by R. K. Ryals
The ground below our feet took on an orange glow, and I watched as a tunnel appeared before us, the end engulfed in flame. The screams coming from the fire were indescribable, the sounds forever etched onto my soul. It was haunting, and it was devastating. Damned souls forever in misery.
"You would do this?" I cried out to the Hellhounds as the tunnel's end grew closer. I could hear the flames crackling, the heat scorching my face, the screams ripping through my body. The two Hellhounds turned my way, their jaws dripping with slobber. They were excited.
"It's our orders," the one Lilith had called Brim said. I nodded, my heart in my throat as we finally reached the orange opening. I was alone. No one was coming after me.
Flames licked around the tunnel door, the off and on shadowy figures of men and women screaming moved mist-like through the ocean of shimmering orange and blue fire. I gulped.
"Please!" I begged one final time. My plea was ignored.
The hounds nudged me, and I found myself standing at the end of the tunnel, my body perched like a traitor on a ship waiting to walk the plank.
"Welcome to the pits," Brim said as he rammed suddenly into my back.
I went flying, my lungs stretched to their limit with the screaming, my screaming.
"No!" I cried, desperately ripping the light out of my chest in my panic.
Fire slammed against me just as the light burst forward. It was brilliant, even more potent than the flames surrounding me. And, just as my feet touched the fiery bottom of the pits, I stood up, my whole body engulfed, not in Hellfire, but in a bluish, white haze that surrounded me like a bubble. I spun around entranced. Amazing.
Just when I was supposed to burn in the fiery pits of Hell, I came into my power.
Chapter 8
The light is the center of all Angels' powers. Angels are borne of light, of goodness. Even the fallen still maintain pieces of this luminance. For some, the light glows so brilliantly, it is frightening.
~Bezaliel~
Around me an inferno roared, fire pushing against the barrier created by my inner light, and I stared at it in awe. Even the heat could not touch me here.
"Thank you," I whispered, although I had no idea who I was thanking.
My father maybe? He had told me to look for the light, had sent Lucas to me, had known one day the light would be my saving grace. Or maybe I should thank Marcas? While I had hated him for not intervening, I realized now he had to have known the fire could not touch me. Hadn't he? And what was I supposed to do now?
My thoughts were bombarded by sound. The screams of the damned souls around me were so loud, so full of anguish that I placed my hands over my ears to try and block them out, my soul forever scarred by the experience. I was lost and yet I was found, protected but surrounded by fire with no way out. The anguished shadows, dark figures with no discernible shape, moving around my light made tears run down my cheeks. I would surely lose my sanity if I were forced to remain here for any length of time.
For that reason, I started to walk, burning souls bumping against my barrier as I moved. Some yelled profanities, the pain making them even angrier than they had been in life. Others pleaded for mercy. I couldn't stand it, and I begged the light to drown out some of the noise.
"Please."
The inside of my barrier was immediately quiet. The shadows were still there, the muted cries still somewhat audible. But it was bearable now, my head free of the tormented suffering. And yet, the silence came too late. While enduring the screams of pain, the begging and the anger, I had aged. No one could walk through the pits of Hell and come out unscathed. I needed out of the pits!
I walked and I walked. The entrance I had been pushed through was gone, a prison door for the damned that sealed upon entry. And I could find no other way out of the firestorm consuming every step I took.
The march was a practice in strength for me. Out of every way to die, I feared three the most—burning, falling, and drowning. I was walking through a nightmare I couldn't wake up from, the pits a maelstrom of flames that scorched and blistered but never let one pass on. I lost a part of myself there. I couldn't tolerate it anymore!
I quit looking at the shadows, quit watching the flames, and I quit walking. In a moment of despair, my heart weak because it knew there was no exit, I fell to my knees. My light moved with me. And, in that fiery pit, I took account of myself—my life up to this point, my parents' deaths, my aunt, my sister, Conor and Monroe, Marcas, and my father. So many things resolved themselves in my mind, so many emotions I thought I could never let go were swept away. Except for one. In those pits, when there was nothing left to do but close my eyes and contemplate my life, I finally asked the one question I still didn't have an answer to.
