by Lola StVil
He looks desperate, pissed, and sad all at once. He pleads for my help and I walk away from him. I don’t need the Alka to remind me of what just happened. I have been playing it in my head a million times since I sat down at the bar an hour ago.
No matter what I do, I can’t shake this feeling I have. It’s one that I never thought I would encounter as a demon, let alone as a Kaster: guilt.
Should I have freed Rage? Should I at least tell Silver where his father is or just pretend like the past few hours didn’t happen? Suddenly an idea comes to me. I may be torturing myself for no reason. Right now the Angel world could be trying to mount a rescue of some kind. They might not need me at all.
I take the TV remote from behind the counter and turn it on to the angel channel, but there is nothing about Rage being taken hostage.
How the hell can that be?
“Have you heard anything about someone being captured tonight?” I ask the bartender.
“Just a few Runners who tried to escape without having to hand their souls over after losing it at a poker game,” he replies.
“No, I don’t mean humans—never mind,” I reply as I down another shot.
Just then, a small group of demons located in the corner start to argue loudly among themselves bout which one of them would last longer in the Forest of Remains.
“I could stay there at least ten minutes more than you,” the dark-haired one says as he burps.
“Bull crap, I can make electric currents, I would last longer,” a bald, stubby demon nearby replies.
I roll my eyes, disgusted. When demons start drinking too much, this is the first argument they have among each other: Who would last longer in the Forest of Remains. The truth of the matter is no one lasts in the Forest because it’s the home the Byelle.
The Byelle are shadow creatures who are experts at camouflage. So much so that no one really knows what they look like. They blend in so well, it is nearly impossible to tell them apart from the surrounding trees.
When a demon enters the Forest, they are never heard from again. The only thing that remains usually is a tooth, tattooed piece of flesh, or maybe a piece of an ear. The Byelle eat everything they find in the Forest.
It’s been said that the speed at which the Byelle hunt can rival that of the Paras. They are neither good nor evil, they simply exist to feed. And since they have no physical body, there is no known way to defeat them. All you can do is try and survive an encounter with them. So far, no one has been able to do that.
The group of idiot demons continues to argue among themselves. I go to tell them to shut the hell up when a song familiar song comes on. It’s about cowboys and their trucks. The last time I heard it I was with Silver. I told him the song reminded me of the time I dressed up as a cowboy for Halloween when I was human.
I told him how it made me feel powerful and important somehow. I thought he’d laugh at me but he didn’t. I went on to tell him how the kids ridiculed me saying girls couldn’t be cowboys. Then they proceeded to take my candy and my fake gun.
A few weeks later, as we were headed out of the country, he said he had a stop to make. When he came back, he had brought me a book entitled: Annie Oakley & The Gals: Legendary Women of the Wild West.
On the first page, he wrote:
To Diana,
Who’s just as powerful (with or without a plastic pistol)
S.
I shake my head and ask the bartender for one last shot. He pours it about halfway.
“Hey, I’m about to do something very stupid and foolish. So fill it up!” I demand.
He does as I instruct. I down the last shot and head out to go free an Akon.
****
As I land near the cave, I scan the area to make sure no one sees me going in. Thankfully, there is no one around. I discretely enter the cave and try to shut out the voices in my head that say I am crazy for what I’m about to do.
What little moonlight there was from before is gone. The cave is pitch dark. I have to feel my way around with the palm of my hand. If I can reach Rage and set him free before anyone sees us, we should be in the air in a matter of minutes.
This is so not a good idea…
Well, Diana, it’s too late now. You’re here stumbling in the dark, so grow some balls and free the damn Akon already.
“Rage! Rage! Where are you?” I whisper.
I hear a moan in the dark. I follow the direction of the sound and reach out. I feel his hand and the cold metal shackle around his wrist.
“Rage, it’s Ruin. I’m going to set you free but we have to hurry!”
Suddenly a light comes on in the cave. It’s emanating from a globe held by Manic. Standing next to him is the rest of the Kasters. And the demon I thought I was saving isn’t Rage, it’s Kill.
“Hello, Ruin,” Kill says with an icy tone.
“What is this?” I ask, trying to stay calm.
“This is the part where you rescue Rage,” Manic replies sardonically.
“Only problem is Kill here figured out you were going to betray us,” Twist says bitterly.
“No, that’s not what I was—”
“Save it!” Kill barks.
“We’ve gone over that day Harm was killed by that Noru bitch; we’ve talked and all of us remember seeing you give up a perfectly good chance you had to take Silver out. Kill thought you might still have feelings for him so he watched you—closely,” Wrath adds with contempt.
