Aphrodite gulped the wine, and then said, "Help me get to Stark."

"But your eyes - you must rest!"

"If I rest, I take a chance that the whole f**king world goes to hell. Literally."

"Then I will get you to Stark."

Feeling weak and in way over her head, Aphrodite leaned on her Warrior as they returned to the Fianna Foil, where very little had changed. Sgiach was still watching her Guardian as he slowly and methodically continued to cut Stark.

Aphrodite didn't waste any time. She went straight to Sgiach.

"I have to talk to Stark. Now."

Sgiach looked at her, taking in her trembling body and her blood-filled eyes. "You've used your gift?"

"Yeah, and I have to tell Stark something, or it'll be bad. For everyone. Really bad."

The queen nodded and motioned for Aphrodite to follow her to the Seol ne Gigh.

"You will only have a moment. Speak quickly and clearly to Stark. If you hold him here too long, he will not be able to retrace his path to the Otherworld until he has recovered from today's journey, and you must understand that recovery could take him weeks."

"I get it. I have one chance at this. I'm ready," Aphrodite said.

Sgiach touched her Guardian's forearm. It was the lightest of caresses, but it caused a rippled reaction throughout Seoras's body. He paused in the downward stroke of another slice. His gaze remained on Stark, but with a voice like gravel, he said, "Mo bann ri? My queen?"

"Call him back. The Prophetess must speak to him."

Seoras's eyes closed as if her words wounded him, but when he opened them he retorted with a low growl, and said only, "Aye, wumman . . . as yie wish." He placed the hand that wasn't holding his dirk on Stark's forehead. "Hear me, boy. Yie must be returning."

Chapter Twenty-Six

Stark

Stark staggered backward, instinctively holding up his own broadsword so that it was by accident and instinct that he deflected the killing stroke from the Other, that being who was him and yet wasn't.

"Why are you doing this?" Stark shouted.

"I already told you. The only way you can get in here is to kill me, and I'm not gonna die."

The two Warriors circled each other warily. "What the f**k are you talking about? You're me . So if I get in there, how can you die?"

"I'm part of you. The not-so-nice part. Or you're a part of me, the good part, and I f**king hate even saying that. Don't act so damn stupid. It's not like you don't know about me. Think back to before you pussied out and swore yourself to that goody-goody bitch. We knew each other lots better then."

Stark stared, seeing the tint of red in the eyes and the harsh set of his own face. The smile was still there, but the cockiness had turned cruel, making his features familiar and alien at the same time.

"You're the bad in me."

"Bad? That's just a matter of which side you're on, isn't it? And from the side I'm on right now, I don't look so damn bad." Laughing, the Other continued, " 'Bad' is a word that doesn't come near to describing my potential. Bad is a luxury. My world is filled with things beyond your imagination."

Stark started to shake his head, wanting to deny what he was hearing, and his concentration faltered.

The Other struck again, slicing a thick furrow down his right bicep.

Stark lifted the broadsword defensively, surprised there was an odd burning but no pain in either arm.

"Yeah, doesn't hurt much, huh? Yet. That's 'cause the blade's too f**king sharp to hurt. But check it out - you're bleeding. A lot. It's only a matter of time before you can't keep that sword lifted anymore.

Then you're done for, and I'll get rid of you once and for all." The Other continued, "Or maybe we'll play. How 'bout I have some fun and flay you alive, piece by f**king piece, until you're nothing more than a bleeding carcass at my feet."

From his peripheral vision, Stark could see that the heat he was feeling was the warmth of the blood that was pumping steadily from the two wounds. The Other was right. He was going down.

He had to fight - and he had to fight now. If he kept hesitating, kept being purely defensive, he would die.

With an action that was completely instinctual, Stark lunged forward, striking out at his mirror image, at everything, anything that could possibly be an opening in his guard, but the red-eyed version of him blocked each move easily. And then, like a cobra, he struck back, sliding through Stark's defenses and hacking a long, deep wound in one thigh.