Lists World War II Five Onscreen Depictions of World War II Featuring SFF Elements TV shows and movies that mix WWII history with aliens, monsters, and time travel. By Lorna Wallace | Published on September 18, 2025 Comment 0 Share New Share There are a fair few famous war movies that I perhaps shouldn’t admit to never having seen. It’s not that I’m avoiding critically-acclaimed films like Schindler’s List (1993) and Das Boot (1981)—I’ve just not gotten around to them yet. But if a war story has sci-fi or fantasy elements included, there’s a far higher chance of me getting around to it sooner rather than later. Depictions of war tend to be brutal, messy, and terrifying as a rule, but the five WWII-set movies and TV episodes on this list make things even more chaotic by adding monsters, aliens, and time travel into the mix… Overlord (2018) The lengthy D-Day landings section of Saving Private Ryan (1998) is lauded by both critics and historians for its brutally realistic depiction of the horrors of war, and I think that the paratrooper jump scene in Julius Avery’s Overlord is similarly effective in capturing a sense of fear, dread, and frenzied violence. The film starts with an American paratrooper unit flying over France in 1944, tasked with destroying a German-controlled radio tower. The nervous energy in the plane is palpable and it soon turns to outright fear when enemy fire starts tearing apart the fuselage. The camera follows Edward Boyce (Jovan Adepo) as he scrambles to survive amidst the fiery and bloody mayhem. The sequence is viscerally terrifying—with the visuals being enhanced by excellent sound design—but it’s just the start of Boyce’s waking nightmare. Once on the ground, Boyce and a few other survivors find each other and set out to complete their mission. But after discovering that the Nazis are conducting bizarre experiments in a secret underground lab, the film morphs from a serious war story into a fun action-horror thriller. While this genre switch might not work for everyone, I had a great time when the gruesome-yet-goofy gorefest really got going. Shadow in the Cloud (2020) I’m going to be upfront with this one: Shadow in the Cloud doesn’t have the best reviews. Anyone expecting a realistic war film will definitely be disappointed. But for those who are in the mood for a pulpy B-movie that doesn’t take itself too seriously, Shadow in the Cloud absolutely delivers. Many silly, ridiculous, and unbelievable things happen over the course of the runtime—but to me that’s what makes it so much fun. Directed by Roseanne Liang, the film is set in 1943 and starts with Maude Garrett (Chloë Grace Moretz) boarding a B-17 bomber called The Fool’s Errand in New Zealand. The otherwise all-male crew aren’t too happy with her being there (despite her papers proving that she’s assigned to the flight) and force her into the ball turret at the bottom of the plane. Once in the air, they have to contend not only with Japanese fighter planes, but also with a bizarre creature that’s clinging to the outside of the bomber. All of the silly chaos that ensues is set to a fantastic synth-heavy score, composed by Mahuia Bridgman-Cooper. “The Bullet” — Predator: Killer of Killers (2025) Dan Trachtenberg’s Predator: Killer of Killers is split into four parts that follow various Predators hunting for prey in different time periods and places. The third section of the animated film—titled “The Bullet”—is set in 1942 and follows John J. Torres (Rick Gonzalez), a Wildcat fighter pilot with the U.S. Navy who is stationed in the North Atlantic Ocean. When a mysterious and unseen aircraft begins attacking both sides indiscriminately, Torres puts his life on the line in an effort to save his fellow soldiers from the alien threat. Although “The Bullet” only totals around 20 minutes, a lot of action is packed in, with the animated medium being used to its maximum potential (which is true of the entire film!). We get to see Torres take on the Predator in an aerial dogfight and while the high-flying action alone is exhilarating, extra oomph is added thanks to his quick and creative thinking each time an extraterrestrial curveball is thrown his way. “Triangle” — The X-Files (1998) It wasn’t all that long ago that I expressed my love for this season 6 episode of The X-Files on a list of fantastic long takes, but I couldn’t pass up including it here too. The episode starts with FBI agent Fox Mulder (David Duchovny) boarding the SS Queen Anne, a luxury passenger liner that inexplicably disappeared in 1939. Once aboard, he tries to explain to everyone he meets that they’ve time-traveled to 1998, but then it dawns on him that he’s the one who’s out of time. With Mulder now stuck in the past on a Nazi-infested ship at the outbreak of WWII, he does everything he can to throw a wrench into their plans. Multiple long shots are used throughout the episode, tracking not just Mulder through the ship, but also Dana Scully (Gillian Anderson) through the FBI office as