It was a cold, callous fate that each man and woman here in Kalosis would have met had their leader Stryker not found the mythical portal that allowed him to descend from the world of man into this realm where he’d met another god. A god whose indignant fury had made a mockery of Apollo’s.

Trapped within the hell realm by her own family who had feared her powers, Apollymi wasn’t one to let Apollo get away with his cruelty. She had embraced Apollo’s cursed son, Stryker, adopting him as her own before she taught him how to harvest and use human souls to elongate his life. It was a lesson Stryker had gladly shared with others of his race as he brought them here to serve not only his own code of vengeance but Apollymi’s as well. Currently he commanded legions of Daimons who used the pathetic humans as cattle.

And even though he owed her so much, Stryker truly hated the goddess who had saved his life and adopted him.

Now, he sat in the banquet hall of her home and watched as his Spathi warriors celebrated their latest victory.

“Death to the humans!” one of his warriors shouted above the din.

“Fuck that,” another replied. “We need them. Death to all Dark-Hunters!”

An echoing cheer rang out through the barren hall. Stryker leaned back in his cushioned throne as he watched the Apollites and Daimons congratulate each other on their most recent success—the capture of Ravyn Kontis. The darkened hall was lit only by candles as they poured Apollite blood—the only thing that could sustain their cursed bodies—from pitchers and spilled it all over themselves.

Like the other Spathis gathered here, Stryker envisioned a better world. A world where his people weren’t condemned to die at the tender age of twenty-seven. A world where they could all walk in the daylight that he’d taken for granted as a child.