by James Hunter
Still, I needed to talk to Azazel.
Between me, Levi, and Heckabe, we had a pretty damn good game plan in place, but without the scythe it was useless. Doomed. Picking that evil douche-waffle’s brain would be unpleasant, sure, but not as unpleasant as dying in a giant gladiatorial ring only to have my soul fed to a bunch of demonic monsters. That would serve no one. Not me. Not him. I looked up at Cassius, jaw tight, resolution written across my face.
“I need to see him, Cassius. It’s not a question of what I want—it’s about survival. Our survival.”
Cassius’ face screwed up in fury. “Fine.” He whispered the word like a curse. “You wanna see him so bad? You can go by yourself.” His fingers opened, and suddenly I fell, the wind beating at my face and plastering my clothes against my chest as the world streaked by. I don’t know how long I plummeted, but eventually, I smashed into the earth like a meteor, a crater forming in the cracked ground around me.
A fall like that back in the waking world would’ve turned me into a meat patty, but here it merely stung like a full-body belly flop off the diving board.
I pushed myself upright and pressed my fingers against my lips. When I pulled my hand away, I noticed a bright smear of red decorating my fingertips. The fall didn’t kill me, but I suspected the whole stunt was Cassius’ not so subtle way of reminding me that what happened here had consequences. Real, devastating, even deadly ones. I wanted to be mad at him for being an asshole, but I couldn’t blame him—not after all the shit I’d put him through. I probably would’ve done the same damned thing in his place.
With a disgruntled sigh, I stood and brushed my hands off as I spun in a circle.
The colosseum.
The pictures Heckabe had shown me hadn’t done the thing justice. Not even close. It was so big, so much more impressive. The ebony stands rose up like an impenetrable, unscalable wall. I continued turning, my feet crunching on loose gravel, and all thoughts of Cassius left my mind as I spotted the giant golden dome protruding from the ground like a half-buried asteroid.
It was similar to the prison I’d constructed for Azazel so many months ago, just better. Much better. Instead of steel plating with ancient signs of power carved into the metal, the prison was constructed of cloudy crystalline glass, covered from top to bottom with shimmering, swirling golden lines like a living, moving tapestry. After spending so much time with Levi, it was obvious whose workmanship it was, though this was a whole new level of insane. It was like staring at the magical equivalent of the Sistine Chapel.
Unlike the last prison I’d built, this one had no door, no openings of any sort, but I still felt a flutter of worry as I crept closer to the intimidating structure. The opaque glass prevented me from seeing Azazel, but I knew he was in there, waiting for me. I edged all the way up to the side of the dome and pressed my hand against the glass; an electric tingle crept into my palm as streaks of dark purple stained the tips of my fingers. A clear patch appeared beneath my hand, forming a little window I could see through, though just barely.
And there, in the middle of the dome, was Azazel, the great demonic dickhead who’d caused so many problems for Cassius and me over the past year. In some legends, angels are beautiful, swoon-worthy even—the stuff of romantic dreams. Based on what I’d seen so far in the Inferno, there might’ve even been some kernel of truth to that. But Azazel? Yeah, not so much.
Red skin like the blistered flesh of a burn victim covered a frame deformed with thick muscle. Splashed across his body were profane tattoos, deep gouges that bit through the skin and bled light the color of a toxic waste spill. All those markings hurt to look at—they seemed to slither and writhe in my vision like an angry brood of snakes. The only marking I recognized was the one directly in the center of his forehead: a strange diamond slashed through its center with a jagged line. Azazel’s demonic sigil.
I noted with some small measure of satisfaction that the formidable prison walls weren’t the only safety protocol keeping Azazel in check. He was trapped in a golden containment circle—a mirror image to the one Levi had used on me—and bound with thick golden chains that connected to the arena floor. Those chains wrapped around his arms and legs, encircled his biceps, strained over his massive neck, and prevented him from so much as unfurling his leathery wings.
The bastard looked about as secure as a demon could be, but despite that, he seemed remarkably unconcerned by his current predicament. He simply sat cross-legged, examining the ceiling above as if he were on a retreat and had no cares in the world. As I inched closer, he finally looked down, acknowledging me with a tilt of his head.
