by A. K. Koonce
I’m at a disadvantage here on the ground while his tall frame is over me, but he bends down and I cringe as he pulls me into his arms, his movements gentle. Almost as if he cares. He pulls me to his chest, hooking an arm behind my knees and lifts me. My wings are limp and flop heavily beneath me as he picks me up and takes me up the dais. Carefully, he sets me on that small throne and steps back.
As if this is answer enough.
“Your… power…” It’s difficult to translate the grunting words. “Bring chaos.” He smiles. “And I am Master of Chaos.”
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
I try to lift my wings, and they rustle with the effort.
“I don’t want to bring chaos.”
His own wings span out behind him. Wider than mine, and thicker too. I try to find a resemblance between us, in the angle of our jaws, the sharp edges of our cheekbones… It’s hard to see myself in a rock statue though, even if his inky strands of hair slide down to his waist.
Gently, I call out to my Prod, wondering why she’s not showing. If she’s adamant on destroying the men in my life, why isn’t she out here protecting me from him? Is it because he’s my father and something about him tranquilizes her?
I don’t want to fight him. It’s thanks to him that I’m alive, after all, but if I have to choose between using my Prod to take my father down or staying here on this uncomfortable throne forever, I know what option I’m choosing.
The smirk that twists his mouth is malicious, knowing. Though what he thinks he knows is beyond me.
“You will,” he whispers. “You will.”
Now, I coax my Prod. Now.
Because I will not stay here.
I won’t.
Magics bursts from me in a blinding light of white. Like an explosion of stars cosmically destroying everything around me in streaks of cold fire. My eyes fling open and my wings shoot out. Magic pours out of me like a single match that suddenly finds itself a blazing inferno.
The throne I’m sitting on catches fire that consumes me and I don’t feel the burning sting. I don’t feel anything but the hot sense of blazing glory.
I could never remember the feel of my Prod. The how, or why she emerged that first time with Adam, or remember the destructive power I unleashed upon our dorm building months ago. When I used what’s inside me to kill the demon, it had been nothing but a zap of destructive magic. Nothing to this scale.
And I feel my blood start to hum. Like something in this dimension calls to me. And I hear my Prod’s voice echoing over and over again in my mind.
Home.
Home.
Home.
I rise from the throne in movements that don’t quite feel like mine. I feel myself losing control to the more primitive, powerful part of me. I don’t let the tether on my control snap. I fight with everything I have as my Prod tries to dominate my waking moments.
I am in control here. I push the words, a force to be reckoned with against the wall of that power inside. I am in control, and this is not my home.
My home is in New York City. My home is on an old gymnasium floor with gentle, strong, demanding arms wrapped around me. My home is with an incubus who has feelings he won’t admit, a vampire who hides pain behind self-destruction, a gentle werewolf who struggles just as much as I do, and an angel who brings out the best in me.
They are my home now.
Not this gargantuan Messenger who hasn’t bothered with me in years. I already have an amazing father, and this guy? He isn’t it.
I throw my hands in front of me and scream my rage, taking control of my body, my fate. Power trails rivers through my veins and pours out of my fingertips, shooting a line straight towards the Messenger of Chaos.
The force of me is unexpected, and hits him straight in the chest where his heart would beat, if he even has one. He falls back onto the black marble floors with a roaring cry, his body smoking and catching fire.
I pump my wings and shoot to the air, his roars of rage following every powerful stroke I take.
There are windows of dull glass and I make my way towards one, clamping my eyes closed as I burst through the pane. Shards rain down along my face and slice at the sensitive area along my wings. My back muscles scream in pain, and the effect of demon venom is still coursing through my system and yet it’s the power I feel right now, and nothing else.
I soar out into the dark sky of hell. The Messenger’s scream follows me. A call that is answered by the demons outside.
The flying vulture-like creatures screech. I throw a quick look over my shoulder in time to see four of them dive in my direction.
Their speed is frightening, and I feel the impact of their bodies and the pain of their teeth as they ram into me from behind. My wings wobble, and I teeter uselessly to the side, falling and spinning in circles towards the gray ground.
I fight to keep myself upright, but they’re relentless. Their cries echo in my ears like the haunting call of a nightmare. I steady myself, suspended in the air as the creatures circle me. Up close, they look like dinosaurs, with long beaks and sharp teeth inside them. Black forked tongues flick out and—jesus almighty—their tongues have eyes.
Their beaks hang open, tongues watching my every move.
Right then.
That’s disturbing.
They lunge towards me, their beaks open as they herd themselves around my body. I try to focus, try to strategize, but fear is a living, breathing thing in my chest. I’m not quick enough as they slam towards me. Teeth as sharp as knives and with the violent sting of acid scrape against my body. I cry out, nearly tumbling from the sky from the assault.
Blood gushes from my skin, I can feel it, and the wounds are agonizing but I can’t give up. I won’t allow myself to.
Their bodies are a blur of feathers and lolling tongues. Bodies collide painfully against mine, knocking me off balance. My wings ache from trying to straighten, but I manage. Through the blood and the tugging of my wounds, I lift my hands up just as they dive towards me again.