"How did she die?" I asked aloud, my thoughts on the one person I couldn't account for. My mother.
"She was killed by Damon," a voice answered me, and I looked up to find Marcas standing within the flames. He didn't need a barrier to protect himself from the blaze because it never really touched his skin. I stood up.
"Marcas."
He had come for me. Relief swept over me only to be replaced quickly by grief. I wasn't sure if I was glad to see him or upset because he had just revealed something that twisted everything I'd assumed about my mother's death. If I was being honest with myself then I'd have to admit I thought Lilith had been behind my mother's murder. Damon?
I watched Marcas' eyes, the dark blue depths lit up by the fire's reflection. Now was not the time to discuss the past. And it seemed silly to be thinking about it while standing in the middle of a Hellhole. But the pits had already scarred me, and something about standing here watching the damned souls having to relive every moment of their lives made me want answers.
"Then her death was because of me," I whispered.
How Marcas heard me beyond the cries outside my barrier was beyond me. Unless his power muted the screams as well. But he did hear, and he moved toward the light surrounding me, stopping only an inch away from its wall. The figures that had thrown themselves at my mercy suddenly retreated.
"My brother's insanity was the cause of your mother's death. Never you. He assumes that your heritage will save the children of Cain. The bloodlust controls him now."
Marcas' face never changed as he spoke, his expression more controlled than I had ever seen it. I didn't understand it.
"You say that without any emotion. But he's your brother. Your twin," I pointed out. How could he not feel something? Anger, pity, pride . . . anything.
"Damon isn't my brother anymore. His insanity took that bond away centuries ago. Any feelings I had about what he's done and what he still plans to do have been muted by time," Marcas said, his face resolute. "And you must remember, the life he leads is not unusual for a Demon. Until he bound the two of us, many of our kind were proud of him. But by combining the blood of an Angel and a Demon, he went too far."
I walked toward Marcas, my light allowing me to draw close to the protective wall without pushing the two of us further apart. It seemed to know now what I wanted without me having to tell it what to do.
"You've come into your light," Marcas pointed out.
I stared up into his face.
"It seems so."
He gazed down at me, his expression blank, but I could tell by the tightening of his jaw that he was not unaffected by the moment. We were standing opposite each other in the pits of Hell, anguished souls screaming, separated by his Demon abilities and my Angelic wall. It clearly marked how different we were. Two worlds, light and dark. It was humbling.
"How did my mother die?" I asked, breaking the silence. It seemed petty to want details. Knowing her killer should have been enough, but it wasn't. Marcas held my gaze.
"Damon drained her of blood."
What? No! My stomach cramped with the pain the knowledge brought me, and I thought back on the past, my mind swept to the moment I met Marcas. He had been feeding off of a woman in an alley outside a bar called Everet
t's that night, making the moment enjoyable for her. It had been obvious in her filmy, ecstatic gaze. But Damon wouldn't have been so thoughtful. I was sure of this. Damon not only murdered my mother, he drained her of life. It would not have been a painless death. Imagining the agony she must have suffered made me feel sick. I pushed my fist into my stomach.
"And my father . . ."
"Couldn't save her. Bezaliel left your mother with your aunt, thinking she would be safe with her own family. Your parents knew they needed to find a way to protect you, knew of Damon's obsession. And so they left home that night with the intention of commissioning God for help. You are, after all, one of God's creatures. Bezaliel took your mother to Kyra then left to seek an audience with the Creator. No one knew that Kyra was in league with Damon."
"Oh my God," I breathed.
I put my hand against the luminescent wall for support, tears leaving tracks on my skin. Marcas was lying. He had to be. Not my aunt. Not my mother's own sister.
"But Aunt Kyra told me she didn't contact Damon until after my parents' death."
Marcas frowned.