“I knew you’d come back,” he said, his voice deep, primal. It was the rumble of an earthquake and the crash of thunder on the horizon. A voice built for solitude and unaccustomed to speech. “Even after all the damage I’ve caused, you couldn’t resist. It isn’t in your nature. You’re too curious, which is why I like you so much. Easy prey.”
“You didn’t leave me much choice—you know why I’m here. Where’s the scythe?”
“That’s where you’re wrong,” he replied, ignoring my question. “About choice. There’s always a choice. You didn’t need to give in to me when fighting Ong—you could’ve let your friends die. Likewise, you don’t need to be here. There are other ways, even if the consequences are dire for your world. Nevertheless, the choice remains. It always remains.”
“Shut your mouth,” I growled, glancing down at my hand still pressed against the crystalline cage. The deep purple smear had spread, worming its away across the back of my hand, clawing all the way up to my wrist. “I didn’t come here to talk philosophy with you, dickweed. Where’s the scythe?”
He laughed a deep belly chuckle. “Of course I’ll tell you where it is. I want Asmodeus’ death far more than you do. I’d hate to see my efforts wasted.” His eyes flared with hatred as his lips pulled back, revealing rows of broken-glass teeth. “And the answer to your question is so close at hand.” He offered me a contemptuous grin. “You’ve been trudging all over Pandæmonium, but the scythe has been with you the whole while.”
Confusion sprinted across my face.
“The pistol, Disciple,” he offered, the words dripping scorn at my ignorance. “Did you not think the new upgrades odd? I reforged the scythe, combining it with your weapon of choice.” He raised a hand, pointed a finger at me, and mimed pulling a trigger.
“The gun is the scythe,” I said, voice flat, dry as an Arizona summer.
“Just so. A perfect disguise. But it is not only the gun. The gun can fire standard rounds, but only specially forged bullets will eradicate the soul, and only when the weapon is wielded by your hand. When the MudMan captured me, the chamber was full. Six rounds, all capable of inflicting Soul Death. How many are left?” His sneer widened as the question left his mouth, as if he already knew the answer.
Suddenly my stomach dropped out as my mind raced, replaying every shot I’d fired. I’d blasted one Flesh Eater during the chase in the market and another in the Southside Blood Pit—but I’d used two rounds on that douche-nozzle. Shit. That left me three rounds. Three. “Where can I find more ammo?” I said, eye narrowing into a thin slit, my free hand curling into a tight fist.
Azazel stared at me with the cold, calculating gaze of a reptile. “There are no more. I make them in batches of six, and I alone know the secret of their creation. It was a precaution I took on the off chance you managed to break free. Now, if you want to have the power of Death at your fingertips, you need me. You. Need. Me. And I think you know exactly what my price is.” He raised his hands and rattled the chains strapping him down.
“I don’t need you,” I yelled, fury invading me. All I wanted to do was pummel that asshole—just wipe that smarmy know-it-all smirk right off his ass-ugly face. “I sure as shit don’t need more than three bullets to kill Asmodeus, and then I’m gone. Outta Hell, and I won’t need you for jack shit.”
“So you think,” Azazel replied. “But yo
u’re wrong. In your heart, you belong to me. I am the Lord of war, of chaos, of hate and rage. I live inside every heart”—he thrust out a finger toward me—“yours most of all. You are hate. You are a monster, and even when you try to help you only cause more harm. Perhaps you have what you need to kill Asmodeus, but you also have the power to kill immortals, Disciple.
“Have you really considered what that means? You can take vengeance on Old Man Winter and ensure he’ll never hurt your friends again. Or what of the Morrigan? Would you not like to see her flame snuffed out for good? With the scythe you can do it, and I think we both know you’ll be back when the time draws nigh. There’s always a choice, but you will always choose death, Lazarus.”
Even in defeat, this bastard had a way to put the screws to me. I ripped my hand away from the glass, noting the creeping corruption had traveled past my elbow.
“One final word of advice,” came Azazel’s voice, badly muffled now that the glass was slowly clouding over again. “You can’t just shoot Asmodeus and expect him to die. The scythe only works for a killing blow. He must be near death, clinging to survival by the tip of his talons. Only then can you finish him off with the pistol. Don’t waste your chance—” The sentence cut off mid-word as the window I’d created disappeared completely, swallowed by mist.
