Retribution (Redemption Series)

by Ryals, R. K.

  I couldn't decide if I should blush or roll my eyes. Marcas ignored them.

  "Has there been any word on Lucifer's reaction to our little coup d'état?" Marcas asked.

  Luther leaned over.

  "That's a fancy word for revolution, right?" he whispered in my ear.

  I smothered a laugh as Lucas looked out over the crowd. Marcas was serious to a fault when faced with any obstacle large or small. Luther, I was beginning to discover, was the opposite.

  "You mean other than the fact he's pissed?" the Fallen Angel asked.

  "His plans, Luke," Marcas said patiently.

  Lucas' face fell.

  "He plans to see you dead. But for now, I've gotten word that Lucifer is sending Lilith with an army to the Outer Levels of Hell. It's your chance for a kingdom, Demon. Take it or leave it."

  Marcas looked out over the faces of the hybrids in the field before us. It was the first time I really noticed our surroundings, and I glanced at Luther, my brows raised.

  "Are we in a vineyard?" I mumbled.

  Luther gestured at the green rolling hills before us.

  "What? Not in the mood for a drink?"

  I eyed him dubiously, and he sighed.

  "Spoil sports, all of you. We're in Italy. Look behind you."

  I glanced over my shoulder and gasped at the manor I saw in the distance.

  "S.O.S. headquarters."

  Luther nodded.

  "Remember Hell time differs from Earth time. We've been gone two weeks. Plenty of time for our little group of rebellions to fly here and set up base. If there is any fighting on Earth, we want to keep it as isolated as possible."

  Two weeks. I kept losing days in my life faster than I wanted to lose them. I was standing at Marcas' shoulder, and I reached for his hand. He took it with no hesitation.

  "We'll fight," he said firmly.

  Lucas nodded and held up his hand, palm out. The hybrids in the field roared. The signal, I assumed, had been expected, and these hybrids seemed ready and willing to go to war.

  "Prepare yourselves," Marcas shouted.

  It startled me, but I stood still, awed as his voice boomed over the field. I had once believed my father had a large voice. I knew now it was amplified by power, and the hybrids reveled in Marcas'.

  Lucas turned, his back to the crowd, his eyes on Marcas.

  "Do you intend to take the Outer Levels? Even if you win, there will be a constant battle on your border."

  Marcas stared straight ahead.

  "It's been done before."

  Lucas didn't disagree.

  "And she still fights a constant war to keep control of her kingdom," Lucas pointed out.

  Marcas turned, his gaze meeting the Fallen Angel.

  "As do the Exiles for their place here. We are children of the realms who conceived us. You will always be a child of Heaven, but you fight a constant war to remain out of Hell. One foot in, one foot out. One wrong move, and you will be thrown into the pits of Hell. As hybrids of Hell, we will fight for our Outer kingdom, and we will live a precarious life on the edge happier than when we lived it in the depths."

  "And you will rule this kingdom?" a new voice asked.

  I didn't have to look to know who it was. Marcas glanced up, his gaze landing on Bezaliel.

  "Damn straight I will."

  It was the words of a ruler, a Demon ruler, and as I stood next to him, my ankle throbbing and scarred by Hellfire, my hand clasped in his, I felt the chasm between us open. Marcas was fighting to rule a kingdom in Hell. Where did that leave me?

  Chapter 24

  Marcas, the hybrid son of the Demon, Lilith, and the cursed immortal, Cain, has proclaimed war on Hell. His army is a band of hybrids. If they succeed in taking the Outer Levels of the Underworld, a new kingdom will begin. This will mean change. It will cause a division in Hell.

  ~Bezaliel~

  I wish I could say going to battle was like the movies, theatrical, choreographed, and proceeded by a background of magnificent orchestrated music. In Braveheart, for example, common men painted their faces, lifted crude weapons, and yelled before charging into a field of soldiers better fed and better prepared and won, all with an awe-inspiring soundtrack and haunting narration.

