Followed by Fire

by McKenzie Austin

  Shoving himself off of the pillar, Balvonak pressed onward. He needed to find Marumon. Tell Him he found the Greenbriar child. Perhaps the Demon Lord, in His infinite wisdom, would see it in His heart not to incinerate him for his failure to bring her here.

  Balvo frowned. Either way, he was dead. If the wrath he incurred after the Demon Lord hears about his failure didn’t end him, then living the rest of his days out in the Netherworld certainly would.

  At least, if he consulted the Demon Lord, He might still secure some safety for Esven, when that son of a bitch Vahldod inevitably tricked her into opening the gate…

  He didn’t trust that demon not to obliterate her as soon as he got what he wanted. With complete freedom from the Netherworld, there was nothing he couldn’t do: including severing his obligations to the Demon Lord’s wishes.

  A forceful gush of trapped heat hissed somewhere behind him. Balvo mumbled to himself, wincing when his trampled foot fell in a painful way, twisting when it came down on uneven ground.

  Not much farther to go. He hoped. The idea of summoning Marumon to his location by invoking His name was tempting… but it would be best to meet Him on territory where He felt most comfortable, if Balvo had any hopes of not being incinerated on sight.

  In this limitless hell pit, the Demon Lord could be anywhere… but he had a fairly good idea that the beast would be on His throne.

  And he was.

  Crooked horns cut through His skull. The same material that made up His massive skeletal system. Balvonak recognized that charred, blackened body anywhere. Marumon commanded an incredible presence, and though there was precious little in any world that Balvonak feared, he felt the tight grip of terror in his stomach as he hauled his broken frame forward.

  Marumon’s eyes were closed. He sat in His elaborate throne, His elbow resting on the ornate arms that made up the chair.

  Sleeping? Balvonak arched a brow, panting as he stopped a healthy distance away. Better to react, should Marumon seem crabby upon awakening.

  The fire demon coughed into his hand. He regretted it immediately. It made the fractured ribs in his side throb.

  Damn demon stampede.

  He looked up after recovering from his spike of torment. Marumon did not react.

  A faceless demon screeched somewhere in the distance. It rattled through the hollow underground, piercing Balvonak’s ears. As he raised a finger to jostle the sound out of his eardrum, Marumon shifted. Grumbled. A scraping noise rose up as He scraped His rocky arm over the uneven structure of the chair’s other arm. One eye opened. It landed on Balvo, paralyzing him.

  “I…” His words caught in his throat, though he had rehearsed them countless times over. Balvonak sucked in the sickly scent of the Netherworld’s air before he continued. “…humbly request your attention for a few moments, my Lord.”

  “Balvonak.”

  The single word shook the surrounding space. Or perhaps it was just his chest cavity. “Yes, my Lord.” Balvo laid a hand over his heart, trying to still the chaotic pounding coming from inside. “Me, again. Feel free to contain your joy.”

  Marumon shifted in His seat, sitting upright. His eyes, absent of pupils, blinked several times. It appeared as though He was trying to awaken himself. “I did not expect to see you back so quickly.”

  “Yes,” Balvonak chuckled, but the laughter died rapidly. “Lucky me.”

  His unfocused eyes cleared. “Tell me that your swift return to the Netherworld has to do with your success in finding the Greenbriar child.”

  “Well…” The word swung in an upward inflection as Balvonak’s tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. He released a long held breath. “I did find her.”

  “Her.” Marumon was helpless against the word that flew from His mouth. It carried weight. A mixed concoction of sentiment. “Amadeia had a daughter.”

  Balvonak didn’t know what to make of the Demon Lord’s reaction, but the fact that Marumon had not slayed him yet was a good sign. “She did.”

  He looked contemplative on His throne. Marumon stared at something other than Balvonak. Something beyond sight. Shifting seismic plates and boiling hydrogen filled the silence, until Marumon returned His focus to the fire demon before Him. “Where is she?”

  This was it. His make-or-break moment. In ten seconds, he would either be reduced to ash, or permitted to live another day. “That’s the thing,” Balvonak started slowly, drawing out the moment, in case he walked closer to death with his admission, “Amadeia raised her to do no harm. To… to value life, above everything else. Esven, she…” Balvonak paused, her name catching in his throat. He shook it off. “She’s strong-willed. She’s smart. But,” Balvonak paused, holding up his hands, “I believe she’s breakable.”

