Cipher: A Demonica Underworld Novella

by Larissa Ione

  “My lord,” she said, bowing deeply when she reached the dais where the fallen angel sat on a throne made of more bones and teeth. A set of desiccated angel wings formed the back of the throne, the yellowed feathers dotted with ancient dried blood.

  He didn’t waste any time. “I just found out that Azagoth murdered my son and my nephew, so I’m in a bad fucking mood. Don’t piss me off, Lyre,” he warned. “Tell me how Cipher disabled the demonweb block.”

  “I don’t know,” she lied calmly, relying on one of the few skills she had that was worth anything down here. “He was using his laptop to work on the viruses you requested, and the next thing I knew, your goons were storming into the room.”

  “You weren’t watching him?”

  “Of course I was watching him,” she snapped. “But I don’t know how all that tech stuff works.”

  Her answer seemed to mollify him, maybe because it was true. She could operate email and search engines, but everything else was as much of a mystery to her as Stonehenge’s purpose was to humans.

  Bael sat back in the chair, his narrowed gaze locked on her like a weapon. “Did he create any viruses?”

  She shook her head. “He says they’re complicated and that it’ll take time.”

  “Time?” He made a sound of derision. “With his computer skills and the plague talent that came with his wings, he should be able to snap his fingers and come up with what I want. He’s stalling. He’s stalling and I’ll kill him! I’ll slice him and skin him and...”

  He went off on an insane, chaotic tangent, and she knew him well enough to stay silent while he let off some crazy steam.

  When he was finally done, having promised to maim and/or kill Cipher in a few dozen ways, she asked tentatively, “How do you know what talents came with his wings? Cipher isn’t even aware of all of his abilities yet.”

  Bael reached into a bowl sitting on the arm of his throne and plucked out something oblong and dripping with clotted blood. Repulsed, she swallowed sickly and hoped to hell that when evil began to flourish inside her she wouldn’t develop a taste for disgusting things.

  “I know what those wings can do because they aren’t Cipher’s.” He spoke calmly, as if he hadn’t just screamed about boiling Cipher until his eyeballs burst. “They belonged to Asher.”

  “Asher? He was killed last year—” She sucked in a shocked breath, remembering the scars at the base of Cipher’s wings. “You cut off his wings, didn’t you? You cut them off and transplanted them onto Cipher.” So bizarre. “But why?”

  Bael popped the bloody bit into his mouth and chewed. “We needed Asher’s specific skill set, and Cipher was the perfect recipient.”

  She shouldn’t be surprised, but damn, this was some devious shit. She’d never heard of a wing transplant before. But it explained why Cipher’s powers and flying ability were so out of control.

  “So how, exactly, will you be using your computer virus?”

  Bael crunched on something and swallowed. “Depends on what his viruses do.”

  “Well, maybe you could write up a wish list,” she said sarcastically.

  “That’s a good idea, my love!” He leaped to his feet, startling her into taking a step back. “Imagine if he could make a virus that would be executable in Heaven.” He threw his arms above his head in a show of maniacal exuberance. “Wonderful!” He grinned at her. “That’s how you could get your revenge.”

  Yikes. That would be one hell of a revenge. She wanted her sister and the bastards who condemned her to pay, but setting loose a plague in Heaven could invite destruction on a...well, a biblical scale. For the first time, she wished Moloc was here to temper his brother’s insanity.

  “Yes,” he purred as he took his seat again. “Tell Cipher I want a virus that will affect angels. And another that will affect millions of humans. And yet another that can be sent to individual demons and fallen angels.” He closed his eyes as if picturing the mass destruction he was talking about. “I will be the most powerful fallen angel in history.”

  Aside from Satan, of course. And actually, if Cipher could do all of that, he would be the most powerful fallen angel—second to Satan—in history. He could rule the world with that kind of power.

  “My lord...if I may.” She cleared her throat. “Where is Cipher?”

  He blinked as if he’d forgotten the lynchpin in his plan for universal domination. “Ah. Cipher. The Isle of Torture, maybe?” He used one long fingernail to stir the contents of the bowl. “Flail wanted to play with him. If you hurry, you can catch her.”

