by Kayla Krantz
“That’s far enough!” Lucifer called once he reached the end of the hall.
Jack turned, uncertainly planting his feet on the red carpet. It struck Shawn then that while fencing was familiar to him, he wasn’t sure how much Jack knew of it.
Before Shawn could ask, Lucifer called, “Ready?”
Without waiting for Jack’s response, he jumped into action, weaving and bobbing. Jack stayed in place at first, watching the swirl of action from Lucifer. As the demon got closer and closer, Jack’s eyes went wide, his movements frantic as he did what he could to defend himself. The result was a gradual shift backward as he tried without success to land at least one countermove. Shawn winced at every clang their swords made.
Jack defended himself well, and Shawn called his encouragements, but he hoped Jack would land a move and soon. The fight was draining him, and Shawn was sure that was Lucifer’s intention. As if Shawn’s thought had spurred it, Jack’s heel caught on the rug, and he stumbled.
Lucifer smiled wide and full, portions of his demon skin cracking through the human façade as he stabbed forward, the sword going into Jack’s stomach. A blossom of red soaked around the point of impact a second before Jack collapsed to his knees. He looked up at Lucifer through bloodshot eyes, a tiny trickle of blood dripping from the corner of his mouth. Jack’s expression spoke of more pain that Shawn ever wanted to feel in his entire life.
The look Lucifer returned was cold, mocking. An expression that said I-told-you-you-weren’t-worthy. Lucifer pulled the sword free, drops of crimson flying through the air to splatter the red rug and white floor beside it.
“Seems I’ve won this round,” Lucifer said, gaze still on Jack as if he were challenging him to get back up and prove him wrong.
Jack stayed on his knees, hands clenched over the wound to stanch the bleeding. Shawn had the hope that maybe, just maybe, Lucifer hadn’t managed to hit any major organs. Shawn was about to go to Jack’s side when Lucifer started to laugh.
“You were a formidable opponent,” he said. “Unfortunately, losing in my kingdom comes with a price.”
Time slowed down as Lucifer reared his arm back and shoved the sword forward again. Jack screamed out, but Shawn couldn’t hear it over the sound of his desperate prayers for the world to stop. The sword pierced through Jack’s chest and ribs, directly into his heart. The trickle of blood on his lip turned to a torrent. With a sickening gasp and pop, Jack reached one bloody hand up, bloody fingers sliding over the smooth surface of the blade as he locked eyes with Shawn. Lucifer pulled the sword out, and Jack fell to the floor. No famous last words. No noise at all as his last breath left him.
At first, Shawn didn’t move. Not only because he didn’t know what to do but also because this couldn’t be real. Jack couldn’t be dead. Shawn had been fed on in the last dungeon, and he’d survived. Shawn willed Jack to move with his mind.
He didn’t.
Shawn felt as if he were outside his body, watching the scene from a safe place faraway. A place that protected him from the cruel truth of his new reality. Everything went hazy around the edges of his vision, as if he were dreaming, and when he pulled himself out of it, it was with the realization that he had started screaming.
He hurried to Jack’s side, hands hovering over him though he didn’t know what he was trying to do. There was so much blood it soaked through the cracks in Shawn’s armor, clinging to his skin. The smell flooded his nostrils, and he tried to deny it. Tried to tell himself it wasn’t as bad as it looked. Swallowing back his tears, Shawn turned Jack onto his back to reveal two deep puncture holes in his abdomen.
A swell of nausea rose up at the gore, and Shawn lifted the back of his hand to his mouth, watching how still and serene Jack’s face was. It wasn’t right for him to look any part of peaceful when so much of his insides were currently outside.
It doesn’t matter anymore, Shawn thought.
Eyes glossed over with tears, he reached out, carefully closing Jack’s eyelids as he rose to his feet.
“He fought honorably,” Lucifer said.
There was nothing malicious about his tone. It almost sounded...apologetic, but Shawn wouldn’t let himself believe it. He is the great deceiver, he reminded himself. His eyes went to the blood sword in Lucifer’s hand.