  She wasn’t here. The gate wasn’t open. Marumon’s expression gradually twisted into one that represented His displeasure. The Demon Lord’s fingers tightened into a fist as He slid forward in His chair. “Then why are you not up there breaking her?”

  Balvonak’s spine stiffened. He felt weakness invade his legs. They were unstable enough as it was; it was a small miracle that he managed to keep from falling to his knees.

  He did not want to admit to Vahldod’s trickery. Snitches got stitches. It was ingrained in him from his life as a human, and it accompanied him all the way to the Netherworld, when Marumon plucked his soul and made him a demon. “It seems,” he muttered, forcing himself to continue despite the humiliation, “I… find myself without my key.”

  Steam rose from the cracks in Marumon’s stone skin. His fingers dug into the edges of His chair. It almost looked as if He might stand, but He only pushed Himself to the edge of His seat, glowering. “You are bound to the Netherworld once more?”

  The fire demon closed his eyes, thinking that would be the end of him. When his body did not immediately feel the full force of Marumon’s wrath, he peeled one eyelid open. “It… seems so.”

  A sigh of disappointment. Irritation. Marumon settled back into His chair and rubbed His temple, shaking His head. “It doesn’t matter,” He muttered, surprising the fire demon across from him. “I still have others on the surface. I have dispatched them, and they, unlike you, will eventually succeed.”

  He wasn’t dead. He had delivered the message, admitted his failure, and lived to tell the tale. Balvonak’s brows came together over his face. What invaded the Demon Lord’s thoughts so, to make Him spare Balvo’s life from this disaster? Taking a step forward, Balvonak decided to try his luck. “I was this close to getting her to open the gate, my Lord.” He emphasized his near-success by holding his thumb and index finger an inch apart. “If I could just return to the surface—”

  “What do you want me to do about that, Balvonak?” The rage returned full force, as Marumon’s body became engulfed by flames. The wild carnage around Him whipped as He glared down at His demon. “If I could grant demons permission to access the surface world, we wouldn’t need the Greenbriar child.”

  The Demon Lord had made His point. Balvonak thought he might stumble back, but it turned out fear had paralyzed him to his place. “I—I just—I don’t know if Vahl is going to have the same kind of success that—”

  “Vahldod is with the girl?”

  Balvonak’s shoulders dropped inches. He had unwittingly gave away Vahldod’s involvement. The demon cursed himself, but the small gap in Marumon’s temper allowed him to catch his breath. “I’d put money on it,” he admitted with a hint of disgust.

  “Hm.” Marumon’s energy shifted as He turned to the side, stroking His chin. The flames around Him died. “Then, success is right around the bend. Vahldod always was one of the cleverest.”

  “But, also,” Balvonak interrupted as he held up his hand, “the most ruthless.” He dared to take another step forward, clasping his palms together. “I fear he may use unsavory tactics to get Esven to open the gate. Moreover, I do wonder about her safety once he… earns his prize.” It was hard to say. The sentence nearly caught in his thr
oat. But it was inevitable that Vahldod won. Best to admit it before it became harder to accept. “You know what he did to the women who gave him keys to the surface. It was… well, it was classic Vahldod, let’s just leave it at that.”

  “I have no care for how he gets the Greenbriar child to comply,” Marumon replied, invoking confusion in Balvo. “So long as he gets it done.”

  If his neck was not so sore from being stampeded by mindless demons, he would have cocked it more to the side. “You…” Balvo narrowed his eyes, his voice faltering. “You don’t care what he does to her?”

  Marumon scowled. “She is nothing more than a tool to be smelted down after performing her purpose.”

  A surprising emptiness struck him. Balvo blinked, his mouth hanging open as he tried to find words. “But—she’s Amadeia’s daughter.”

  The anger returned. And something else. “Yes,” Marumon hissed, His glowing eyes narrowing to slits.

  Balvonak felt his tone fading. “I… thought you loved Amadeia.”