  Shit!

  She started toward the door, but he called her back.

  “Cipher can have access to the demonweb, but only on my network,” he said. “My people will watch every move.”

  “Of course.” She turned to leave again.

  “And Lyre?”

  Her insides turned to jelly at his tone. It was his sadistic one. The one that sounded like a dull knife scraping bone. “Yes, my lord,” she whispered.

  “You know you belong to me.”

  She swallowed her loathing and the “Fuck you, you piece of shit,” that sat on her lips and instead uttered a mandatory, “Yes, my lord.”

  For the ten millionth time, she regretted agreeing to serve him in any capacity he wished for all eternity if he helped her get the revenge she craved. She’d been out of her mind with anger and grief, and the implications of any capacity and for all eternity were, for the first time, truly hitting home.

  “Everything of yours belongs to me,” he said, and her mind instantly flashed to Flail, who must have told him about finding them in bed. “Including your virginity.”

  He knows? Shock stole her breath, and then a blow to her spine sent her sprawling to the floor and gasping for air. His heavy footsteps fell like thunder, coming closer, threatening destruction.

  She tried to push to her feet, but something held her frozen to the floor and she could only watch as Bael’s gore-crusted boots stopped next to her head. He bent over, his hot, rancid breath blowing in her ear.

  “Betray me in any way, and I will take your virginity with a sword. Do you understand?”

  “Y-yes,” she gasped.

  Her skin crawled as he stroked her hair. “But help me use Cipher to free Satan, and you can be our queen as we serve at his side.”

  Oh, God. She couldn’t have heard him right. “Our queen?”

  “Moloc and I. We are one.” He yanked her to her feet with a painful jerk of her hair and tossed her at the door, where she landed in heap. “Go. Make my viruses.”

  She had her feet under her and was out the door in a heartbeat.

  The Ramreel guard watched her with beady eyes until she got around the corner, where she stumbled to a halt, grabbed her knees, and struggled to catch her breath.

  What had she gotten herself into?

  Her conversation with Cipher earlier came back to her. Haunting her.

  You shackled yourself for all eternity to Bael and his empire of evil for the sole purpose of getting revenge and without any thought about what comes after?

  At the time, what he’d said hadn’t really sunken in. Her daily life since falling had been about one thing: revenge. But what would happen later? Was becoming some sort of brother-wife demon queen truly what she had to look forward to? Why her? Why wouldn’t they choose Flail, who seemed to enjoy the brothers’ penchant for vile acts?

  And was revenge really even all that important anymore? Merely surviving filled most of her life, and helping Bael try to jumpstart Armageddon filled the rest.

  The same impulsivity that had gotten her wings sliced off had gotten her an eternity of hell, and her only hope was that evil would take her so completely that she didn’t care anymore. Because right now, she did care.

  She was a fallen angel. She should be thrilled to hear of Bael’s plans for Satan, Heaven, and her enemies. But this was too much.

  This was way too much.

  This was the kind of shit Flail
should be excited about, and if she wanted to—

  Flail.

  Bael said she’d been heading to see Cipher. Screw that. Cipher was hers.

  Heart thundering in her chest, Lyre sprinted toward the castle’s main exit.

  Hold on, Cipher. I’m coming.

  * * * *

  Of all the beatings Cipher had endured during his time in Sheoul, the ones he’d gotten over the last few hours had been the worst.

  Oh, he’d dealt with far more painful, off-the-scale torture, but in his mind, that was different than a beating. A beating involved fists and feet, maybe a blunt object, and a whole lot of taunting.

  It was fucking annoying. At least when he was in agony, the pain shut down his brain. But today he’d been hung like a punching bag to endure the chatter of demons who’d used him as practice before they were ushered into the arena for their fights to the death. He was the warm-up.

  And he wondered if, at some point, he was going to be tossed in the arena too.

  Even as the thought filtered through his battered brain, Flail showed up.

