his face to wear. His voice to use. So you'd trust me. So you'd let me reset you when you got too strong."
"Why?"
"Because if you reach twenty-three, you become the new god. And I'm hungry."
The void lunges.
Dad-Azrael explodes up from the floor. Still broken. Still bleeding. Still Dad. He gets between us.
"RUN," he roars at all seven of me. "SEVENTH DOOR. GO!"
The seventh door reappears. It's open.
On the other side: a lab. Seven empty tanks. And a woman in a suit. My face. Thirty years old.
Prime Zara. The eighth one.
She looks at us and smiles.
"Took you long enough," she says. "Now we kill God."
We fall through.
All eight of us.
Azrael — Dad — stays behind.
The void eats him.
He doesn't scream.