she attempts to rescue her foolhardy and troublemaking partner. The long takes aren’t just a gimmick—they add a particularly propulsive drive to the fun and tense story. Oh and Mulder punches multiple Nazis, so what more could you really want? “How Zeke Got Religion” — Love, Death + Robots (2025) This season 4 episode of animated anthology Love, Death + Robots may only be 15 minutes long, but it’s a wild thrill ride from start to finish. Directed by Diego Porral and based on John McNichol’s short story “How Zeke Got Religion at 20,000 Feet” (which you can read in SNAFU Resurrection), the titular Zeke (Keston John) is a solider aboard The Liberty Belle—a B-17 tasked with bombing a Nazi-occupied church in France. The crew don’t know what’s going on inside the church, but we see that mere seconds before the bombs drop the Nazis successfully complete a ritual sacrifice that unleashes a fallen angel. This episode manages to be simultaneously horrifying and beautiful. The unholy creature, of course, is the source of the horror—not only does it create a wealth of gore, but its design is inventively scary. The beauty comes from the style of animation itself, with the bold use of color being a particular highlight. The most obvious oversight on this list is likely Captain America: The First Avenger (2011)—a film that I absolutely adore (Cap is my favorite superhero) but that doesn’t really need additional recommendations from me, given how popular it already is. If there are any others shows or movies that belong on this list—be they obvious or obscure—please leave them in the comments below![end-mark] The post Five Onscreen Depictions of World War II Featuring SFF Elements appeared first on Reactor.

News Fantastic Four Fantastic Four Deleted Scene Shows a Darker Side of Sue Storm Hey, leave Mole Man alone… By Matthew Byrd | Published on September 17, 2025 Screenshot: Marvel Studios Comment 0 Share New Share Screenshot: Marvel Studios While scenes are cut from movies for various justifiable reasons all the time (runtime, pacing, how they play in the sober light of day), some “deleted” scenes arguably should have never touched the cutting room floor. This recently released deleted scene from Fantastic Four: First Steps may be one of those sequences. The scene (which will be included in the special features of First Steps’ upcoming physical releases) shows Vanessa Kirby’s Sue Storm visit Paul Walter Hauser’s Mole Man in Subterranea. It seemingly occurs fairly early in the film (sometime after the reveal of Sue’s pregnancy) and shows Sue and Mole Man having a tense exchange over the agreement between the surface world and Subterranea. Though the two share threats and barbs (including Sue’s shocking suggestion that she could just have the Fantastic Four eradicate the people of Subterranea), they eventually settle down and display some surprising tenderness toward each other before reaching a tentative agreement. The scene accomplishes a few things that could have enhanced the final cut. Along with giving Hauser’s lovable Mole Man more to do during a portion of the movie that he’s otherwise largely absent from, it establishes the more cordial elements of his relationship with Sue and the rest of the Fantastic Four. The gentler side of their relationship also helps set up Mole Man’s decision to help the Fantastic Four later in the film. At the same time, it acknowledges the extent of Storm’s considerable abilities (something that Vanessa Kirby said she was a fan of when she lamented the loss of this scene in the final cut of the movie). That being said, there are a few …oddities about this scene that perhaps help explain why it was eventually shelved. First off, the casual way that Sue Storm threatens genocide and the assassination of Mole Man is a genuinely shocking and barely concealed as banter. It doesn’t really help that the scene tonally tries to dismiss those threats by suggesting that Sue is just cranky because she’s pregnant (an already controversial plot point). Speaking of controversial plot points, the control that the Fantastic Four (as represented by Sue) exhibit over even the most minute machinations of their world in this sequence really supports that whole “the Fantastic Four are running a cult” argument we previously presented. The implication that the Fantastic Four are essentially in control of their world at this point (or at least a considerable corner of it) would be a fascinating topic if it were more frequently and directly addressed in substantial ways. But when that same idea is cited and then dismissed with the wave of a hand, as it is here, it does raise a lot of questions that the movie was seemingly not ready to answer. Ultimately, it’s easy to imagine that this scene was cut for being a bit too dark and perhaps just not fitting into the flow of the rest of the film. That said, more Mole Man, please. [end-mark] The post <i>Fantastic Four</i> Deleted Scene Shows a Darker Side of Sue Storm appeared first on Reactor.