“I saw you come out of the cave the first time, looking like a confused schoolgirl. I knew you’d be back. So I thought we’d be here waiting to greet you. Damn, Silver really messed with your head. He’s better at mind games than I am,” Kill says.
“Kill, trust me, Silver is better than you at everything,” I reply bluntly.
He slaps me across the face. Without the slightest hesitation, I slap him back just as hard.
The Kasters hurl a Holder at my feet, and before I can react, I am encased in a bubble-like prison.
“You think the demon half-breed cares about you? And that freeing his father would what…get him to love you? I’m disappointed, Ruin.”
“I’m disappointed too, Kill, but enough about our sex life. Where is Rage?”
“He’s exactly where we programmed the Port to take him to—The Forest of Remains.”
Shit!
“You can’t do that, he won’t survive the three days. He won’t survive one day there!” I rage.
“Then I guess the angels better hurry up and give us what we demons want,” Twist replies with a sneer.
“But if I were you, I’d focus on where I’m going,” Kill says.
The team starts to laugh. They lift me up in the Holder and place me on the black Frisbee-like object.
“The Port will take you right to him,” Kill says, amused.
“You’re sending me to the Forest with Rage?” I reply, trying to hide my terror.
“No, we’re not,” Kill assures me.
“Then where is this Port taking me to?”
“Malakaro.”
CHAPTER THREE: RARE
Malakaro did not appear himself in order to enhance our powers. Instead he sent the mixtures by messenger. So even though we work for him, none of us have ever laid eyes on him. And something tells me now is a bad time to change that. However there is really nothing I can do about it; within seconds I’m transported inside Malakaro’s lair.
The first thing that grabs my attention is the screaming. Someone or something is crying out for their lives. Each scream is more bone-chilling than the last. I look around the vast great hall but can’t make out the origin of the screams.
From the looks of it, the lair is designed to terrify the hell out of anyone who enters. It’s made up of black marble and stone, vaulted ceilings, dome-shaped stone doorways, and a winding stone staircase. A cold wind blows right past me. I fold my arms across my chest in an attempt to stay warm as I step off the Port. On the wall across from me stands a shimmering “wate
rfall” like display. It reflects the room back to me as it cascades down.
Without warning, a stream of black and blue swirls appears at the top of the winding stone staircase and churns furiously in the air. It then merges to form a gigantic black panther with electric blue eyes. Although the panther is massive, he moves with lightning speed down the steps towards me. I raise my hands up to shield myself from the impending attack.
“Makayla, stay,” someone orders with a quiet yet absolute tone.
Although the panther growls at me, she obeys her master and sits on her powerful hind legs. I put my hands down and behold the looming figure descending from the top of the stairs: Malakaro.
He is not what I was expecting. He does not have snakes seeping from his eyeballs or mouth. His face has no scars and isn’t corroded like that of a comic book villain. Malakaro is, in fact, exquisite.
He has struck gold in the genes department. He’s over six feet tall and has inherited his father’s lean frame and chiseled face. From what I heard about his Quo mother, Bianca, he has her brilliant sea green eyes and obsidian colored hair.
He wears a long black utilitarian coat with matte finish that contours to his frame and then flares out at the bottom, giving him a cape-like effect. His clothing has a “liquid” leather look that makes it seem like he’s gliding.
However, despite his immaculate appearance, I only need to look in his eyes to know what everyone has said about my boss is true—he is the embodiment of evil. He has an icy glare and ominous expression that sends chills through me. His voice, although calm and controlled, conveys unequivocal ruthlessness. As he descends down the steps, he studies me. Determined not to show my fear, I look straight into his dead eyes.
“Forgive Makayla. Sometimes she forgets that she is owned and should do only what I command,” he says pointedly.
Something in his tone suggests that Makayla isn’t the “she” he’s referring to.
“Maybe she doesn’t want to be owned. Maybe she wants to venture out on her own. Maybe she wants to be…free,” I reply.
“When that happens to a creature, when they rage restlessly to be somewhere else, it’s then the owner’s job to retrain or destroy that creature.”
“So, is that what you came here to do?” I ask, no longer giving a damn about the pretense.
“Master All, forgive the interruption. I have brought the demon you requested,” someone says from one of the entryways.
Standing a few yards away from us is a lanky, beady-eyed, pale skin human with full body tattoos and various piercings. I’m guessing he’s a Pawn (a human who still has a soul but lives to serve evil).
Standing next to the Pawn is a buff looking demon with a large grin and full beard. He takes in the lair, suggesting it’s his first time here.
“Are you Crash, the demon that captured the Akon, Rage?” Malakaro asks politely.
“Yeah, that’s me,” Crash says proudly.
“Wynn, you may go. Crash and I need to have a discussion,” he orders the Pawn.