  The Demon Lord’s sharpened teeth caught the fire’s light. His face twitched. His nails carved into His chair. “I did. I do.”

  It hit him with more force than the charging demons had. Balvonak twisted, his wide eyes falling to the ground as he hung his head.

  Of course. Esven was the mark of Amadeia’s love for someone else. Someone other than Marumon. The young witch symbolized two things to the Demon Lord: the last surviving key to inviting the demon army to the surface world… and the living, breathing proof that Amadeia did not share His affection.

  Balvonak had it wrong. Against the heat, his veins turned to ice. He lifted a hand, dragging it through his hair as he gripped his scalp. “I… I told her that the demon nation revered her mother. That if she came to the Netherworld, she’d be met with tales of Amadeia’s greatness.”

  Marumon huffed. “That may have been true, once upon a time. As soon as she opens the gate, the only thing she will meet is her end.” He would not spend any longer gazing upon Amadeia’s progeny than He had to, knowing that another man filled the womb of the woman He loved with his seed.

  Numbness. It invaded Balvonak’s body. He couldn’t pinpoint why. The demon paced the jagged terrain, his eyes darting across the crust. He had nearly lured Esven to her demise without realizing it.

  Why did that bother him so much? He had lured plenty of people to their deaths before. Balvonak was far from an innocent man. Further from an innocent demon.

  But, Esven…

  She was the one human he met that he didn’t immediately wish the plague upon. Something about the way she carried herself. Their shared disgust for people. The strength it must have taken, not to smite them all where they stood. The way she didn’t coat her responses in falsehoods. The way she looked at him, in that shitty Pinesguard pub…

  She was honest.

  She was intelligent.

  She felt, but had restraint.

  She was everything that everyone else in his existence, both as a man and as a demon, failed to be.

  He could not let her walk toward her end so easily.

  “She could be a great asset,” Balvo announced, turning to face Marumon. “A talented witch, hunting on the sides of the demons once more. She wants to be who her mother used to be. She wants to touch Amadeia’s greatness, I know it. Her magic doesn’t seem to be where her mother’s was, but she has the skills and ability to learn how to—”

  “Stop.” Marumon glared at Balvo, holding up a hand. His heavy gaze felt as if it brought more pressure than dwelling in the Netherworld ever had before. The Demon Lord peeled back His lips. Sniffed. He smelled the scattered desperation. Witnessed the chaotic reaction. Heard the heart palpitations, saw the same nervous sweat trickle down the side of Balvonak’s head. Marumon inclined His chin. “You have feelings for the girl.”

  Balvonak drew back. He wore his sickened expression plainly. “That—” He shook his head, his nose crinkling. “No, that doesn’t sound right.”

  “I see it. In your face.” Marumon pulled His shoulders back. A strange noise rumbled in His throat. Diagnostic. Yet, emotional. A shadow fell over the Demon Lord’s eyes. “You wear the same confusion I once did, each time I gazed upon Amadeia. That nagging weight in your chest,” he added, reaching His arm up to grip at His torso, “pulling your heart in a direction you did not think it was capable of going. You do not know it now, but that confusion will blossom into affection. That affection will evolve into lust.” He gripped His chest tightly, so much so, that several fragments of rock chipped away from the stone that made up His flesh. The pieces clattered into His lap, as His voice grew darker. “That lust will destroy you, Balvonak. It will end your very existence.”

  The speech rattled his nerves. Though the sound of the words fell away as soon as Marumon finished speaking them, Balvonak felt a small shiver course through him. It was as if the words dug beneath his skin, wriggling through the blood and muscle tissue, until they found places to settle inside him.

  That couldn’t be right. Just because Esven was less vexing than others—it meant nothing. “With all due respect, my Lord, I don’t think—”

  “No,” Marumon interjected, disrupting Balvo’s conviction mid-sentence. “You don’t. That is why you are here.”

  The fire demon stood impossibly still. He found himself at a loss for words. Balvo tried opening his mouth to speak, but stopped, his statement tripping over his tongue. The longer Marumon’s announcement stayed beneath his skin, the less absurd it sounded. He wanted it to remain absurd. Everything was far easier that way.