"Lies, Dayton. Your aunt is being controlled by a Demon. Demons lie."
A sob escaped me despite my resolve not to be overcome by emotion. My mother was murdered, her death a harsh one, at the hands of a Demon and a woman possessed. How much of my aunt's mind was still left? It seemed impossible—a house full of Sethian descendants, people who served God, corrupted by a Demon. It was both sad and devastating. Worse still, my sister was there.
I felt the bitterness overtake me, the need for vengeance strong, and I knew the resolve that suddenly filled my gaze was easy to read. I saw it in the way Marcas' expression changed, the way his hand lifted to touch mine over the wall separating us.
"You can't kill him, Dayton. It would damn you. Not because you killed a Demon, but because you are premeditating a murder."
I closed my eyes. He was right, damn him! The need for retribution was great, and I didn't want Marcas to see the disappointment I felt at his words. Why did he have to be right? Why couldn't I be content just knowing who my mother's killer was? Damn it! I couldn't kill Damon!
"But I can," Marcas suddenly said.
My eyes popped open. What? Was he offering to kill his own brother? For me? No!
I was about to argue with him, the words on the tip of my tongue, when he pushed against my barrier. I could feel him seeking entrance to the protective world inside my radiant bubble, and I gave it permission to allow him in. He stepped through, and before I could even protest, wrapped an arm around my waist. The move was so unexpected, I almost lost my footing.
"It's time to get you out of here," he said before we were suddenly moving upward through the fire, and I watched as a portal opened right before our eyes, the black tunnel from earlier unlocked by the Demon holding me.
Anguished souls rushed forward but were just as quickly chased back by the immediate appearance of three Hellhounds. They growled and snapped, their job to guard the pits apparent in their glowing eyes and fierce demeanors. Had they been there the whole time?
"They are the Guardians of the Gate. They never leave the pits," Marcas answered, and I looked up into his face as we moved, my feet never really touching the ground even though the floor beneath us became solid once the gates closed behind us.
Marcas seemed content moving for us both. I stared at him, my gaze wandering over his features as if I were laying eyes on him for the first time. Had he really suggested killing his own brother? Why? It couldn't be for me? Could it?
"Marcas," I breathed.
I needed to tell him no. That if he was planning to kill Damon for me, I couldn't let him. It was his brother. I couldn't ask that of him. No matter the crime. Marcas' finger came up to rest gently against my lips.
"Shhhh, there are some moments when it's better not to speak."
His arm tightened, and my brows furrowed in confusion. My chest felt funny, my stomach tight. What were the two of us becoming to each other? Was I reading into the moment too deeply?
His finger moved from my lips, traveling upward to smooth over the wrinkles on my forehead, and for the first time since meeting him, I watched Marcas smile.
"You think too much, Blainey."
I scowled, and his smile grew wider. It was both thrilling and irritating. I would have answered him, was ready with a sarcastic retort when "her" voice interfered.
"You have disobeyed me, son," Lilith said, her tone harsh.
She didn't need to raise her voice to sound menacing. Her power raced over my skin, the hairs on my arms lifting with the electric current, and I shivered. Fear crept in.
Marcas released me, and I realized we were standing, once again, on the shining, black cobbled streets of a historical city. In front of us stood the female Demon, her red dress now silver, matching sparkles dotting her ebony hair.
"She has passed your test, mother. Leaving her there would have robbed her of her sanity."
"A vast improvement," she sneered.
"That would have served no purpose."
"Demons have no purpose, son. That is where you fail me."
Marcas inclined his head slightly.
"So be it."
Lilith looked incensed by his answer, her face hard and lined despite her false youth. She gestured to the empty city at large, and I noticed both Lucas and Sophia standing to the side of the street, their faces unreadable.
"Your father would be proud,” Lucas' voice said in my head, and I smiled despite the somberness of the moment, my own power rising to the surface, chasing off the goose bumps caused by Lilith's presence. It made the Demon look at me, her eyes narrowed. But I would not be undone.