News Resident Evil Paul Walter Hauser Joins Cast of Zach Cregger’s Resident Evil Movie Hauser joins Austin Abrams on the call sheet. By Vanessa Armstrong | Published on September 17, 2025 Screenshot: Marvel Studios Comment 0 Share New Share Screenshot: Marvel Studios Barbarian and Weapons writer-director Zach Cregger is chugging along with his next project, a film based on the Resident Evil video games, which he co-wrote with Shay Hatten. We already knew that Austin Abrams, who was recently in Cregger’s Weapons and who will also play Jay (the young man who gets swallowed by a whale) in the upcoming movie Whalefall was on board to star in the Resident Evil adaptation. And today, Deadline broke the news that First Steps’ Mole Man (pictured above), aka Paul Walter Hauser (Cobra Kai, The Naked Gun, The Afterparty) will also be in the film. Details on Cregger’s movie, which he’ll also be directing, are sparse. Cregger did say recently, however, that the movie would be more like Evil Dead 2 than the other movies already out based on the Resident Evil franchise. What role Hauser is playing is also unknown, as is Abrams’, though odds are good that Abrams will be our protagonist just trying to get somewhere and survive. Cregger, in fact, has called it “a real time foot journey, where you just go deeper and deeper into the depths of Hell.” Perhaps Hauser will be Abrams’ sidekick on this totally calm, uneventful journey? We’ll have to wait to find out! Almost a year, in fact; on September 18, 2026, we’ll be able to settle into our theater chairs with a big bucket of popcorn to see the totally low-key, non-scary movie where absolutely nothing bad or stressful happens to Hauser or Abrams. [end-mark] The post Paul Walter Hauser Joins Cast of Zach Cregger’s <i>Resident Evil</i> Movie appeared first on Reactor.

Books book reviews The Library at Hellebore by Cassandra Khaw Is a Vicious Dark Academia One of Cassandra Khaw’s most fascinating, horrifying worlds to date—and a great place for new readers to meet their brilliant mind. By Martin Cahill | Published on September 17, 2025 Comment 0 Share New Share Alessa Li has a problem. Well, several problems. She has been forcibly relocated to Hellebore Technical Institute for the Gifted, which wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world if it wasn’t literally one of the worst places in the world—an academy for the dangerously powerful, those for whom ruin runs in their veins, many of them one bad day away from unleashing apocalypse. She’s been paired with a roommate who she cannot stand and whom she may have quite possibly murdered (we’ll come back to that); she has a magic within her, and it is hungry, maybe just as hungry as Alessa is for escape; and to top it all off, she’s currently trapped in the library at Hellebore with a handful of students who survived the school-wide massacre, as the staff has suddenly moved to literally devour every student present.  Hey, Dark Academia genre? Cassandra Khaw just said, “Bet?” and pushed all their chips into the middle of the table. If you’ve read Khaw’s work before, then you know what you’re in for: compulsive, complicated, contradictory characters each trying to navigate the otherworldly circumstances of their lives. Prose that sizzles and spats. Worldbuilding that is sublime, imagery that will make your jaw tense with the beautiful grotesquerie described, and a story that will make you pissed for these characters, and mourn their losses. And let me tell you, there are losses. Lots of ‘em. But that’s also what makes this book so special, and what elevates this beyond a gory pick-em-off story is the tenacity of hope, the value of trying to survive even when the odds are against you, and making peace with the inevitable.  