Demon Prints (Infernal Inheritance Book 1)

by Nazri Noor

  Demon Prints

  Nazri Noor

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  This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.

  DEMON PRINTS

  First edition. September 25, 2020.

  Copyright © 2020 Nazri Noor.

  All rights reserved.

  ISBN: 979-8-6883-6864-2

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Ex Inferis

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  Also by Nazri Noor

  About the Author

  1

  The Testament of Spheres was as good as mine. Granted, the fact that the sorcerer didn’t have a security system installed was more than a little suspicious. I sensed no protective wards in his study, no sign or smell of animals, whether mundane pets or magical familiars. The air was laced with the comforting aroma of old parchment, of yellowing pages and moldering wisdom.

  But there was no harm in being prepared. I traced my fingers through the air, quickly drawing out the glyphs for a shielding spell. Just in case. I whispered the word to complete it.

  “Arma.”

  A film of red light settled over my skin, then vanished. Nobody had to know it was there. It’d take a pretty hefty amount of force to break through my defenses, which was more than I could say for the Testament. It was just sitting there on a sleek wooden lectern – no glass case, no visible traps to speak of. Either this guy was an amateur, or he was really, really confident that no one would break in to take his stuff.

  Not that I consider myself a thief, of course. I don’t steal books and tomes and scrolls. Very uncouth. I take them for myself, often in clear view of their owners as they clutch at their broken bodies. Not a thief. I’m a collector. Big difference.

  I crept deeper into the study, the hairs on the back of my neck tingling with anticipation as I studied my prize. The Testament of Spheres wasn’t just rare. It was totally unique. Forget second editions and reprints. Anyone can get their hands on a copy of the Dictionnaire Infernal, or the Malleus Maleficarum. This grimoire was one of a kind, a key to the secrets of dimensional travel.

  A nearby patch of air shimmered just then, the faint outline of a man solidifying into view as he dropped his invisibility spell. He was thin, almost gaunt, his hand shaking as he pointed it at me, his forehead damp. Huge eyes flitted up and down my body as he assessed me. I assessed him back, scowling, daring him to fire the first shot.

  This was a problem. See, the man of the house, the sorcerer in question? He was a portly gentleman in his forties, his manicured beard and wireframe spectacles the only features about him that could be considered wizardly. This man, the thin man, was nothing approaching that description. Instead of a beard and glasses, he wore an expression of panic and a rank sheen of sweat. He was an intruder, like me.

  “You don’t belong here,” I growled.

  “You don’t either,” he stammered.

  So, news of the Testament had leaked, then. More mages like the thin man were probably coming to find it from all over the state, maybe even the continent, drawn like moths to a flame. I clenched my fist, stifling the smile that threatened to break across my face. Hah. Flame. My favorite. I’d have to take the tome for myself – but first, I needed to eliminate the competition.

  I could hear my tutor’s voice in my head. “Strike with subtlety,” he rasped in his old, papery voice. Growing up all these twenty-four long years, Dantaleon had taught me practically everything I know. He could be a little set in his ways, but I had to admit, he had the experience to back him up. Comes with being a thousand years old. What an old fart. No wonder they had to preserve his soul in a book.

  Subtlety, he liked to say in his lectures, could go a long, long way. There was a right time for shock and awe, and a right time for precision. I hated how it implied that I had a flair for histrionics – which, it’s true, but hush. Dantaleon’s voice croaked in my memory again. “Be subtle, be strategic. Why use a hammer when a needle does the trick?”

  But I didn’t do subtlety. I liked hammers.

  The air around me hummed and swirled with building heat as I mentally gathered my energies, centering them in the spaces between my fingers, bending them to my will. I rammed the palm of my hand into the thin man’s chest, relishing the look of terror in his eyes as I spoke the word to activate the spell.

  “Ignis.”

  A roaring wave of fire ripped itself from my skin, slamming into the man’s body. The air split with the sound of breaking glass as he flew off his feet, his own protective shield shattered by my assault. He twitched on the ground for a moment before picking himself up and running straight out the door, making terrified whimpers the whole time.

  I closed my fist, snuffing the flames out and savoring my little victory. Subtlety has its strategic uses, sure, but blasting lesser mages into giblets is way more fun. I flicked my wrist, extinguishing the last of the fires, then turned back towards the lectern.

  Finally, the Testament of Spheres. This was all I wanted. In the blackest depths of my heart, I knew it to be true. Gathering more forbidden knowledge and adding to my hoard of occult secrets would make me the most powerful magus the world has ever known.

  But that wasn’t what Mother had in mind.

  “You will break the world, my son. You will tear the sky asunder.”

