by R. K. Ryals
As I fought off the troll-like creatures, I caught occasional glimpses of other Demons flying in the air while still others scuttled in the shadows, and I realized Lucifer was sending them in waves. It wasn't a bad strategy. He was sending in his weakest troops first, wearing us down slowly. Each wave of Demons would be stronger until we were too weak to fight them off.
Using my power, I shoved the light into one of the closer Demons and watched as four of the troll-beings all went down at once. I had learned I had the ability to transfer magic from one Demon to others of its own kind back in Italy, and it was time I used the knowledge. I wasn't the only one with the same idea. The wave of Demons had reached Conor, Lucas, Monroe, and Luther behind me, and each of them were using the powers they knew best.
Monroe's necklace glowed bright as she moved, whispering spells under her breath as she gestured gracefully with her hands. The Demons nearest her were either repelled by protection spells or frozen just long enough for one of the three men near her to slaughter them. She worked efficiently and with little fear, but I noticed she was having to chant faster now, and I wondered how long she could keep up the pace.
Luther marched before her, his eyes on the small Demons as he used rays of light to kill some and his bare hands to kill others. Lucas was doing the same. And when the opportunity to use a weapon arose, they both took it, using the claw-like knives to kill anything that came too slow.
But it was Conor that surprised me the most. He was adept with the Demons' weaponry, but he also used his body as a shield, freezing when he needed to deflect knives and light beams. He moved quickly, his body shifting fast enough it confused the enemy. And he had power of his own. It didn't come from light or darkness like the Angels and Demons. His seemed to come from the rock around him. It allowed him to send force fields outward, effectively destroying any Demons that came into contact.
Between the seven of us we were a force to be reckoned with, even against an army, but it wasn't going to be enough. We needed to minimize the amount of Demons fighting us, giving us more time to reserve the strength we'd need to deal with the stronger ones. Alessandro's men were on their way. We needed to buy ourselves some time.
"Monroe, try a bigger protection spell," Marcas ordered next to me.
I fought off another "troll" as Marcas grabbed one of the Demons by the neck and slung it against the Siq.
"Conor, use water," Marcas added.
Water? Neither Conor nor Monroe argued. Monroe began whispering furiously, and I knew by the way her forehead creased that this spell would take a lot out of her. Luther and Lucas covered her as she worked, her hands waving frantically until I could feel power building around us. The small Demons were backing up as if whatever magic she was performing wouldn't allow them any nearer.
"Now!"
It only took the simple command from Marcas for Conor to step forward, his hands held before him. And then the most amazing thing happened. Water rushed from Conor's hands, flowing forward in a flood that circled our group but washed away any Demons in the area, propelling them through the Siq. It wasn't a gentle wave of water. It was fierce, vicious even, as frothy bubbles moved along the top of the churning waves. But as fierce as the flood was, it ended just as quickly. Conor slumped forward, his hands on his knees as he took deep steadying breaths.
The area was clear. The water had washed away the smaller Demons, and yet disappeared as if it had never existed. Even the ground was as dry as it had been before. Conor had bought us some time, and we all sagged a little as we gathered our powers around us. I let Marcas' and my light fill me, and it was healing.
"Well, I didn't expect that," I said to Conor hollowly. What other powers did my friend have at his disposal?
The next wave of Demons was coming. I could feel it, but we had survived the first wave and that gave me hope.
"Gargoyles are bad ass," Conor responded with a wink.
He was standing now, and he looked strong again. If he was tired, he didn't show it. And the humor was sorely needed. Most of us smiled as we stood straight again, our eyes on the ground and sky. Only Marcas kept himself detached from the group, his brow furrowed, his eyes on the Siq. His stance made me nervous.
"What now, brother?" Luther asked, his eyes on Marcas' back.
Marcas turned to us, his eyes red.
"Lucifer wants Dayton and me dead. I think if we split from the group, Lucifer would call off the attack. He'd come after the two of us instead."
The arguments that followed were immediate. Conor was shaking his head, Luther scowled, and Lucas and Sophia weren't about to let us out of their sight. Only Monroe remained quiet. I wasn't saying much either but only because I was terrified. The others felt like a safety net. Leaving them was like being on a high wire with nothing to land on if we fell.
"What would he do to you?"
The question came from Monroe. Marcas met her gaze, his expression blank.
"You know what he intends."
Monroe nodded.
"But will he succeed? If we left you now, if you were to face off with Lucifer, could you defeat him?"
I knew by the silence that followed that Marcas wasn't sure.
"It would be a good fight," he finally answered. "And, if we lost, the only ones destroyed are Dayton and me. The rest of you would continue. Heaven and Hell would be equally matched. There would be no need to go to war."
This time everyone shook their heads. Everyone but Sophia.
"He is right. This is their fight. If they lose, there is no harm done. If they win, then Heaven has the advantage," Sophia said.
Once again, it was Monroe that spoke up.
"But some of us aren't fighting for Heaven or Hell. Some of us are fighting because we love the people involved. I, for one, could give a damn about the feud going on between the realms. I prefer the good guys win, but my concern is for Dayton. My loyalty lies with her."
