The Great Immortal’s Eye walked past Eamon as he lay unconscious on the ground, blood coating his body. The Great Eye looked down and grinned.

  “Such a pity I didn’t get to kill you myself.”

  He spat on Eamon’s body and walked forward toward the rest of the kingdom.

  As Eamon lay on the ground, he awoke in paradise. He looked around and saw its greatness—the rainbow roads, the golden buildings. The gates of paradise opened, and a man walked out toward him, reaching out his arm.

  “Eamon Whitfield, you fought well. Do not be sad about the outcome. Rather, rest in the fact that you fought for something greater than yourself, and for that, you will enter the gates of paradise.”

  Eamon looked at the holy being’s hand for a moment before speaking.

  “I shall not enter. I have not yet completed my task. I will save the people of that kingdom. I shall not allow such horror to befall them. So I ask—send me back.”

  The holy being’s radiant smile nearly blinded Eamon.

  “I cannot, for I do not control death and life. That is for God. I am simply a messenger.”

  Eamon walked past the holy being.

  “Then where is God? I will speak with Him.”

  The Messenger turned and watched Eamon walk deeper into paradise.

  “No man can speak to God. Even being near Him would kill you. He is all-powerful.”

  Eamon turned around.

  “I will take that chance, Messenger.”

  The Messenger bowed.

  “Very well.”

  He stepped behind Eamon and grabbed him.

  “Shall we?”

  Eamon’s eyes widened.

  “We shall.”

  In the blink of an eye, Eamon was brought before God and immediately fell to his knees.

  “This power… it’s overwhelming. I can’t move.”

  God sat upon His throne and, with a voice like thunder yet calm as spring, spoke to Eamon.

  “You come before Me knowing you might die, yet you still took that chance. How interesting.”

  Eamon tried to speak, but only his thoughts answered.

  “Speak, Eamon. I can hear your thoughts just fine.”

  Eamon began to speak through his mind.

  “How can I die again if I am already dead to begin with?”

  God laughed.

  “Good point. But there are other types of death besides mortal death. The form you are in now is not flesh but spirit. It looks like you. It loves what you love. This form can die.”

  Eamon let out a grunt.

  God stood and walked toward him.

  “I know why you are here. You wish to save your king’s kingdom and his dream from that abomination of a god. Am I correct?”

  Eamon answered yes in his thoughts.

  God sat back down.

  “I will grant this, for it is not your time to die. But beware—the place from which this being comes must be dealt with carefully.”

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  God rubbed His white beard.

  “The Great Eye comes from the Cursed Realm. This realm is like your world, but everything is cursed and filled with evil. How he arrived here is unknown, for the laws set in place by the Elder Gods have no domain in the Cursed Realm. The gods of each world and the Elder Gods are not allowed to cross over.”

  Eamon thought to himself,

  “How were they made, then? If the laws are different—and if the Elder Gods are the creators of the four worlds—who is the Cursed Realm’s Elder God?”

  God’s face turned serious.

  “The creation of the Cursed Realm came from the fourth Elder God. Yes, there were once four Elder Gods. But the fourth had an incurable lust for power, so the others erased him from history and banished him. In exile, the fourth Elder God created the Cursed Realm—where the skies are crimson red, where the water and grass are red, where the moon, the sun, and the stars are red like blood. The gods who govern that realm are pure evil.”

  Eamon, still on his knees, thought,

  “I understand.”

  God nodded.

  “Go, Eamon. Save your king’s kingdom, and do not fear. He is not dead. Once the Great Eye is slain, Haul’s soul shall return to his body.”

  Eamon grunted as he awoke in blood-soaked dirt. He pulled himself to his feet and swung from right to left as he turned around. With a deep voice filled with bloodlust, he called out:

  “Where do you think you’re going? I’m not finished.”

  The Great Eye froze and glanced over his shoulder, grinning before turning around fully.

  “I’m glad you’re not dead. I was disappointed I didn’t get to kill you.”

  Eamon wiped the blood from his face, his eyes now those of a hunter—of a killer.