TWENTY-FIVE:
Rise and Shine
The world around me shook and trembled, a miniature earthquake. “It’s time,” a blunt voice barked at me. The world shook again.
Reluctantly, I pushed up onto my elbows and cracked my eye, only to see Levi looming over me, his fat hand latched onto my shoulder. “Leave me alone, dick-noodle,” I grunted, shoving his hand away and flipping over onto my side. “I don’t know what time it is, but I sure as shit know what time it ain’t. And that’s time to get up.”
“Not asking,” he replied. “We’ve got a lot to do and only so much time to do it. Up. Now.”
I offered him a middle finger in reply and snuggled my face more deeply into the pillow, pulling the ridiculously soft throw blanket up over my shoulders. Gaudy or not, this couch was better than my bed, and I intended to enjoy it.
Just as I was on the verge of maximum comfort, Levi’s sausage fingers curled around my bicep and jerked me from the couch in one quick pull. I hit the floor with a thump and a squawk and rolled over, ready to mule-kick that asshole in the kneecaps on principle, but of course, he was already lumbering away.
“You slept well, I take it,” Heckabe asked, sounding vastly amused by my sudden wake-up call. She was sitting at the same table from the night before, nursing a beer and devouring her way through about ten pounds of pork and a small mountain of scrambled eggs. I sniffed at the air and my stomach grumbled in response. Yeah, I could eat.
“Yeah,” I grumbled, glowering at her and Levi in turn as I clambered to my feet. “Just not enough. I could use ten more hours, easy.” I winced, my muscles still achy, my skin covered in vivid yellow bruises.
“Stop whining,” came her thoughtful and gracious reply. “You already slept ten hours—and you have your inarticulate friend to thank for that, by the way. I would’ve had you up ages ago, had he not physically thrown me into a wall.” She cocked an eyebrow at the MudMan. “He has a temper, that one.”
I paused, stealing a glance over one shoulder at Levi, who stoically ignored the conversation. The MudMan shambled off to the corner and plopped down on an overstuffed chair, pulling out a beaten and battered copy of the Bible. We were in Hell, and the guy was reading the Bible. I snorted at the sheer irony, unable to contain myself. Hands down, Levi was the biggest dork I’d ever met. But in an endearing sort of way.
“If you want any of this food,” Heckabe said, “you better get a move on. I’ve got a big appetite.” She patted her stomach and issued an eye-watering belch, which was the absolute height of classy.
“Oh, don’t you mind her none,” Ma Rainey said, shuffling into the room, bearing a silver platter loaded down with all kinds of wondrous things: crispy toast slathered in butter, a bowlful of bright yellow eggs, a tray of fat breakfast links, and a tottering pile of crisp bacon. And best of all? Coffee. Delicious aromatic coffee. A whole pot of the stuff, sitting next to a mug that had my name on it—well, not literally, but you get the idea. Tired and grumpy as I was, I could get on board with a wheelbarrow worth of fried meat and high-octane joe.
She plopped the tray on the table, offered me a quick wink, then bustled off, disappearing back the way she’d come.
I headed for the bathroom, took a quick leak, and splashed some lukewarm water across my face before rinsing my mouth.
When I left the bathroom, I found Levi waiting for me in a cramped little hallway connecting the bathroom with the lounge. He reached out and grabbed my right hand, lifted it up, then carefully inspected my fingers. “Your hand started to turn black last night,” he whispered so low it was almost impossible to hear. “Thought Azazel must’ve gotten to you.” He let my hand drop, then cupped my chin and lifted my face, searching my eye for any sign of Azazel’s presence.
I slapped his mitt away in annoyance. “I’m fine,” I whispered. “And I got what we needed to boot.” As briefly as I could, I explained what I’d learned. The revelation left the poor guy shell-shocked—not that I could blame him. To know we’d had the damned scythe the whole time was a bitter pill, though in hindsight, without the plans we’d scored from Azazel’s desk, we’d still be screwed. “Now get outta my way before Heckabe gets suspicious,” I muttered under my breath.