It’s no secret that Khaw fulfills the promise of the premise, that while these students are trapped in the Library, with a hungry faculty salivating outside, well… not everyone gets out alive. Forced together to survive in terrible circumstances, this group of students do their best to do right by each other, (most of them, anyway). Among the remaining students are an illegitimate son of Lucifer, a chosen voice for an eldritch force, a hive mind drone losing herself to the creature within, an augur who reads his own entrails, and of course, our Alessa, whose dangerous power lives in her body, and is of bodies, specifically, manipulation of yours, hers, and anyone within reach, down to the cellular level. But for all that the Faculty are waiting for these students to sell each other out, manipulate, maim, and sacrifice the others to save their own skin, the majority of them really try not to.  Buy the Book The Library at Hellebore Cassandra Khaw Buy Book The Library at Hellebore Cassandra Khaw Buy this book from: AmazonBarnes and NobleiBooksIndieBoundTarget Khaw has crafted an engaging, bittersweet collection of outsiders, whose otherness is literalized by their enrollment in Hellebore. While there are some that fit the bill of Darwinian fuck-you survivalists, Alessa and those she spends the most time with understand that they’re in community with each other— that here, at the very least, they can all recognize in each other some spark of humanity, even as their humanity might very well be fading as they face gods, monsters, and magic. And Alessa, bless her, may be a prickly, irritable, bit of an asshole, but even she sees the moment for what it is: If they’re going to die, they’re not going to do it to each other. And if they’re going to go out, they’re going to go out swinging. Khaw provides texture to this thesis in many ways; some students are little beacons of hope, while others are slick opportunists, with many in between these poles. But, they all want to live. And Alessa, despite not wanting to be, becomes the glue keeping them together and united as long as possible; for someone who has been through the wringer and seen the worst, Khaw paints Alessa kindly; it may be because of that horror that she can see the value in working together as long as possible, to say fuck the monsters, we’re not throwing each other to the wolves. In a book with this much blood and guts, the most heart we see is in the actions of Alessa and her comrades as they work to make it through the worst of situations as best as possible. It’s like what if Star Trek’s Kobayashi Maru was a writhing, conglomeration of souls intent on devouring you.  One of my favorite aspects of the novel is the timeline maneuvering that Khaw deftly engages in; we meet Alessa at, technically, the scene of a crime where she supposedly murdered her roommate. Then we find ourselves in the Library, suddenly trapped. And then we’re back at the very beginning, when she first arrives at Hellebore where all of this story starts. The time-hopping took me a few chapters to get used to, but once you see the pattern, it becomes an irresistible device with which Khaw paints a bittersweet picture of Alessa’s reluctant friendships, her frustrating attempts to escape, the growing dread of the Faculty as their hunger becomes less and less hidden, and how the past influences the present dire situation. It’s really brilliantly done, and scene after scene, this story shines like blacklight in a blood-spattered parlor.  The Library at Hellebore is a fantastic place for new readers of Khaw to meet their brilliant mind, which worked like hell to give us one of the most fascinating, horrifying worlds of theirs to date. (I haven’t even mentioned The Librarian yet; let’s just say you don’t want to owe a late fee to this being.) Through Alessa’s sharp, incisive point of view, the world of Hellebore is brought to life—her dry and wry observations, her tactical and dextrous perspective when her back is against the wall. Alessa’s voice is that of a predator who knows larger, hungrier beasts lurk nearby. And through her sharp-as-nails spirit and her tenacious heart, we see that when you’ve been on the outside your whole life, when the world wants to eat you, it’s always worth standing up and trying to survive. And The Library At Hellebore and Cassandra Khaw ultimately teach us this: Even if you get eaten, that doesn’t mean you have to let yourself be swallowed. At least, not without a fight. [end-mark] The Library at Hellebore is published by Nightfire. The post <i>The Library at Hellebore</i> by Cassandra Khaw Is a Vicious Dark Academia appeared first on Reactor.

