by Ivy Asher
One flying demon is able to dodge Echo’s shadows, and I track it with my eyes as it heads for Iceman, no doubt to get rid of the threat of the deadly ice shards. Long claws come extending out of its hands as the demon dives for him, but right before it can make contact, I smash my scythe into its shoulder, and he explodes in a puff of ash.
For some damn reason, that first hit of mine seems to take the edge off my nerves. No more dreading what’s to come, because the battle is officially here. I’m facing it with renewed purpose, right alongside my guys.
The five of us work in tandem. Crux destroys more demons, turning their bodies into useless lumps of twitching, steaming innards, and then Jerif consumes them with flame, pushing the horde of demons back, making it harder to get to us. Iceman moves his assault out further too, sending more and more blades of ice hailing down in a deadly rain of glazed daggers.
Echo continues to watch the sky, his shadows like phantoms reaching out with spindly hands to send the fliers crashing to the ground where they don’t move again. It’s hard for me to engage the same way they are, being that they’re surrounding me protectively, but I’m not complaining. I’m still able to pick off occasional strays with my scythe’s reach, but I have to be very, very careful with where and how I swing so that I don’t accidentally hit my guys. But even so, I manage to ash several more demons who break through the ranks to try to pick one of us off.
But...we’re winning.
I try not to feel surprised by that and instead go for a more fuck yeah attitude, but there’s no denying I didn’t expect things to be going this well. Despite the fact that there were a good two hundred of them to start with, the guys’ powers far outweigh the Outer Ringers’ might in numbers.
I know the guys are getting tired. I am too, and I haven’t even done very much, but hope surges and we all keep pushing, because we can see the light at the end of the tunnel.
The guys are able to spread out a bit more, picking off the last fifty demons with relative ease. By the time the last demon falls, I look around at all the bodies, my torso covered in ash and blood.
“We did it,” I pant.
“Wait.”
At Iceman’s voice, I follow the trail of his gaze until my eyes settle on the rooftop of the mausoleum where that gargoyle-like demon still remains. But now, someone else stands beside him.
He’s tall. Broad. With thick, long dreadlocks hanging down from his head and reaching all the way down to his waist, and a pair of mud-colored wings at his back.
He’s watching us with glowing eyes, while his gargoyle pet is perched on the edge of the roof, clawed hands scraping into the stone of the wall. Something about the glowing-eyed male screams Ophidian in my mind. I don’t exactly know why I jump to that conclusion—call it intuition. Maybe it’s the feathered wings on his back, indicating that he’s different from the rest of our attackers. Maybe it’s the predatory gleam in his eyes and the arrogant angles of his too handsome face. But he radiates threat, and I can practically see the doom he wants to mete out, rippling off his well-muscled body.
“Iceman…” I warn breathlessly.
“I see him.”
My body tenses as a slow, creepy fucking smile spreads over the Ophidian’s face. That’s all the warning we get before the gargoyle at his feet tips its head back and roars.
The moment that noise sounds out, a second wave of demons ascends on us.
“Fuck!” Jerif snarls, and that one word confirms my suspicion.
I spot feathered winged beings shooting up into the sky, and other massive demons who seem to have powers and abilities like we do, saunter out of the mausoleum, geared for battle. So far, our attacks have been about weaker demons from the Outer Rings trying to overpower us with sheer numbers. But the demons spilling out of the mausoleum now not only have the numbers, but it’s clear they’re not all Outer Ringers.
I watch them pour out of the mausoleum like too many clowns out of a tiny clown car. The sight would almost be comical if it weren’t so terrifying. All those bodies rush out of the deceptively small space, and I realize what their strategy was—to wear us down, to see how we work together and what powers we use and how.
I thought the last mass of attackers would be it. I was wrong. So wrong.
The gargoyle’s roar still reverberates through my chest, the signal for all the other demons to flood out of Hell’s Embrace. I thought there were a lot of demons before, but the horde that comes at us now is double what it was, and ice-cold fear and heart-thumping worry floods my body.