I had walked into the flame and come out unharmed. Different, scarred, but unharmed. I stood taller because of it, my self-confidence vastly improved. My companions noticed. Lucas' eyes twinkled and Sophia nodded her head at me, a new respect in her gaze. She might not like the bond Marcas and I shared, but I could tell she had a genuine fear of Hell, and I had survived the pits. I knew instinctively that she had the ability to survive it as well, but I think her mind would have been altered for the worse. Mine certainly felt stretched, different. I wasn't sure yet if the change was good.
"You are still my guests. The Naphil may have survived the pits, but I am not done with you," Lilith said, her voice breaking the awkward silence caused by her exchange with Marcas, and I looked her way.
"We were led here by your Hellhounds for an audience with you. You have had your chance to speak. We are allowed now our safe exit," Lucas argued.
I didn't have to look his way to know his expression was stormy. Lilith's return gaze was fierce.
"This is my domain, Exile. I say when you leave."
"And yet Heaven will punish you for keeping us detained," Sophia added, her voice weaker than Lucas' but just as firm.
"I welcome the confrontation," Lilith countered. She looked to Marcas. "There is a reception in your honor tonight. You will attend. If you choose to leave after, I will not stop you."
Lilith turned, her side to us as she lifted a brow imperiously. "But, know this, you will not have the ring. If you continue to go after it, I will find you, and I will use it."
I heard Sophia step forward, her breathing deep.
"The ring is Heaven's. Its power belongs to the Creator," Sophia stated.
The ring was her mission. Even her fear would not stop her from completing it. Lilith snarled.
"And yet Hell could do so much more with it," Lilith promised, the challenge lying now between them, Marcas' mother and his ex . . .um, girlfriend. Sophia accepted it without hesitation.
"Hell will not have it."
Lilith smiled, her teeth pointed.
"We shall see. But, for now, there is a reception to prepare for."
Lilith gestured to the only two Hellhounds I knew by name—Ember and Brim.
"Take them to the Towers."
I looked to Marcas. The Towe
rs?
"It's her home," he answered.
"And yours," Lilith pointed out. Marcas didn't even glance her way as the Hellhounds flanked the two of us.
"Not anymore."
A third Hellhound moved in behind Lucas and Sophia, and we were forced to march forward. Questions ate away at me. What did a reception mean in Hell? Should I worry her home was referred to as the Towers? Considering the black, cobbled streets surrounding us, the Hellish town reminiscent of old Britain, I genuinely hoped it didn't have the grim history the Tower of London had.
Chapter 9
Lilith's plan for Marcas is deeply rooted. Her desire to rule Hell has driven her as insane as her son, Damon. She will do anything, use anyone.
~Bezaliel~
"Damn."
Lucas and Sophia both glanced back at me disapprovingly, but I ignored them. I should probably be more sheepish about the whole cursing thing, but I honestly wasn't thinking about Angelic etiquette at the moment. My attention was entirely devoted to the awe-inspiring structure now before us.
The Hellhounds had ushered us to the front entrance of a castle made entirely of smooth, black marble. Round monolithic towers jutted out sporadically throughout the edifice with no apparent pattern. There appeared to be no windows. Below us, the cobbled streets had given way to sharp, black gravel. Dark, bare trees loomed over the path.
I shuddered. The scene reminded me of a Tim Burton film. All it needed was strange claymation figures or Edward Scissorhands. I half expected to see Johnny Depp greet us at the door.
"It's kinda . . . depressing," I mumbled as the Hellhounds halted in front of one of the towers.
I looked up, but never could see the top. Maybe my night vision didn't reach that far. The other possibility, I refused to consider. I didn't want anything more to do with heights.
"You are part Angel. It's unavoidable," Sophia commented, and I grimaced. I hated when people pointed out the obvious.
"We need to discuss blocking," I hissed at Lucas. I wasn't at all comfortable with Sophia in my head.