The Opal Blade (The Ashen Touch Trilogy Book 1)

by Kristy Nicolle

  The first demon enters the pit of the colosseum, its tread rapid on the alabaster bones littering the floor, each step leaving a crackling echo behind. It’s a Banshee, my oldest demon friend, followed quickly by a slender Succubi, two reptilian creatures which slither, flashing intermittently in and out of camouflage, and several arachnid-like phobias. I look each of the beasts in the eye in turn, before the Abraxians, who have raised the gate, turn on me too.

  The odds aren’t that bad… are they? I count them… there’s… twelve demons and one… me.

  Well shit. I hiss internally, tensing my arms and readying to throw a punch or something equally as futile. I look up to the shadowy outlines of the Demon Lords and Pandora, who glower down on me, fascinated by the spectacle, and feel like a bug under a magnifying glass.

  “Come on then!” I yell out, trying to psych myself up but realising quickly that egging on the demon hoard was probably a stupid thing to do. Twirling on the ball of my foot and beginning to run from the demons, I watch them launch forward, realising that hindsight really is a wonderful entity in itself.

  The Phobias are by far the quickest, catching up to me in only seconds. I rotate, using the curved wall as an aid as the first leaps toward me. I inhale sharply, waiting for the pain, but it doesn’t come.

  I’ve caught it instinctually by two of its legs and let my arms buckle underneath its weight before bench-pressing the spindled legs backward. The Phobia’s body buckles as I push its legs back the wrong way, snapping them from its skeleton and feeling blood drench my forearms as it falls from me, lifeless.

  One down… I spin, narrowly missing a Gorgonian that flies toward me, smashing its head into the wall with no arms to stop its path through the air. I duck under the swing of the Succubi’s long arm, narrowly missing the clutch of its four-inch-long bloody red claws and falling into a forward roll across the rough gravel.

  As I stand firmly on two feet, flipping my hair back over my head, I am tackled straight on by the Banshee, who I seem to have oh so conveniently forgotten about.

  The smell of death envelops me as my field of vision is consumed by the red of the sky above, before the snapping jaws and gnashing teeth of the demon eclipse it from view. Its fur is slick with moisture as I ram my palms into the cheeks of the beast, holding it back with mere willpower and what little energy adrenaline is providing.

  My heart is racing.

  I guess this is it.

  This is the end.

  This is how I die.

  I look into the eyes of the Banshee, into the white emptiness of its soul as it jerks within my palms, bucking like a wild horse as snarls rumble from within its chest. Its entire body weight is on top of me, and as I’m losing distance in the struggle to keep it from ripping out my throat, I momentarily consider just letting it have me, letting it kill me so it can be over.

  A tinkling reaches my ears, and a flash of scarlet catches the corner of my vision. Concerned it could be another demon, I turn my head for just a moment, finding not a demon but a small bottle which has fallen upon the sharp white unevenness of the ground.

  Feeling new strength and adrenaline flood my body, I give a final shove of my hands and take the small amount of space this produces to pull my knees up and plant my feet firmly on the Banshee’s chest. I kick out with all my might, rolling sideways and out from under the heavy weight of the body in the small window of time I’ve managed to salvage.

  I reach out, grabbing the vial in my hand.

  God, I hope this is from Luce. I pray internally, pulling open the stopper as quickly as I’m able and chugging the contents like it’s no more than a shot of tequila at Retropolitan.

  The taste is freaking awful, but I bare it, screwing up my eyes and letting it burn down the back of my throat as I swallow, gasping for air. Within seconds, I feel like my entire body is on fire, and I’m whimpering, praying for death to come instantaneously as my veins run wild with liquid fire, and my heart feels ready to combust in my chest.

  My ribs constrict like they’re made of metal and someone is heating them with a blowtorch, and my lungs cease in their ability to take in air as I had attempted at first, as though I’m afraid that adding oxygen will only fan the flames raging within my chest.

  The scent of gasoline fills my nostrils from nowhere, and suddenly, as I think I can take no more, my eyes fly open and my lungs fill with cool, healing air.

