I never want to be the Death she was. Yet the more he learned, he more he realized why she'd done some of what she did, and how little alike they truly were. Past-Death had known no mercy or kindness as a goddess and viewed his as weaknesses. She executed her duty with cold devotion. While he recognized her effectiveness, he also knew that she lacked empathy and respect for those she served.
It was human to provide those that failed the first time a second chance to make things right. Deities didn't understand the concept. He was a mix of both, capable of giving second chances or stripping that right away.
Gabriel debated for a moment. He'd shown leniency on the human plane to those death dealers that sought to betray him. A quick death and not sending their souls to Hell was the only second chance he'd offer.
But here … in his underworld, knowing what he did about Harmony's plan to kidnap his mate and Deidre, he didn't feel anywhere near as generous. There were times when second chances weren't warranted, and the heartless wrath of a god was.
Protecting those who deserved his compassion from those who did not was his priority now. The lines were more cleanly drawn in the underworld. He could no longer view punishing his former colleagues with regret for what they'd done to disrupt the balance of life and death and endanger so many innocent souls.
He roused himself and stood. The sounds of Darkyn gorging on the bodies of the Immortals ceased, and Gabriel turned.
Looks like someone exploded. None of the remaining pieces of the three men were in chunks larger than the size of his hand, and blood was splattered everywhere, dripping down Darkyn's chin and coating the ground at his feet.
"This is yours," Gabriel said and tossed him the soul.
Darkyn caught it.
Gabriel went to the edge of the Lake of Souls and crouched beside it, gazing into the waters. Souls rested in the bottom or floated in currents - billions, perhaps trillions, of them. The leaking of souls into the mortal plane was unprecedented. While the relative percentage was small, it never should've been possible for the souls to bleed over in the first place. He risked the souls being captured by the Dark One or other souleaters who might want the emeralds for reasons other than to protect the dead.
The waters were still. The last time he'd been here, the Lake was bubbling and boiling, in clear turmoil.
Wind swept through the trees. Rather than the slithering of snakelike branches, he heard something different, faint, sad. A mournful call, the unified sorrow of the trees and millions of life forms that existed in the underworld.