by Mark Eller
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Trying not to cringe as the junior god of Hell bellowed above her, Sulya knelt in front of Athos’s throne while a pale spawn hovered near his side.. The dark god’s roar rose in volume, becoming a crashing boom that shook lose precious stones and bits of rock from the walls and ceiling. His thick, barbed tale whipped around, striking his demon attendant, smashing it into the wall. The hellborn made a sick, squelching sound as it fell to the floor. Broken black bone stuck through its red scales. A dark, sticky spot marred the wall where its body had struck. Swallowing, Sulya hoped Athos dared not vent his anger upon her, not when his father, Zorce, the creator of all evil, favored her. If Sulya died, the dark god would punish his son horribly for harming his general.
Athos roared again, making Sulya’s battle armor rattle. He turned eyes the color of molten lava upon her. She swallowed again and refused to drop her gaze. Any show of fear would be seen as weakness— and showing weakness, before the father or the son, was fatal.
Taking two thunderous steps, Athos bridged the ten feet between them with ease while the cowering spawn scuttled away to press against a cavern wall. Diamonds popped beneath the god’s large, taloned feet, spraying her with debris. Snatching her by the topknot, Athos lifted her into the air until their faces were mere inches apart.
Sulya relaxed in his grip. Fighting would only get her dead.
“Tell me again what you did.” Athos’s voice grated out between teeth as long Sulya’s fingers and ten times as many. His lips pulled back from his gums in a blackened snarl. She tried not to breathe in his breath’s stench, but the vapors were too much. Gagging, tears ran down her face, and her skin’s color shifted to mottled lavender.
“I did as I was asked. The sword disappeared of its own accord. It must have been charmed. As for Larson, his dying was an accident. I didn’t mean to break his neck.”
Sulya gasped in pain as Athos’s grip tightened. “Stupid whore! I wanted him alive! He knew things— important things.” Throwing his horned head back, the god roared. The sound shocked through her body like a jolt of lightning. He shook her hard.
Sulya feared he would lose control and snap her neck. Athos had never been a stable god.
“I do not take failure lightly. You know…” Pausing, he drew her closer. “It might take months before my father finds out who killed his trained pet, and by then he will no longer care.”
He flexed his hand, and Sulya could not stop a ragged whimper from escaping. The tip of one dark talon pierced her neck’s delicate skin. Athos’s tongue flicked against her cheek, then stroked her throat. Two of the protruding spikes upon his tongue scraped through flesh and lapped at her blood. Sulya shivered. Hellkind found similians a treat, their blood an aphrodisiac.
Growling, Athos pulled her closer to his body and wrapped his grotesquely muscled arm around her butt. Throbbing, his barbed member pressed between her legs. Sulya thanked the gods she still wore armor.
“Before I make you disappear,” he said, “let’s have a little fun.”
“Harm her and I'll torture you myself.” A voice, colder and darker than any pit in Hell, slithered around the room.
Athos jumped, releasing her abruptly. Hitting the ground hard, Sulya scrabbled quickly away, diamonds and rocks cutting into the flesh of her hands. She rushed behind her savior, hand on her sword, and glared fiercely at Hell’s lesser god, daring him to touch her again.
A living darkness faced Athos, a being clad in the abyss itself. Mercktos, Zorce’s Black Knight, stood before Athos, challenging, arrogant, and angry. Like faint ripples in a pond, the void she hid behind shivered with displeasure. Sulya gasped as the edge of Mercktos’s dark cloak brushed faintly against her boot. A moment of panic, of raw, cold fear, pulsed through her. Sulya took an unsteady step back and held her ground. She would not run and cower in the dark, not from the devil beside her. Cowering from him would be a bigger mistake than doing so in front of the Two. Zorce and Athos might torture and kill, but Mercktos— Mercktos dragged his victims away into the dark, shut them in his private hell, and made a hobby of tearing screams from beings who knew the hopelessness of unending suffering. No warmth remained in the creature Zorce called his right hand, his Black Knight. Even Anothosia’s faithful ran from his path.
“You dare threaten me, Mercktos?” Purple veins pounded and pulsed in Athos’s neck in stark relief against his head’s white flesh. He took a step forward, his muscles rippling like each was a beast of its own. “You may be my father’s right hand, but I am his son.”
“One among many,” Mercktos replied, “And yet you still tempt his anger by going against his wishes while screwing up even the simplest tasks. How do you do it?” His voice oozed condescension.
Howling, the dark god leapt for Zorce’s second. Sulya heard the rasping of Mercktos’s sword but didn’t see him move. Like liquid night, the sword, thrust upward toward Athos’s gut. Just when she thought the god’s innards would shower down upon her, he spun to the side, narrowly missing the vicious blade, and landed with a heavy thud.
Athos’s body ignited in flames. The fire roared outward, striking Mercktos full in the chest, but Mercktos did not stagger. No fire could penetrate his wall of darkness. Flinching, Sulya took another step back as a fetid wave of heat blew by her, a heat so intense it blistered a small patch of exposed skin on her hand. Fighting the urge to cry out, Sulya grit her teeth and squeezed her eyes tightly closed against the smell and feel of her own singed flesh. If this was the worst to happen to her this night, she would gladly thank the gods for it.