Excerpts Epic Fantasy Read an Excerpt From The Lost Reliquary by Lyndsay Ely A divinely blessed warrior bound to the last living goddess plots deicide to win her freedom. By Lyndsay Ely | Published on September 17, 2025 Comment 0 Share New Share We’re thrilled to share an excerpt from The Lost Reliquary, the first book in a new epic fantasy series by Lyndsay Ely, publishing with Saga Press on October 21. The Devoted Lands was once home to many gods. Now, after centuries of brutal wars, only Tempestra-Innara, the Enduring Flame, remains.As a divine warrior, Lys is outwardly loyal to her goddess. If she dreams of deicide, that’s her business. When a routine heretical execution erupts into a near-fatal assassination attempt on Tempestra-Innara, Lys sees a glimmer of hope for her freedom.Lys is chosen to hunt down the heretics and find an ancient reliquary with the power to kill a god. Annoyingly, she’s not alone. Paired with Nolan, a warrior from a rival cloister who is as pious as he is determined, Lys must feign devotion if she hopes to keep her own god-killing ambitions within reach.But as they pursue the heretics linked to the assassination, Lys uncovers a world with more possibility—and peril—than she ever anticipated. One When they whisper, we wake… Every divine execution begins pretty much the same: with me, bored and sweaty, staring down at the worn patch that sits before the altar of Tempestra-Innara, last living goddess of the Devoted Lands. I hate that spot. Even from the highest gallery of the Cathedral, it stands out like a stain, darker than the stone surrounding it, burnished smooth over centuries by the knees of countless devoted, conquered, and condemned.  The Cathedral’s apse curls around it like an embrace, oil lamps on spidery chains flickering among the golden, bejeweled bones that line the walls. Some of those bones’ owners knelt too. I’m not sure they would have taken it as a compliment, having their flesh stripped away, skeletons gilded and set with gemstones, but that’s the honor the Goddess bestows upon their worthiest of enemies: a tacky eternity as the Cathedral’s most striking décor. From this angle, I can’t quite see my favorite skull—the one with its front teeth missing and jeweled daggers in its eye sockets—but it’s there. I named it Alastair. Like the apse, the Cathedral is crowded with bodies, but fleshy living ones, which is why I am melting like a damn cake left in the sun. Even as high above them as my fellow Potentiates and I are, practically wedged into the skeletal ribbing of the vaulted ceiling, there’s no relief.  It must be worse in the gallery below ours, which, despite the upcoming entertainment, remains sparsely occupied by our superiors in the Orders—some huddled Priors oozing bureaucracy, a pair of Bellators in their snappy military garb, one rather wilted-looking Cleric of the Blood. And I can’t imagine the pure torture on the floor, where a lagoon of onlookers churns endlessly, their perfumes and sachets long ago congealed into a smothering overripeness that I can practically taste. Somehow the corporeal bouquet does nothing to temper the unwashed-armpit smell of my helm. We may not put on our ceremonial armor often, but the least the Dawn Cloister attendants could do is give it a good airing out before we do. “At this rate,” I say under my breath, shifting uncomfortably as a tickle of sweat runs down the small of my back toward my swampy nethers, “we’ll be dead before the condemned is.” To one side of me, Jeziah lets out a brief yip of laughter, as fox-like as the creature his helm depicts. On the other, Morgan is silent, but I can sense the simmering annoyance beneath her hawk, which stares unflaggingly at the Cathedral’s apse. It would probably take me literally exploding into flames to break her focused, ever-obedient attention. “Lys!” I turn my head slightly at the hiss of my name, down the line of my fellow Potentiates to where a warning expression flashes beneath Prior Petronilla’s hood. There and gone, her face shadowed again, but the message is clear. Especially when her attention snags fleetingly on the gallery directly across from us, where the Potentiates of the Dusk Cloister stand: Do not embarrass us. But if the Dusk Potentiates or their Prior noticed my indiscretion, they give no indication, as straight and still as the statues honoring our distinguished predecessors that line the halls of the Cathedral complex. Buy the Book The Lost Reliquary Lyndsay Ely Buy Book The Lost Reliquary Lyndsay Ely Buy this book from: AmazonBarnes and NobleiBooksIndieBoundTarget We are a mirrored set, the gold-trimmed ebon gray of their armor contrasting with the polished red and gold of ours in a perfect theatrical duality. I don’t know the names or faces of the Dusk acolytes, and they don’t know ours. Until we join the higher Orders, we are nameless, faceless things to everyone outside our Cloister, our sole purpose to train and learn to serve the Goddess to the highest degree. Within the Dawn, competition to be the best is fierce. But Prior Petronilla never lets us forget that, no matter how we excel, the Dusk Potentiates might be that much better, that much more devoted. But anonymous or not, pitted against one another or not, we are all the children of Tempestra-Innara. Their