  “Well, I would hate to disappoint. So how about it? Come kill me. I dare you. Because if you don’t, I’m ripping your head from your shoulders.”

  The Great Eye laughed.

  “Finally, I can see that demon.”

  They both charged at each other, screaming. Eamon and the Great Eye collided. The force of the impact formed a mushroom cloud as dust and debris exploded outward. They locked hands, pushing against one another.

  “You’re different,” the Great Eye mocked, spinning Eamon around.

  Still gripping him, Eamon planted his feet against the Great Eye’s stomach and pushed downward. A thunderous boom echoed through the sky, forming a small crater. Eamon released his grip, grabbed the Great Eye’s face, and slammed it into the dirt again and again. Blood splattered everywhere; pieces of flesh tore away.

  “Is this all you have? Was it this easy to kill a god?” Eamon mocked.

  But as his face was driven into the ground, the Great Eye smiled and laughed. When Eamon tried to slam him again, the Great Eye resisted—and vanished.

  Eamon stepped back, scanning his surroundings. In rapid succession, he was struck thirty-two times in a single millisecond. Each blow drove him backward. He collapsed to the ground, spitting blood and a tooth. Suddenly, he felt a tug at his head. He reached back and felt the Great Eye’s hand gripping his hair.

  “Let’s go for a trip—right through that castle,” he laughed.

  He pulled his arm back and hurled Eamon straight into the castle. Eamon crashed through it, leaving a massive hole in the front wall. He slid across the floor until his back slammed against the throne.

  Dazed, Eamon sat there.

  “This is not my time to die. That is what God said. So I have no choice but to use the Whitfield Curse.”

  Like the Blackmoors with their birthmark, the Whitfields bore something similar. Every Whitfield—from Rhazim Whitfield of Earth 4 to Joren Whitfield of Earth 2—carried a curse. Rhazim could turn fear into power, transforming his body into opal. Joren wielded Maldrakar, born from killing.

  The curse began with the first Whitfield—Peter Whitfield of Earth 1. He made a deal with a god and failed to fulfill his promise. In response, the gods cursed his bloodline across all Earths.

  As for Eamon, they called him a demon for a reason. He could transform into a hellish beast capable of destroying planets—capable of killing even a weaker god. His curse was known as Demon’s Bargain.

  Eamon leaned back against the throne.

  “I wish I didn’t have to use this… but it’s the only way I will win.”

  He stood, grabbed a knife, and carved a pentagram into his wrist.

  “Aid me—grant me your power.”

  A cold red mist formed around him like a tornado. Eamon began to transform—long black horns protruding from his head, red eyes blazing, massive teeth growing, long claws extending from his fingers. A flaming pentagram burned across his chest.

  With a roar, Eamon ran from the castle and leaped through the hole in its wall, landing before the Great Eye.

  The Great Eye watched his transformation, and for the first time, fear crossed his face.

  “Demon’s Bargain… one of the strongest curses.”

  He scanned Eamon for symbols.

  “He doesn’t bear the Blue Rose—the strongest curse. Whoever bears it can create life, become all-knowing, all-powerful, omnipresent. They are fully aware of everything. They cannot be written out of existence—and if they are, they simply write themselves back in. The power of the Blue Rose is unknown, but whoever possesses it could rival the universe itself. Still… Demon’s Bargain is something to fear. And this bastard is coming straight for me.”

  The Great Eye clenched his fists.

  “I won’t let you win. I’ll charge at you head-on and end this madness.”

  He leaped into the air, meeting Eamon mid-flight. The moment Eamon’s eyes locked onto him, he vanished in a blur and reappeared before him, seizing the Great Eye by the throat. Eamon roared into his face.

  The Great Eye tried to move.

  “How did he get faster? This isn’t possible. I lost. I lost… I LOST TO A HUMAN!”

  In one swift motion, Eamon tore the Great Eye’s head from his shoulders and crushed it into the ground. The body fell lifelessly.

  Eamon stood there, looked to the sky, and released a mighty cry before slowly transforming back into human form.

  He smiled.

  “I did it, my king.”

  Back at Hill Land Point, Haul awoke with a gasp.