Sam frowned, doubts starting to intrude despite knowing that this was his father’s intention. Could the Bible be interpreted as fiction, written by the victors? Never for one moment had he ever thought it was anything but the truth. But something Satan had said was niggling at him. Satan knew what was predicted. Why would he ever allow himself to be subjected to that? Why would any sane person allow themselves to be chained at the bottomless pit for a thousand years?
Sam had his answer. Sort of. Satan was neither a person nor sane. But still… the thought wouldn’t go away and Sam hated himself for allowing his father to sow the seeds of doubts within his mind. That was exactly the way his father liked to operate and Sam had fallen into his trap like a naive boy.
“You’re lying. You always lie.” Sam was almost shouting now but he could hear the questions behind the anger in his voice. His father, no doubt, could hear the same thing.
Infuriatingly, Satan simply cocked an eyebrow. “Believe what you will, my boy. All will be revealed soon enough. I like surprises. Don’t you?”
Sam said nothing, not trusting himself to speak. He glared at his father, both hands twitching to touch his swords. Satan gave no indication he noticed.
“Speaking of surprises,” he went on conversationally, “I’ve got one planned for you. When you get back, I mean. Not that you may notice straight away but it will become apparent eventually. Oh. I forgot to mention that your girlfriend won’t be there when you get back either.”
Sam was suddenly moving, both swords in his hands without thought, charging towards the hated figure in the chair, intent on ending him. His last image was his father’s face, a snide look on his face. Just before his swords could reach him, Satan disappeared, Sam’s blades passing harmlessly through empty air a fraction of a second too late.
Chapter Sixteen
The Devil’s Hand
“ You cannot drink the cup of the Lord and the cup of demons too; you cannot have a part in both the Lord's table and the table of demons.”
1 Corinthians 10:21
Sam had one moment of confusion in which to realize that he’d missed killing his father when he was suddenly back in the motel, his eyes wide, sprawled on his back. He sat up quickly. His father hadn’t been bluffing: Aimi was gone. He could still see the imprint her body had made in the bed. He touched the spot. It was still warm. Aimi had only just left, either of her own accord, or taken by force. He didn’t imagine it would be the latter, as Aimi had been a force to contend with even before she was an angel. Now… well, he pitied the demon that crossed her path. He got up off the bed and it was only then that he noticed it, sitting on the bedside table.
A strawberry.
It was a message. A message left just for him. There were probably no strawberries left growing on Earth now. Only an angel could presumably conjure a strawberry out of thin air. Aimi was telling him she was alright. Strawberries had been what she used to eat when they trained together in Hikari’s garden. Good times. Safe times.
He breathed a sigh of relief. He’d only just exhaled when the door to the motel was hit by something exceedingly heavy and powerful, and it exploded in a hail of wooden splinters. Sam ducked instinctively, even though he knew the shards couldn’t harm him, and grabbed his swords from where they rested next to the bed.
Silhouetted against the dark sky was an even darker figure, man-sized or perhaps slightly larger — in Sam’s confusion, it was hard to tell. It seemed to be gathering the darkness around it. Sam’s night vision was usually exceptional but for some reason, he couldn’t get a clear look at what this was. Perhaps his encounter with his father had fogged his mind, or maybe it was something else. Regardless, he hadn’t sensed this creature in front of him until now. It was almost as if it were employing a similar technique to his glamor.
His mind started to clear, focusing into battle readiness. The thing — for that’s what it was; it certainly wasn’t human — took a step into the room. As he focused, details emerged, like his mind had parted a curtain previously closed to him.
He recognized it then. Well, maybe not exactly what it was but he had a fairly good idea. It was a Cambion, like the half-human, half-Lemure he’d encountered earlier. But different. This creature was half-human alright, but it certainly wasn’t half-Lemure.
Much like Sam, it looked almost completely human. He. It was definitely male, albeit slightly larger than normal. He appeared slightly bigger than Sam — maybe just a few inches, but Sam knew that that extra reach would count when they crossed blades. Long limbs were connected to a powerful torso that tapered into a narrow waist, all completely encased in black armor. In fact, if it wasn’t for the small black wings (which appeared far too small to be functional) and the horns jutting from its head, it would have passed for human — once again, much like Sam. He knew which demon had mated with a human then. It had to be the spawn of some Prince or Princess. Definitely some form of demon royalty at any rate and, by definition, something to be wary of. This creature would not be as easily overcome as some half-Lemure hybrid.
And overcome it must be. Sam had no option. The only door out of the place was the one the Cambion had come through, and the only window was next to the creature. Basically, the only way out was through it. Fight it was. There was no mistaking the intent of the creature as it stalked towards him on long legs, flicking a long dark strand of hair out of it face and drawing a slim black blade as it moved.
Sam didn’t have time for this. He wanted to end this quickly before more demons were alerted by the noise. He strongly suspected his father had sent this demon after him. After all, his glamor was still in place. How else would it have found him?
He drew both swords and struck out using the momentum from the draw, so fluid and blindingly fast it appeared to be only one motion. As he attacked, the words of Miyamoto Musashi came to him: when the enemy attacks and you also decide to attack, hit with your body, and hit with your spirit, and hit from the Void with your hands, accelerating strongly.