Chosen. Every one of us once knelt on that infamous spot below and received the gift of the Goddess’s blessing: our communion of blood. A shiver runs through me. But not from the memory. Tempestra-Innara has arrived. Instinctively, I stand straighter, discomfort forgotten as a sudden, diminishing sensation takes me. I am small, smaller even than when I first beheld them, when their gift trickled its way over my lips and into my veins. That shared blood sings now, their holy presence like a rush of fever as the bones in the apse shift, revealing the hidden door to the Goddess’s sanctum in the Cathedral spire. Below, the crowd cries out with pleasure, fear, awe. They clutch the reveries that hang around their necks—tiny representations of the holy flame wrought in gold, silver, marble—and reach out for a touch that will never deign to grace them. There is no acclimating to the arrival of the Goddess, not even for those with their divine gift. They glide forward. At the edge of the dais that marks the boundary between the apse and the Cathedral’s nave, the Goddess stops and raises their hands. Flames appear, filling their palms with a clean, white blaze. I feel the trembling in my legs again. Many in the crowd fall to their knees. I hear whimpers. I see tears. I get it. For most, it’s their first time this close to the Goddess’s glory. Do they see the same thing I do? The unnerving amalgamation of flesh and divinity, familiar and alien at the same time? Describing Innara, the chosen vessel, is easy enough: tall and slight of frame, with a light complexion and brown hair. But that is not a description of Tempestra. They tower. They radiate. They glow with the cold brightness of a full moon, their tresses flowing with the power of a river swollen by spring thaw. And their flames… even from a distance the flickering tongues of divinity feel hungry with a need to cleanse the impure. When they whisper, we wake… The prayer begins without need for a cue, a rising swell of voices. At their command, we follow. In their light, we are seen… we are judged… My lips move automatically, reciting words I’ve known longer than I can remember, brought to my village by soft-tongued clerics long before a Bellator’s forces arrived to deliver their enlightenment in a more bellicose manner. May their blessed flame find purity of faith, or else leave cinder and ash. Jeziah once told me he thought the air seemed thinner at the end of a prayer. Lighter, as if something has been burned out of it. And as this one tapers off, Tempestra-Innara lowers their hands, letting their flames extinguish before they address the crowd. “Bring forward the condemned.” They don’t waste time getting down to business. Which I appreciate, since the initial shock of their arrival has faded, and now I feel the sticky sweat again. The massive doors at the front of the Cathedral swing open, admitting a welcome rush of cool air. The condemned in question has probably been waiting just beyond them for ages, but there’s an order to these sorts of things. An anticipatory fear that needs to be constructed, a level of threatening theatricality that must be reached. After all, anything less than a showy execution is simply an invitation for further insurrection. The man’s name is Emmaus. He stumbles as he’s dragged down the center aisle by the rope around his neck, hampered by chains binding his ankles and wrists. The restraints hardly seem necessary; even from a distance, he moves feebly, bruises covering his exposed skin, barely keeping upright. Not that it earns him any sympathy from the onlooking crowd. They hiss and spit, rancor as thick as their perfumes. Because common criminals don’t get divine executions. Because Emmaus is more than that—he’s a heretic. And a proficient one at that. He and his coconspirators have murdered magistrates and clerics, and eluded the Goddess’s forces for nearly two years. Until they sent Andronica. One hand gripping Emmaus’s rope, Andronica saunters her way to Tempestra-Innara, not a trace of humility in her razor-sharp gaze. As the Goddess’s Executrix, such things are below her. My fellow Potentiates and I briefly break our static vigil to tap the sigil of the Dawn Cloister on our shoulders. Respect for the Executrix, who was once one of us. They are the Goddess’s right hand, their hunter, their blade. We are all stronger, faster, more resilient than a normal person, thanks to the Goddess’s gift. Our senses are sharper, our wounds quicker to heal. We can call the divine flame (some, like me, with less competency than others). But of all the paths a Potentiate will follow—Bellator, Prior, Arbiter, Cleric of the Blood—the position of the Executrix is the most revered. The most desired. And utterly out of reach. Andronica is still in her prime, radiating with vitality. But nothing, save the Goddess, lasts forever. Andronica yanks the rope, sending Emmaus to his knees. A reverie escapes his tattered shirt, a simple painted plaster pendant in the style favored by the lower classes. And by heretics. Easy to smash quickly if one needs to hide their spiritual inclinations. That Andronica has allowed Emmaus to keep wearing it is a clear mockery. Even with my divinely assisted eyesight, I can’t tell which dead god Emmaus is so devoted to that he risked ending up exactly