The Demon Trappers 3: Forgiven

by Jana Oliver

  Mort turned and looked out at the mass of demons. ‘By heaven, there are so many of them,’ he murmured.

  Riley followed his gaze. Threes were everywhere. Pyro-Fiends were leaping around the headstones, setting fire to leaves as they passed, creating an effective smoke screen. There were taller figures as well – Grade Four demons – but these didn’t look like the ‘whisper in your ear, soul stealing type’. These had blades and armour.

  ‘Demons don’t use swords,’ Riley complained. ‘Doesn’t anyone follow the rules any more?’

  ‘It’s total war,’ Ayden replied. ‘Remember the big one you’re supposed to stop?’

  Don’t remind me.

  ‘Shall we?’ the witch asked, gesturing towards the magical boundary that separated being safe from being dead.

  ‘Ladies first,’ Mort replied.

  Ayden laughed and crossed the circle, followed by her magical counterpart. The protective barrier quickly reformed behind them. Once they were outside, Threes immediately targeted them. One leaped at the summoner and a second later it squealed and turned into a bright blue flame and then a black ash cloud. Ayden dispatched one with her sword, which seemed to burn demon flesh like acid.

  There would be no way for them to bust open Ozymandias’s protective circle. He was too powerful.

  They’re throwing their lives away.

  Through the smoke and haze she saw something tall rise above the other Hellspawn. The Geo-Fiend was nearly seven feet tall and its head resembled a bull’s. When it opened its mouth, ruby red flames roared inside its maw. Another joined it, causing the lesser demons to scatter like frightened puppies. These had to be traitors from Hell, come to aid Sartael in his quest for Lucifer’s throne.

  Her heart nearly stopped when the Geo-Fiends stepped aside, bowing. There were only two beings that would frighten a Five: an Archfiend or a Fallen.

  This wasn’t an angel, more the love child of a demented goblin and an ancient vampire. Unrelenting evil, her father had said as he described such a creature. He hadn’t exaggerated.

  Riley never could stand the burning red eyes of the lesser demons, but these gleamed like they reflected the centre of Hell itself. Shorter than the Geo-Fiends, the Archfiend stood about six and a half feet, its body a blend of rigid muscles, sinews and claws. There were no feathers on its wings and you could clearly see the veins. Its four fangs were like a vampire’s, long and white. The domed skull housed three pairs of eyes set deep into the bone. Nearly nude except for a loincloth, it toted a sword that blazed ebony fire.

  Riley clicked on the radio. ‘There’s an Archfiend!’ she called out. No response. Panicking, she cried, ‘Did you hear me?’

  ‘Where?’ Salvatore came back, along with the sound of clashing steel.

  ‘Near the Bell Tower.’ Not just one. ‘There’s three of them!’

  The lead Archfiend gestured upward and one of its companions took to the air with a clap of wings. It veered towards the top of the Bell Tower. The sentry didn’t see it coming and though Riley screamed to warn him, he couldn’t hear her over the sounds of battle. The fiend clutched at the soldier with its talons, dragging him away from his perch. As his body plummeted to the ground, the demon gave a shriek of triumph.

  ‘Why isn’t Heaven helping us?’ she cried out. Even if it meant Armageddon, they couldn’t let all these people die.

  ‘Team Demon. What can you see?’ Salvatore called out.

  ‘You lost the guy in the Bell Tower. And something’s in the air. Something . . . Ohmigod . . .’

  The figure descending from the clouds had grey wings and was clothed in a black robe with a simple rope belt tied at its middle, like a monk might wear.

  ‘There’s a Fallen here now,’ she said.

  ‘Is it the Prince?’ the hunter demanded.

  ‘No.’ As the newcomer’s feet touched the ground, the demons raised their voices in adulation. In the midst of the cacophony was a name: Sartael.

  This was Lucifer’s enemy.

  And mine. ‘How do you kill a Fallen?’ she asked, her fingers cramped round the knife’s hilt, feeling an anger that transcended everything else.

  ‘You can’t,’ was the curt reply, and then the radio went silent.

