“Akine!”
“Akine? Yeah, I’m the devil. Tell me something I don’t know.” He drew the sword down the demon’s body through the crease of his groin. Fresh blood soaked through the faded denim. “Where have you been living? Who’s been harboring you?”
Frozen in place, the Black Angel couldn’t avoid the path of Lucifer’s blade. His mouth moved as he struggled to find words. Lucifer dragged his fingertip across the surgical cut, drenching it in the blood. “Come on now, answer me.” He popped his finger into his mouth and sucked the bit of blood from it. “I’m not known for my patience. In another five minutes, I will draw and quarter you. And when I’m done, I’ll feed your body to my hellhounds. They’re always hungry.”
“Akine! Siettin a diablo!” The protest was ripped from his lips as Lucifer added another scar to his torso. “Akine!”
“What? I am the fucking devil! Who are you muttering about?”
“Need some help, Luc?” Raphael appeared just in time to stick his righteous nose into his interrogation. He cut his eyes between the bleeding demon and the sword. “Put that away.”
Lucifer growled at his brother and visualized jamming the sword between his perfect shoulder blades. “How did you get in here? I’ve warded this place.”
“Wards don’t work on archangels. Plus, you’re using your sword. You know I can track you through it.”
Lucifer glared at the sword and jammed it back into its sheath. “So, you’re here. What do you want? I’m busy.”
“Brother, have you ever heard the expression about getting more flies with honey? Torturing this insane creature isn’t a good idea.”
“I disagree. Why shouldn’t I torture him? He’s one of my demons. It’s my right.”
An odd sparkle lit Raphael’s eyes. “Well, what if, for example, he’s tied to you in some physical way?”
Lucifer snorted his doubt and told the demon, “Hang tight for a minute. I’ll be right back,” as he towed his brother to the other side of the room. “What are you talking about?”
Raphael sighed and asked, “What have you learned?”
“He’s blaming the devil for taking his eyes! The devil! I had nothing to do with his eyes being burned out of his head.”
Raphael turned back to study the demon’s expression. He was still frowning. “Hmm . . . Well, that is interesting, isn’t it? Is that it? He hasn’t said anything else? He hasn’t said where he’s been living all this time?”
“You interrupted me. I was just breaking him.”
“Uh-huh. Well, it’s a good thing I stopped you. I’d suggest trying a less violent approach.”
“Why? It was working.”
Raphael didn’t answer with words. Instead, he dropped his gaze to Lucifer’s midsection and grimaced.
He followed his brother’s eyes. Fucking hell and damnation! Stunned, he dragged his fingers over the sticky blood seeping through his brand new Armani shirt. “This can’t be good.” Distracted by his blood, he waved a hand dropping the demon back to the floor, and hissed, “Stay.”
Raphael’s normally serious expression was doubly serious now. This could only mean one thing—more bad news. “Go on. Spit it out, brother. You know something and can’t wait to lord it over me. Don’t worry. I’m already in a shitty mood.” He wrinkled his nose in distaste and delicately wiped his bloody fingers on his hand-tailored dove grey trousers. “You might as well use your angel of knowledge brains and fill me in while I’m still within smiting distance of that horror with my face.”
Instead of replying immediately, Raphael studied his face for a long moment before crouching in front of the Black Angel, and saying quietly, “I am Raphael. I am Lucifer’s brother. Have you heard of me?”
The Black Angel growled and clenched his hands into fists, but didn’t reply.
Raphael tried again. “Do you know who I am?” He reached out and clasped the Black Angel’s hand in his. A bright flash of golden light crawled between their hands. Of course, he did. Always the good guy! His brother sent a bit of his saol into the demon since he had no sight. The energy was unique to every angel. It would give the demon a clear picture of who he was listening to.
The Black Angel stiffened at the bite of Raphael’s energy, but he didn’t pull away. Instead, he went very still, absorbing it, considering it for long seconds before grunting, “Angel?”
Raphael glanced towards Lucifer and said, “That’s right. I’m an archangel. I rescued you from the cave where you were attacked and nearly killed. Do you remember any of that?”