In his arrogance, he assumed that would be the end of it. He could imagine the creature may be able to parry one sword, but two? To his surprise, he found himself fighting for his life. The Cambion parried both blades with casual ease. The riposte almost took out Sam’s eye, the tip of the creature’s sword missing by the barest measure. He smelled iron.
The Cambion came for him again. Sam darted to the side, desperately bringing his Katana down and across to block the vicious swing. Amazingly, he was too slow, unprepared and sluggish. Not by much but it was enough. His opponent’s blade snuck through his defense and tagged him neatly on the chest, slicing straight through his sweatshirt and into the fragile flesh beneath. The blade bit. It was shallow but stung more than it should have. Instinctively, Sam knew that this blade was much like the one possessed by his brother, probably not as powerful but still able to draw the life-force out of whomever it cut.
Sam jumped back, reassessing the situation. The Cambion paused for a moment and smiled knowingly. Sam didn’t bother returning the gesture. It was a waste of time posturing. The Cambion probably expected him to fight conventionally, content to let his sword do the work, watching his opponent become steadily weakened. Instead, Sam did the unexpected and feinted then reversed his blades, striking out simultaneously with both at completely different angles. No doubt his foe would be aware of Sam’s abilities but perhaps not his unpredictability.
As he suspected, the Cambion was caught unawares. It did remarkably well under the circumstances however, even managing to block one of Sam’s blades with a speed that Sam suspected wasn’t far from his own. As quick as it was though, it wasn’t quick enough. Sam’s smaller blade — the Wakizashi — took the creature just under the ribcage. Sam angled it up sharply though, plunging it directly into the Cambion’s heart.
They were face to face, so close Sam could smell its sulfurous breath. For a moment, nothing happened. Sam didn’t expect it to disintegrate into a plume of ash like a normal Lemure. Highe
r ranked demons seemed to have a tendency to remain on Earth upon their death. What happened next though was completely unprecedented in Sam’s experience. First, the Cambion smiled at him, then without preamble, it simply disappeared. No ash. No nothing. One second the Cambion was right next to him with his sword buried in its chest, the next, gone.
Sam blinked in surprise. “Well, that was different,” he muttered.
He took a moment to reflect and to assess, breathing more heavily than normal. His injury wasn’t bad but was still leaking blood. Usually an injury like this would have healed by now, but the Cambion’s blade wasn’t normal. Experience had taught him that the injury would heal eventually — probably. He hoped. The last injury he’d had like this had taken Satan himself to heal. He felt a little weak and light-headed but he reckoned he’d be alright.
Then he cast around with his mind. Now that he knew what to look for, he could sense them. Just. They were obviously trying to conceal themselves with a similar glamor to his own, but they weren’t quite strong enough to resist his scrying. They probably couldn’t detect him because their mind states showed no alarm. Four more of them. They were just now arriving outside the motel. Maybe the one he’d just killed had got here before the others, sent like the others by his father. That one had probably just been a little quicker or a little keener than the others. Sam smiled. Served him right.
Yet he’d managed to dispatch one of them with some difficulty. Sam suspected a further four of them would be more than his match. Discretion became the better part of valor.
Heedless of the noise it caused, Sam made his own exit, kicking through the thin walls and into the room next door. Not slowing, he charged through the next wall and the one after that. The repeated impact hurt — how could it not? He was certainly no Horned Demon accustomed to smashing through stud partitions like they were paper. His leading shoulder ached. It felt like he’d dislocated it. No matter, it would heal. More disturbing was the blood he could feel dribbling down his torso. The wound from the Cambion’s sword still hadn’t closed up, and he probably wasn’t doing it any favors mowing down buildings.
At the limits of his endurance now, he ploughed through two more walls. He could discern that the other Cambions still out there, still waiting. They probably thought their comrade was still in furious combat with him and so far, they seemed content to wait for their victor to emerge. It was a lucky break for Sam, and one that he wasn’t about to squander.
He thought for a moment about calling for Yeth but dismissed the idea almost immediately, crushing it quickly so that Yeth would not read his unconscious desire and come for him in any case. His Hellhound would not help him here. In fact, the presence of such a mighty creature would act as a beacon for every other demon in the vicinity, so Yeth would have to emerge from the nearby church and battle every other demon that crossed his path between there and Sam’s current position. It would take too long. Not only that, but Sam wasn’t convinced about how effective the great demon would be against these Cambions. They probably possessed his innate flame resistance and seemed unnervingly handy with their blades. Hell hounds didn’t have many weaknesses but as Sam had discovered long ago, a blade punched through their eye would kill them just as effectively as any other creature.
He couldn’t bring himself to put Yeth at risk. He’d get out of this mess by himself.
Staggering, bloodied and covered with plaster and ash, he kicked through the wall in front of him. Or tried to. Big mistake. It was the outer wall, solidly constructed from concrete blocks. He almost cried out in pain as he felt something break in his foot, even as it ruptured the wall. He kicked again and again, ignoring the pain from his tortured foot.
