“I'm at a complete loss for words, Gage,” she stressed, sitting herself on the floor, making sure the blanket covered every inch of her. “You knew damn well how Joey felt about you; I daresay everyone did. I know for a fact the Whites knew about it because Justin up and asked me one day if Joey was gay and if you and he were dating. Gage, the boy was infatuated with you, to the point of being borderline crazed. And worse, somewhere in him he probably still is. How could you play him like that, for your own selfish pleasure?”
Gage rose, his nakedness on full display. “Now wait a goddamn minute, Adrienne. I love Joey and would never do anything to hurt him. Not to mention I didn’t rape the boy, he did it of his own free will.”
“That’s the problem, Gage!” she snapped back. “He would have leapt at the chance and you gave him the door! Now, he’s obviously hurt inside; call it intuition or whatever you want, I just know. Don’t take me wrong either: I'm ecstatic that Marcus is in the picture now. I just hope it's for all the right reasons so that more people aren’t going to be wronged along the way.”
Gage sighed again, walking over to pick up his jeans from the floor near her. He slid them on, snug as ever, but left them unbuttoned. “Ya seem to have given this a lot of thought,” he responded, looking down to her.
“Gage, he's not the only one that is hurting…” she said as she looked up to him, tapping the middle of her chest.
Gage's green eyes shined in the cold light. “Darlin’ you’ve got to understand: I thought ya were dead; we both did for Christ’s sake. Then we both ended up making a mistake in the heat of the moment… fuck, it wasn’t necessarily an empty mistake… we were just looking for something from each other. I’m unsure if it was from missing you, or your touch… or what… but it happened and I can’t change that, though I would kill to have that hurt ya feel taken away. I take the full blame so please, don't hold any of this against J.”
She couldn't deny that from his perspective, at the time, she was indeed dead and Heaven bound. He didn't have any way of knowing what she was going through until she managed to cross the void herself and tell him. His emotions were also probably wrecked, too, and that had to have taken a toll.
“I'm not mad at him,” she replied, standing. “Or you… I guess. I'm just going to need a little time to process all of this to be sure.”
Gage just agreed, not wanting to provoke things further down into the dumps. “Okie dokie,” he said calmly. “I'm going to take a little stroll myself then.” He cast a side glance over to the door, then back to her. “See you later?”
As he left, she nodded, then pressed the back of her head against the window. Looking to the left, she spied the damage in the glass, twinkling by the light of the city and intermingled with the slow rolling rain.
THE WIND WHIPPED the parched soil along the barren stretch of highway into whorls of brown and gray, rattling against the walls of a gas station long forsaken. Its decrepit exterior of clouded windows and peeling paint suggested that it had been left to decay some time ago. However, a vintage blue Chevy truck was parked beside the only working pump, its hose inserted deep in the tank.
A similar penetrating action was apparently on the driver’s mind. A young man just shy of twenty, he had a firm hold of the ass on the petite girl by his side. She was receiving his advances well enough, dressed in jeans like panties that clung to her crotch – showing off her excitement quite clearly – while a pastel top barely came down over her perky breasts. Enticed by what he saw, the man copped a feel right there under the rusty canopy before making out with her in the trashiest, wettest display of public affection ever.
Behind them, a low growl grew out of the windswept quiet, both too involved with each other to care. The noise was from a bike, its white accents shining brightly in the sun as they vibrated.
Dajjal had pulled into the station to refill the bobber, not having seen another for quite some time and learning after the first hundred miles what it meant when the needle was pointing at E. Although he could have transported himself instantly at any time during this cross-country journey, something compelled him to take in the sights that Earth had to offer. Perhaps it was the drastic change of scenery, having been locked away with a view of chains and fire for an age, but there was no denying this planet’s beauty.
It sickened him.
The demon stepped off the bike and strode toward the couple, his boots kicking up dust as he went. Silently he watched them continue their loud and moist embrace, fascinated and disgusted at the same time. It was certainly lewd – especially when the man’s fingers found their way into her jeans – yet Dajjal quickly grew annoyed. There were many things that still had to be done and these humans were holding him up with their debauchery.
