Demon's Throne

by K D Robertson

  The runes on the sword lit up, and every alarm bell in Rys’s body went off at once.

  With a shout, he stretched his arm out and fired a blast of wind at Azrael. The force propelled Rys backward.

  Azrael’s blade flashed red and an explosion rippled out from behind Rys. He looked backward to see a scar in the wall across the entire wall where Azrael had sliced through the air. Walkways fell apart, sending people tumbling. Debris rained down on those below.

  The wind blast barely ruffled Azrael’s robe. In response, he pointed his spare hand at Rys, palm open. Without speaking, the angel cast a spell.

  Still in midair, Rys couldn’t react. A blast of force slammed into him. His ribs shattered and his arm snapped cleanly along his forearm, leaving the end dangling only by flesh and sinew. Every rune in Rys’s armor lit up in an attempt to protect him.

  He slammed into a wall, then tumbled down to the bottom floor. The remains of a walkway collapsed on top of him. Pain filled every inch of his body. The runes on his armor fizzled out, completely spent.

  Rolling over, Rys watched as Azrael returned to his earlier pose.

  “Vengeance Annihilation,” Azrael boomed.

  Thousands of red astral lances appeared around Azrael. They swiveled independently of one another and pointed in almost every direction. Each lance had the power to blow apart a noble demon.

  Azrael had summoned enough to kill every person in the chamber.

  Screams and explosions became Rys’s world a second later. Azrael filled almost every corner of the fifty-story citadel with death and destruction. He summoned more lances after the initial barrage, blowing open every room afterward.

  The councilors tried to flee, using their powerful Gifts to protect themselves. Dozens of lances vaporized them. The Arcas devils exploded into mist.

  Humans, infernals, elves, and dwarves alike were mown down like wheat. Rys watched, unharmed by the barrage for an unknown reason, as soldiers he commanded were slaughtered in front of him.

  Even the runic protections of the citadel failed. The external barriers collapsed, threatening the safety of the entire city.

  White hot fury filled Rys’s mind. Even the current Rys struggled to accept Azrael’s wholesale slaughter of every person in the same room as the council. What was the archangel avenging? The very sanctity of Harrium?

  What absolute bullshit.

  The angels sat on the sidelines for years as the Cataclysm built up to the global war it had become. The reapers and infernals fought each other bitterly, as they had many times before, but this time it escalated far beyond previous wars. Their entire continents turned into a massive war machine, each bent on the destruction of the other.

  Then the angels showed up and tried to put a stop to the war by killing everybody that was part of the fighting. What a great way to restore order and balance to the world.

  A roar of guttural fury ripped out of Rys’s throat. He drew on every Gift he had and pumped sorcery into his body. His arm repaired itself. His muscles rippled with raw magical power.

  Rys exploded upward at Azrael. The archangel only had a moment to react before Rys tackled him. Hellfire exploded around them upon impact, singeing the edges of Azrael’s robes.

  Their momentum carried them onto one of the few intact walkways. They crashed into the stone, flames licking at everything within reach.

  Azrael hurled Rys away with his massive strength the moment they hit ground, then stood up.

  Rys rolled, then charged straight back at Azrael. He slammed his fist into Azrael’s face with every ounce of magical energy he had. The impact knocked his hood off.

  Azrael stood dead still, not reacting in the slightest to the punch. Long blonde hair fluttered behind the handsome face of a middle-aged man. A pair of piercing red eyes glared at Rys, holding a depth of utter rage and fury that froze him in his tracks.

  The anger in Azrael’s eyes felt bottomless. As if Rys was looking into the fury of Harrium itself.

  Then the plaintive cries and screams of the wounded reached Rys’s ears. His previous anger returned, and he cocked his fist back for another strike. But it felt weak.

  If Rys were stronger, he could have stopped this. He wouldn’t have his future controlled by some self-righteous ass of an archangel.

  None of Rys’s remaining punches harmed Azrael. Eventually, the archangel responded by knocking Rys down with a single blow. Azrael then snapped his fingers.