“Get back in tight formation!” Iceman barks out, and all four of the guys close in on me again, attempting to prepare for the second wave of attacks, but they’re tired, they’ve expelled a lot of power, and they’re scrambling to take up the defensive attacks like before.
Jerif’s dying fire gets heightened again, and Crux readies himself to turn more demons inside out. Echo shakes off his tattoos, making them return to the sky, and Iceman waits, wanting to strike at the perfect time for the maximum amount of damage since every strike needs to count.
But all of their careful planning and determination goes to the wayside when the ground shakes and a huge fucking one-eyed demon comes squeezing through the mausoleum doorway, snapping the door right off in the process. At the size of him, I’m surprised he doesn’t just knock down the whole damn building altogether.
Like a rat squeezing out of a cage, the giant cyclops crawls out on hands and knees, and then straightens up on bulbous, meaty legs. He looks up at the Ophidian standing on the roof, coming eye-level to him. “Get the Scythed One,” he orders.
The giant doesn’t hesitate. It’s massive head swivels, though it’s a weird sight since the thing doesn’t look like it has a neck. As soon as his single eye lands on me, he starts running, not even caring that he mows down some of the smaller demons at his feet.
“Steady!” Iceman shouts as he starts raining down sharp-ended icicles directed right at the giant’s skull. But whatever his rhino skin is made of acts like armor, because the ice just bounces right off of him.
“Jerif!” Iceman calls.
Jerif turns at Iceman’s direction, and the flames on the circle of surrounding bodies get swept away as he launches the fire at the giant that’s still sprinting toward us.
But the fire does nothing. It catches on the giant’s vest and pants, but other than that, it doesn’t affect him at all. Goliath doesn’t even flinch.
The guys don’t have time to plan another way to take him down, because he’s suddenly on us. One great sweep of his arm is all it takes for him to bat Iceman away like a fly.
Another sweep, and he takes out Echo and Jerif before either of them can do a damn thing. Crux moves in front of me and clenches his fist, trying to turn the fucker inside out, but either Crux has exhausted his power or that shit doesn’t work on this rock-faced motherfucker, because nothing happens.
Without the others to help us hold the line, the rest of the demons finally break through. Crux and I get separated, and then it’s just me, facing off with Goliath. I square my shoulders and get ready to swing and ash the shit out of him. If this ugly fucker thinks he’s going to take me, he’s in for a rude awakening.
I hope.
I slash out at him, but he jumps back, clearly on to me and what my scythe can do. I try a couple more times, but just when I think I’m about to nick him, the massive demon manages to dodge my efforts.
Fuck my life, the one-eyed bastard seems smart, which I was not expecting. I personally blame Harry Potter for making me think trolls and giants have little brains. This one has the foresight to realize that if he tries to snatch me up, I’m going to nail him with my scythe. So instead, he kicks me, faster than I can see his foot coming.
I get nailed in the stomach and my body goes flying. My landing is just as painful as the hit. My back collides with a headstone in a crash that would have shattered my body before my trip to Nihil, and I land in a pained heap on the ground.
By the time I can pull in a breath and my head isn’t swimming with stars, there are a dozen demons on top of me, all of them with yellowish skin and jaundiced eyes. They’re only about four feet tall and some of them suffering from permanently curved spines, but they’re strong.
They pin me down, clawed fingers holding me in place, snapping jaws threatening to take pieces out of me if I don’t hold still. I can’t move my arm or even my fingers around the scythe, and they’re all taking extra precautions not to come into contact with the blades.
“Get off, you fuckers!” I yell, trying to buck and force their grips to loosen, but they overpower me, and my mind gets yanked back into the memory of the Vestibule battle when I was pinned down just like this—when similar shrieks and shouts filled my ears, and the smell of blood and fire and ash consumed me.
How did we go from winning to losing so fucking quickly?
I wonder what the hell these demons are waiting for as they continue to hold me still, keeping me pinned to the ground, but then I see it through a gap in their limbs.