The Black Angel hesitated. He swung his head towards Lucifer, his empty eye sockets resting on Lucifer’s form. He licked his cracked lips and nodded. He hung his head to his powerful chest. His answering words were dragged from a tired throat. “Akine. Siettin a diablo.”
Raphael arched a brow and patted his shoulder in genuine sympathy. “You say the devil took your eyes. The real devil is right here with us and I can promise you that he did not attack you on Ta Rom. He was here in Hell during that time. Do you understand? Lucifer had nothing to do with your eyes. Do you believe me?”
A long, tense silence followed while the demon seemed to withdraw into his head. Instead of responding to Raphael’s words, he kept his chin on his chest. The only sign that he wasn’t asleep was the nearly constant drumming of his fingers against the side of his leg. The agitation continued for several minutes while Raphael waited patiently and Lucifer forced his sword to stay put.
Finally, Raphael gestured for Lucifer to come over, and said, “He can’t see your face, Luc. Send him your saol so he can identify you. He’ll know it wasn’t you who attacked him. It’ll speed things up if we can get him to trust us.”
“Are you sure about this? Seems unlikely to help.”
“He believes it was you who blinded him and left him for dead. He’s not going to tell you anything. We don’t have a lot of other options. He’s the only living witness to the killings in that cave. Ezra, the scribe angel, is gone. Someone with a lot of power killed Ezra and nearly destroyed the indestructible myth you created. That should make you nervous, brother. That kind of power rivals ours. We need to know who that was, and he’s the only one who can tell us.”
Lucifer grunted under his breath. He wasn’t a fan of sharing his essence with anyone, and especially not with his rabid doppelganger. It was creepy even for him. Raphael exhaled through his nose, the exaggerated sound clearly meant to hurry him up. “This is a bad idea,” Lucifer muttered. Reaching out, he touched the abomination’s wrist with the very tip of his finger and released the minimum amount of saol that would confirm his identity.
The impact was instant and catastrophic. The demon’s spine snapped into a bow that should’ve broken it. He let out a howl of agony that reverberated throughout the cell sending chips of rock tumbling to the dirt floor. It was only a few seconds, but the longer they were connected, the more his doppelganger syphoned his saol until it formed a thick chain that spiraled around them both in a brilliant orbit. The energy whipped the air until it roared through the room with the force of a small hurricane.
Raphael gripped Lucifer’s arm. “Let him go!”
“I can’t!”
As the air spun faster and faster, the blinding light raced through the Black Angel’s body and shot from his empty eye sockets. Raphael shouted something that was swallowed up in the chaos. Gesturing wildly, Raphael summoned his sword and in one mighty swing, severed the chain that bound Lucifer to his demon. The abrupt disconnection sent both of them flying into opposite sides of the cell. The wicked winds died with an audible hush.
“What in the fuck was that?” Lucifer shouted as he picked himself up and dusted off his ass. “That wasn’t supposed to happen.” And neither was the ominous tingling sensation crawling down his spine. He was Lucifer! Nothing frightened him. Ever. Something hinky was going on here.
Raphael was just as stunned. His big brain was working overtime as he glanced back and forth between Lucifer
and the demon. His eyes gleamed with an unholy zeal by the time he rubbed his hands together and said with a satisfied smile, “I have a theory, but you’re not going to like it.”
“Do I ever?” he groused. “You look entirely too smug right now. I’m going to hate your theory.”
Instead of elaborating, Raphael helped the Black Angel get back to his feet, asking, “Do you recognize Lucifer from the cave?”
After stumbling backwards and leaning against the wall, the Black Angel wagged his head to clear it and said in precisely modulated English, “No, I do not. It was not he who tried to murder me. The energy is not the same.”
“Why are you speaking English all of a sudden? Ten minutes ago you were speaking in demon tongue. Now you’re speaking English?” Lucifer asked. “Are you playing games with us?”
Raphael brushed aside the question. “Let’s discuss my theory, shall we? It’s clear to me now.”
Huffing impatiently, he demanded, “Are you going to enlighten me? I don’t have all day.”