  She wanted me to burn heaven and earth. See, demons don’t play nice with, well, just about everybody else. Annihilation sounds fun, sure. But what good was a world full of ashes, one too dead to praise me and fear my power? Razing the planet sounded cool, I suppose, but arcane mastery? That was the ticket. I didn’t want to break the world. I wanted to rule it.

  I licked my lips, my hand trembling as I reached for the Testament, its pages emanating waves of ancient power. A bead of sweat rolled down the tip of my nose. Was I excited? Understatement of the century. My heart pounded as my fingers brushed the edge of the lectern.

  Then, from behind me, a click.

  “Hold it right there.”

  I should have known this was too easy.

  2

  “Step away from the pedestal, pretty boy.”

  I did as I was told, but not without some sass. “Not my fault I’m so pretty.” I tossed my head of hair. Shampooed twice a week, conditioned once, with a clarifying rinse twice a month. Air dried and untouched by styling tools, to avoid heat damage. Thanks for asking.

  �
��Very funny,” the man said, glowering at me. It was the same sorcerer I’d described, the man of the house, in the flesh. He trained his gun at my chest, his arm steady, and presumably his aim as well.

  I put up my hands. “Come, now. A gun? That’s not how this works between our people. A little primitive of you, don’t you think?”

  The sorcerer’s mustache twitched. “But I’m the one holding the primitive gun. Loaded, I assure you. I’d tone it down if I were you, boy. I don’t take kindly to criminals.”

  I flinched, clearing my throat. “You must have me mistaken for a common thief. I’m a collector, sir. A gentleman, like you, come to take what’s mine.”

  “Fine.” The man’s jowls quivered as his frown deepened. “Then let’s settle this like gentlemen.”

  The thunder of the gunshot was my only warning. The bullet slammed into my chest, taking me off my feet, sending me crashing into a bookcase and falling to the ground under what felt like an avalanche of encyclopedias. The only pain was from my shoulder slamming against the carpeted floor – a small inconvenience compared to how much worse off I could have been.

  I felt the bullet’s impact against my left pectoral, but that was the worst of it. The gunshot had completely drowned out the sound of my shielding spell shattering. Even better, my blanket of books meant that the sorcerer would have to poke around to check if I was bleeding to death.

  My limbs went limp as I quietly stilled myself, doing my very best impersonation of a corpse. I watched through piles of pages and old unused reference books as the sorcerer approached cautiously, matching the sounds of his footfalls to his every step. He wore finely shined leather oxfords with the laces neatly tied. I grinned, making the subtlest gestures with my fingers, then whispered.

  “Ignis.”

  A tiny bolt of flame shot out of my hand, setting the man’s shoelaces on fire and starting a merry magical blaze that spread quickly up his pants. His gun thudded to the ground as he yelped, hopping on one foot and beating uselessly at his leg and crotch.

  Perfect. I bolted out from under the pile of books, reaching for the closest weapon I could use to disable him. I wasn’t planning to kill the man, just hurt him enough so he couldn’t fight back. My fingers closed around the base of the lectern and I whispered a quick apology as the Testament slipped to the floor. The sorcerer yelped again, caught between literally saving his skin as the flames continued to spread and rescuing his prized tome.

  I took two steps to clear the room, then swung the lectern like a croquet mallet.

  Hey, I could go primitive, too.

  The crack the wood made against his skull was deeply satisfying. His eyes rolled up and he toppled to the ground like an overturned barrel. I’d aimed straight for his head. I guess it struck him less like a mallet and more like a sledgehammer, actually. I rolled my shoulders and stretched my arms out. Good thing I had a gym room put into my dimension. Hate working out, but you gotta do what you gotta do.

  Listen. I might use magic for basically everything, but a good magus uses every tool at his disposal. It wouldn’t do to leave myself physically frail and defenseless. The demon half of me brought its own perks, sure, but none of those perks involve surviving a bullet to the face.

  I snapped my fingers, instantly dousing the flames from the sorcerer’s body. Then I bent over carefully to collect the Testament, tucking it in the crook of my arm like it was my own child and cooing little apologies for letting it touch the floor. When I was sure the sorcerer wasn’t about to get up again, I dropped his splintered lectern next to his mostly motionless body. His head was bleeding a little, but I was sure he was going to be fine.

  Probably. Maybe.

  Whistling happily to myself, I hugged the Testament to my chest in both arms then tapped into the Hexus: the demonic helleportation network. Time to go home. I nudged the man with my foot as I felt the magic tug me out of reality. He groaned and shifted in place.

  “Next time, don’t bother with a wooden stand, or anything that people can bash you in the head with. Thanks for the Testament.”