  Bindings of red energy burst from the ground, holding Rys against the floor. He fought back furiously, trying to break free.

  “A piteous fellow you are, more so than any other I’ve seen, perhaps,” Azrael said, speaking in Low Devil instead of the Angelic Tongue. “Your soul is a ragged mess. Your power so far beyond a human’s that I question your very mortality. And your mind… Lacrissa truly deserves her reputation. Death would be a release for you. Freedom from this cage of rage that she has trapped you in.”

  The archangel kneeled down next to him and met Rys’s eyes.

  Rys looked away. Rage threatened to shatter his mind. Lacrissa herself might come. He desperately tried to calm himself down, chanting to himself over and over.

  “Ah, I see. You have not truly lost yourself. I question whether I or any of my brothers possess a force of will so great as yours,” Azrael said. He almost sounded happy. “To let you go to waste would be the greatest of all failures. It may only be a small victory, but those are precious few now.”

  A long pause. Rys continued to meditate within his mind, eyes closed. If the archangel killed him, so be it.

  “With just a slight nudge, I can take you beyond her grasp. Weaken her control over your emotions,” Azrael said. “We shall see if you awaken to Vengeance, or ignore the influence I awaken within you.”

  A hand pressed down against Rys’s forehead. A moment later, he felt Azrael’s power reach deep within him.

  Right to his soul.

  Then, as though Azrael flicked a switch, the anger in Rys’s mind almost vanished. It felt muted, like trying to listen to a loud noise through a thick wall. Or feeling heat over a long distance.

  Azrael stood up. Shouts filled the air as more infernals charged into the chamber.

  But rather than destroy them, Azrael glowed for a moment. An instant later, Rys felt his connection to the magical plane be cut off. He couldn’t even feel his Gifts. The infernals screamed in panic and fled.

  Azrael looked down at him. “Farewell, Talarys of Ruathym. Our paths will not cross again. At least, not as I am now. May you find fulfillment.”

  Blood red wings closed over the archangel’s body. Power surged around him and he teleported away, leaving behind a ruin and Rys.

  A Rys that had been freed from Lacrissa’s mental control for the first time in decades.

  The vision faded and became a mere memory in Rys’s head.

  He didn’t know why he had forgotten about this, or about Azrael. The seal had stolen this from him. Denied him the truth of how he escaped Lacrissa’s influence.

  It left him with many questions. Deeply troubling ones.

  But Rys knew one thing for certain.

  He sincerely hoped he could replicate some of Azrael’s abilities using infernal sorcery when he regained his power. The balls it took for that archangel to say the name of his attack seconds before using it.

  Then Rys blinked and he returned to the present day.

  Chapter 22

  “Rys, defend yourself!” Grigor roared.

  Vision returned to Rys, and he found himself back in the Labyrinth. The ruins of the obelisk stood beside him, his axe embedded in them.

  Rys cursed and pulled it free, looking to his side for the attacker.

  He only saw Orthrus, floating in the air next to him.

  On closer inspection, there were some differences. Two golden glowing eyes stared out from within his wispy form, and the shape of a beak and a skull could also be made out.

  “How unexpected. I did not expect
to undergo physical changes,” Orthrus said. The gasps from Grigor and Fara made it clear that they could hear him now.

  Rys lowered his axe and gestured for the others to calm down. Confused, they dropped their aggressive stances. Fara’s face made it clear she wanted an explanation. Grigor seemed satisfied with a simple order.

  “This is Orthrus, my adviser,” Rys said.

  Fara’s eyes shot up. “And he became visible after you destroyed whatever this thing was? You do realize how dangerous he must be?”

  Given the power flowing through Rys’s body, he didn’t care. Orthrus hadn’t lied. Destroying the power conduit had been the secret to restoring his memories and power. Knowledge of infernal summoning techniques flooded Rys’s mind. His strength Gift exuded more power than it had before. Skills he had forgotten returned to him.