Conor nodded, his hand coming to rest on Monroe's shoulder.
"I concur. We've been here from the beginning because of Dayton, because we know she'd do the same for us."
I felt the tears even if I didn't shed them. They were right, of course. They had always been here for me. It didn't matter that Monroe's family was heavily involved in the S.O.S or that she was a witch. It didn't matter that Conor was a gargoyle who had once been assigned to protect me. They would have come anyway. Growing up, we had been inseparable, always protecting each other. They were still here because of me. And I suddenly didn't want them to be.
"You should go."
I whispered it because I didn't trust myself to speak louder. It was like we were repeating the scene between Conor and me when we were in Italy. I wanted to sacrifice myself for them, not the other way around. But Monroe wasn't Conor. I think he understood sacrifice because of what he was. It was bred into gargoyles. That much was obvious. But witches . . .
"I won't let you talk yourself into doing something noble for mankind when you should have the chance to live for yourself," Monroe argued.
Lucas stepped up behind her.
"My protection still stands."
I shook my head.
"No, Marcas is right. Sooner or later, we're going to have to face Lucifer. Now is better than later, and I won't have anyone die for me. I also won't let my father interfere. I've chosen my path, and I think he'd respect that."
Luther looked at Marcas, his eyes as red as his brother's.
"You believe you have a chance?"
"Of defeating him, maybe. Of destroying him, no," Marcas answered.
The answer was enough. Some kind of understanding passed between them.
"It's been a long time coming," Luther mumbled before looking at the others. "I think we should let them go."
Monroe threw her hands up.
"I won't do it. I won't leave her fate up to chance."
"And I thought Demons were stubborn," Luther groused.
Conor squeezed Monroe's shoulder.
"Then
how about we fall back? Alessandro's men are close. We should join them. If it looks like Marcas and Dayton won't succeed . . . we can intervene."
Monroe threw him a look.
"And you really think Alessandro would protect a Demon?"
Conor glanced at Sophia.
"He will with divine persuasion."
Sophia looked affronted, and she crossed her arms.
"I can't order them to intervene. That is not my mission."
Lucas snorted.
"Then why are you still here, Soph? This has quit being about the ring and you know it. We weren't fighting for the ring. We were fighting for Marcas."
Everyone froze. He was right. The ring may have been the catalyst to the journey, but it had quit being about the ring while we were in Hell. It was still important to become unbound. Otherwise, I'd be a pawn someday in a war between Heaven and Hell. But, for now, the bond was nothing compared to the civil war rising in the Underworld between Lucifer and Marcas. It's been a long time coming, Luther had said. And we had all chosen to side with Marcas.
Sophia looked away, but not before I caught a glimpse of her face. She had been fighting for Marcas. She had not been concerned about the ring.
"I won't give any command to the S.O.S.. I may have chosen to fight, but the S.O.S. serve God. They do not serve me. And I won't lie."
"You won't need to," a voice said, and we all looked up to find Alessandro standing at the entrance of the Siq, his men behind him.
It was a small group of men, no more than a hundred count, but it would have to be enough.
"My mother has informed me of the benefits to the group should Lucifer be pushed back. Marcas is the lesser of two evils. He won't be able to destroy Satan, but weakening him may be enough," Alessandro said as he stepped forward. "We will back Marcas."
It was as if a collective sigh of relief was exhaled. Alessandro looked around.
"It is quiet. There is no possible way you have destroyed all of the Demons."
Alessandro was right. Why had we not been attacked again? We may have defeated the Demon-trolls but the next wave of creatures should have fallen on us by now.
Marcas glanced up at the sky, and I followed his gaze. There among the dark clouds were two glowing, sickly green eyes.
"He's waiting."
I leaned into Marcas.
"I had to be bound to a Demon with a personal vendetta against the ruler of Hell."
Marcas looked down at me, his lips quirking just enough I knew he was fighting a smile.
"And I had to be bound to a Naphil who refuses to let me do things on my own."
I stared at him.
"And that's a bad thing?"
Marcas stared at me, the humor in his eyes changing to something different, to something that made my breath hitch. And then he was in my head, his eyes still boring down into mine.
"No, it's irresistible."
Chapter 22
The Naphil's existence was discovered, and both Heaven and Hell held their breaths. What would she be capable of? What would she mean to the war? And then the Naphil was bound to a Demon, and both Heaven and Hell raised their voices in fear and anticipation. But, in the chaos that followed, the idea that Civil War would develop in Hell was never considered.
~Bezaliel~
The sickly green eyes moved closer. The magnificent Lucifer was floating arrogantly downward, and his brows arched as he landed softly. Our group stood frozen as the Demon-ruler faced Marcas.
"You are well aware of the rules?" Lucifer asked.
My eyes widened. Rules? Marcas nodded.
"Which I will follow only if you do the same."
Satan grinned, his gaze shifting to include me.
"But, my dear boy, you have a second. It should only stand to reason that I should have one as well."
Marcas snarled. It was eerie watching him actually growl at what was supposed to be his leader.
"Your powers are enough for two."