His irritation mounted, kicking up the dirt in a pile at his feet, until he couldn't take the waiting anymore. A brief snap of his fingers solved the problem – the couple vanishing in a burst of crimson.
“Ah, you're finally done,” he said, an eerily happy tone peeking out of his words. With no more incessant groping to get in his way, Dajjal returned to his bike and rolled it forward over the now soggy soil.
Removing the nozzle from the old truck, now plastered with chunks of its owner, he shoved it into the bobber’s tank and began to fill. He noticed a stray finger had rubbed away part of the goo, a shiny red streak running its length. Curious, he brought it up to his lips and hesitantly tasted it, spitting the bitter fluid to the ground immediately.
“No wonder vampires are so uptight,” he said, wiping away the residue as the physical numbers on the pump ticked up. Six arduous dollars later, he was done waiting, yanking out the nozzle before tossing it all to the ground.
Mounting the cycle, he revved the engine a couple of times as the tire spun through the dirt, launching him along the final stretch of the Devil’s Highway toward Bennett Peak.
Ronove had no idea what fresh hell was coming his way.
ABOUT AN HOUR from the gas station, Dajjal pulled over onto the paved shoulder. While the bike idled, he calmly looked out toward the dark stone rising a couple miles away, the vast openness of desert in between. He could sense the custodian’s presence, powerful but old, wrapped within shadows to conceal his precise location within the mountain. Dajjal desired to speak with him about many things, primarily where the failure named Onoskelis had hidden herself.
Time to go.
Without a word he spun the cycle around, skidding across the pavement before letting loose at full throttle. His black and white ride blazed a flaming path across the landscape as the air rushed by, a plume of dust and debris trailing far behind.
The megalith grew more imposing the closer he got, solid walls racing at him until he was so close the redness of his eyes reflected off the incoming stone. Yet no darkness came when there should have been, no crashing of metal against unyielding rock, and certainly no death.
Instead, an immense boom and the roar of an engine shattered the quiet of the hollows as Dajjal materialized. Screeching brakes added themselves to the deafening chorus, while sparks and flames continued their light show right up until Dajjal came to a full stop.
The silence returned and he took a few deep breaths as sweat dripped off his brow. “That was… exhilarating,” he noted, jeans much tighter up front after getting a high from the adrenaline. Dajjal was puzzled by the physical reaction, but chose to ignore it for now.
Looking around the space and taking in its musty air, the mountain appeared empty. He knew better, feeling Ronove slinking around in the shadows waiting for his opportunity, though Dajjal didn't know to what end. Was Ronove loyal to Onoskelis, or to the old ways? What of his beliefs about the Deceiver himself? Something told him he wouldn't have to wait long for an answer.
Leaving the bike parked down in the lower caverns, he walked the catacombs and climbed many sets of stairs. The mountain was much bigger on the inside than the outside suggested, his stroll dank and actually quite depressing. Dajjal was fast ge
tting the impression this demon army was far from ready, the night on the verge of being overtaken by dawn’s first light. His meeting places with Astaroth, the church where he lambasted Keli, even the alleyway where he possessed Wilson – all of it had been the epitome of squalor, hardly befitting the soon to be ruler of the world. He would have to work on bringing them back from ruin to their former glory and would do so through fear.
Dajjal made his way around a sharp corner, entering a long passageway slick with moisture. He followed until it spilled out into a cavernous room, a tall set of doors standing proud behind a pillar of light descending from above. Dajjal had entered the Chamber of Light.
“Far better looking in here,” he said aloud, voice carrying its way into dark corners beyond the room. His attention was fixed on the huge doors, unable to look away as he admired their craftsmanship and elegance. Whispers came, urging him to go to the other side.
All you need to do is open the door…
Ronove saw Dajjal advancing and couldn’t wait any longer. His robes billowed as tendrils lashed out from the shadows to stop Dajjal, slashing across the back of his head. They cut him deeply and he bled.