  Balvonak couldn’t remember if he had ever fallen for a woman in his earthly life. If he had, it couldn’t have been memorable. He recalled the fist fights, the adrenaline rushes, the madness and the chaos. But affection… warmth… regard… those were not moments that leapt forward from his memory bank. To think that such things might plague him now, as a demon…

  It suddenly felt too hot in the Netherworld. Balvonak tugged at the suffocating collar of his shirt, shuffling uneasily in place.

  Marumon gazed at him with disdain. Something else hid behind His glowing eyes. Only a drop. A small amount, but it was there. Pity. The Demon Lord knew the ill-effects of displaced fondness all too well. “Do you know why I saved your soul, Balvonak? Why I made you a demon?”

  Balvo raised his head. His aching shoulder lifted and fell in a simple shrug. “I don’t know. Because I was a shitty human?”

  “No.” Marumon frowned. “Souls do not come to the Netherworld after death as a punishment. They come to learn how to do better. To face their shortcomings and evolve.”

  Balvonak’s twisting face revealed his disbelief: it didn’t feel as if he had evolved. Up until Marumon pointed out his desire to avoid Esven’s death, he felt very much like the same person he had always been. “Then, why did you pick me?” he wondered out loud.

  Something settled the Demon Lord’s anger, but enough of it remained in His declaration, to drive His point. He looked to Balvo and settled back into His throne. “You gazed upon your own people with the same disdain as I. Though they were your blood, your nation, your race, still, you hated them. You knew they were flawed.” His nature shifted as His voice became a heated breath. “I trusted that you and I would always have that in common. If we do not share that commonality, Balvonak… if you find yourself feeling for a creature I applauded you for despising…” His hands folded in His lap. “Perhaps, you and I no longer share the same goal.”

  A veiled threat. Balvonak raised his hands, coercing a feigned, yet traditional charming grin to appear. “We do, we do.” Agree, or die. Limited choices. “I am sorry, my Lord—I should never have questioned Your knowledge. Of course, what You say is for the best. It won’t happen again.”

  Marumon witnessed his uneasy smile. He knew the edges of it were outlined in apprehension. Still, His point had been made. He relaxed further into His chair. What happened now was up to Balvonak. The Demon Lord cared little either
way.

  No matter the outcome, He would get what He wanted in the end.

  The silence led Balvonak to believe the conversation ended. He pinched his lips together, slowly easing his way out of Marumon’s space. It was nothing shy of a miracle that he made it out alive, he thought to himself, as he slid past several other demons who had stopped to gawk.

  Against his will, Balvonak felt his thoughts drift to Esven. Had Marumon seen something even he had failed to acknowledge? It just didn’t seem right—so out of character, and yet…

  The thought of her somehow eased the severity of his situation. The way her face flushed with embarrassment when he took her to the brothel. How she managed to steal his own money from him, just to buy him a drink. To lighten his mood. Balvonak caught himself smiling as he limped away from the Demon Lord.

  He wiped it from his face as soon as he realized what he was doing.

  Balvonak stopped in his tracks.

  Shit.

  He did feel something for Esven. A lot of something.

  “Ah… damn it all.” The fire demon’s eyes squeezed shut as he leaned his back against a gnarled wall of hollow rocks, which made up a Netherworld inhabitant’s home. Though the hard edges clawed at his skin, he slid down its exterior into a sitting position, settling into his revelation.

  Vahldod would bring her here. There was no doubt in Balvo’s mind that he would somehow succeed. That creature never failed. Whether or not Esven opened the gate to all demons, she would tread headfirst into her demise. And it would be the previous whisperings of Balvonak, who led her to believe this place was safe.

  Not only safe, but a haven. A sanctuary, where all demons would practically bow down to the daughter of the fabled Amadeia Greenbriar.

  He had been wrong before, no surprise there. Those times past, they hadn’t mattered, so long as he still managed to secure his own survival. His own fun. But in this instance, Balvo’s egregious error gnawed at what little conscience he had left.

  He couldn’t let her come here.

  Forcing his eyes open, Balvonak cast his focus to the horizon line of the Netherworld. The lucid demons who made their homes and cities here converged in far off corners, sending him curious glances. They must have smelled the cloud of chaos that hovered above him.