  No. Fucking. Way.

  Today was not his lucky day.

  “Looks like you got yourself into hot water,” she said, sounding far too happy about it.

  “You know me,” he drawled. “Always out of the fire and into the pot.”

  “Mmm.” She flicked the door to the training room closed with her mind. “Is that why you got kicked out of Heaven?”

  He wasn’t going to tell her jack shit about why he lost his wings.

  Weird that he’d spilled all to Lyre, though. Just spit it out like it was no big deal. But then, Lyre hadn’t betrayed him or tortured him, so there was that. Plus, he couldn’t help but like Lyre. Other than the time she’d fed him to demon fish, she’d been pretty cool. They’d spent months talking about mundane things, like the topography of Bael’s territory, the locations of the Harrowgates scattered through his realm, and the best flavor of ice cream.

  The ice cream talk wouldn’t help get him out of here, but the other shit might. Not that Lyre had given him intel when he’d asked, or even all at once. He’d pieced it together over time, keeping mental notes on anything that might prove useful. But in the course of the information-gathering, he’d learned enough about Lyre to not hate her. And now he actually felt something for her. A protective instinct that made him grateful she hadn’t been here while the demons had pounded on him. And that she wasn’t here now, when Flail was going to do whatever it was she liked to do. Which he guaranteed wouldn’t be something he liked to do.

  He tested the rope binding his hands as he hung from the ceiling by his wrists. Nothing had changed. The rope held, preventing both escape and his ability to use any of his powers. He couldn’t even break the damned rope to get to one of the hundreds of weapons locked on racks around the room.

  Too bad, too, because he’d love to shove one of those spears right through Flail’s evil heart.

  “I guess I’m getting the silent treatment,” Flail said as she plucked a dagger from a rack. “I wonder if you can scream in silence.”

  He already knew the answer to that.

  It was no.

  The door banged open with such force that a piece splintered and lodged in the wall. Then, in a whirlwind of energy, Lyre burst in like he’d summoned her. Forget wanting her to stay away. She was a badass bundle of fury with lasers for eyes, and it was hot. As. Fuck.

  “Get away from him, you bitch.”

  Yes! Bonus badass points for quoting Aliens, intentionally or not.

  Flail laughed, but Lyre threw a swing and decked the bitch, cutting her off mid-guffaw. The surprisingly powerful blow sent a couple of Flail’s teeth clattering to the ground.

  Lyre didn’t back off or even slow down. Like a battle-seasoned warrior, she pressed her advantage, swiping a sword from a rack and attacking while Flail was off balance. Flail fell back under the assault, and just as she summoned an elemental sword of her own, a massive blade of fire, Lyre disappeared in a puff of vapor.

  What the hell?

  Then he saw it. The vapor was Lyre. Flail shouted in frustration as she whacked uselessly at the wispy rope of smoke that circled her, taunting her, laughing at her. He could actually hear soft giggles as Lyre made a joke out of the other female.

  Abruptly, Lyre shot upward and dove down, wrapping her misty form around his wrists.

  “No!” Flail ran toward him, but the rope broke and he dropped to the ground, his hands free, power singing through his veins.

  Now Flail was going to pay for everything she’d done to him.

  And then it was Bael’s turn.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Lyre had had enough of that skank.

  So she loved it when Cipher hit the ground, popped his wings, and slammed Flail with a summoned wave of scalding water.

  That was a new power. And it was all kinds of awesome.

  Flail screamed as her skin blistered and peeled, steam rising from her body. Somehow she managed to strike back with her fire sword, catching Cipher in the ribs. The stench of burnt and boiled flesh mingled in the air like a demon chef was preparing some sort of savory fallen angel soup.

  Clutching the cauterized wound, Cipher hit the ground and rolled into Flail, bowling her over and knocking the wind from her lungs. As she gasped for air, Lyre, still in her vapor form, had an idea. Like, why the hell not?

  Mind set on a course of action, Lyre darted into Flail’s open mouth.

  Flail tried to scream, but she was choking and gagging, and Lyre wondered what would happen if she slid right into the bitch’s lungs.

