The Eighth

by Wytovich, Stephanie

  The Seven screamed—a full-throttle, breathless screech—as they opened their mouths and vomited down Paimon’s throat. Black sludge painted his lips, tongue, and cheeks as it sank into his body, devouring him like quicksand.

  Paimon choked, gagged.

  The vomit stuck to the walls of his mouth as his throat swelled shut. Can’t. Breathe. Paimon tried to gasp for air, but his mouth wouldn’t open. Paralysis held him tight. His chest arched as convulsions took him. Unable to fight, he rode out the tremors as he sat locked away in his head. His throat burned and no matter how hard he tried to move—just a twitch or a blink—he remained as still as the living corpse he’d become.

  The pain was endless.

  An eternity of suffering.

  Time stopped as The Seven’s sins bred inside him: Wrath, Lust, Gluttony, Envy, Pride, Greed, and Sloth. They consumed him, stabbed him, ate him, and strangled him. Lust licked at Paimon’s flesh while Envy eye-fucked him from behind. Sloth curled up next to Paimon and wrapped him in an embrace. He slid and wiggled into a spot that made him comfortable, until Greed pushed Sloth aside and took his place. Pride simply stood there and watched as Gluttony drooled over the conflict.

  Wrath laughed until Paimon’s body went slack, until all the sounds—the grunts, moans, sighs, and wails—stopped. He leaned in close to Paimon’s face, inches from his lips, and breathed in his scent. Paimon’s eyes were open, and for a brief moment, they connected with the red, gouged slits that Wrath used as his eyes.

  “Brother,” said Wrath as he touched Paimon’s cheek. “So nice of you to finally join us.”

  And then they were on Paimon like wolves on sheep.

  The Seven tore at his fingernails with their teeth and licked off his skin with sandpaper tongues. They tore at his muscles, ripping them off his bones like starved beasts drunk on their first tastes of blood. They devoured him, sucked out his sin like the freshly cooked morsel it had become. They took their time, chewing, enjoying.

  And then what had once been seven, slowly began breeding into eight.

  Chapter 43

  Rhea never thought she’d go into labor alone.

  She clenched her teeth and doubled over her bed, her hands on her thighs. She screamed as the liquid turned red and pooled at her feet. A contraction tore through her body.

  Ten seconds.

  Twenty seconds.

  Rhea screamed again as what felt like a hot steel rod replaced her spine. Fire spread through her legs, burning up her thighs, her navel.

  Thirty seconds.

  Forty seconds.

  Her body relaxed.

  Rhea fought to catch her breath. She breathed though tight lips and focused on the steady gulps of air she managed to get down.

  “Easy now,” she told herself.

  Her legs, like two splintered pieces of wood, softened against the hospital bed sheets. She kneaded her lower back with her thumbs, cringing at the pain. Her body felt foreign and no matter how she positioned herself on the bed, she seemed too large for her skin.

  Focus on your breathing, she reminded herself.

  Not even two minutes passed before the rush of pain hit again. This time it was worse; like being ripped open by a lightning bolt, twice charged and covered in nails. The shock spread her legs open and chewed on her sex.

  The boy was anxious to come.

  Rhea tried to close her legs, but couldn’t.

  I’m not ready yet. I can’t…

  Agony reached up inside her and tore at her uterine walls. Its claws peeled at her, shredding barriers and making room for the child that kicked and screamed, desperate to get out. Capillaries broke and a fresh wave of light purple and blue washed over her lower abdomen.

  “Help me,” she screamed. “Someone, anyone.”

  The lights in the hallways dimmed. The nurses outside her window faded into the background like shadows stuck to the wall. Rhea stared at them. “I know you can see me,” she said. Their stares held her, but they did not move.

  “What the fuck is wrong with all of you?”

  Blood poured down her legs. Thick black clots of it swung from her labia. Rhea bit her lip as another lick of fire tongued her vagina.

  He’s going to rip me apart.

  Rhea struggled to keep her eyes open as the bottom half of her body went numb. Faces plastered the windows as the and nurses stood there, their faces pressed against its glass.