Rage mixes in with the flickering of my power; tendrils rising up, higher and higher...
“Yippekayay,” I rasp.
Power bursts from my fingers into their mouths, burning them from the inside out.
They screech and fall to the ground in an explosion of dust, feathers, and fire.
My energy wanes. Already, I’ve used too much, but I have to keep going. I have to find my way to a safe place and leave this dimension.
What was it the professor said about interdimensional travels? Fuck if I remember. I miraculously passed that class thanks to Phoenix.
I can’t depend on anyone here. I have no one but myself to get me out of this.
And I’ll get out of this.
One way or another.
Three
Saint
“You can’t just go all hero on this shit and try to save the day,” Malek growls, staring down the demon who simply glares right back. “You can’t even enter the center ring of hell without an escort.”
“I’ll find a fucking escort. I’ll get there and I will find a way to fucking get to her. I’m not just going to sit here and debate about leaving the one person I fucking love in hell.” His mossy green eyes widen with realization at what he just said.
Oh. Okay. I guess we have time for a bit of unresolved emotional therapy right now.
“Fuck,” Phoenix whispers, his hands shoving hard through his messy hair.
“Let’s just take a breath.” My fingers ghost against the back of the demon’s knuckles but he still just stares out at the empty auditorium like he’s just now seeing the world clearly. “We need to find Shade.”
“Shade?” Syko’s thick brows lower over his pretty hellacious eyes.
“Yeah. This is Academy of Six. All of their little lab rats are tagged. The school will know where Izzy is. If she’s in another ring outside of the center, Phoenix can get her.” My palm slips into his and he squeezes so damn hard that I flinch but I
never pull back from him or his confusing emotions.
I never will.
“Also Shade speaks the language of hell. Is he a demon as well?” Kayos asks out of nowhere.
“No, Shade’s not a demon he’s…” Malek’s explanation fades out slowly and I realize just as he does that I have no fucking idea what Shade is.
“He spoke to Izzy’s prod,” I whisper quietly.
Shade’s a fucking demon. He has to be.
Because I don’t know what we’ll do if he isn’t. And right now, Professor Slim Shady looks like our best option to save our girl from hell.
Hold on, Izzy, I plead, like my voice can be carried from this dimension to her, we’re coming for you.
Four
Izara
If there’s one thing I quickly come to realize in this hellish dimension, it’s that there’s almost nowhere to hide. And by almost nowhere, I mean literally nowhere.
I fly for most of the time, leaving behind the snarls of beasts and screams of rage of the Messenger.
The heat presses against me even from the air. The hem of my dress is completely destroyed, hanging around my calves, and where a golden band of a magical GPS once burned, nothing but a dull steel manacle is in its place.
I’m assuming the worst as I see it around my bare foot, the other one still clad in a high heel. The Academy won’t be able to track me here. And if the Academy can’t track me, can my men?
It doesn’t matter. I’ll get out of here myself.
My wings grow tired after a while, and here with no sun to rise or set, I don’t know what time it is, or even how long I’ve been here. Time flows differently here. What could be hours for me here, could mean weeks back in my dimension.
I try not to dwell on that either.
I shift down to the earth near tiny lizard demons that scatter as soon as I land in a puff of smoke. I inhale. While the air here smells like sulfur, it isn’t painful on my lungs. In fact… Even if my muscles ache, there’s something about this dimension I never really noticed before.
Here, I’m stronger—if I ignore the pixie venom coursing through my veins, the scrapes, bruises, and open bleeding wounds. Perhaps it’s my demon blood recognizing its birthplace, I don’t know.
I take a wobbly step forward, heeled foot sinking into the ash. With a grumble, I bend and undo the straps, letting the thing bury itself deep into the dead earth. I need to get out of here without being seen.
Who knows what other types of demons dwell in this dimension, ass trolls notwithstanding. Seriously, if I see one, I’ll vaporize it in one blink.
I walk, my feet warming with each step. Ash enters my lungs and my mouth grows parched and thirsty.
I can’t believe my father ruined my fucking prom by sending demons after me just so I could sit on his weird ass little throne. I picture the three thrones in my mind now, wondering who the third one is for, which rouses one disturbing question.
Who is my mother?
I doubt anyone would willingly sleep with that hobgoblin statue.
Just the thought makes me shudder.
Don’t think about it. But it’s hard not to think about it with so much space between me and freedom.
Think, Izara, think. How do I get out of here?
I have to imagine a doorway; I have to call it to me, my tether back to my dimension. If I remember the lessons correctly. It’ll cause a split in the multi-dimensions, leading me towards my own. Of course, I’d need a partner to help me with that, but I have to make do without.
I picture it now, the Academy. Crumbling buildings and cracked bathroom tiles have never seemed more inviting.
I take a breath, close my eyes, and imagine the entirety of it. The dead woods surrounding the property, the angel’s statue at the center of the academy, the golden bands of confinement…
When I open my eyes, the air in front of me shimmers. I hold my breath and walk towards it just as a shining silver portal seems to form.