“My turn,” Shawn said and scooped up Jack’s sword from the puddle of blood it had landed in, surprised at how weightless it was.
The warmth of Jack’s blood on the handle brought Shawn’s rage out in a thicker, harder to control manner. These demons, this place, had taken everything from him. What would life even mean if he were to survive now that his two best friends weren’t going to make it out with him?
Lucifer smiled, ready to accept the challenge, but Shawn wasn’t in the mood for formalities. The smile dropped from Lucifer’s face as Shawn charged at him. He had no idea if this would get him disqualified from the tournament, or if that was even something that Lucifer would do. Shawn was so angry, it didn’t matter. He just wanted to make him hurt. Hurt the same way that Shawn himself was aching.
If he died trying, then so be it.
Lucifer took the position that Jack had held, desperately trying to use his weapon to deflect Shawn’s every blow. The metallic ting of weapons as they made contact was the only sound other than Shawn’s rugged breaths. Lucifer didn’t look as cocky as he had during the fight with Jack, but for every attack Shawn could fathom, Lucifer dodged. Shawn was starting to tire, and his confidence started to slip away with his remaining energy. What if he couldn’t beat Lucifer? What if he couldn’t avenge his friend?
The last thing he wanted to do was die a coward. Shawn had been the most useless member of their trio. Thinking of the sacrifices that Milo and Jack had made was all he needed to keep going. He would be just fine with dying here as long as he took Lucifer out with him.
With renewed strength, Shawn lunged again. By the stance Lucifer took, it was clear he hadn’t expected Shawn to gather himself so quickly. He did what he could to get out of the way of Shawn’s sword, but his step was clumsy. Before the moment could slip away, Shawn thrust his weapon forward, the tip jabbing directly into Lucifer’s throat. Shawn pushed it through his windpipe with an unpleasant crunch.
Lucifer took in a desperate gasp for air, dropping his sword with a loud clang. He clawed at his throat, trying to heal himself, and Shawn didn’t hesitate. He met Lucifer’s every step, stabbing forward again and again, riddling the fancy suit and body underneath with holes. He finished by stabbing him in the same place that Lucifer had stabbed Jack.
The blossom of blood was instantaneous, blending in with the mess already making its way free from his throat. About a minute later, he collapsed to the floor, crimson soaking into the fancy rug beneath him. Shawn made a weird choking noise that was somewhere between laughing and crying. He stared up at the ceiling, tossing the sword down as he waited for Rhys to take him to wherever it was that he was supposed to go next. The battlefield where just the two of them remained. He closed his eyes against the tears, and when he opened them again, the fancy mansion was gone.
The forest on the edge of town, the place where it had all begun, swirled into view around him.
30.
SHAWN WAS SO excited by the scene of familiarity, the hope that he was home at last, that his first move was to check the places around the tree stump where Milo and Jack had been at the start of the game. His heart plunged to his stomach at the emptiness, and he hated himself for even having the hope of seeing them again in the first place.
When Shawn accepted that he was alone, he let his eyes wander around, taking in everything. At last, his gaze landed on Rhys. Underneath the rim of his hood, he smiled, showing his teeth.
“You’ve done so well, Shawn. You were my favorite from the start even though you depended the most on your friends to survive. It makes it all the more ironic that you stand before me as our winner, but that’s how life goes, I suppose. Only those willing to cut a few throats
make it,” he said, sounding proud as if he had just made an excellent point.
Shawn stared at him, thinking of everything he had learned from Lucifer. This wasn’t Rhys, the classmate he’d kept his distance from. This was Moloch. The demon of anger and wrath. The only thing standing between him and going home.
“I think it’s time to drop the ruse,” Shawn said.
“If you insist,” Rhys said and snapped his fingers.