  “What?” she said to the faces that watched her. “What the fuck do you want from me?”

  A hand slapped against the window, then another. And another. The nurses all beat at the glass, mouths open, jaws unhinged as they screamed. Their faces distorted and bled down their necks like melted clocks, while their hands beating down the seconds as they tried to break the window.

  Rhea faded in and out of consciousness.

  Black, red, black, red.

  Darkness and blood.

  Her eyes rolled back in her head. Lucifer, where are you?

  The temperature dropped and Rhea laid back in bed, sweat dripping down her face. She watched her breath puff in small white clouds as she pulled the blood-soaked blanket around her shoulders and shook. It was an odd feeling being cold when her body felt like it was burning up.

  I can’t do this without you.

  Her head rolled to the side and sank into her pillowcase. A crack spider-webbed through the window’s glass. It won’t be long now. Soon, they would break through. Hungry and desperate to take her child. She wondered what she looked like to them. The right hand of Lucifer? Was there anything left of herself? Was she even really here, in this hospital?

  A sharp chill infused through the room as the ceiling opened up. Lucifer? Is that you? Are you watching? Ashes drifted down and collected on her lips. Rhea closed her eyes to a burning sky as Aiden began to eat his way out of her womb. Her stomach bobbed up and down underneath the sheet. She rested her hands on her navel and prayed. “And if I die before I wake, I pray the Devil my soul to take.”

  And with that, Aiden reached out his hand, his tiny fingers grabbing the blanket for leverage. He pushed and pulled, and slowly began to crawl out of Rhea, his cloven feet ripping her apart.

  ‡‡‡

  “She’s looking right at me,” said Gainston. He beat his hand harder the glass, trying everything to get her attention. “Rhea! Stay with us.”

  Kris paced the halls praying for her sister.

  They’d tried everything without success. It was as if the bedroom door had sealed itself shut and the window refused to break. The fire department would be there soon, but Kris didn’t think they had time to wait. Not with the all the blood. Christ, Rhea. What have you done to yourself? Kris knew withdrawal was difficult, but she’d never imagined anything like this.

  “She’s fading,” said Gainston.

  Kris pushed her way through the handful of nurses that had gathered in front of the window and banged on the window. “Rhea? Rhea come on,” she said. “Stay with me. Keep your eyes open. Just look at me.”

  Rhea’s gaze was fixed to the ceiling.

  What is she looking at it?

  Kris watched fear spread across her sister’s face. Something moved underneath the blanket. The sheets slapped against it and shaped to the bulge.

  “Christ, something is in there with her!”

  Gainston fumbled his words. “That’s not…that’s impossible.”

  “Then what the hell is that?”

  Rhea’s eyes were closed and her body went slack as the monitor flat-lined. She lay still on the blood-soaked sheets, but the thing beneath the blanket kept moving. It crawled up her legs, her stomach, and plopped down on her chest.

  Kris was unable to move or speak. She pressed her face against the glass and stared at Rhea’s lifeless body. What in God’s name?

  “No. Not God.” A hand clamped down on Kris’ shoulder. “But I appreciate the compliment.”

  Kris looked behind her and stifled a cry.

  “Interesting,” the D
evil said. “You don’t really resemble her.”

  The smell of sulfur filled her nose as she stared, mouth agape, at the man in front of her. He was tall and covered in soot, his face blackened with ash. He would have been well dressed if his clothes weren’t half-burned off, and the smile he wore, was insidious with rotted teeth and crusted blood in the corner of his lips.

  The lights flickered and hummed, then died. The hospital generators tried to kick on, but only produced an eerie glow along the cracks in the floor. His voice ran through Kris like razor blades. She called out to Gainston, but he was gone. So was everyone else. She was alone with a man whose hands slid up her neck and lifted her chin to face him.

  “Your mother raved about your sister, talked about her for days. Told me all about how she sees and feels sin,” he said as he examined Kris. “But she never mentioned you. Why?”

  Kris swallowed her words. The man’s lips were red, his face an ashen gray. He had the darkest eyes she’d ever seen and he smelled like something burning.

  “I—I don’t know.”