Finally, he made a hole big enough for him to fit and squeezed himself through it, gritting his teeth against the pain as his injured foot became twisted. He freed it with an effort and examined what he’d done. The bone was broken alright, part of it sticking out of his broken flesh. Even now, it was starting to heal but slowly, so slowly. Much more slowly than normal. That Cambion’s cursed blade was really messing up his healing ability. Even his shoulder was taking its time realigning itself.
He paused to catch his breath. The Cambions were moving. He divined that they had entered the original motel room where he and Aimi had spent the night. They would soon spot his trail. It wasn’t exactly hard to work out where he’d gone. He may as well have set up a giant neon sign saying ‘this way.’
He gambled that they wouldn’t be able to find him if he got clear of the motel, though his father had obviously told them exactly where he was. If his glamor held out, he should be able to get clear — unless he was in their line of sight, of course. Besides, it was almost dawn. They couldn’t keep hunting him for much longer. Could they?
He was wrong.
He limped on, the wounds definitely healing but not rapidly enough to give him an advantage. Behind him, the Cambions closed the gap. They may not have been able to sense him but they could certainly track him. He was leaving a bloody trail and dragging his foot. The worst ever Boy Scout could’ve followed such a trail.
Panting and exhausted, he finally hid in a thick brush thicket that had still managed to retain some of its leaves, even buried in ash, just as the sky brightened. Dawn. The blood-red moon disappeared behind the thick cloud cover, leaving him with an odd sense of abandonment. It also left him weakened. The red moon leant him strength where the day leached it.
He prayed that, like most demons, they would retreat to Hell during the day time. But they weren’t normal demons. They were Cambions like him. He didn’t have to go to Hell during the day, so why would they? But then again, he’d become accustomed to living on the Earth for the last twenty odd years. The sun still made him feel slightly uneasy and he was used to it. For them, this must be a relatively new and unusual experience. Hopefully, the sun terrified them. Maybe they would return to where they felt most comfortable. If they didn’t, it was all over for him.
They appeared from around an abandoned gas station about fifty feet away. He thought about using it as a refuge or even a last stand, but it was just too obvious. It was what they’d expect him to do. It was what he’d expect of himself. As usual, when he had such doubts, he went ahead and did the unexpected. This time, he wasn’t sure whether it would pay off or not.
He watched as they briefly checked out the building, satisfying themselves that he wasn’t inside. Outside, he couldn’t help but notice the nervous looks they were giving the sky. One of the four — a male — was looking in his direction, pointing for the benefit of the others, following the obvious trail he’d left. Two females were shaking their heads. A whispered conversation followed — an argument. Even in hot debate, they kept their voices low so that Sam could only hear the occasional snippet of Hellspeak. There was lots of angry gesturing going on, mostly in his direction. The first male was clearly adamant that they continue but the others appeared too scared of the sky. Eventually, the majority won and all four disappeared behind the gas station once again.
Sam had never felt so relieved before. Another fifty feet and they would have had him. It was only now that he could feel his strength starting to return, the blood clotting on the wound in his chest. His broken ankle was starting to knit while his shoulder had already realigned itself. A few minutes earlier, and there would have been no way he could’ve fought them all off, especially in his weakened state.
He’d garnered some good pieces of information from the encounter, however. First, that his father was now employing his royal Cambions on Earth and they were talented fighters with powers of concealment. Secondly, they feared the sky. Thirdly, their blades were deadly and it took around fifteen minutes for any wounds to start clotting. Being injured by one also slowed down his normal healing processes. Even at his peak, Sam doubted his ability to fight off five of them at once.
There was something else about them though. Something that was troubling him. He remembered the way the demon had smiled as
it died as if it knew something he didn’t. It was slightly unnerving. His father had told him that he had a surprise for him. Was it the existence of the Cambions themselves? It was too obvious. His father would not reveal his hand that easily. Satan normally played a slightly more subtle game than that.
The sky brightened further, not that it made much of a difference. The thick, dark clouds took care of that, not giving the sun a chance for even a glimmer of light to break through the solid barrier. It was still lighter than it had been though.
Sam decided to stay where he was for now. He doubted whether the Cambions would come back for him, even if they knew exactly where he was. The light would keep them at bay. He was relatively safe — or as safe as he could be — for the moment. The thicket offered him concealment and kept the worst of the light away from him while he healed.
More for comfort than any great need, he reached for his pack, hoping to get a snack and a swig of water before remembering that it was still in the motel room. He’d have to go back for it. It contained other things that he needed, sentimental and otherwise. He couldn’t leave it.
Sighing heavily, he stood, still somewhat shaky, and disentangled himself from the thicket. Wearily, he limped back in the direction of the motel. As he walked, he kept his senses attuned to what was going on around him. He was fairly certain the Cambions were gone but he wasn’t about to take any chances.
Despite his caution, his mind kept returning to one thought as he retraced his path. Aimi. Not just Aimi. Spending the night with her. It seemed like more time had passed than it had since the previous night. Lots had happened in the last few hours. His encounter with his father in the dream world. His battle and pursuit by the Cambions. But his thoughts were still dominated by her face. The feel of her. How she smelt.
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