As they neared the end of the dark tunnel, his hopes lifted when he finally saw something in this world that felt familiar.
He stared in awe at the neon lights, people fighting in the streets, burly guards in doorways, and hundreds of unusual looking creatures milling down the busy strip.
Some were humans in costume, and others were demonic creatures blending into the crowds. The red neon sign for ‘The Demon District’ made his heart glow. It was home, it was Hell on Earth and it was a place he could belong.
“Welcome to the Demon District.” Carissa flashed him a knowing smile.
“What is this place?” He stared in awe at the werewolf dancing with the human girl in a red cape.
Three loud Vikings were brawling with a sloth demon outside of a bar called ‘Rawr’. Hundreds of people and things mingled together on the street, some entering bars or nightclubs and others leaving them.
“For human’s, it’s fun, and for supernatural creatures, it’s a place they call home,” she said. “It’s changed a lot since I was last here, but—oh good, it’s still here. She pointed to a dimly lit bar called ‘Devlin’s Place’.
He followed her through the milling crowds to the entrance of the dark saloon. In comparison to the neon-lit busier bars, this one seemed to melt into the background with no patrons going in or out of it. “Are you sure it’s open?” he asked.
“Yeah, it never closes,” she said. “If the world exploded tomorrow, Devlin’s Place would still hover in the ether. I need you to wait in here for me. I need to visit my old crew.”
“Why can’t I come with you?”
“They’re wary around strangers.” She refused to meet his eyes.
“I’m not that strange.”
“It’s just easier this way.”
“Fine, if you don’t want me to meet your friends, I’ll wait here.”
“It’s nothing like that.” She finally glanced in his direction.
“What is it then?”
“They don’t like angels,” she admitted.
“I’m not a fucki—”
“I know!” She interrupted. “But they don’t. Just trust me on this. It’s easier if you wait here.”
“Fine, but I’m not happy about it.” He folded his arms and scowled at her.
“Just go in the bar and brood over a beer. I won’t be long,” she said before she turned and disappeared into the crowds, leaving him behind.
He shook his head in disappointment. “Dora would never have abandoned me outside a bar,” he muttered as he pushed his way through the grimy saloon doors and stepped into a dark room.
It was a quiet bar. Only the low music of the jukebox could be heard over the muttering from the various patrons. The lighting was dim with only a few wall lights lighting each booth.
He glanced at the bar, which stretched the length of the room. An old barman was talking to two customers who were slouched on wooden bar stools. The booths adjacent to the bar were all full of customers, who were drinking or speaking in hushed tones.
At the far end of the room, several more booths stood empty, barring one.
He walked towards the bar, studying the lone patron in the booth at the end.
The man appeared to be human. Well, what Kieron could see of him did.
Dark shadows were cast over his eyes. From this angle, all Kieron could see was his leather-clad arm, his stubbled jaw and a glint of a dagger at his hip.
He sipped his drink in silence, and Kieron felt a shiver run up his spine. There was something deadly about him.
Kieron climbed onto a bar stool and continued studying the lone drinker as he waited for the barman.
“Looking over there will bring you nothing but trouble, son,” a gruff voice said.
Kieron turned towards the bar and looked up at the grey-bearded barman. He was old and grisly looking. He wore a creased grey shirt and a green apron.
“Why, who is he?” Kieron asked, glancing back at the stranger.
The stranger almost melded into the shadows with his dark presence.
“Some questions are better not asked. Best not rile him the wrong way. The last man who stared at the Fallen One didn’t make it out of here in one piece,” the barman muttered in an ominous tone. “What can I get ya?”
“A beer would be fine,” Kieron said before staring back at the dark man. There was something intriguing about him.
The barman slammed a frothy pint on the counter. “Take my word for it. Some people are best left alone,” he muttered before he swept up the coins Kieron had dropped on the bar into his palm and wandered off.
Kieron watched the dark stranger lift the beer to his mouth and realised after a moment that he wasn’t the only one watching.
Several patrons were transfixed on the Fallen One, many shooting shifty glances in his direction with fearful eyes.
He felt a shiver of fear as the man tipped his glass, but the feeling evaporated when the stranger missed his mouth and poured the drink down his chest instead.
“Fuck!”
Kieron strained to hear the low whisper of his deep voice as he calmly brushed the beer away.
Behind him, Kieron heard a high-pitched giggle from one of the patrons.
He watched the Fallen One shoot a deadly sideways glare at the patron, and in a smooth and rapid movement fling his glass at the giggling man’s head.
Kieron spun on his stool just in time to see the glass hit the patron’s forehead with a loud thunk before he slumped to the floor in an unconscious heap.
The Fallen One stepped out of the booth to reveal a tall and muscular man in his mid-twenties. Wisps of short brown hair were visible under his dark hood, which ended just above his deep brown eyes.
There was a spark of danger in the dark pools of his eyes, which were appealingly framed by dark lashes. His cloak flowed to the floor behind him, and his shirt was a tunic made of animal hide. His worn leather pants ended at his hip where his belt hung low because of his sword and dagger attached to it.
He stepped away from the booth, slinging a crossbow over his shoulder. The room was silent, and all eyes were watching him.