There’s a glimmer of mischief in Wynn’s eyes as he looks over at Crash. The Pawn knows something and is delighting in the fact that Crash does not.
“Crash, please have a seat,” my master says.
A dark glass table appears in the great hall along with two sleek black chairs. On the table is a modern, blown glass tube-like pitcher, with matching drinking glasses.
Crash puffs out his chest as he pulls up one of the chairs and sits down. Malakaro sits across from him. The pitcher starts to pour the drinks by itself. From the smell of it, they are drinking some kind of Coy Dark.
“This is the good stuff,” Crash confesses after he takes his first sip.
“It’s Coy Dark: Reserve. It features a flavor rarely used in Coy.”
“Nice…what flavor is this? Wrath? Resentment? No, wait! I got it: Envy!” the demon says excitedly.
“No,” Malakaro says simply, yet to take a drink.
“Oh, could have sworn I tasted…okay, well then what is it?” he asks.
“It’s a flavor that’s rarely associated with evil but can in fact be quite deadly: Assumption.”
Crash looks over at Malakaro and for the first time since he’s been here, his smile is gone. The flavor of Coy served can often dictate the thoughts of the host. In that case, Crash has every reason to worry.
“Um…ah…you know I did what I did in service to you,” Crash stammers.
“Did you?” he asks calmly.
“Yes, of course. I spotted the Akon, Rage. He was wounded and I knew that if my team and I captured him, we could hand him over to you. Then you could trade his return for…you know, what you really want.” Crash pleads.
“Is that true, Crash?”
“Yes.”
“And that was your sole desire: pleasing me?”
“Yes, All. It is my only desire,” Crash vows.
Malakaro gets up from the table and waves his hand effortlessly, causing the table and chairs to disappear. Crash falls to the ground and scrambles to get back up. He looks over at me pleadingly, as if I could somehow help him.
“Do you know what this is?” Malakaro asks, signaling towards the cascading waterfall-like display.
“Yes, um…it’s a Merge,” Crash says nervously.
I look over at the display, confused.
“It looks like our other guest, Ruin, has no idea what a Merge is. Would you enlighten her?” Malakaro orders.
“It’s a visual display of your emotions,” Crash informs me with a weak voice.
“Normally, yes. However I have gone to great pains to reprogram this Merge. It does not display your emotions. It displays your deepest desires.”
“There’s no need to see my desires, All. I mean…you know the usual stuff. Murder all the humans, bang the hottest demon chicks, you know, stuff like that,” he lies.
“Maybe you’re right. I should trust that you have no hidden agenda.”
“Thank you,” Crash says, relieved.
“The only problem is that I do not trust anyone or anything,” All counters.
“Look, I’m sorry I didn’t ask your permission before going through with my plan. My team is sorry too.” Crash begs.
“Yes, I can hear them now; they all sound very sorry,” Malakaro says politely.
We’d been hearing the screams for so long, we had drowned it out. Now knowing who is actually screaming, we can’t ignore it.
“That’s my team?” Crash asks, horrified.
“Yes. They failed the Merge test. When their deepest desires were played out before me, it wasn’t to spend their lives in service but to replace me.”
“I don’t have that desire. I swear,” Crash insists.
“We shall see,” Malakaro replies.
Crash reluctantly stands before the display. At first it just reflects his image back to him. But then shapes start changing and merging into each other. Soon, new images come into view. They tell a very clear story:
Crash stands at the helm of the Demon world, atop a pile of human bones. He raises his hand in glory and the crowd of demons chant his name. Beneath his feet is what’s left of Malakaro’s mangled body.
“Wait, I can explain!” Crash begs.
“I’m certain you can. However, I have another guest I need to tend to,” Malakaro replies, facing me.
“What are you going to do with me?”
“Nothing.”
“You’re just gonna let me go?”
“I do not plan to lay a hand on you,” Malakaro assures him.
“Thank you,” Crash says repeatedly.
“However, you have had nourishment and my pet has not. Would you be so kind as to feed her?” Malakaro says in the nicest tone I’ve ever heard.
“Um…yeah, okay. What does she eat?” Crash asks.
“She likes fresh meat and sometimes as a treat, I soak the meat in spice.”
“What spice?”
“Coy Dark.”
Crash and I ex
change a look of mutual terror. Malakaro addresses the psychopath panther with powers.
“Tonight, my pet, we have one of your favorites, fresh flesh soaked in Assumption.”
Makayla growls hungrily at Crash. Crash looks at Malakaro, desperately. And without saying a word, Malakaro mentally commands Crash to stick out his hand towards the beast. Crash, although terrified, has no choice but to do as the puppet master says.