  “Speak up. I can’t understand when you mumble like that.”

  Kris turned away from him and he slapped her hard across the face. Her cheeks stung and blood dripped from the corner of her mouth. She went to wipe it, but he was quicker, licking it away.

  “You don’t even taste the same.”

  “What do you want?” she said, shaking as she tried to collect her strength.

  “Nothing,” he said. “I already have what I came for.” He motioned to the window. Rhea was sitting up in bed now, eyes open and alert. She smiled as she rocked a swaddle of bloody blankets. In her arms, she held a child to her breast while it suckled at her nipple.

  “The child, however, needs to feed, and since I already fed on your friends and colleagues here, you’re the only one left,” he said. The man grabbed Kris’s hand and held it tight, "Are you ready to meet your nephew?”

  Chapter 44

  Paimon woke up naked in a pile of bones. He rubbed his eyes and his hands came away bloody.

  “The crying was a first,” said Lust. “I’m not one to get emotional after feeding, but you damn near cried yourself to death.”

  “I don’t understand,” he said. Paimon covered himself from her and tried to sink back into his body.

  “It’s not like I haven’t already had you, brother,” she said. “I’m as much in you, as you are in me. In all of us, really.”

  Wrath walked up to Paimon and handed him a cloak. “Here, take it,” he said. “You look uncomfortable.”

  Paimon reached out and grabbed it. He expected it to be soft—velvet maybe? Silk? It was hard and stiff. He pushed his arms through the sleeves and the cloth rubbed sandpaper on his skin. The coat didn’t hang on him but formed to his skin. Paimon pictured an eternity being trapped in a wet plastic bag as he slowly suffocated.

  “It grows on you,” said Sloth. “Just give it some time.”

  Pride circled Paimon with a heavy stare. Paimon found it impossible to read his emotions because the mask hid his eyes and lips. Paimon nonetheless sensed anger, jealousy.

  “Why didn’t he change?” said Pride. The phantom’s white mask weaving in front of Paimon, as Pride moved closer and then backed away. “I didn’t get to keep my face.”

  Wrath shook his head. “It’s not his reflection that warranted his sin,” he said. “You should know better.”

  Pride hung his head and backed away. He took his place with the rest of the sins, mumbling obscenities underneath his breath.

  “Don’t worry. Pride is just…well, he’s full of pride,” said Wrath. Everyone burst into laughter. Pride turned his back to them and stomped away like a five-year-old bullied by his older siblings.

  Paimon tied the cloak with a loose ribbon at the waistline. It was strange. He didn’t feel hot, nor did he feel cold even though it was still snowing. The fabric didn’t shield him from the snowflakes; they passed through the coarse material and melted on his skin.

  Paimon searched his emotions. He felt nothing.

  Not happiness, not anger.

  Nothing.

  “What did Pride mean, I didn’t change?”

  “Physically, you didn’t. It’s not the way of your sin,” said Wrath. “Regret wears on the heart of the person it attacks. You feel nothing, but at the same time, you feel everything. Every sin and every memory. It takes time, but it will devour you from the inside until you learn to channel it.”

  So that’s why they’d offered to get my heart back for me…

  “Good thing you’re a masochist,” said Lust as she trailed her forefinger down Paimon’s shoulder. “Probably why we get along so well.”

  “Stop it,” said Envy. “That’s not fair. Let him make his own choice.”

  “Don’t plant any thoughts in his head,” said Gluttony.

  Paimon’s body swam in the robe, feeling his way through the baggy cloth. There were pockets on the outside but they were empty. Was I expecting there to be something? The bottom of the coat billowed out on the floor, ready to drag bones, mud and snow with him the second he moved.

  Moved where?

  Chose what?

  His thoughts paused then began racing in his head in a jumbled mess. Faces flashed in his mind’s eye in broken frames of black-and-white. Names repeated in his ear, whispering like old friends telling secrets. Paimon didn’t know what voices to listen to, which faces to watch.

  “Are you ready to meet your nephew?” said a voice.

  Paimon’s heart froze in his chest.