  No, not forgotten. The seal had stolen what Rys had earned in his life. He regained knowledge that he should always have had.

  Most importantly, Rys regained a substantial amount of his old magical power. Although his Gifts were important, his personal strength mattered even more. He felt stronger than he had since awakening, even if he still had a long way to go.

  “That is not all that changed,” Grigor said. “I see now, Rys.”

  Fara looked between Grigor and Rys, annoyed that she appeared to be out the loop.

  Rys waved a hand in the general direction of Orthrus. “He might be dangerous, but so am I. I don’t need you to trust him, only to trust me. Orthrus’s knowledge is invaluable, and we would never have made it this far without him.”

  “This place was built to seal away something immensely dangerous, Rys,” Fara said. “Whatever created this place might be trapped here.”

  “He is not,” Orthrus said confidently.

  Rys stared at the wisp. How did he know that? Assuming he wasn’t lying.

  “That makes me feel so much better,” Fara muttered. Her ears twitched a moment later and she gave Rys an odd look. “Rys, why were you so interested in shattering something clearly intended to seal away a great power? The vault doors, the defense systems, even summoning an angel to stop us—a lot was thrown at us to make us turn back.”

  Or die, but she left that part unsaid.

  Grigor remained silent, but his soulsight meant that he already knew what had happened. His eyes saw the visible increase in power that Rys gained from destroying the obelisk.

  Could Rys trust Fara?

  No, the question was whether revealing this information helped Rys. Her trust seemed guaranteed. She had followed him into this chamber despite her worries. Whatever her misgivings toward him, her hostility was long gone.

  “I’ll level with both of you,” Rys said. He folded his arms and inclined his head toward the obelisk ruins. “You already know that I was far more powerful before. The reason is that my powers and memories are sealed within this Labyrinth. By destroying these obelisks—Orthrus calls them power conduits—I can regain my freedom.”

  Silence. Fara froze. Not even her tails moved.

  “I’m helping an ancient infernal superpower return to the world,” Fara said. She shook her head. “I said that the vault doors sealed away an ancient evil, but I guess the real evil was beside me the whole time?”

  “And?” Rys asked.

  Grigor didn’t move, but his eyes bore down on Fara.

  “Why are you sealed?” Fara asked. “It would help to know.”

  “Dunno.”

  Fara glared at him, an exasperated sigh escaping her. “You’re kidding, right?”

  “I wish I was.” Rys shrugged. “Many of my memories are sealed away. Some of those contain my skills and knowledge. Others relate to… important moments of my past.” He wasn’t sure how to feel about what happened with Azrael yet. “The rest relate to the time shortly before I disappeared.”

  “Ah, that explains much,” Grigor said. “I had wondered why you didn’t ask about—”

  Rys’s mind went blank. The world blurred, preventing him from reading Grigor’s lips or even the reactions of those nearby. Rys felt off-balance and tried to grip his head with his hand.

  “Is something wrong, Rys?” Fara asked, her tails and ears bolt upright.

  “That was more severe than usual,” Rys muttered. “For future reference, don’t try to tell me about things I clearly don’t remember.”

  “I see,” Grigor said. A grim—almost sad—expression crossed his face. “It is deeply troubling to see that you have forgotten some of the most important things in your life, Rys.”

  What the Hell had he forgotten that made Grigor so sentimental?

  “It’s been 1500 years. Anything I’ve forgotten about can wait a few more years,” Rys said. “It’s going to have to. I’m not sure I want to find out what happens if something I can’t remember shows up in front of my face. Does my head explode?”

  “That is a good question,” Orthrus said, allaying Rys’s fears with his certainty and willingness to explain everything about the seal and everything in the Labyrinth.

  “Do not waste the effort glaring at me like that. I truly do not know what the result would be,” Orthrus said.

  Sighing, Rys waved the wisp off.

  The two of them needed to have words about what happened here—especially Orthrus’s changed appearance—but now wasn’t the time. Rys needed time to dwell on what happened, and to formulate his suspicions into coherent questions.