  Finally.

  Rolling over, I feel energy injected into my limbs, my muscles, like someone has doped them with amphetamine. Heart pounding, this time hopeful, I feel more alive than I ever have in the mortal world. It’s better than drinking, or dancing with strangers, sleeping with strangers, riding… This beats all of that, hands down, without a shadow of a damn doubt.

  I get to my feet in a single motion, only to find my hair is alight around my face. I stare at it, catching my reflection in the shiny slick stone of the round wall caging me in.

  I smile, clicking my fingers. Where I will it, flame erupts.

  “HA!” I exclaim, feeling excitement clutch at me. The Demon Lords look confused as I stand, hair blazing, hands conjuring increasingly ferocious flames by the second as I let the magic flow through my body.

  Muahahahaha. I cackle in my head. You better run you little shits.

  I turn on the demons, no longer afraid but empowered.

  Taking out the Banshee closest to me in a single stream of flame originating from my palm, I spin on my heel in an artful pirouette, landing a spinning kick directly in the gut of the Succubi. Approaching me from behind, I catch it mere moments before it lunges for my throat, having felt the air stir. I wrap a tendril of flame around its neck and decapitate it, watching as it disintegrates to ash, burning up in my merciless clutch.

  I take out the remaining Phobia next with a simple, beautifully formed fire orb, which I bowl with exceptional accuracy, hitting the demon right between the eyes.

  “Strike!” I call out, doing a little dance and smirking up at the Demon Lord with a thin face and long white hair. If I had to guess, I’d say he was Barbas, and it was his demon I’ve just eviscerated, but who knows. Either way, I’m bragging.

  The Gorgonians present a greater challenge, and I’m wary of them and their camouflage as I kick one Abraxian toward his fellow fighters, causing them to tumble into a disorganised and glowing pile of scorched flesh. Using both of my hands this time, I form a ring of fire around them, letting them burn slowly as I feel my irises reflect the flames back up to Xion’s father, a smirk of victory only too evident on my face.

  Should I be this cocky? I wonder momentarily, but then shrug to myself, realising that I’d rather be cocky than weak. Rather be strong than dead.

  I guess I have more of a desire to live than I thought. I realise, wondering where this love of evading death and fire has all of a sudden come from.

  I don’t know why, but I’m loving this, enjoying the heat, the scent of burning flesh and the feeling that no one and nothing can stop me from exerting my will. I’m turning into a right little pyromaniac.

  I’ve been drunk before. But this is drunk of a different kind, and it’s addictive as hell.

  Once only the smoke from the Abraxians’ bodies remains, rising around me like a dramatic effect in a music video, I stand, looking around me and trying to locate the final obstacles. The Gorgonians.

  I glance over my shoulder, closing my eyes and trying to listen for any sound that would indicate the movement of snake-like demons. The slithering reaches me, and I push my palms out from me, one on either side, firing a line of eternal flame from each. I spin, creating a two-spoked pinwheel of blazing fire, trailing it along the edges of the pit and encasing the entire area in flame. I leave only a small ring of earth around myself, savouring the heat. The two Gorgonian demons slither, trying to make an escape. They fail, perishing, one on either side of me, clambering to ascend the wall which lines the pit, fleeing for their lives in fear, like animals in a trap.

 
The hissing of the demons makes me feel sick as I smell the burning of their flesh, but my heart continues to beat rapid in my chest. I’m breathing calmly, but inside my mind is racing, senses acute and body oiled slick like one fluid machine of destruction.

  I look up at the Demon Lords, finding all of them gone, all of them except her, Pandora, who remains. I curtsey to her.

  “Is that all?” I cock my hip. She opens her mouth to speak, but no sound comes out. “I thought so,” I continue, a smile tugging at the corners of my lips.

  I take a few steps backward, feeling ready to get the hell out of here. I picture where I want to be, my body humming and alive with power, hair still alight and glowing around my face.

  Everything is so clear now, every movement in the air, the uneven, distressed breathing of Pandora as she watches on, her lack of power more evident to me now than ever.