When he did, the veneer of a boy vanished, replaced by a beast covered in brown fur. His frame grew until he was easily twice his size. Red eyes peered down at Shawn through a face straight out of Hell. Rhys smiled, showing off pointy teeth as he took two steps backward away from the table, revealing the hooves that his feet had turned into. He swished a tail that Shawn quickly realized was actually a snake.
His mouth went dry as he stared directly into the face of the devil.
“It’s nice to have you look upon my true form,” the creature said in a voice two octaves lower than the one he’d used as Rhys.
Shawn stuck his hand in his pocket, searching for anything that could help him, but all the items that they’d relied on in the dungeons were gone. The more he stared at Rhys, the more he doubted it would matter if he had a weapon. He was back home in the real world, not trapped inside of a dungeon. Moloch wasn’t a creature meant to be faced by a mortal. No. He was designed to kill humans in every painful way possible and torture them for all of eternity.
“I am the last demon you must face,” he said.
“Moloch. Your name is Moloch,” Shawn said, standing strong.
The creature made a face, and Shawn steeled his shoulders. With names, came power. “Lucifer told you.”
“Yes, he did,” Shawn said, chin raised. “Right before he ripped the life out of my best friend.”
“Such rage you must feel bubbling up inside of you. Such unfairness for you to stand by and watch your best friend be murdered. You want to avenge him, don’t you? To avenge them both?”
Shawn flared his nostrils but closed his eyes to center himself. “I know what you’re doing.”
Moloch was baiting him. That was the game. Jack and Milo had fallen to their deadly sin. After everything that Shawn had seen and experienced in the dungeon, Moloch was now his.
This isn’t going to be an actual battle, Shawn realized. It wouldn’t be like the struggles of Jack’s and Milo’s final moments. This would be a battle of wits. Of will.
“You are a clever boy, aren’t you?” Moloch asked. “And yet, you weren’t clever enough to save anyone when it truly mattered.”
Breathing in through his nose, Shawn knelt beside the tree stump, scooping up the tiny pieces of their game. Tears came to his eyes when he found Jack’s set of dice, remembering how excited he had been to show them off. On instinct, he glanced from them to the spot where Milo had been seated. He missed them both, and that pain would never go away. It might get easier to deal with in time, but he doubted it.
If anything, their loss would only be harder to cope with.
“Want to see them again?” Moloch asked, not even bothering to hide the fact that he was poking around the inside of Shawn’s head.
Shawn was one hundred percent sure Moloch was tricking him, but the thought that he could see Jack and Milo again in any capacity was too powerful. Moloch held his palm up, amulet clutched against his skin. A swirling pattern against a red backlight created a dizzying effect that gave Shawn the feeling of falling, as if he were looking directly into another world. His instinct was to look away. He didn’t know if he had ever had a seizure before, but the pulsating light didn’t leave him feeling good.
“Keep looking,” Moloch encouraged.
Shawn didn’t know why he listened, but he did as he was told. Milo and Jack appeared in the light, mouths open in silent screams. Blood dripped down their faces.
“Let them go!” Shawn demanded, staring Moloch down.
“I’m afraid I can’t do that. They lost the game, and this will be their eternity. Forever encountering the demons who killed them,” Moloch said and turned the amulet toward himself. He smiled into the pulsating light before closing it with a click and tucking it into his pocket. “Your friends will forever deal with their ultimate sins until the end of time.”
“They don’t deserve this,” Shawn murmured. Their suffering hadn’t ended with their deaths, and that was probably the worst part. Anger started to tingle through Shawn’s senses, his vision swimming with it.
“That’s right,” Moloch taunted in almost a purr. “Tap that anger, let it out.”
It would be the easiest of his options, and he’d enjoy it. Lunging at Moloch, giving everything he could until he was devoured for his sins? He could live with that. Except the inside of his mind filled with two voices giving him different advice. One told him the importance of avenging his friends and stopping Moloch once and for all while the other told him there was no way he could win, that he’d be better off trying to save himself.