  His arteries and veins ripped apart and then tied themselves together again, cutting off his blood supply and turning him cold. It became hard to breathe, hard to be. Paimon sputtered and grabbed at his chest. The cloak latched on to him like a second skin.

  Wrath put his arm around Paimon. The sin’s touch ran through him like an electric bolt and he staggered. He fell, hitting the ground screaming as explosions of pain shocked his body.

  Images blinked before him.

  Bloody sheets. Flickering lights. Broken bodies.

  Then there were sounds.

  Wails. Screams. Howls.

  Paimon’s ears began to bleed. His eyes welled with tears. “No. No. No,” he cried. “Make it stop.”

  “Welcome to Regret, my brother,” said Wrath. “Best you get used to it.”

  The spell took some time to pass, and when it did, Paimon remained breathless and in a permanent state of unease. He held on to the ground as everything spun, the faces of The Seven blurring together in a sick collage of carnival grins. But it’s not seven anymore, is it? He spat out a wad of phlegm and did his best to collect himself.

  One.

  Two.

  Three.

  He watched Lust catch Envy’s eye as the two girls challenged each other silently.

  Four.

  Five.

  Six.

  Gluttony licked his lips and Sloth’s eyes were closed. Greed stood off to the side with his hands folded at his waist. He stared at his brothers, bidding them to back off.

  Seven.

  Eight.

  Nine.

  Pride stood off in the distance, alone. It was obvious he wanted no part of the tension. Wrath glanced around, begging—no pleading!—someone to take him on.

  Ten.

  And breathe.

  Paimon inhaled deeply and swallowed the scent of dead pine and frostbite. Seeing Rhea like that had brought back too many memories. How can she do this to me? How can she hold our child and call for him? It didn’t make sense. I brought her back. She should want me. The tension in the air was hot, and Paimon tasted bitterness on his tongue. I shouldn’t have saved her. I should have just let her die. They were all looking at him.

  “What did you mean when you said I had to choose?”

  Lust helped him to his feet. “You have to pick one of us to go with you.”

  “Go with me?”

  “To end it. To complete the sin,” she
said.

  “I don’t understand,” said Paimon.

  “Rhea is your sin,” said Envy. “You brought her into this world, and the Devil took her away. Doesn’t that make you angry?”

  “You wanted her, all of her,” said Gluttony. “Yet he’s devouring her, drinking her in at your expense.”

  “Aren’t you tired of letting them hurt you?” said Sloth.

  Paimon shifted in his skin. They were right. Why should he leave himself open to ridicule? It was time to stand up for himself. He’d taken imprisonment for Rhea, embraced the blade and watched Arazel die. All to save her. And for what? To be betrayed by all he loved?

  But what do I deserve?

  “Respect,” they said in unison.

  “Pain is a virtue in Death, Paimon,” said Wrath. “When you learn to accept it, you’ll make the right decision. But you’ll need help, which is where we come in.”

  “Help doing what?”

  “Killing them, of course,” said Pride.

  “Them?” His voice cracked as he uttered the words.

  “Rhea and the child,” said Greed. “We’ll be needing them both.”

  Snow collected on Paimon’s shoulders. His toes looked like ten small icicles, stiff and glistening in frost. The idea of killing his lover and his child horrified him but at the same time, something stirred inside of him. His chest warmed like hot tea over a fire, and the scent of sage filled his nose. Like the night of the resurrection. No. It couldn’t be.

  Paimon stepped back, stumbling. The presence of sage grew stronger. They’d marked her, and now the stench of sin radiated off him.

  “It was you that night, wasn’t it? All of you,” he said. “You made her do it.”

  “We encouraged her, yes,” said Lust. “But sweet, little Rhea had some demons of her own to work out. She didn’t exactly fight us.”

  “Why her?”

  “The Devil wanted her,” said Wrath. “And we knew you wouldn’t be able to resist.”

  Anger swelled inside him. No, not anger. Regret. He’d trusted them, trusted Lucifer. Yet, everyone had simply used him; moved him like a pawn in a game of chess.

  “Well now the Devil has her,” said Paimon. “Things didn’t exactly go according to plan did they?”