  Blind to whatever was happening outside Flail’s mouth, she squirmed around, plugging the other female’s windpipe and making her squeal in rage and panic. There were grunts, flailing, and then everything went still and quiet.

  “Lyre?”

  Lyre slid between Flail’s motionless lips and materialized next to her as she lay on the ground.

  There was a spear through her chest.

  Awesome.

  Cupping the back of Lyre’s head, Cipher drew her in for a kiss that was as hot as it was quick. “That was one of the coolest things I’ve ever seen.” His fierce, admiring gaze held hers. “Awesome gift.”

  She shrugged awkwardly, a little dazed and flustered by his unexpected kiss. Not that she was complaining. He could do that anytime he wanted to.

  “It’s kind of useless. I can’t manipulate things very well. But every once in a while it comes in handy.” Which was a good thing since it was pretty much her only fallen angel ability. She gestured to Flail. “She’s not going to be unconscious for long.”

  “I know,” he said grimly. “We have to finish her off.”

  As much as she’d love that, killing Flail right now was impossible.

  “We can’t. Bael will know as soon as her soul goes to him.” She glanced around the room, thinking they could tie her up to buy some time, but when she spotted the coffin-like chest in the corner, she got an idea. “Let’s shove her inside the torture casket.”

  His brow knit together in confusion. “What’s a torture casket? I thought that chest was for storing weapons.”

  “Nope.” She grabbed Flail’s wrists and started dragging her toward the stone box. “Once you put someone in it, it seals for twelve hours. The poor bastard inside gets twelve hours of terror. Nightmares of the things they’re most afraid of.”

  “Huh. Demons are really creative, aren’t they?” He gestured for Lyre to stand back, and then he hauled Flail’s unconscious body up over his shoulder. “I’d rather kill her, but I’ll just make that a future goal.”

  “Everyone needs aspirations, I guess.” Although it had occurred to her that, beyond revenge, she had none. It made her feel...empty.

  He dropped her unceremoniously into the box and slammed the lid closed. The gold lock on the front spun and glowed, and a moment later, Flail’s muffled screams assured them it was working.

  “Come
on.” She took Cipher’s hand. “We need to get out of here.” She stopped, an idea sparking in her brain. “Wait. You were able to see the spell that kept you from accessing the internet. Can you see the one on your wings that keeps you from being able to flash inside Bael’s territory?”

  He frowned. “I don’t know.”

  As if his wings knew they were talking about them, they flapped crazily, nearly knocking him off his feet. She should probably tell him the truth about them, but right now might not be the best time. He cursed as he tried to get the dead fallen angel’s wings under control. Finally they remained still, although they quivered with the effort it must have taken him to keep them that way.

  “I can see the spell,” he said, “but not all of it.” With Flail’s cries for help as background noise, he concentrated for a little while, and then shook his head. “I think I need to be able to see the entire code in order to alter it. Dammit. And why the fuck won’t my wings behave?”

  She started to answer, but at the sound of voices outside the door, she thought better of it. “I’ll tell you, but not here. Come on.”

  Quickly and without incident, she led him out of the building Bael had dedicated entirely to imprisoning and torturing his enemies...and anyone else he felt like slaughtering for fun. As soon as they were outside, they took flight, which went about as well as the last time, with Cipher struggling to maintain altitude and course.

  He cursed the entire way to the nearby Valley of Asshole Trees, as she called it, a rift between two volcanoes that had developed into an orchard of spiky trees that produced round blackish-purple fruit. She’d discovered the valley about a year ago, one of the few places in Bael’s realm that wasn’t completely nightmarish. Even the lizard-monkeys that lived in the trees were kind of cute.

  Well, they weren’t terrifying carnivores, anyway. That had to count for something.

  “What is this place?” Cipher turned in a slow circle on the stubby but lush yellow grass, taking it all in. “It’s beautiful. In a weird, grotesque way. Those apples probably eat people, don’t they?”

  If they did, demons would have found a way to weaponize them by now.