Shawn was so caught up in trying to decide which voice to follow that he hardly saw Moloch slip the amulet from his pocket again. With a gentle tap of his thumb, it was open to reveal Milo and Jack’s agonized faces. Yowling like a wildcat, Shawn charged forward without a plan other than to inflict as much pain as possible before his own death came.
Moloch grinned, revealing two rows of dagger-like teeth as he held up the amulet in Shawn’s path. He couldn’t pull his hand away once he made contact. The force, the pressure of the light, grabbed him. Like a vortex, it pulled against him, and Shawn’s anger turned to fear. The light devoured him, faster and faster, and he yelped as he tried to free himself. Like quicksand, the more he struggled, the worse of a hold it got on him.
“Oh, God,” he moaned.
“Your God has abandoned you,” Moloch sneered.
The last thing Shawn saw before being swallowed whole was Moloch’s beady red eyes and the haunting grin on his face.
Epilogue
PENELOPE CHECKED THE door, the phone, the windows every ten minutes that night. Shawn didn’t come home. Penelope would’ve let herself get angry if she wasn’t so afraid. She continued to dial the phone, hoping Shawn would pick up. When that didn’t work, she went out to the woods where he said he’d be. The only sign he had ever been there was the set of dice he had been so proud of.
She arrived back home at the same time her moms were walking through the door. Scared for her brother and his friends, she told them what happened. Police were called, and it wasn’t long before the entire town went into a panic trying to find them.
Every search came up empty.
Weeks turned to months, and there were no clues other than the abandoned character sheets with their names on them in the woods. More time passed, and people gradually began to go back into the routine of their own lives. The three boys were forgotten about. Posters on a billboard that shoppers ignored in the grocery store.
Penelope didn’t forget though. She blamed herself daily for letting her brother go, for not being the sister he’d needed and protecting him. Every minute of every day, she canvassed the town, waiting on a phone call that didn’t come.
Months after Shawn disappeared, a knock sounded at the door. Like a Labrador, she was up and rushing for it instantly. She knew the odds of it being Shawn were slim to none, but that didn’t stop her from hoping. She would never stop hoping that he would somehow find his way back home. When she saw the boy with the baggy hoodie and dark jeans on the porch, her hope dimmed.
“Yes?” she asked, suddenly not caring if she came across as rude. The sudden loss of hope was just as raw every time it struck. “How can I help you?”
“Are you Shawn’s sister?” he asked, but he didn’t look at her face as he spoke. He stared down at her feet, the hood casting shadows over his face so she could hardly tell what he looked like.
Penelope squinted, trying to make out his features through the darkness. She couldn’t decide if this was one of Sh
awn’s friends or not. “I am,” she said at last, clutching the door with readiness to slam it in his face if she had to. “Who are you?”
“My name is Rhys,” the boy said, looking up enough for her to see the thin curve of his lips in the light spilling out of the house. “I went to school with your brother.”
Penelope bobbed her head, wondering where he was going with the conversation. If he had information about where Shawn was or what had happened, she wished he’d spill it. As she watched, he reached into his pocket, pulling out a pair of broken glasses. Penelope’s eyes went wide with recognition as he dropped them on her palm.
“Those are Shawn’s!” she said then her gaze moved to the boy’s face. “Where did you find these?”
“Come with me, and I’ll show you,” Rhys said.
A chill ran down Penelope’s spine, but she didn’t know why. He’s just a kid, she scolded herself. A kid who might have some answers. “Yeah, of course,” she said, grabbing her coat. “Let’s go.”
The boy smiled, sticking his hand into the pocket where the trusty spiral amulet was hidden.
About the Author
Kayla Krantz is fascinated by the dark and macabre. Stephen King is her all-time inspiration mixed in with a little bit of Eminem and some faint remnants of the works of Edgar Allen Poe. When she began writing, she started in horror but somehow drifted into thriller. She loves the 1988 movie Heathers. Kayla was born and raised in Michigan but traveled across the country to where she currently resides in Texas.
She has ideas for books in many genres which she hopes to write and publish in the future.
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