“Ah, the Great Earl,” said Dajjal as he wiped the warmth from his neck, smearing it more than anything. “So good of you to join me!” He spun around and snatched one of the long strands before it retreated, pulling hard in the opposite direction.
Ronove was flung from his hiding place down to the floor, just before being dragged closer by his adversary. Taking no chances, Ronove’s eyes clouded as he scraped the cold ground, changing to a milky white as the sinewy fabric began smoking in Dajjal's tight grip.
Dajjal became lightheaded and though he tried, couldn’t let go.
“Swindler!” Ronove addressed maliciously, “Deceiver! Now, prepare to suffer!”
Dajjal’s dizziness was abruptly replaced with a swell of pain as the wizened demon began to absorb his vessel’s body directly. As his life force drained away, Dajjal had to think quickly. Opening his mouth, a massive cloud of black ash and red sparks soared from it, straight toward Ronove.
The force of the impact knocked the old demon hard against the opposing wall, releasing Wilson’s body from his hold. The body fell to the floor with a thud while Dajjal's unbound form swirled in a circle overhead; the clock was ticking and he didn't have long to return to his vessel before Hell’s call overtook him.
Yet before he did so, Dajjal made sure that Ronove understood that causing anguish was his role. The smoke erupted into a blazing inferno, searing away Ronove’s robes as the spiraling heat smashed mercilessly against his skin.
“I am the one…” Dajjal’s voice sounded from the firestorm, knocking loose debris from above, “who makes the world suffer!” The attacks continued, flames taking the shape of a horned skull. It rushed toward the cowering Ronove, threatening to consume him. With a final blow like a great bite, the fires died and the remaining smoke returned to the abandoned vessel.
There was a sharp gasp as Dajjal’s lungs began working again and swiftly he rose to his feet. Marching over to Ronove, who was still down and burning, Dajjal brandished his razor. “Now, ferryman! Where is the fucking bitch?” he yelled savagely, grabbing Ronove’s neck. “I can sense her, cowering in the dark, but she is just out of… my… reach...”
Ronove winced as the blade entered his flesh a time for each of Dajjal’s last three words. He capitulated, if only to stave off another swipe from that accursed razor.
“Alright!” he began strongly, though his words were quickly overcome with strain. “She’s been taken for safekeeping to a hospital in California.”
“Safekeeping?” Dajjal repeated. “Why would the leader of the Noctis, even a lesser demon, require protection… in a human hospital no less?” A litany of scenarios tore through his mind, some making him happy. Perhaps there was something to the location?
“Is she… injured?” Dajjal asked.
Ronove didn’t reply, unwilling to give any indication of her physical condition after the encounter with Gage.
“Tell me!” Dajjal demanded, tightening his hold on the demon’s bony jaw when there was still no answer. He could feel it straining, nearing the breaking point. “Tell me now!”
“Just go see for yourself!” Ronove answered, struggling to get the words out while he told Dajjal the exact location within Orange County.
Satisfied, Dajjal released Ronove. “You look like shit,” Dajjal jabbed as the other demon panted. “You really should…”
A loud noise echoed around them, Ronove looking off toward the main entrance to the chamber. “He is here.”
“Who?” Dajjal enquired.
Ronove rose to his feet, shaking profusely. There was a chill in him that he couldn’t remove; he needed rest. A lot of it. “The werewolf Steinolf,” he responded. “The head of the monster delegation that addressed our leaders back on All Hallows’ Eve. He called this meeting since Keli was unsuccessful in her mission and hence, undeserving of any further support.”
By now Dajjal was livid, so tired of hearing of failures bound in excuses. Not to mention the offensive belief these monsters had that they were on par with demon kind. His eyes transformed back to their human shade, but his gaze lost none of its potency.
“I will meet with the werewolf then,” he spoke devilishly. “Bring him to me.”
STEINOLF WALTZED CONFIDENTLY into the cold hollow, wasting no time letting Keli know what he thought of demons and their lack of success.
“You have failed again, bitch!” he shouted. “The other werewolves and our allies are no longer going to follow your pathetic demon ways.” He rounded a corner, expecting to find that smug wench in front of him. “You will be left alone, wearing your failures as a badge.”