where he is now, but it doesn’t matter. One is as damning as another. And ridiculous. There are no other gods, not anymore. Tempestra-Innara killed the last of their siblings well over a century ago. All that’s left are beliefs that refuse to die too. “Mother.” Andronica bows. “As you commanded, as you entrusted me to do, I have brought you the heretic Emmaus.” Tempestra-Innara inclines their head slightly. “And for that, my daughter, you have my thanks and love. Emmaus.” The Goddess speaks the name with a measure of respect. More than he merits, but it’s there nonetheless, a minute concession from a victor whose triumph was never in question. “You are guilty of treason and heresy. For that, you will die with greater honor than you deserve, by the hand of divinity.” Emmaus laughs, a creaking, defiant sound that sends a ripple of offended gasps through the crowd. “You may be divine…” I’m damn near impressed by the venom he summons. “But you are not my goddess.” More scandalized murmurs, cut off by a single word from Tempestra-Innara. “Heretic.” The sound shivers through the Cathedral, curdling my guts. Even Morgan flinches a little. The humanity in Tempestra-Innara’s features slips away, turning as cold as a marble statue’s. “I am the only goddess.” No one, save Andronica, is unaffected by the declaration. She smirks a little, beaming with devoted pride. Then, almost indifferently, she turns and kicks Emmaus in the side. He lets out a cry of pain, worse than the blow warranted, which makes me suspect it’s not the first kick his ribs have taken lately. “I should have cut out his tongue to gift you, Mother,” Andronica says. “If he speaks again, I will.” But Emmaus doesn’t quiet. Instead, he reaches for his necklace and wraps his hand around the pendant. His lips begin to move, and though he speaks too quietly to make out, I know a prayer when I see it. I almost laugh. Fool. I’m not the only one who anticipates the Goddess’s rage. The whole Cathedral collectively holds its breath, waiting for the inevitable execution, which, if it might have been merciful before, sure won’t be now. Divine execution might be an honored way to die, but it’s not a pleasant one. Displeasure hardens the Goddess even further as they raise their hands again. But Emmaus doesn’t falter when the flames reappear. He continues to pray, rocking slightly as he brings the necklace to his lips and kisses it. Making peace with the last moments of his life. At least, that’s what I think. Until I see his fist tighten. Until I hear the faint, chalky crunch an instant before Emmaus throws his head back. It all happens so quickly. Even Tempestra-Innara doesn’t have time to react. Suicide by poison. A syrupy moment passes as Emmaus stands and smiles—no, grins, lips blackened by whatever was secreted in the necklace. Mocking. Triumphant. I smirk beneath my helm. Maybe Emmaus isn’t as much a fool as I thought. Silence falls on the Cathedral. Not even Andronica moves, waiting, prudently, for the Goddess to react, to say something. This execution has turned into a colossal fuckup. Someone will have to bear the fault of it. Tempestra-Innara does not speak. Nor do they move. And for the first time, I glimpse something I’ve never seen on the Goddess’s face. Something that must be anything else, because it can’t possibly be what I think it is. Fear. The Goddess strikes—a divine blow, unnatural in its speed. A blow that should leave Emmaus in as many pieces as his reverie. A blow that Emmaus blocks. Cries erupt from the crowd as Emmaus grips the Goddess’s wrist with one hand and snatches their neck with the other. A blade swings—Andronica’s—but Emmaus glides beneath it, landing a kick that sends the Executrix flying. With unsettling vigor, Emmaus laughs. Impossibly, his bruises have disappeared, and he doesn’t move like a man with shattered ribs. Instead, he stands tall as his fingers tighten further. A truncated cough escapes the Goddess. Then, abruptly, he begins to wheeze. To choke. The heretic pitches forward, eyes squeezing shut as he loses his grip on Tempestra-Innara. Freed, the Goddess stumbles backward, the look on their face… I don’t need to see it clearly to know something is truly wrong. Especially not when Emmaus’s eyes open again. All humanity there is gone. In its place is blackness, oily and fetid. A darkness that spreads, bubbling over Emmaus’s face, pouring from his nose and mouth in a hideous gush. One that starts to consume him. To change him. Emmaus raises his arms, flesh disintegrating as spears of the grim effluvia burst from what used to be his hands, sharpening to a point as they plunge into Tempestra-Innara’s shoulder, stomach, thigh. The Goddess screams, a sound that grates across my soul. I cannot look away from the horror below, blood pounding in my ears even as it seems to drain out of me. What I am seeing shouldn’t be possible. Cannot not be possible. And yet, the blackness continues to grow. Faster even than my stunned disbelief as I watch Emmaus about to succeed in doing what I have secretly dreamed of since the first time I knelt on that worn Cathedral floor: Killing Tempestra-Innara. Excerpted from The Lost Reliquary, copyright © 2025 by Lyndsay Ely. The post Read an Excerpt From <i>The Lost Reliquary</i> by Lyndsay Ely appeared first on Reactor.