  Explanations doled out, they all left the chamber. The exterior doors had opened and lost all power, but the other infernals only stared from the outside. Their orders had been absolute. Rys hadn’t wanted any of them learning things they didn’t need to.

  Fara trailed behind them, and Rys waved Grigor ahead.

  “Get everybody organized. I want to depart as soon as possible,” Rys said.

  Then he turned to Fara, whose ears flattened against her head due to his attention. He felt a strong urge to ruffle them. The white fluff inside her black ears looked especially tantalizing.

  “You didn’t ask me if I still supported you,” Fara muttered.

  “Actions speak louder than words,” Rys said.

  “That’s… nice to hear from you.” Fara shot him a smile, her eyes shimmering. “That you think I’ve done enough to earn your trust.”

  Huh. So Fara worried about whether he trusted her. Truly the world was a strange place.

  Sighing, he gave in and ruffled her ears. She let out a small squeal when he first touched them, then only sullenly glared up at him.

  “Well?” Rys asked. “What’s your answer?”

  Fara tried to roll her eyes, but he brushed the white fluff in her ears. She jumped instead, her pupils shrinking in shock.

  “That part is sensitive,” she said, batting away his hands. She covered her ears with her hands. “You do realize those are my ears, right? Don’t stick your fingers in them!”

  Sensitive ears, huh? Rys added that to his growing list of mystic fox knowledge.

  After she calmed down, Fara said, “You’ve done nothing to make me walk away from you. Evil is a relative thing, and while I don’t understand some of the things you let happen, it’s hard to say that you’ve made my life worse. Or the lives of those I care about.”

  She appeared to have more to say, so Rys waited.

  “My life has changed more in the past month than it has in decades,” Fara said. She grabbed one of Rys’s hands. “Maybe I will regret this, but right now I’m happier than I remember ever being.” She grimaced. “That’s cold, isn’t it? But it’s been so long since I remember being truly happy that until you came along, I couldn’t even remember what it felt like. Or what it was like to make decisions for myself. Everything has been about others for so long.”

  A deep, shuddering sigh escaped her lips. Then Fara smiled up at Rys.

  “Well, I suppose words can be important,” he said.

  She rolled her eyes and hit him with her tails. “Asshole. I empty my heart and you say somethin
g pithy.” She giggled. “But I guess that’s part of what I love about you.”

  Fara bounced away and deliberately kept her distance from him once outside. Her smirk made it clear she knew what she was doing.

  “Grigor, are we ready to leave?” Rys asked.

  “Yes. We found a power slate beneath the platform here. I am unsure why we missed it earlier,” Grigor said.

  Orthrus said nothing, but Rys suspected the power slate had some connection to the power conduit and likely the defenses here. He still didn’t know what Orthrus had done while missing.

  The room they exited into was completely different to the vault room that led here. When they walked back through the vault door, the conduit’s antechamber had vanished.

  They found another power slate in this room, as it formed a large crossroads. Orthrus led them back to the castle afterward, only he was visible to others this time.

  Once safely back home, Fara vanished before Rys could catch her. He assumed she was intentionally playing hard to get, but he left her alone for the time being.

  She’d come to him when she wanted to do more than flirt and tease.

  Instead, he took both power slates to the control room. There were plenty of empty spaces for these slates to go, but only two available.

  First, Rys slid one into the module that granted him access to the castle’s power. The first slate had proven invaluable, but Rys was loath to draw on it more than he currently was. By slotting a second slate in, he gave himself options.

  The second slate was harder to decide on. He wanted to finish building his castle, which meant using it in the construction module—although perhaps it should be called the castle size module, given it maintained the castle after it was built.

  But if Rys wanted to extend the borders of the castle, or see whether the control room had more available to it, he needed to put another power slate in one of the three remaining hollows near the dais.

  The Labyrinth module still didn’t make sense to him, so he ignored it. The conduit’s defense systems proved that Rys had only scratched the surface of what the Labyrinth could do. He refused to interfere with something that powerful until he knew what he was doing.