“I believe your doppelganger was created as a result of your fall from Heaven. During those years when you were encased in the tomb, you were furious and hurt by father’s actions. Trapped inside your head and unable to escape, your emotions were amplified, swelling and expanding, until they split off to take on a life of their own. This creature,” he continued as he pointed to the Black Angel, “is the living incarnation of your rage, Lucifer.”
“He’s insane, Raphael.”
Raphael shrugged elegantly and said, “Your rage was insane. Do you not remember how it was when you first began creating Hell? You were furious and driven. You were obsessed with creating a world that rivaled Heaven. You wanted your demons to rule the human plane and were very single-minded about creating that particular army. I’m sure you haven’t forgotten the many battles we had to endure before Uriel and I were able to convince you to stand down and accept your fate. Those were dark times for all of us.”
“You’re not wrong. I was epically pissed off.” He dropped his gaze to the Black Angel and sighed long and hard. “So he’s a mirror image of me physically, but his brain is eaten up with rage and insanity? What am I supposed to do about him? I can’t allow him to roam free, but I don’t think I can destroy him either.” He stroked the dried blood on his shirt. “We’re tied together at the cellular level so why didn’t I feel his injuries on Ta Rom?”
Raphael pondered the question before saying, “I suspect the damage must come from your hand. You created him from your own image, so if you damage him, you damage yourself. I wouldn’t suggest beheading him.”
“Well, isn’t that just perfect?” He turned his attention back to the Black Angel and resisted the urge to stab him again. He hated loose ends, and this abomination was a huge one. “Congratulations. You get to live. Now, let’s get to the point. Think back to Ta Rom. Who tried to kill you? And why?”
The Black Angel answered, “I did not see the face of the devil. He wore a hood that concealed it. He came from nowhere and overpowered me with magic. That is why I assumed he was you. Be warned, he was more powerful than any I have encountered, including both of you.”
“Great. That’s reassuring. So you didn’t see his face. Was there anything you can identify? Tattoos? Unusual robes? Did he say anything to you?”
He started to shake his head in denial, but then stopped and looked up, or would’ve if he still had eyes. “He wore a ring. A black stone ring.”
Lucifer frowned. That wasn’t much of a clue. Black stone rings were common in Hell. Jewelers liked to use the abundant onyx and obsidian to fashion everything from rings to coffee cups to weapons. Black was the new black. Not helpful. “Did he say anything at all? Surely he said something while he was kicking your ass and ripping your eyeballs out.”
His head snapped towards Lucifer in a pique of anger. “He said many things. Most of which are not important. He bragged of his heritage, of his power, of his rightful place as ruler of Hell and humanity.”
Lucifer waved this aside as inconsequential. “Anything else?”
“Yes, he spoke of the Da’vinRa’ as the true blood of demonkind.”
“Well, that confirms what I’ve already heard.” He turned to his brother and asked, “Anything else?”
Raphael asked, “Where have you been living? Who’s been harboring you?”
The Black Angel frowned darkly and replied, “I do not know.”
“What the hell do you mean you don’t know?” Lucifer was rapidly losing patience.
He frowned again and said slowly, haltingly, “I . . . I don’t remember anything . . . before I was sent to Ta Rom. My mind is empty.”
Chapter 9: Revelations
It was nearly midnight when Koivu finally made it to his own bed. Ramses lay in deep, healing sleep at the foot of the new mattress. The dog raised his snout when Koivu slipped between the sheets and patted him on the head. “Go back to sleep, dude. You need it. You have to try walking some more tomorrow. We’ll have you back to your fighting form in no time. Just wait and see.”
Rain and wind from a thunderstorm buffeted the outer walls of the building. The whistling wind kept him awake long after he should’ve fallen asleep. He’d just begun a slow slide into a dream when the sheeting rain dragged him back from the brink. Blinking into the dim room, he watched lightning flicker against the shadows. The pouring rain reminded him of another storm and his subconscious picked up the thread and pulled him into a memory that felt like a dream.