Kieron felt a tremble of fear as the Fallen One took a step towards him.
The Fallen One stumbled, and the meaning of his name became clear when he tripped over fresh air and fell face-first onto the floor.
No one in the bar made a sound, but Kieron frowned.
What the fuck did he fall over?
The Fallen One jumped up off the floor and righted himself, brushing dust off his knees.
“The floor fucking moved, I swear it!” he cried.
No one disagreed with him.
He strolled over to the bar and took a seat beside Kieron.
“Another beer.” He called out to the barman in a deep and masculine voice.
Kieron stared at the Fallen One. After a moment, the Fallen One turned to face him and stared back with a dangerous glint in his eyes.
“Can I help you?”
“Maybe,” Kieron said. “What are you?”
The Fallen One laughed. “I have been many things, most recently, the head warlock of this province. And what the fuck are you?” His eyes scanned over Kieron, and a frown furrowed his brow.
“I’m er, Kieron.” He introduced himself.
“I bet you are,” the Fallen One said with narrowed eyes. “But that’s not what you really are, is it, little one?”
“What do you mean?” He frowned.
Does he know I’m a demon?
“You’re totally fucked, dude. That’s what you are.”
Kieron had the horrible feeling this was not going to end well.
Kieron stared at the Fallen One. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
The Fallen One took a sip of his beer. “I know what you are. I could smell it the second you walked in here.”
Kieron shivered. Was his demon essence so strong here that people could smell it?
He rubbed his arms. “I d
on’t know what you mean.” He glanced around the bar, ensuring no one else was listening.
Several patrons shot him shifty glances.
The Fallen One smoothed the goatee, which curled under his chin. “You may fool them, but you don’t fool me. I know what you really are. Your angelic essence smells like rancid ass to my nostrils.”
“What did you just call me?” Anger burned in his belly.
Did he just say I smelt like a fucking angel?
“You’re an angel,” the Fallen One said as he sniffed him. “A totally fucked up one.”
Kieron leapt off his stool and felt his wings shoot out of his back as rage filled his body. “Take that back! I’m not a fucking angel!”
The Fallen One pointed his massive wings, which were wildly flapping and blowing items off the bar. “Then what the fuck are those?”
“Demon wings.”
The Fallen One laughed. “I love it. You’re a disillusioned angel. What, you thought those pathetic nubs on your forehead were horns? I’ve seen bigger spikes on a hedgehog.”
Kieron’s wings rose above him and flashed in anger at the robed stranger.
How dare he mock my horns.
“At least I have horns!” Kieron narrowed his eyes at him. “I’m not some gravity-confused twat who likes to wear leather.”
After the words left his mouth, Kieron felt a shiver of fear.
The Fallen One turned to face him with narrowed dark eyes, and his nostrils flared.
He climbed off his stool and rolled up the sleeves of his cape. “Bitch, imma ‘bout to fuck you up.”
Kieron heard chairs scraping behind him. Through the mirror behind the bar, he saw the patrons all scramble out of their seats and flee.
He clenched his teeth and tensed his muscles, ignoring his fear and facing the Fallen One instead. “I’m not afraid of you.”
“You will be.” The Fallen One raised his arms, and electricity crackled in the air around him. A ball of dark energy swirled between his hands while black and purple mist gathered in the air behind him.
His eyes glittered with dark magic, and his muscles rippled beneath the leathers.
Kieron backed away, fearing what that kind of energy could do to him.
“What the fuck are you, man?”
“I’m the warlock that’s about to fuck your angel ass up, boy.” The Fallen One shot a ball of dark energy at him, and Kieron yelped and dived sideways into a table to avoid it hitting him.
“Man, I love messing with you guys,” the Fallen One said as he shot another burst of dark energy at Kieron, this time hitting him squarely in the chest and sending him shooting back through the saloon doors.
Kieron gasped in pain as dark matter clawed into his chest. He felt some kind of power inside him rear up in protest, and his hand glowed golden.
He touched the swirling dark mass hovering above his chest, and the golden glow and dark energy collided in a small explosion, blowing each other away.
Okay, this angel bullshit is weird.
He heard heavy footsteps coming from inside the saloon and decided not to wait to find out what else was in store for him.
He launched into the air and flew several feet above the ground.
The Fallen One stepped through the saloon doors and scowled up at him.
“Screw you!” Kieron shouted down to the warlock, and then feigned left as another ball of dark energy shot into the sky. He easily dodged several more balls of dark pain.
“Get some glasses, old timer.” He jeered down at the Fallen One. He yelped again when he saw the Fallen One’s eyes narrow, and his lips pinch with vengeful intent.
Purple lightning shot from the skies in a million spikes of dark electricity, singeing Kieron’s wings as he darted in the air trying to avoid being hit.
Fucknuts!
He panicked and flew higher in the sky to avoid the majority of the spikes shooting through the air.
“Where the fuck do you think you’re going?” He heard the Fallen One shout.
Kieron continued to rise until he was hidden behind the clouds. He breathed a sigh and rested for a moment. This was a nightmare.
Where is Carissa? Where is Dora?