  In my reality, there was none of this. There had been no time to convene with members of the S.O.S, no time to see Conor or Monroe, no time to wonder if this battle would change my life. There had only been a hard look from Bezaliel, and a moment of frenzied whispering between Lucas, Luther, Marcas, and my father before a portal was opened once more.

  It was a thin portal , almost translucent with a field beyond it that looked identical to the one we stood in now.

  "The Outer Levels share time and space with Earth. It would be good if Marcas ruled it," Luther whispered into my ear.

  I nodded, but I didn't really understand. From the corner of my eye, I thought I caught a glimpse of Sophia moving phantom-like along the edges of the hybrid army. She was in a dress the color of freshly fallen snow, beautiful, her wings extended but down, her head bowed. It was tragic. An Angel, dressed in flowing white, watching the Demon she'd once loved going into battle for his own kingdom. I have never felt so out of place.

  "Dayton," I heard Bezaliel say from behind me, but I shook my head.

  "No, don't tell me I'm being left behind," I said as I turned toward him. "I have done my fair share of killing since this began. I have watched people I love hurt all because I was bound to a hybrid by a Demon seeking redemption. I'll see this to the end . . . father."

  His eyes met mine, and I saw an emotion there we both felt, but didn't really know how to express. I smiled sadly.

  "Even if this ends with nothing more than a new kingdom in Hell and me returning to a life I don't know anymore, it will be closure. If there's one thing I've learned, it's that everyone deserves that much. I'll get the chance to say goodbye."

  Bezaliel nodded, his gaze soft.

  "I'm proud of you," he said.

  Those words were my orchestra. The heartbeat in my chest, the drums. The way he looked at me now, the violins. The sound of feet preparing to enter the portal, the wind instruments. It was enough.

  Bezaliel placed his hands on each of my shoulders, his gaze glued to mine.

  "Remember, daughter, who you are. Sometimes we spend so much time trying to believe in what we think is right, we forget to believe in what is right in front of us."

  He released me, spinning me so that I was facing the portal.

  "I believe in you," my father whispered in my ear before he was suddenly gone.

  I knew he was gone because there was an emptiness behind me, an emptiness filled now with a forgiveness and peace I thought I'd never feel. But I felt it now. I definitely felt it now.

  "Ready?" a voice asked, and I smiled when I looked up into Marcas' strong, shadowed face.

  "You're not going to try and talk me out of coming?" I asked.

  He grinned.

  "The battle would be over before I'd manage to convince you."

  I laughed.

  "True that."

  His hand took mine and together we stepped toward the portal, an army of hybrids behind us. And it wasn't an orchestra that played us through the opening. It wasn't painted faces that moved into the Outer Levels of Hell. It wasn't even bravery.

  It was hope.

  Chapter 25

  A Civil War fought on the principles of freedom and love. It is one step closer to resolution.

  ~Bezaliel~

  Lilith's army was waiting on the rolling hills beyond the portal. It was beautiful, identical to the place we'd left behind with the exception of color. Everything here, like in the tests we'd endured, was more vivid. Colors were stronger, deeper. The grapes left behind on vines already harvested so purple they almost appeared red. It made the grotesque monsters covering the fields even more grotesque, even more terrifying.

  They were all there, the spider-Demons with their fangs loaded with poison, the Tro
ll-Demons with their detachable claws, Demons with bull-like bodies and horns, Demons with bulbous noses and large muscular bodies, and half human hybrids with dark hair who had chosen to fight with their mother over the brother offering them escape. And they gave us no time to prepare.

  The first shots of power and claws flew toward us as soon as our feet touched the ground on the other side of the portal, and I grabbed for my light, my magic bubble of protection rolling out in the nick of time. It shielded me, gave me time to get my bearings as Demons more prepared for battle than I threw themselves into the fray with no hesitation.

  And it was then I heard my music.

  Realistically, battle, whether human or otherwise, is a cacophony of noises, a disharmony of shrieks, screams, dying breaths, whooshing weapons, stomping feet, and cries of retribution. And as hybrids rushed past me, some falling and others continuing forward, I gripped my magic hard, my eyes seeking Marcas. But I had lost him. At some point, while crossing over, we had been separated, and there was nothing left to do but fight.