  I smile, contented.

  “Sephy, out.” I give her the peace sign and convect from the colosseum, leaving only ash, bones and smoke in my wake.

  I don’t make it as far as I’d like. In fact, despite my cocky exterior, I wasn’t even sure I’d be able to convect. I’m running on fumes, I can feel it as I rematerialize, surrounded by flames, on the outskirts of some crumbling ruins.

  Stepping up and over a pitiful excuse for a wall that had once been grand, I feel the sunlight on my skin, the cool ash falling from the sky around me and the heat of the volcano at my back. The smell of sulphur, of burning, is strong, and I wonder how anyone lives here without needing air freshener at least.

  The first thing I notice as I step into deep ash piles on the other side of the wall is a demon hoard clambering to get at something. The second thing I notice is the sound of Marvin Gaye being drowned out by an extremely loud and grating car alarm.

  What the hell is that? I wonder, mustering the energy to form an enormous fireball, which I can scarcely contain in my hand.

  I can feel the heat coming off this one, and know that my energy is waning fast but that I need to hold on. I’m not out of danger yet.

  My hair is starting to extinguish too, with only small flames, like that belonging to a candle coming off the ends of my locks, which fall and curl slightly. All in all, I guess I’m not looking too bad when you consider I’ve spent the last few hours in a cage and then almost being eaten.

  Running forward, I throw the fire ball, killing four demons in one blow and causing the others to scatter. I see the source of the commotion, and as I take out several more demons with some effort and what little firepower I can manage, I find a wreckage which was once a pretty nice car underneath it all.

  “Sephy?” I hear my name called, a familiar voice that makes me want to smile and laugh all at once.

  “Xion?” I call back, finding him scrunched up in the driver’s seat with a sword in each hand.

  “What are you doing here?” I ask him, grabbing a sword through the smashed in window from the passenger seat and spinning, thrusting it into the pale flesh of a Phobia which has decided to launch itself at me from atop the exposed engine of the vehicle.

  “I came to… save you, actually.” Xion admits, decapitating a Gorgonian that is trying to slither into the car with him.

  “Oh. Huh. How’s that going for you?” I demand, and he smirks.

  “Great actually,” he grumbles over the siren and the sound of the stereo. I reach through the window, smashing in the dash with my fist and stopping the car alarm without a second thought.

  “Ah, so I’ll uh, let you get back to it then. Exilia this way?” I point back across The Ashen Waste, and he rolls his eyes, exasperated and grumpy. Drawing his sword back from the Gorgonian body, he takes his feet off the dash, where he’s clearly been holding back something that has been trying to kill him through the smashed windscreen.

  “Get in,” he demands, and I do as he asks, glad to be getting off my feet. This whole being a badass thing is tiring, no doubt about it.

  “Marvin Gaye?” I ask him as the sound of the song fills my head.

  “The damn stereo is stuck on repeat,” he cusses and I give him a sideways glance.

  “You know if you like Marvin Gaye, I won’t laugh… this is very… inspirational.” I try not to laugh, but can’t help it as a small smile creeps across my lips.

  “It’s stuck!” he protests, and I shake my head.

  “A likely story.”

  “So, you’re okay?” he asks me, and I nod.

  “Yep. I told you I could look after myself. And yes, I will be saying I told you so a lot more in the coming days. So, prepare your bearded self,” I inform him, and he grumbles, rolling his eyes yet again.

  “That’s great, I’ll remember this conversation the next time you need saving.” He says this like there will be a next time. But I know that this is it for me. I can’t go through this again, powers or no.

  “Well, at least I have a ride home. I’m not sure I could’ve made it by convecting. I’m feeling a little drained.” I admit, and he smirks at my sentiment, though the concern in his eyes flickers to life almost immediately.

  “Adding chauffeur to my list of titles wasn’t really on my to-do list today, but it’s fine. I’ll take what I can get.” As he turns to me, waiting for a quick-witted response, I feel my heartbeat slowing and everything around me fading to black. I go to reply to him, but my lips won’t move. Energy is sapped from me as quickly as it came, and I feel my grip on consciousness slipping from me too fast to reclaim.

