For the Hell of It (Razing Hell Book 1)

by Cate Corvin

  I yanked my hair out of his grasp. “Go eat a leviathan dick-”

  But he was already striding out of the tunnel and onto the arena floor, lifting his arms to greet the crowd.

  I took a shuddering breath, suppressing the irritation he’d brought to the surface. I couldn’t forget for a second that anyone he put on that arena floor was going to be just as dangerous as I was; getting cocky only paid in blood and guts, and I didn’t want them to be mine.

  Belial’s voice echoed back to me. The Overseer manning the tunnel gates had made my role very clear: as soon as I heard my name, it was showtime.

  “Fresh from the Fields of Asphodel, we have a shade with us today. Give a sword-rattling welcome to Erethris the Damned!”

  The sound of bone meeting metal almost overshadowed the screams of delight.

  “Now… for the moment you’ve been waiting for.”

  A fraught silence. The sounds of swords rattling died away.

  “You remember her. She fell from Heaven, but she’s…”

  I almost flinched at the sudden roar, sweeping back down the tunnel like a tornado. Whatever the words were, they blended together into one indistinguishable burst of sound, but there was no doubt that it was my cue.

  I shook out my arms, bounced in place a few times, and burst out of the tunnel onto the arena floor.

  I didn’t realize how dampened the sound was in the tunnel. It crashed in a wave, and glittering overhead lights cut through the darkness of the arena, swirling around until they focused on the arena.

  Three spotlights lit the only people in it: Belial, retreating to his throne of bones, myself, and Erethris the Damned. She was gray from head to toe, with speckled feathers growing out of her hair and scaly, clawed bird-toes that clutched uselessly at the smooth arena floor.

  The harpy’s wings had been sawed off, leaving her with feathered stumps sticking straight out of her shoulder blades.

  Pitting her against an intact angel was a cruel jab. Pity swamped me at the sight, along with fresh irritation at Belial.

  At least until she opened her mouth.

  “I’m going to eat your liver, angel.” She licked her beak-like lips. “Pluck out your eyeballs and swallow them whole. Pop your ovaries between my teeth like grapes.”

  I made a disgusted face. So much for sympathy.

  “What the hell is wrong with you? Did they kick you out of the Fields for being fucking disgusting?”

  “I came to taste angel flesh.”

  The harpy cawed as a female Overseer in skimpy armor passed through the arena, distributing weapons. Erethris chose two swords, and when the Overseer approached me with a bright smile, I grabbed a spear.

  It had a tapered foot-long point of blue steel. I stroked the spearpoint reverentially. Somebody with feathers was going to be taking it through the head shortly, and that somebody wasn’t me.

  The Overseer beat a hasty retreat after that, sensing the bloodlust between us.

  Belial settled on his throne. “What say you, demons? First blood?”

  I looked up at the arena stands and frowned. Several demons in the front were holding up a sign painted on a length of canvas. A pair of widespread black wings, still dripping fresh paint.

  Several other signs caught my eye, from the front, all the way to the upper stands. Black wings, black feathers, some with words I couldn’t quite make out in the rabble.

  “DEATH!”

  The crowd was pretty much unanimous in what they wanted from us. I just wasn’t sure if they wanted me to be the one killing, or doing the dying.

  “Death it is.” Belial clapped his hands. “Raise your swords! Three… two… one…”

  An Overseer on a platform banged a massive gong, and Erethris launched herself at me.

  I ducked aside, the wind of a passing blade just touching my face. She came in again with an underhanded lunge and I whirled away, jabbing the blunt end of the spear and catching her in the gut.

  Erethris stumbled back, gagging from the force of it. Her beak cracked open in a squawk. “You don’t deserve your wings, bitch.”

  “Neither did you, bird.” I spun the spear until the point was aiming at her. “You look like an overgrown vulture, do you shit on your feet like one, too?”

  Like angels, comparing harpies to birds was the thing that really set them off. Erethris screamed and threw a sword at my head. I tilted my head, the blade just missing my ear, and she came in swinging the last one in a complicated loop.

  There wasn’t time to feel bad for what I was going to do. If I didn’t kill her first, she was going to kill me.

  I spread my wings, relishing the sensation of slightly-sore back muscles being stretched again, and took flight.

  Even in the still, demon-reeking air of the arena, being off the ground again felt so good I could’ve cried. I flapped hard and several downy feathers I’d missed came loose, fluttering down into the stands. Demons converged in writhing piles, fighting each other for the cast-offs.

  I didn’t have time to be amazed. There was a cannibal harpy who needed killing first.

  I gripped the spear, took aim, and put all my weight into diving downwards.

  The spear hit home with a satisfying thunk, the shaft vibrating in my hands. I flapped hard, making a more graceful landing than I’d anticipated after plowing a spear through a harpy’s chest.

  Blood dribbled over the sharp edges of her beak. Her round yellow eyes went dull. I released the spear as she slumped to the ground, letting it remain right where I’d planted it.

  “Eat that,” I hissed. “All that big talk for nothing.”

  The adrenaline rush finally hit me and I clenched my trembling fingers. One down. Six to go.

  I looked up, intending to catch Belial’s eye, but another figure drew my gaze. The Nephilim woman, Yraceli, was still chained to the base of the throne of bones. Her blank porcelain mask faced me, and only the faintest glint of light inside the eye holes gave away that there was someone living behind it at all.