  Power surged toward me, and I lifted my hands, sending a white stream of light that connected with the Demonic magic, sending it back to the creature that'd attacked me. There was a scream, and then nothing, but with so many sporadic shrieks, I couldn't be sure I'd killed or even wounded my assailant.

  Time stood still. There was nothing to do but consider the most pressing attacks, and I was smack dab in the middle of the fray. My bubble protected me as best it could, but it was not invincible and so I moved quickly, weaving and attacking so that I wasn't still enough to be a perfect target. It was like being stuck inside a very vivid, very slow moving, animated version of a Picasso painting.

  There was blood everywhere, so vividly red and green that I could no longer tell the difference between the landscape and the dying. No . . . not the dying. The recycled. Marcas had told me once that Demons didn't die. The bodies they inhabited could be destroyed, but their Demonic spirit endured and was reincarnated into a different Demon form. Angels were the same way, only instead of being recycled, they healed. Angels could be wounded, but if it was a death blow then they simply folded in on themselves and lay suspended for however many years it took for even a fatal wound to heal. Only God could take their lives indefinitely.

  But as I stepped over the Demons slain, over hybrids who had not survived an attack, I found myself wondering if the same was true for the half-bloods. When Demons like Marcas died, were they recycled? Or were they simply damned?

  I deflected a claw that barely missed my arm while my power sank into a spider-Demon that had approached my leg, its fangs extended. My shot was true, and the spider-Demon rolled onto its back, its legs folding in on itself as it simply faded from existence. Its body remained, but it looked like an empty shell. It was disconcerting, and I pushed my way backward, sliding behind hybrids in the heat of battle, my thoughts only on Marcas. I needed to find him.

  The fighting was thick, desperate, and I nearly cried as I pushed my way through it, deflecting attacks and killing anything I was capable of killing. Blood. Everywhere there was blood and empty shells. And still no Marcas.

  In the distance, there was a clear patch of grass, and I moved toward it desperately, my eyes searching the battling faces frantically. Almost there. And then . . . .

  "I have been biding my time for this moment," a female voice said evenly and my blood ran cold, my eyes lifting to meet the smiling face of the Demon Lilith.

  Even in battle, she was glorious, her figure gloved in red leather from head to toe, her hair a black mass of flying curls around her head. Her hands were claws, her eyes red.

  "Lilith," I whispered.

  She flashed fangs as she moved toward me, attacking anyone who attempted to harass me, even her own minions.

  "She is all mine," she roared to the Demons approaching us, and they backed off, throwing themselves into the battle with the mindless energy of drones.

  Fear consumed me. I would love to say that I had a moment of bravery, of confidence, but the only thing I felt was terror. Saying it was anything else would be a lie.

  "You," Lilith said wickedly, "My Little Angel, have been a burr in my side. I think it's about time I remove you."

  I pulled on my magic hard enough it hurt, and Lilith winced. I wasn't bound to her son anymore, and the light that surrounded me now would no longer allow her entrance. For a moment, for a single moment, I felt invincible. Then Lilith smiled, and I felt cowardice sneak in again, making a home in my fear-ridden veins.

  "It feels good, doesn't it?" she asked. "Thinking that your power is stronger than mine."

  I didn't move, but I did look her in the eye. If this was the end for me, I was going to face it directly with eyes wide open. Maybe, in the end, that was bravery in itself. Facing death and remaining stoic. Lilith blinked and lifted her hands.

  "It's been quite a few decades, Lilith," a voice said, and I took a startled step backward as my father moved into my peripheral vision.

  Lilith's mouth formed a silent "o" as her gaze moved to his. Bezaliel never even flinched.

  "I'd say this moment has been a long time coming. Wouldn't you agree?" my father asked.

  Lilith's eyes bled to black. Her hands lowered, forming into fists at her side.

  "And what, my dear Bezaliel, would bring you to that conclusion?"

  My father took an agonizingly slow step forward, his green eyes beginning to lighten until the shade was almost, but not quite white.