The Glory Pit:
The octagon squatted in the center of the Glory Pit Arena. Two stories high and forty feet across, it was an actual cage made from iron bars that spanned from floor to ceiling. Created specifically for Hell’s Fury, the cage had seen more blood spilled in the past century than in the previous eons combined. Tonight would be no exception. Despite the raging storm outside, the Glory Pit was packed for the championship fight. A giant hourglass counted down the minutes until the next fight would begin. The rowdy crowd murmured in anticipation; the sound swelling as the last grains of sand fell. Another two seconds passed. The house lights went dark with an audible hiss. There was a split second of hushed silence before the packed arena roared back to life. Red strobes flashed across the screaming fans. On opposite sides of the cage, the gates buzzed open and the iron doors swung inward.
The announcer strutted onto the stage with his sword thrust into the air, stirring the crowd into a frenzy while the two fighters waited for the signal. “Are you ready for blood?!”
Thirty thousand spectators shrieked their approval. From somewhere inside the scaffolding, a drum’s throbbing beat suddenly surrounded everyone with its dark rhythm.
The announcer’s electronically-boosted voice bounced against the walls and vibrated along the steel floor. “I said, are you ready for blood?!!”
The crowd roared even louder. “We want blood! We want blood!”
Waiting just outside the darkened doorway, Koivu bounced on the soles of his feet, shook out his massive arms, flexed his fingers. His scales tingled with adrenaline. His heart raced faster with every chanted word. He lived for this—the fight—the crowd—the victory.
Beside him as always, his best friend Derick slapped his shoulder for good luck before slipping Koivu’s curved athame into his hand. “You got this?”
Koivu tested the weight of the blade and grinned. “Number three, man, number three. This fucking title’s mine!”
Derick returned the grin and got ready to step back into the relative safety of the stands. No one wanted to get trapped in the cage after combat started. Once the gates were locked, they stayed locked until the winner opened them. “I’ll see you on the other side. Beer’s on me.”
Koivu gave him a half-ass salute and said, “You got it,” as he stepped into the cage. The door swung closed behind him. He breathed deeply, relaxed and ready. His claws slid free to wrap around the haft of the athame. The grip was as perfect as always.
In the cen
ter of the octagon, the announcer hopped onto a small platform that lifted him towards a circular opening at the top. “For the Hell’s Fury Middleweight title!” he proclaimed as he continued to rise.
On the other side of the cage, Koivu’s opponent paced, his weapon held high. He’d chosen a barbed wooden club. That vicious thing would do damage if it hit Koivu, but odds were good that it wouldn’t. Koivu hadn’t won the title two years in a row by standing still.
The chanting turned to, “Koivu! Koivu! Koivu!”
His opponent spit on the floor and snarled at the spectators. Triple horned and built like a boulder, he was massive and heavily protected by a double layer of scales. He beat his armored chest and bragged, “I will devour this Koivu! His flesh will be my dinner!”
Koivu raised his meaty fist to salute the fans. Their loyalty rained down like ash. They came to see him. He would give them what they wanted—blood—and plenty of it.
The announcer stopped his ascension on the other side of the opening, just outside the cage. The hole closed itself, sealing the two fighters inside the pitch black octagon.
Time to go dark. Koivu’s intricate golden scales flipped inside out to form solid onyx armor. His brilliant emerald eyes dimmed.
The crowd began to chant the countdown. “Three!”
Using the darkness as cover, he leapt upwards to the top of the enclosure. Hanging by one powerful arm, he waited for the signal.
“Two!”
“One!”
The red strobes burst into life and Koivu launched himself at his opponent.
A loud crack of thunder shook him awake before he could finish the fight. He’d won that night. It was his third Hell’s Fury middleweight championship title. With that win, he’d secured his twelfth title and his place in history. The celebration had been epic. The party lasted for days. His family didn’t show up, but Vanek’s family did. Aunt Mai was the first to congratulate him. Unlike his own mother, she always had his back. Letting his vision adjust to the room, he wiped at the sweat running into his eyes. “Shit. I’ve got to get home.”
Koivu (Demons After Dark Book Three) Page 12