“Now, now, little one,” Mercktos said quietly. “Control thyself or I'll be forced to spank you and tell daddy what a bad boy you were.”
Holy Hell! What was the fool trying to do? Get them both killed? Sulya sucked in a lungful of stinging, raw air and readied herself for battle. Athos wouldn’t let the insult slide.
Roaring, Athos pulled himself to his full eight feet, pounding his chest with his fists. Power pulsed from the four horns jutting from his head, forming a ball of sizzling blue, electric light. The projectile flew into Mercktos’s chest. Again, the darkness swallowed Athos’s rage.
Painful pinpricks jumped across Sulya’s skin. The air, thick, heavy, filled with hate and the promise of total destruction. How could a mere devil withstand the attack of a god? How much more could Mercktos take before he broke and got them both killed?
A low rumbling started deep in Mercktos’s chest before bursting from his blood red lips as a sharp bark of laughter. “I’ll let your father know you are well and send your regards. Now, if you’re done playing, I have two messages for you before I depart with Zorce’s general.”
Athos’s anger was a horrible sight. Lightning danced brutally over his body, making his muscles jump and spasm. Sulya found it more frightening than any storm she had ever witnessed. Never would she venture into this god’s presence alone again.
“There’ll be a day when I’ll find you off your guard Mercktos,” Athos promised. “I’ll gorge you upon my horns and feast upon your flesh.”
“Fine, fine. You've made your threats. Now is the pissing contest over or do you want to go another round?”
Groaning, Sulya put her hand over her face. Even she was not brazen enough to anger a god. Her eye twitched, her stomach quivered, and the urge to piss herself became almost overwhelming. “Please, Mercktos, tell him what Zorce wishes and let us leave,” she whispered.
Mercktos sighed, sounding bored and bothered. “Zorce says he is pleased another of Anothosia’s knights is destroyed, especially one from the House of Morlon. However,” his voice dropped to a bare whisper, “he is unhappy you only supplied his general with one of your lesser devils, one barely stronger than Phrandex, Sulya’s nursery minding son and the least of your brothers. Larson Morlon was no mere knight. He was a chosen one of the bitch goddess. It was stupid to send Zorce's best spy with such inadequate troops. Had you thought more about the end goal instead of your pride you cou
ld well have tortured him for more information.”
Athos’s mouth dropped open. A strangled sound of rage sputtered forth. He tried to speak, but the words would not come.
“But,” Mercktos’s voice grew loader, more commanding, “your father is willing to give you another opportunity to prove yourself. He wishes you to collaborate with his general and myself in entrapping Calto during the end days. Furthermore, he wants you to keep Anithia Morlon, Larson’s wife, under close scrutiny until he decides if she knows any of her husband’s secrets. Can you manage such a simple task or should he assign the deed to one of your underlings? Phrandex, maybe, or even Berferd.”
Athos hissed. “Tell him—”
Holding up a hand, Mercktos growled, “I am not finished. Your father also wishes assurance you have not disrespected his most precious gift to you, the hook. He wants to know what safeguards you have placed on your pet wizard. War with the usurpers will soon be upon us. At the least, The hook may figure prominently in your father’s plans. At worst, in the wrong hands it can cause irreperable harm.”
Athos hissed again. “You can tell my fucking father that I will not be—”
Mercktos shook his head, uninterested. “My message is delivered. Complain to him yourself.”
Spinning in a cloud of black silk, Mercktos grabbed Sulya’s arm in a painful grip, dragging her along beside him. Sulya flinched, trying to break free, but his long, nimble fingers held her fast.
Once they were far from the great hall, he stopped and twisted her around. His hand was invisible before her face, but the pain it delivered when it struck her was intense. Sulya flew into the cavern wall and slid down its rough surface, dazed and suffering.
“You idiot,” Mercktos growled.
Mercktos proceeded to beat her unconscious.
Sulya wasn’t sure how long she was out, but when she awoke she lay beneath a pale sky dumping rain.
Groaning, she tried to roll over, but found she could not. She knew bones were broken.
"Over here, over here! Sulya's over here!"
Pounding feet reverberated on a boardwalk, and then a blond, bearded face appeared above her. Stomach churning, Sulya closed her eyes, unable to tolerate the bobbing motion of the man’s head. Another face formed in her mind, Mercktos, pale, cold, and raging. Molten black eyes poured out hatred until bile rose in her throat. Someone grabbed her head, turned it to the side, and the bile spewed out.
Mercktos had done this to her, had beaten her until she couldn’t move, had brutalized her as a lesson in self-control. All the while, as his fists thudded into her body, he had laughed, enjoying her pain. Sulya’s last conscious memory before her senses fled was still very clear. After stripping away Zorce’s armor and raping her battered body, he had bent down, licked the blood from her mouth, and whispered in her ear.
“Do not fail us again, General, or I will delight in making you my new plaything.”
Lesson learned. Sulya would be damn sure to never fail her god again. She would be equally sure Mercktos got back twice what he had given her.
Oh yes. Payback was a bitch, and she was the biggest one around.