I’ve walked miles it seems before I reach it and stare into the darkness beyond. I squint inside and make out a classroom, peeling desks and rickety chairs.
I catch sight of a whiteboard with a single name sprawled across it in bold letters.
Professor Shade.
The Academy.
Smiling, I step into the portal and am greeted by the darkness.
“Coax out your Prod,” Professor Shade says. I blink at the haziness of my mind. It’s like waking from a dream and trying to recall the details. Something dark and disturbing nudges in the back of my mind but the Professor before me is more prominent than those unreachable memories.
The smile on his face is natural, welcoming, so unlike any of the other professors at the academy. They all wear perpetual scowls and want to see us fail. Not him. Never him.
“I—I don’t know.” The reply springs from my lips in shaking words.
The professor’s bicolored eyes regard me with encouraging amusement.
I squirm in my seat and look around at all the Prodless students in the room.
It’s an after-school program where the Prodless gather to talk about our problems, our differences.
Professor Shade organizes the entire thing, he watches over us, encourages us to break past our comfort zones.
The truth is, I’m embarrassed among these faces. Faces of Prods I don’t recognize.
“You can do it, Izara.”
He doesn’t understand. No one understands what it is to live with this Prod inside me, to have this unknown power rippling inside me, urging me to destroy, to kill. I already killed Adam, all because he dared to grab my arm and refused to let go when I tried to leave him.
My Prod hadn’t liked that.
Not one bit.
Wait. I wasn’t supposed to remember that, was I? Why did I remember that?
“Come on, Miss Castillo,” Professor Shade’s voice cuts through my thoughts.
I take a breath and nod, and then I unleash my Prod.
She’s vengeance and she’s glory and she sucks me into a void I can’t climb out of. A malicious smile twists her lips—my lips—that I instantly know is both beautiful and cruel. The power she shoots out is ephemeral and everyone in the room screams as it consumes them.
And all the while, my Prod laughs.
And laughs.
And laughs.
“Coax out your Prod.”
I take in a gasping breath and look around, my heart beating wildly in my chest. I can still feel the fire, can still hear their helpless screams. The room is the same; Professor Shade’s name is still scrawled in that same bold lettering. He’s still in front of me, other Prodless are still around me, staring at me like I’ve lost my mind. Maybe I have. Maybe it’s deja vu.
Demonic words of disturbing creatures whisper at the back of my mind, a memory I can’t quite grasp.
“Izara? Coax out your Prod.”
Their screams echo in my ears.
“Izara.”
“I don’t think…”
But it’s too late. Wings burst from my back, tearing through muscle and flesh. I scream as the power consumes me. I stagger on shaking knees and try to walk away, to leave before I explode, but in the blink of an eye, they’re in front of me, a long line of standing bodies regarding me with concern.
I blink again and their faces no longer belong to strangers, but to my men. Malek stands in front of them all. Quiet, gentle Malek, with his thick-framed glasses sliding down the ridge of his prominent nose. He smiles wolfishly at me.
“You can do it, mi corazón.” His voice carries with it a haunting whisper.
“Malek… I…” Before I can say anything else, I explode, shards of magic fragmenting through Malek’s skin. He opens his mouth and blood bursts past his lips, and I watch as the life leaves his honey-colored eyes and he falls to a heap at my feet.
Dead.
Because I killed him.
“No.” I reach for him, but his body disappears into wisps of smoke and I’m l
eft alone.
“Coax out your Prod.”
“No!” I jerk away from Professor Shade and his concerned expression. Too many cruel memories lash at my mind. I have to leave. Now. Panic settles in until I’m hyperventilating.
Before I make it to the door, Saint is standing there, flashing a fanged grin.
“Leave me alone!”
I grab my head as my Prod explodes
This time, Saint dies first.
One by one, it doesn’t stop. It overwhelms me, consumes me, this power. It kills them all, over and over again.
Malek.
Saint.
Phoenix.
Syko.
My father.
Kayos.
Heaven.
Sasha.
I kill them all, over and over again in different ways. Slow, fast... my Prod does it all to them and I can only watch, trapped within myself as I murder everyone I love.
“Coax out your Prod.”
I’ve lost count how many times that voice urges me to kill them. I’ve stopped trying to fight it, and now I just sit there with my head lowered, my fingers twitching against the sides of the chair.
Fear, regret, and rage burn my eyes with waiting tears.
“Don’t make me, don’t make me.” The words echo off my lips like a whispered prayer that goes unanswered. I’ve asked this many times now, and nothing can stop my Prod from devouring me whole.
Why is this happening? What am I doing here? There was something I had to do, somewhere I had to go, but past the haze of my own torturous agony, I can’t fucking remember…
“The sixth circle of hell is unpleasant, don’t you think?”
That, that is new. My head snaps up and where Professor Shade once stood, someone else has taken his place.
It’s the face of darkness and nightmares. Of terror and pain. A shadow given form that I can’t quite make out, but know.
Because he’s the bastard that brought me to hell.
Everything comes back to me like a jolt. I remember prom, the Messenger, the portal. Except, instead of going back to the Academy I landed here.