His wolf eyes opened wide. Keli was not there to greet him with her blonde hair, pretty blue eyes, or slutty outfits. In her place was Dajjal, having changed into a fancy gray suit with a light blue shirt and tie.
“I know all about failures,” Dajjal responded. “In fact, it’s all I’ve heard about since arriving up top.” The demon’s face was unimpressed as he looked down at the werewolf, spreading out his arms. Twirling mockingly, he was sure to give Steinolf a grand view of his outfit. “As for attire, I much prefer this to badges. I figured there was a certain poetic irony in a demon possessing a skin suit, wearing a thousand-dollar fabric one over it. Although truth be known, as snazzy as I look now, I think my host’s grungier look is more… me.”
“And who might you be?” Steinolf asked rudely. “One of her churls? I have come to speak with the she-goat in charge. Why am I not surprised to see her absent, all things considered?”
“Oh, I’m not one of the masses, but we can agree on Keli,” Dajjal stated happily, though his tone soon changed. “Although I understand her to be indisposed for the time being and, if I have anything to do with it, for the foreseeable future.”
Steinolf was confused, his jaw curling into a snarl as he rose up taller on his hind legs, nearly seven feet, placing them eye to eye. “Then who am I here to meet with? You?”
“Quite the tall one,” Dajjal observed, walking down the stairs toward him. “However, yes, you are here to meet with me. I'm the new guy in charge.”
Steinolf looked down his muzzle at the bald man beneath him, letting out a growl that sounded suspiciously like a laugh. “I swear demons change their rulers as often as a human does their underwear. No wonder disappointment is all I see from your kind. Nothing is stable.”
“That is because I only just got here,” Dajjal replied. “Know that I needn't prove anything to those beneath me, but everyone will soon know how serious I am. You likely first.”
“Beneath you?” Steinolf sneered. “From where I stand, it is you who are beneath me!” A clawed hand raced toward Dajjal's shining head.
He snapped his fingers and Steinolf’s were obliterated, causing him to stumble to all fours. “See?” Dajjal pointed out. “You are beneath me.”<
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“Your jokes suck just as much as your goals. Demons do not deserve the Earth,” Steinolf challenged, swiping his talons across Dajjal's shins. The fabric shredded, as did the skin underneath, causing the demon to fall on his own knees. “Your kind should have stayed in its rightful place, below the dirt and burning in Hell.”
The two beings stared each other down, breathing intensely amidst their injuries. Steinolf’s wolf eyes dominated Dajjal’s… but for a moment only.
Dajjal blinked and his bluish-green eyes were extinguished, a hand darting out to grab Steinolf’s lower jaw. “You speak too much, mutt,” he said, pulling down with all his might.
There was a grotesque squelch as the wolf’s jaw was thrown to the stone floor, his long tongue dangling from where it had once been. Steinolf tried to howl but couldn't manage it, painfully reverting to his human form, which remained a sniveling mess after the transformation.
“Such marvelous sounds!” Dajjal yelled, embracing them. “Your kind will learn soon enough that this music is the song of the universe and I am its conductor. Ronove! Come!”
Soon after, the withered demon shuffled into the chamber, still incredibly weak from his own encounter.
“Isn't it grand?” Dajjal asked him, pointing to Steinolf's body, his brown skin pebbled from shock.
Ronove nodded, partially afraid to speak.
Dajjal noticed. “What is with you and repairing that host? Surely it's not because you've been rattling around in it for so long?” He paced the room, making Ronove uneasy and Steinolf’s continued crying didn't help the situation. “I would have thought you'd be right back up and at it, Ronove. Truth be known, I've been partaking of other means to speed up the process; it’s amazing what secrets you can learn deep down in the pits.”
Ronove concurred, albeit with a caveat. “Yes, I know of what methods you're talking about. I could do such things, especially considering my role, but with all due respect my Lord, no matter which side of a battle you are on, maintaining values is key to staying true to yourself and success.”
Made to Suffer (Journeyman Book 3) Page 6