  Sartael raised his flaming sword into the air and cried out in a hellish tongue. Riley didn’t need to know the language – it was a call to war.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  The Fallen took the field and his first target was Corsini. The hunter’s body flew through the smoke-stained air until it hit a tombstone and crumpled. Sartael stalked forward and stood over the wounded man, laughing at his feeble attempts to crawl away.

  With a cry of rage, Captain Salvatore charged forward, mowing down a Three with his blade. Other hunters joined him, as did some of the trappers. Stewart’s sword sang through the air as they tried to carve a path to the fallen man.

  Sartael raised his sword and plunged it into Corsini’s chest, pinning the dying man to the soil. The body erupted into flames and burned like a funeral pyre.

  ‘Oh God, oh God no!’ Riley cried, doubling over, her stomach churning.

  ‘War! War! War!’ the demons shrieked.

  By impaling the hunter on holy ground Sartael had issued a challenge, one that Heaven could not ignore. The Hellspawn knew it too. The earth beneath her rocked as their cries rose.

  An Archfiend jumped one of the trappers and the man was dead before he reached the ground. Beck swung wildly at a Three, trying to cut off one of its arms. The instant before he made the sweeping cut, the ground quaked and he fell.

  Riley screamed in horror. The Three dove in for the kill, but was beheaded by Müller’s stroke. Next to him was Father Rosetti, his cassock swinging with each thrust of his blade.

  Release me or they will all die.

  Riley jumped in shock. It was Ori’s voice deep within her mind, though the statue was completely encased in marble. The sun was above the horizon now, bringing him to life in the midst of death.

  ‘Talk to me angel.’ Make me believe today isn’t the day we all die.

  Pledge your soul to me and I will stop Sartael.

  Was this the decision her father spoke of? If Ori was able to destroy the rogue Fallen, would that prevent the war?

  If Riley didn’t do something, everyone she cared for would be slain and the world would face endless slaughter until Heaven put an end to Sartael’s unholy reign. How many would die before that happened?

  Countless millions. Ori’s voice was stronger in her mind now.

  Riley closed her eyes, the stench of blood and the acrid smoke scorching each breath. Across the field, another man cried out as he died.

  Sometimes she wished the big questions in life were multiple choice.

  Riley gazed up at the statue of her first and only lover, at the angel who had said he’d never lied to her. The same angel that Martha had said was the most honest of the Fallen.

  ‘What keeps you from siding with Sartael and taking over Hell?’

  Nothing.

  Was this exactly what Sartael wanted?

  ‘Where the hell are you, Lucifer?’ she cried. No reply. No way she could use her one wish now. It was up to her.

  Riley nearly choked on the irony. Her father had given up his soul to save her. Now she was giving up hers to save others. She glared up at the angel and set out her terms.

  Here’s the deal: my soul will be yours, but only yours. You will not give it away to anyone, not even Lucifer himself. Riley sucked in a hasty breath, her mind reeling with the enormity of what she was about to do. You will not sell it or trade it. If you die, it returns to me. Another breath, this one thick with the stench of smoke.

  And what we did in the mausoleum? It will never happen again. That’s the deal – if you want my soul, you swear on it. You swear a vow on the Light you were created from. You swear on the Hellish master that you serve. You swear on everything you hold dear.

  Silence.

  Take it or leave
it, angel. I’m not going down easy. Her hands shook so violently she nearly dropped the knife.

  Still no reply. Apparently Ori had just expected her to say ‘yes’.

  ‘Ah, screw this,’ Riley said, taking a step towards the circle’s boundary, fully intending to join the others. If the angel wasn’t going to help her, she’d do what she could with the knife until something killed her.

  I agree to your terms, Riley Anora Blackthorne. I shall hold your soul until the day I am no more, and vow I shall not give it to another. Now free me.

  She jolted to a stop. He’d actually agreed. How do I . . . ?

  Your blood will release me from my prison.

  Riley stepped through the circle with surprising ease, then ran across the road towards the statue. The tip of Ori’s head glowed gold now as it reacted to the sunrise.

  Hurry!

  At first no one paid any attention to her. That ended when Sartael took note of where she was headed.

  ‘Bring her to me!’ he cried. Instantly a Three swerved towards her, but Riley evaded its claws and kept moving. Behind her, it cried out and fell to the ground, writhing.