His heart ached for a moment. Dora would have one-shotted that warlock fool with a single comment.
“I said … where the fuck do you think you’re going?” The Fallen One’s voice echoed in his mind, and he nearly fell out of the sky in shock.
“Get out of my head!” he snapped.
“Make me. You’re mine now, bitch.” The Fallen One laughed. The laugh seemed to extend to outside of Kieron’s mind when it became a sharp cackle.
He frowned. That wasn’t the Fallen One’s deep, husky tone. It was a woman.
He spun in the air towards the direction of the cackle and saw several witches flying at him on what appeared to be flying motorbikes. The biker-looking witches on hogs and choppers shot through the air towards him, cackling while their long tendrils of hair swirled behind them as they raced through the clouds.
Oh, you’ve gotta be fucking kidding me!
He yelped and turned and to flee as the Fallen One’s words echoed through his mind.
“Fly, my pretties, fly!”
Kieron flapped his wings as hard as he could, hoping to put some distance between him and the cackling witches.
He headed towards Dora’s home. It was the only place he knew in Berkville, and it was a church. If there were such things as sanctuaries on Earth, he knew that would be where he found his.
He swooped through the clouds, feeling cold air rush across his cheeks as his giant wings flapped through the sky in rhythmic repetition, boosting him forward with every flap.
The roars of engines seemed to fade away, and he glanced back to see the distance between the hellish bikers growing. He breathed easy for a moment.
I’m going to make it.
He stared ahead as the spires of Dora’s church came into view. His heart almost stopped as his throat closed in fear.
Seven witches on motorbikes hovered in the air in front of him, beckoning him to come closer with their hands.
He pulled back in panic and veered left, heading for the forest. He heard the kick-start of the bikes as the witches followed.
His wings were aching as he fought his way through the sky. He realised he was losing altitude as the treetops of the forest came into view.
Sweat beaded his brow, and his muscles ached with every flap of his wings.
Come on. Don’t give up on me now!
Adrenaline flooded through him as a cackle behind him felt close to his ear.
He glanced back to see a red-haired witch directly behind him. She reached out, trying to grab his ankle, and he pointed downwards into the forest to avoid her.
He shot down through the woods, trying to avoid the oncoming trees. Darting as hundreds of trees sped by his face and branches scratched at his bare skin.
Exhaustion and fear took over when he hit a tree and bounced off it. Spinning out of control, he banged into trees and bounced on to other ones.
He cried out in pain as the woodland bitch-slapped him around until he crashed into the leafy forest floor and grazed across it to a painful stop.
A cackle filled the air above him, and he tried to raise himself off the ground on battered and shaking arms.
His muscles trembled with exertion as he tried to get up and escape. His head was unclear and hazy, and his body felt weak. He felt hot breath on his cheek when a witch laughed in his ear.
The last thing he saw was the Fallen One’s boots walking towards him before welcoming darkness shrouded his view.
Dora paced her cell, trying to think of ways to get out of it, but paused when she heard Terrance sigh.
She turned to peer through the bars into his adjoining cell as he threw himself onto the rickety, metal bed at the far end of it.
“Terrance, don’t just sit there. Do something!” she cried. The guy could teleport. What was he sit
ting on his ass for?
“What are you doing?”
He glanced up at her through the bars. “I’m afraid there is little I can do, fair Dora.”
“Get off your ass and teleport us out of here, or something.”
“I tried. It doesn’t work.”
She frowned. She hadn’t seen him try much of anything so far.
“What do you mean?”
“There is something blocking my powers.” He waved his arms as if to demonstrate the problem, and nothing happened.
“I think it is something to do with these markings in my abode.”
She peeked inside his dungeon. Sure enough, there was an array of strange symbols and sigils decorating the walls and ceiling.
She glanced back into her own cell to compare her blank walls to Terrance’s marked and engraved ones.
It must be some kind of special vampire cage.
He dropped his shoulders in defeat and sighed. “This is not how I intended to spend my immortality. Why did you have them put us in the dungeons?”
“I didn’t ask them to put you in here,” she said. “Terrance, you do realise that they plan to kill you, don’t you?”
He shrugged. “So? I have died many times now.”
“No, they were really going to kill you by draining you dry.”
“Don’t be silly, Dora. I am their saviour. It’s prophesized that I shall bring about a new era for vampire-kind.” He stood up from his bed and raised his hand to his chest as if to salute vampire-kind.
“And so, the great house of Devereaux shall be restored to its rightful place in the—”
“You’re a walking blood bank.” She cut in. “A vending machine for special blood. They plan to consume you.”
He stared at her with an expression of abject horror. “But, they worship me …” He trailed off.
“Marketing,” she said. “All marketing panders to the ego.”
Realisation seemed to pass over his face, echoing a range of emotions. “Those treacherous monsters!”
He held his hand to his throat. “Betrayed,” he wailed. “Betrayed and sentenced to an unworthy end! How could such a fate befall me? How could such misery be fated to one as innocent as I? I shall fight fire with fire,” he cried, leaping onto his bed. “I shall take my life before they can have it!”
Deceased Dora Page 10