Levi begrudgingly moved aside as I beelined for the table, dropped into a chair, and eyeballed the food with greedy hunger, trying to decide where to start. Bacon. Of course, I started with the bacon. I picked up a thick slice covered in hot, delicious grease and shoved it between my teeth, letting the flavor explode over my tongue like a hand grenade of awesomeness. Oh. My. God. I’m something of a foodie: ribs are amazing, and you can’t go wrong with charred brisket. But bacon? Bacon is the absolute bee’s knees.
I worked my way through piece after piece, taking a few breaks to stuff eggs into my pie hole, then washed it all down with scorching hot coffee.
Thankfully—blessedly, even—Heckabe let me eat in peace. Which is good because I’m not a morning person, not even a little. I’m more of a set-things-on-fire-in-the-morning kinda person.
When I was finally done, I slouched back in my seat and picked my teeth with a wooden toothpick, surveying the werewolf lady.
“Done?” she asked flatly, sliding out a new dossier, which she flopped onto the table. “Busy day today.” She flipped the cover and pulled out a stack of glossy photos. “Today, we head down to the Undercroft and see if we can get access to the service tunnels beneath the colosseum. I know a guy over in the floating markets who can probably get us into the Nekropolis. It’s going to be a difficult fight from there, but we’ll be well provisioned.” She bent over and lifted a black duffel from the floor. “I’ve got everything we need in here for the demo.”
“Good enough,” I replied, pushing away from the table and heading for the couch. I donned my leather jacket—I was instantly sweaty, even with the AC on—slipped the tactical flak jacket over the top, then double-checked all my weapons. I had a new set of flashbangs. A Colt 1911 with an extra mag. The drop pouch with the Hand of Glory stashed away inside, now wrapped in a piece of black silk. And, of course, the scythe. I brass checked the deadly pistol, fingers trembling as I traced the new etchings.
Three rounds, just like I’d thought.
“Alright, let’s do this—”
I fell silent as Ma Rainey rushed in from the back room behind the bar. She clutched the edges of her skirt in a tense grip. “Flesh Eaters. Upstairs,” she said without preamble.
Heckabe was on her feet in a flash, hoisting the duffel and slinging it over one shoulder. “How many?” she snapped, gaze darting toward the main basement door.
“Ten. Maybe fifteen,” Ma Rainey replied, cool as an autumn morning. �
��They sniffing around topside, but Johnson and the boys are keepin’ ’em occupied. Probably buy y’all ’bout two minutes. Best get movin’.” She hobbled over to the bookcase on the back wall, pulled down a book, then punched the code into the keypad on the vault door. It whooshed open on silent hinges, revealing both the armory and the emergency exit. “They got a couple sentries posted up out by the front door, so I’m thinkin’ the back way.”
Heckabe nodded, shot Levi and me a quick glance, then jerked her head toward the exit. “Our time here is done. Let’s move.” She quickly disappeared into the secret room, trailed by Levi, still in his dumpy human suit.
I followed last but stopped short as Ma Rainey’s hand landed on my forearm.
I turned toward her as she tugged on my sleeve, but was woefully unprepared as she strained up on her tippy toes and planted a hot, wet kiss right on my lips. The kiss didn’t last long, thank God—she’s a nice enough lady and crazy talented, but she also looked ninety years old. Before I could properly react, she pulled away, chuckling softly, running one hand over her hips.
“You taste good, bluesman. Now you get on outta here, but when you shuffle off the mortal coil for real, you stop on by and pay ol’ Ma Rainey a proper visit.” She shot me a sly smile, then shoved me toward the emergency door, followed by a hard smack right on the ass. “You get. Go kill that shit-sucker Asmodeus.” I hustled forward feeling incredibly conflicted and even more confused. I paused and stole one final look back as the metal door clanged shut, blocking out Ma Rainey’s face and the trickle of light from the basement.
I had a feeling that was probably the last I’d ever see Rainey, and surprisingly it bothered me. First Skinless Jim, now her. What was happening to me? I beat back all those fuzzy, demanding emotions and soldiered on through the exit and into a twisting tunnel, fitted with miner’s lamps hanging from the right-hand wall at ten-foot intervals. I picked up my pace and quickly caught up to Levi and Heckabe. We took winding turn after winding turn, before eventually climbing a set of narrow stairs that let out into a sketchy back alley about a block away.