Lucifer looked delighted by the response.
"I am humbled by your admission of my greatness, but the fact still remains. To remain fair, I am allowed a second."
Marcas was silent a moment, his eyes cold, his face unreadable. And then he nodded . . . slowly.
"So be it."
Lucifer clapped his hands and smiled. The expression caused his entire face to light up, making his beauty almost unbearable to look at.
"I will be considerate and allow you time to discuss the rules with your Naphil. Meet me at the High Place of Sacrifice."
With that, Lucifer simply vanished. I turned on Marcas.
"Rules?"
But even though my eyes were on Marcas' face, it was Luther who answered.
"Marcas is being called out. It is Hell's version of a duel, and Lucifer's most favorite form of punishment."
I was flabbergasted.
"A duel? You have got to be shitting me!"
Sophia groaned from behind us, but I didn't care about my language at the moment. I was too caught up in the whole "duel" problem. It was like being thrown back in time.
"I don't know what's worse. The fact that we are about to face off with Satan, or the fact that we are about to go all Wild West Hell version."
I know I was being sarcastic, but really!
"The principles are the same. The rules are far more terrifying," Luther said soberly.
I stared up into Marcas' face.
"What are the rules?"
He didn't mince words.
"A duel in Hell is mainly one-sided. Satan faces off with his victim. Then they use their powers to attack each other. Whoever is left standing is subjected to Satan's tests."
Luther interrupted.
"The problem, however, is that no Demon is more powerful than his ruler. Satan has always knocked down his opponent. Because of this, those who are called out are now given a choice. Either fight with power first or choose to continue with the tests. If they choose the tests, they aren't weakened by the power blow and have a higher chance of survival."
I dreaded the answer, but I found myself asking it anyway.
"Has anyone ever survived?"
It was Marcas who responded.
"No."
Terror filled me, but I bit my tongue to keep from yelling, "I won't do it!" Both Marcas and Luther grimaced but didn't scold me. Maybe they figured I deserved my moment of self-inflicted pain.
"What are the tests?" I managed to ask instead. I was proud of myself for not running away.
Marcas looked away from me, his jaw clenched. I knew then I wasn't going to like the answer.
"You are faced with your biggest fears. And if you survive, you are allowed to live."
Biggest fears? My stomach lurched. I had a lot of fears, none of which I was willing to face.
"You said no one has ever survived," I whispered.
It wasn't a question but Marcas nodded anyway. Monroe started shaking her head from behind me.
"No! You can't do it!"
She knew better than anyone what my fears were. But I had to do it. I looked at Marcas, my hand going to his shirt.
"I need a moment."
I could still barely talk above a whisper, but he knew what I wanted. He inclined his head, indicating the Treasury, and we walked toward it. No one followed us.
Just inside the building, Marcas placed his back against the wall that separated us from the group outside. I began to block my thoughts.
"We're going to die."
I said it with a certainty I hated myself for feeling. Marcas looked down at me.
"The tests are nothing we can't overcome."
I didn't believe that.
"And yet no one has ever survived."
"Those people weren't us, Blainey."
He was depersonalizing me again, and I hated it.
"It's Dayton, Marcas. If we're going to die together, let's admit there's too much between us to call each other only by our last names."
I wasn't even sure Crai
g was his real last name anyway. I had always found it odd that Demons had last names. In Italy, Maria had said the true way to kill a Demon was to know his real name which led me to believe the names we knew Marcas and Damon by were simply aliases. The same went for the other Demons I was acquainted with.
"You fear dying, Dayton. It is the worst fear to have going into a duel with the devil."
I moved closer to him, my eyes staring up into his.
"And yet I can't change that."
Marcas placed his hands on my upper arms.
"You won't be facing him alone."
I laughed an almost insane laugh. It was higher than normal and strained.
"You fear nothing, Marcas."
Marcas pulled me against him so suddenly I lost my footing and fell against his chest.
"You're wrong."
My eyes were too close to his lips now, and I couldn't quit staring at them.
"Wrong how?"
I asked it knowing he wouldn't answer me. He showed me instead, his lips suddenly settling onto mine. This kiss wasn't desperate. It wasn't a fight for control. It was a gift.
His lips pressed against mine tenderly, and I pressed back, my hands clutching his shirt. I was still leaning against him, and he used the position to his advantage. One arm came around my waist, lifting me up just enough so that my chest rested against his. His free hand cradled my head, his fingers snaking up through my hair as he deepened the kiss.
It had become a caress now, a gentle working of lips on lips that didn't demand. It gave instead, so gently undemanding it was as if we had all the time in the world rather than just a moment. And I knew that was his gift. His kiss wasn't a goodbye. It was a promise for tomorrow.
I brought one arm around his neck while letting my free hand skim the side of his face. And I gave back. My kiss wasn't a promise, but it wasn't a goodbye. And I just enjoyed the feeling of being held, of having his lips worship mine. I had been kissed before, by more than just Conor, but never like Marcas kissed. It was like being on fire.
Marcas was the first to pull away, his forehead coming to rest against mine. I had closed my eyes during the kiss, and I didn't open them.