  "I'd say you owe me, Lilith. On your hands is the blood of my wife. You have tortured my daughter, and you have blatantly attempted your own war on Earth. We are far from even."

  Even I heard the deadly threat in my father's voice. It sent shivers down my spine. Lilith was hot-headed, but she was no fool. She circled my father, her expression calm. My father was older than she, an Angel that had been created way before the time of Adam. She feared him.

  "Go," Bezaliel said, and I knew he meant me.

  I heeded his command, and I moved past them, back into the fray, another step closer to finding Marcas. The bodies, both living and dead, were as thick as they had been before, and I searched them. Nothing.

  The battle was dying down. The hybrids were still standing, most of them having survived the onslaught by Lilith's pets. But many too, had died. And yet, they still seemed to outnumber the monsters still fighting.

  Bezaliel was facing off with Lilith behind me, and many of the combatants had stopped to observe, awed. Had Marcas done it? Had he won his kingdom?

  And that's when I saw him. He was fighting, along with Luther, on the outer fringes of the battlefield where the stronger monsters had gathered. The hybrids had the upper hand, and I watched as Luther shoved a detached claw into the heart of a bull-like Demon before kicking a bulbous creature in Marcas' direction. Marcas' power was quick and brutal and both Demons went down. It was enough.

  Luther grinned and held out a bloody hand, clasping his brother by the arm in celebration. The hybrids had won. The Outer Level was theirs. They could build a new kingdom for Exiled Demons with Marcas at its head.

  I worked my way down a hill, sliding as I hurried to reach Marcas, and that's when I saw the shadow. It was a large shadow, a cloak covering a body hidden by a hood. It took only a split second for me to realize it was headed for Marcas at a speed too quick to stop.

  There was a scream so loud it froze an entire battlefield. And as I watched something silver enter Marcas' body, I realized belatedly that the scream was mine.

  Chapter 26

  Look for the light, but never forget the darkness.

  ~Bezaliel~

  There should never be a moment in anyone's life in which they have to watch the people they love die. If I could have one wish, one wish in the world, I'd wish that no one ever had to watch their loved ones die. Ever.

  Lucifer had his revenge. In a moment of joy, in a moment of hope and freedom, he had his revenge, and I watched as Marcas' body fell to the gro
und.

  Luther went down next to him, his hand held out, power surging to the figure who had murdered his brother. The Demon didn't go down. Instead, he vanished without a trace still covered in his hood.

  I was running now, each breath a chore, a stitch in my side as I sobbed. Tears. Marcas had told me to cry. I was doing it now. I wasn't sure I could stop even if I tried. I wasn't sure I could ever stop.

  I knew even as I approached them that it was bad. I could hear Marcas' breathing, labored and raspy from a few feet away, and when Luther looked up, his eyes meeting mine, there was defeat written in his gaze where a moment ago there had been celebration.

  I was ten steps away now. And my mind was a frenzied mess. With every breath, a new thought.

  Ten steps. Please don't let him die.

  Nine steps. Take me instead.

  Eight steps. If I had never been born, none of this would have happened!

  Seven steps. Be strong, Day.

  Six steps. I can't do this.

  Five steps. Make yourself!

  Four steps. I love you, Marcas.

  Three steps. You can't die, dammit!

  Two steps. You can't do this to me!

  One step. No!

  Marcas' head rolled to the side, his eyes meeting mine, and I fell to my knees and crawled. I crawled because there was no way in hell I could walk. If I had the ability, I didn't remember how to use it. And when I reached him, I grabbed the front of his stupid black t-shirt, and I yelled because it was honestly the only thing I knew to do.

  "Damn you, Craig! Damn you!"

  Luther's hand found my shoulder.

  "Dayton . . . "

  I ignored him, my eyes locked on Marcas' face. For now, he was still alive, and I was angry. He couldn't die!

  "Dayton," Luther said again. I spared him only a brief glance, his face nothing more than a streak of color, destroyed by too many tears. "His heart, Dayton. It was his heart."

  I froze, letting go of Marcas' shirt as I let my gaze move downward, my world crumbling around my feet. His heart.