  The sorcerer groaned again. I chuckled as my body faded out of the house and into the ether.

  See? Told you. I love hammers.

  3

  The hellevator dinged, the delicate golden filigree of its accordion gate sliding aside to allow me into my apartments. Helleportation worked differently for pretty much everyone who can tap into the Hexus. Sometimes it was a fancy gate, other times the maw of a rusted steel dragon. How the gate dressed itself up was never really important, just a decorative concern. All that mattered was the destination. In this case, by destination, we’re referring to my home, and by apartment, I mean the sixteen-bedroom dimensional space carved out in a section of my mother’s realm.

  Just the thought of her almost withered my excitement, knowing that, any day now, she was going to command me to fulfill my destiny. Her words, not mine. But there was time to worry about all that later. She’d held off on the whole conqueror-overlord thing for years. Surely I had time. Always, more time.

  I sighed in pleasure, breathing in the faint aroma of cinnamon and sage – the air scented just the way I liked it – as my heels clicked over the meticulously polished marble floor of the entryway. Jet black with flecks and veins of gold, just like I asked from the decorator. I know that black and gold can seem a little gauche, but Mother did say that I could decorate to my liking. A few palm fronds and some warm lighting helped keep things light, and crimson drapes and carpeting gave the main apartments a splash of color.

  Someone might describe my home as palatial, but it wasn’t anything even close. Only Mother and the rest of the Seven could rightly say that they dwelt in palaces. In my mother’s case, that was the Palace of Veils. Every demon wants a good piece of infernal real estate, but when you’re the son of a demon prince, things are different. And by different, I mean better. But even then, sticking your neck too far above your station was a fine way to attract the wrong kind of attention from the other demon princes, especially if you lived in one of the prime hells.

  I checked around the foyer. When I was sure I was alone, I squeezed the Testament of Spheres to my chest, very much like I’d imagine a child hugging a favorite stuffed animal. And sure, maybe from somewhere inside of me, I made a small, delighted squeal. Trust me, I was restraining myself from simply sweeping up the Testament in my arms and dancing with it through the foyer like it was a small, leathery lover, taking it through a waltz of welcome to its new, better home. You don’t understand how much I love books. Specific books, that is.

  But restrain myself I did, keeping on the lookout for anyone in the household who would think to mock me for my unusual love of ancient texts and grimoires. I was master of the house, sure, but being rude to me was pretty common, and I couldn’t very well go around incinerating every last servant who had a smart mouth. Not after the first time. Making a habit of it wouldn’t leave me with very much company.

  I cleared my throat, tucked the Testament under one arm, then proceeded through the main hallway as calmly as I could.

  The attack came so swiftly. Before I knew what was happening, two sinewy arms were locked around my chest, my assailant restraining me from behind. One of those arms ended in a hand that gripped a beautifully forged dagger, its blade reflecting the firelight of my home, its edge far too close to my throat.

  “Don’t move a muscle, pretty boy,” the man behind me said.

  I narrowed my eyes, but kept my body perfectly still. “Everyone’s being so complimentary today. I’m so glad I did my hair this morning.”

  “Sass me again and I’ll slit your throat.”

  “Try me and see what happens,” I said.

  “I’ve got an even better idea. How about I hack off a chunk of your hair?”

  My body stiffened, and I gasped. Now that, that was a threat I took seriously. “You wouldn’t dare.”

  “A little off the top,” he said, his breath warm against my ear. “Okay, a lot
off the top.”

  I burrowed my elbow deep into my assailant’s stomach, unafraid of his knife because I knew he wouldn’t dare to actually hurt me. That thing about the hair, though? He grunted, his knife hand dropping. I whirled in a circle, slamming my palm dead center of his chest as his dagger zinged through the air and stopped just short of the apple of my throat.

  “Checkmate,” I said.

  “Not exactly.” He narrowed his eyes at me, panting. “In a real combat situation, you would be dead.”

  “Then we’re both very lucky that we’re such good friends.”

  We stood as still as statues for a few tense moments, my hand growing warmer against his chest. I could feel his heart pounding. Truthfully, I could feel mine, too. One flame spell, or one inch farther with the dagger, and this would all be over.

  It was a good thing I composed myself earlier, then, because Pierce was probably the most merciless of the household when it came to both battle and matters of the mouth. I didn’t want him seeing me all giddy over the Testament. It was tough to classify him, too. You couldn’t call him one of my servants, exactly, though his loyalty was beyond measure. Technically, he was my vassal, but I never really saw him as one. I suppose that in the human world, he was someone who could be safely referred to as a friend.