  I crash out in the passenger seat next to him, exhausted, battered, but undoubtedly alive.

  Chapter Twenty Nine

  Walk On By

  LUCE

  I stand on the balcony, long fingers wrapped around the wrought iron, which twists artfully like vines studded with large thorns, of the fine metal railing. I exhale heavily, tired of waiting, of always looking to the skies, hoping to hear the caw of a raven, the rustle of feathers, or the beating of wings.

  The sky has turned deep burgundy; like someone has murdered the gods above, and their blood is spilling down into this place. Dark, sooty clouds billow, eclipsing the sun from view, and whilst the wind catches a lock of my hair, my heart beats, a metronome, a time keeper. I continue to hang in limbo at the point between information and action.

  I hear him crashing around through the open and frosted glass doors, even though he’d promised he would behave himself. I realise now though that trusting Haedes was a mistake; his word, when it comes to me, holds about as much weight as a cloud formed feather.

  “Luce!” he calls to me, and I exhale, frustrated. Why is it that he somehow always manages to make it about him? His pain. His suffering. What about Sephy? The girl who is probably being digested right now. His very own daughter.

  I breathe out, calming myself.

  It was the right decision, I remind myself, but regardless, I find myself feeling slightly sick that the decision was one made with seeming ease by her own father. I rotate, letting both hands grab the rail before pushing away from it and turning my back on the skies to tend to Haedes, yet again.

  “Haedes, what is it now?” I demand, crossing my arms across my chest and blinking a few times. He’s pacing from one side of my bedroom to the other, biting his nails down to the quick. His blue hair is paler somehow, less vibrant, and his eyes sheen dull grey as they catch mine in their lacklustre charms.

  “Where is your alcohol?” he asks me, and I shrug.

  “I don’t keep any around here. Thane and I aren’t big drinkers, you know that,” I remind him, and his mouth falls slightly open.

  “What? So, you’re telling me that with your parental lineage, you don’t drink?! How?!” He looks astounded, and I shrug.

  “As I taught Xion many years ago, those of us who are susceptible to darkness are at the disadvantage of having to maintain strict self-control. We don’t let go. It causes accidents,” I warn him, and he rolls his eyes, unimpressed and not willing to entertain my feelings for a second.

&nb
sp; “You know what that sounds like to me?” he asks, and I raise an eyebrow, “An excuse for being boring.”

  “I could say that you use emotional turmoil as an excuse for being a drunk, but I suppose that would make me insensitive,” I mutter, and he smirks at me, though his eyes are a little desperate.

  “You must have alcohol somewhere? Anything! What about… I dunno, wine for cooking?” he pleads with his gaze, moving through from the bedroom in a few suave steps and making his way past Beelz and Cerb, who lay asleep together in front of the fire.

  The Fates remain on the black velvet sofa, exactly where I had left them before all this began, and they turn in uniform, even though one of them is blind, as Haedes begins to rummage through my kitchen.

  Coming up empty, as I knew he would, mainly because I have removed all the alcohol on purpose, he takes strides across to the other side of the room, opening my drafts cabinet to fiddle with vials.

  “Hey! No!” I scold him, rushing forward and slamming the doors shut, almost trapping his hands.

  “Luce! Come on! I’m dying here! This waiting is torture!” He pleads with me, but I shake my head.

  “Nope. Absolutely not. You have an addictive personality for a start. I’m not dosing you up on ancient magic. End of story.” I shake my head, crossing my slender arms across my chest once more, letting my long nails bite into my elbows as I scowl at him.

  He opens his mouth to protest, but before a single syllable can fall into the frustrated atmosphere between us, the sound of wings beating in the air distracts us both as we rush back through to the bedroom.

  Thane has returned, landing on the railing of the balcony before she hops down, still in raven form, to the floor. Her silken black feathers are ruffled, and her beady black eyes find mine as the bird waits for me to attend her.