  For an instant she thought it had been one of the hunters helping her out, but when she glanced over her shoulder she freaked. It was an Archfiend, eager to claim her as its own prize. Riley sprinted now, tripping as she fled across the uneven bricks. If she died before reaching the statue, Ori would remain entombed and there would be no chance to stop Sartael.

  A clawed wing grabbed at her, nicking her shoulder. She whirled, chest heaving as the demon closed in, clicking its teeth in anticipation. Like the others, a weird aura cloaked it from head to toe, allowing the monster to stand on hallowed ground. Up close it was truly hideous, its seething red eyes slitted like a goat’s. It stank of death and mortal blood.

  If only her spell had worked, this thing would be a mound of ashes.

  ‘Does Lucifer know you’re cheating on him?’ she asked, hoping to distract it as she edged closer to Ori’s statue.

  The demon roared in fury. ‘Name not that weakling!’ it cried, its voice like sharp nails on a blackboard. ‘Long have we sought our revenge. Sartael will give us the flesh we crave.’ When it reached out a clawed hand, she threatened it with the blade. It was like waving a penknife at a T-rex.

  ‘Delicious,’ it said, licking its lips. ‘I shall make you my servant. The last one endured two hundred years of torture before I broke it.’

  Riley shuddered at what that might mean when her butt bumped into Ori’s statue. As she moved the knife to jab her palm, the Archfiend leaped forward with astounding speed, snaring her in its wings. The knife tumbled to the ground.

  Riley kicked and shouted and fought the abomination until she landed at Sartael’s feet. As she rose, the Fallen’s flaming blade rose with her, level with her face. Even from five feet away she could feel the stinging heat.

  Now that she was up close, the angel did look familiar: It was the guy in the hallway at the hospital, the one who’d been visiting Simon. Probably the same one who’d been visiting him at home. She’d seen him around the city as well, near the market and in the crowd outside the Tabernacle the night it had been destroyed. Sartael had been at the heart of this since the beginning.

  Desperate to look at anything but that flaming sword, she hunted for Beck. Was he still alive? She sighed her relief when she spied him hemmed in by a ring of demons, along with the rest of the fighters. Stewart, Harper and Jackson were with him as they stood guard over the wounded. Simon was alive, as well. His stricken face stared at her. No, not at her. His eyes were only for Sartael. Now he knew who’d been whispering in his ear, telling him lies about his girlfriend.

  Welcome to my hell, Simon Adler.

  A demonic snarl drew her attention towards Ozymandias’s circle. The witch and the summoner were in no better position, hemmed in by at least a dozen Hellspawn. Both appeared exhausted, and the magical glow on Mort’s fingertips flickered weakly like an anaemic firefly.

  ‘Do you hear that?’ Sartael gazed upward, his brilliant blue eyes reflecting a timeless lunacy. ‘The Archangel Michael comes with his cohort. But I ask, where is Lucifer?’ He laughed and cried out, ‘Why is the Great Prince not here?’

  Because he’s not suicidal?

  It dawned on her that the angel wasn’t hearing her thoughts. Was that something Ori did or was it Ayden’s calming spell?

  The blade drew closer now, making Riley’s eyes water and her throat burn. She could hear Beck shouting something, but there was no way he could get to her. Her time was running out.

  ‘Why did you have my dad killed?’ she demanded.

  ‘He stood in the way,’ was the simple answer. ‘As do you. That is why I wanted your soul in my hands.’

  ‘Ori wouldn’t have given it to you.’

  ‘He would not have had a choice. No one denies me. I should have been chosen as the Prince, not Lucifer. Now I will rectify that error and rid Heaven of my enemies.’

  This one was totally insane. Must come from breathing too much brimstone.

  ‘I thought you Fallen were all powerful,’ she chided, even as her will felt the strength of the Fallen’s mind against it. ‘Guess that’s not the case if you had to use a summoner to get the job done.’

  The angel didn’t flinch at her jibe. ‘The necromancer was hungry for power and I was happy to feed his delusions.’

  ‘Without the spell, you’d be kissing Lucifer’s boots,’ she said, knowing that would goad him. Maybe he’d make a mistake and she could get free, run to Ori. Or he’d just kill her quicker.