The fucking net. The same one they tried to capture me with in the Vestibule.
A new surge of panic pumps adrenaline through my body, and I squirm and writhe for all I’m worth, managing to knock one of the demons off my left arm. It’s not my scythe hand, but it’s something, and I don’t waste it. I lash out, punching my fist out and catching one of the demons over my right shoulder directly in the face. It staggers back, and I opt to let go of the scythe so that I can wrench my right arm free.
I start hammering down my fists left and right, getting bites and scratches in return. By sheer will alone, I throw the demons off and wriggle out from under them, kicking off one of the two demons holding my scythe. As soon as it goes flying back, I dive for the scythe, wrestling it from the second one.
The demon shrieks at me, its tiny, sharp teeth covered in frothy spit as it tries to keep hold of my weapon.
Luckily, I manage to jerk the scythe up, making the straight bottom blade pierce right through his chest, ashing him on contact. I look over my shoulder at my wings. “Let’s go!”
The purple feathered appendages immediately spread out, and I am so damn grateful for them in this moment as my feet leave the ground. They flap, and I internally promise them that I will never say another bad thing about them if they can just get me in the air.
I pick up my feet, pressing my knees to my chest, dodging the demons on the ground who are trying to make a grab for me. I get ready to shove my scythe between my legs and straddle it broomstick style, but before I can really start to soar, a winged demon crashes into me from behind.
I’m barely ten feet off the ground as the demon latches onto my back, and the sudden weight throws me off balance, so I go pitching forward, nearly doing a flip.
“No flying for you,” the demon hisses in my ear, and the next thing I know, it’s grabbing the top of my right wing in its hands and snapping.
I scream as I plummet to the ground, the pain so overwhelming that I can’t see or think.
The only good thing is that I land on my back, crushing the skull of the demon still attached to me.
Vomit is at the back of my throat, my stomach lurching from the intense, shocking pain of not only my broken wing, but also my entire body from the fall.
Get up, Delta, I tell myself, but the agony is making me see double, so fierce that I can’t even draw in a full breath. I know that if I get pinned down again, I won’t be getting back up of my own volition.
I clutch the smooth wood of the scythe, force myself to roll over, spitting up bile as I go. My right wing sags crookedly at my back, the other one pulling in tight against my spine, like it wants to bury itself beneath my skin and hide.
I use Jerif’s earlier push when we were running to the graveyard to ground me. I push aside the pain and focus on his words to move it, dig deeper, don’t stop.
With tears blurring my vision and acid eating away at my bile-coated throat, I spin, letting my body’s momentum and the scythe do the work. Puffs of gray dust surround me as the blade cuts through the demons circling me, until they’re nothing but a pile of ash.
While I nearly spin myself to the ground, another winged fucker above me attacks, going right for my weak spot. The demon kicks my broken wing, making me scream out in pain.
The demons carrying the net take full advantage of my inertia. Faster than I can even blink, the net is tossed over my body. I get knocked down to my knees with the force of it, but I don’t have time to try to get up, because I’m being plucked up by the giant, held upside down by the ends of the net. My body goes rolling, and I feel my arm and cheek get scraped up as my limbs get tangled inside the netting, my wing practically shrieking in torment.
I untangle my scythe enough from the rough, unyielding bindings of the net, gripping it so hard that my fingers ache as I try to breathe through the agony as the giant starts to carry me away. Sweat drips down my face as I try to hack at the material of the netting to cut a hole for myself, every movement jarring more pain to my crippled wing. But the demons obviously planned for this, because my blades do nothing. I don’t even make a nick in the hard ropes of whatever this thing is made out of.
I grip one square of the netting, trying with all my might to pull it open or weaken it somehow, but it doesn’t budge. Panic pushes me like a bully on the playground, demanding attention. I scream for the guys, but no one can hear me, or if they can, they can’t get to me.
When something hits the giant, I go crashing down as it loses its hold on me. The net drops to the ground, jolting me and making me cry out from the force of my landing, my poor wing getting battered, so much hurt radiating from it that I’m not even sure if it’s just one break or many.
The giant quickly regains his hold and starts dragging the net through the carnage of the graveyard, heading straight to the mausoleum where I’ll no doubt be yanked through the Hell portal to join this fucking Ophidian person and whatever he has planned for me.
But then I hear a strange noise, and when I whip my head around to look through the hole in the net, I see something I never thought I’d see in a million years.
With a battle cry that eerily resembles my own Xena: Warrior Princess call, I see Nefta, in all her Colonel Legion glory, and right there with her is Tazreel, in all his arrogant grandeur.
They’re fighting back-to-back, one with a gleaming white sword and scythe, and the other with two stone-black double short swords. They fight fluidly, with a grace and precision that you can only have with a millennia of experience.
It becomes clear that these two aren’t just any old angel and demon. They’re more. It’s as if they’re the embodiment of Heaven and Hell, and all their might.
One breath, one swing, and they’ve slaughtered a dozen. Another swing, and demons are flying back, injured and reeling to get out of the trajectory of the two lethal forces. Demons crumble and wither like raisins, without Taz even making contact with them. One raised arm, and blinding light is shooting out of the sword Nefta holds, making demons disintegrate left and right.
I watch, awed by their power and ability. It’s clear from our time in Purgatory together that there’s no love lost between these two, and yet, they work so seamlessly together that I might as well be watching some choreographed dance between lovers who have spent a lifetime together.
My attention is forced away when I’m jostled in the net. I refocus back on my predicament, like I’m now looking at it through a new lens. I’m one half of each of those lethal beings. I’m one half Legion of Heaven, and one half Nihil of Hell. I’ve been punching demon bitches when I should’ve been figuring out how to crush their fucking souls.
I mean, if that’s even a thing.
Either way, I’ve gotta have some kind of ability other than scythe-wielding in my genetic repertoire...right?
If I do, now’s the time to figure it the fuck out.
22
I focus on the giant demon wh
ose kick rocked my world, while I still try to breathe through the throbbing, sharp wound emanating from the limp wing at my back.
Cyclops holds the net and me tightly in its hands, its eye focused on the mausoleum. I can tell that someone is working to slow the demon carrying me, but I can’t focus on who or how, because instead, I’m focusing on the giant’s head and mentally taking a pickaxe to it. That doesn’t seem to be doing anything though, so I regroup, take a deep breath, and invoke all my energy, willing the dormant power that I hope I have inside of me to come rushing out.
The scythe is still gripped tightly in my hand, but unless I have a demon around to swipe the blade through, it can’t help me. I’m getting closer and closer to the mausoleum, and crippling desolation is crawling up my throat, but I shove it aside and instead embrace my rage. For once, I don’t try to dispel it. I don’t take a calming breath. I welcome it.
I let all the violent fury fill me up, thinking of everything I want to do to these demons attacking us. I call on everything I have inside of me, letting the inky black rage cloud my vision and get me into the zone. I want this giant to hurt like I’m hurt. I want to end it. I want to Jedi mind fuck this bitch into oblivion. I want to…
The massive, one-eyed giant carrying me suddenly freezes. Throwing its head back in a silent scream, black light shoots right out of the giant’s mouth. It blinks, and suddenly the dark light is beaming out of its eye too. The giant’s whole body looks oddly phosphorescent, and then out of nowhere, its skin starts to crack. More inky light bleeds through the splits, and then all at once, the giant explodes, and I go hurtling to the ground.
I land on a headstone with an oomph and roll off, charred demon bits raining down all around me.
Holy shit! Did I do that?
I try to think through the fog of pain wrapping around my mind, but a blinding light-covered sword stabs through the netting still encasing me, and I’m pulled out by Nefta. She’s covered in ash and blood just like me, but she has a massive smile on her face, looking radiant and gorgeous as fuck.