  Twin claws clamped into her shoulders, pinning her place. Behind her, the Archfiend laughed in derision. The sword was only a foot away from her throat now, heating her face and her chest. Beck was bellowing curses. She didn’t have to look to know he was trying to reach her, that the others were preventing him from throwing his life away.

  Sorry, guy. You don’t get to play hero this time.

  ‘Give me your soul and I will grant you your life,’ Sartael offered.

  Riley felt the letter hidden under her shirt. Forgive me for what I’m about to do.

  ‘Your soul, pledge it to me, now!’

  Then she raised her eyes to the angel’s, facing the power behind crazed blue orbs.

  ‘Go back to hell, you Fallen bastard.’

  With a vicious snarl, Sartael pulled the sword backwards for the thrust that would kill her, burn her like it had Corsini.

  With a resounding pop, a familiar figure appeared out of nowhere.

  ‘Dad?’ she exclaimed, blinking in astonishment. ‘What are you doing here?’

  This Paul Blackthorne wasn’t the broken man she’d last seen in Mort’s house. In fact, he looked like he did before he’d died, with those curious, intelligent eyes and determined expression.

  ‘Pumpkin,’ he said, placing a hand on her shoulder. Where he touched her the skin tingled. ‘I’m sorry for all this. I shall miss you.’

  Before she could reply, he dropped a kiss on her cheek and walked away.

  ‘Dad?’

  Sartael gestured and one of the Fours moved to seize her father. When it touched him, it flamed in a fireball, wailing and shrieking as it died.

  What’s up with that? Her father wasn’t at all magical.

  ‘Hold, Paul Blackthorne, or I will kill your child,’ the Fallen warned.

  ‘If you do, Heaven will win,’ was the swift reply.

  Her father was playing Russian roulette with her life. He must have something up his sleeve. At least she hoped he did.

  Her dad kept walking, pausing only when he reached the edge of the necromancer’s circle. After a polite nod at Ayden and Mort, he stuck his hand through the protective magic that shielded Ozymandias. She’d expected his arm to melt or something gruesome to happen, instead the summoner’s hand grasped her father’s and they traded places: Dad inside the circle, Ozy out.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Riley muttered.


  ‘Summoner?’ Sartael barked. ‘Return to your circle and protect the spell. I have not called you forth.’

  Ozymandias calmly dusted off his cloak, his strange eyes riveted on the archangel. ‘One tiny mistake and I summoned you instead of a demon. Teaches me there’s a price for arrogance,’ he muttered, shaking his head.

  ‘Return to your task!’ the archangel bellowed, causing many of the lesser demons to cower in terror.

  ‘Another has taken my place. He will manage the spell, for a little while at least.’

  ‘He is not a sorcerer. He does not have your power,’ Sartael argued.

  ‘No, he doesn’t,’ Ozymandias admitted, ‘which is the point. The spell is burning through him even as we speak. In a short period of time, Paul Blackthorne will be no more and, when he goes, so goes the enchantment and your accursed demons.’ The necro’s attention shifted to Riley. ‘I’m sorry – there was no other way. It’s what he wanted.’

  Then Ozymandias vanished, leaving behind an infuriated archangel and her father slowly withering inside the circle.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  ‘Dad!’

  Riley took only a few steps before the Archfiend blocked her way. ‘Move!’ she shouted, but it refused to allow her to pass.

  The snarl that came from Sartael was more bestial than divine. ‘Kill them all! Pile their corpses to the heavens. Michael shall see what has become of his mighty demon hunters.’

  ‘But, Lord, what of the summoner’s spell?’ one of Fives cried.

  ‘Once they are dead, we have no need of it.’

  ‘But, my Lord Sartael –’

  It was the distraction she needed. Riley bolted, ducking round the Archfiend’s wing and dashing along the road towards Ori’s statue. Behind her there were shouts as the battle began anew.

  If I free him, he’ll kill Sartael. Maybe that way her dad won’t be destroyed.

  It was like an obstacle course in a role-playing game: ravenous demons, headstones looking to trip her, then more demons. Sartael kept shouting orders, and when none of the fiends came close to catching her the ground erupted beneath her feet. Leaping sideways, she avoided being roasted by a tower of blood-red flames that poured out of the earth. Hail began to rain down, slicking the asphalt under her feet as wind hurtled through the trees.