  He kept the seventh round, his Last Argument, chained in plain sight. So everyone who passed through here would know what they were dealing with.

  That made me far more nervous than a hidden opponent, because she was a clear warning that no one ever would win the seventh. He didn’t even have to hide her; every fighter in here would look at her and know that winning was impossible.

  I wondered what she hid behind that mask.

  My nails bit into my palms and I yanked my gaze away, glancing out at the throngs who were cheering for me. One of the demons shaking the painting of wings had managed to grab one of my feathers, and the painting was now smeared along one side where the canvas had fallen. He held it up, yelling something at me, and on a strange whim I lifted my hand.

  The demons holding the sign burst into shrieks, falling over each other in excitement.

  What the fuck?

  I squinted at one of the signs and caught one word- No- but the scantily-clad Overseer was suddenly next to me, holding up my hand and urging the crowd to cheer. She turned me around, forcing me to wave at the other side of the arena, and a moment later she was steering me back into the tunnels.

  I glanced up at Belial as we passed his throne, and his sparkling eyes found me. White teeth caught the flashing lights as he grinned, pure joy suffusing his features.

  There was something magnetically attractive about him when he smiled like that.

  Then the Overseer led me under the gate and he was gone. I still heard his voice echoing back to me, announcing the next fight.

  “Raise a cheer for… Exile! We’ve got a special event just for him-”

  They screamed. It was amazing any of them were capable of talking at all after the shrieking they did all day.

  Instead of bringing me back to the common area, the Overseer led me through a red door with a gold wire sigil set in it. I frowned, wondering what horrible thing awaited me next, but after four flights of stairs we came to another door that opene
d to… pure luxury.

  The Overseer prodded me inside, and this time far fewer pairs of eyes landed on me. Squaring my shoulders, I stepped onto soft carpet.

  Soft, flickering light came from golden candelabrae hanging overhead, and there was a fireplace crackling with cerulean flames. The mantel was shaped like an open, screaming mouth, of course, but even for the demonic touches, it was the most pleasant place I’d seen in Hell so far. Several other doors were set in the walls, each one with a metallic name plaque declaring the owner.

  The door clicked behind me and I realized the Overseer had left me there alone.

  Without needing to ask, I knew who these demons were. They were the old-timers Suzara had referenced.

  The experienced ones. The big guns. Each of them had won at least five consecutive rounds to make it up here.

  Which was why it made no sense that I was here.

  A lithe woman whose scarlet skin was scarred with a thousand wounds got to her feet, her movements so fluid it was like she didn’t have bones at all. There was a distinct difference in the way the new-bloods downstairs moved, and the utter stillness these warriors possessed.

  “What’s this?” She prowled closer, taking in my wings. I kept them tucked close to my back, every fiber in my body tensed up in warning. “What are you doing up here? You’ve only won once.”

  A massive man with blank skin stretched over the sockets where his eyes should’ve been snorted from where he leaned against the fireplace. “Belial doesn’t want the fresh meat ripping his toy’s feathers out.”

  The scarlet woman stopped in front of me, glaring into my face. “So you skipped your rounds?”

  The more irritated she got, the angrier I became. I wasn’t the one who came up with their bullshit rules. “Take it up with Belial if you have a problem.”

  A slow smile spread across glossy crimson lips. Under the knotted scars and wounds, she was beautiful in a sharp, dangerous way. “Oh, I will. But since you’re the only one here, I think you can answer for yourself first. This is for the people who have shed rivers of blood, sweat, and tears to make it this far. What makes you think you belong with us?”

  One of her long, lacquered fingernails stroked the underside of my chin, just light enough that she didn’t snag my skin.

  “Lady Savage.” The eyeless man’s words were sharp, a warning for the woman looming over me.

  I was getting very tired of looming people. Since I came from a human body, I’d never match them in stature, even though I knew I could handle myself. It felt a little like being a puppy around the big dogs, but this puppy had teeth.

  I bared them, ready to bite down on her finger if she came anywhere near my face with it, and she laughed.

  “Luck, she thinks she stands a chance. You’re going to be chewed up and spit out, little angel.” Her nail pressed deeper against my skin, dimpling the flesh between my neck and chin. “I’m looking forward to it.”

  If she was Lady Savage, he must be Blind Luck. Cute names.

  I opened my mouth to say something that would most definitely start a fight, but the door banged open behind us. Even Blind Luck straightened up, an air of curiosity rolling off the other old-timers. Lady Savage’s nails left my throat in a flash.

  Two Overseers stumbled in, dragging a fighter whose massive arms were draped over their shoulders. My heart skipped a beat at the sight of long pale hair stained red with blood, falling forward to hide his face, but I knew him on sight.

  Exile was the man whose sorrow pulled at me like a lodestone.

  “Didn’t Belial say he’d acquired a rabid catoblepas?” Lady Savage asked conversationally, but I couldn’t rip my gaze away from the wounds gored in his bare chest and stomach, bruises blooming like dark roses over skin.

  The Overseers dragged him to one of the doors and fumbled it open. They draped him on a large bed, blood painting the white sheets red, and straightened up with groans.

  I didn’t realize I’d drifted inside until one of the Overseers started to find me at their shoulder. He held a jar of salve, but both of them were clearly reticent to touch the nearly-unconscious man.

  “Give that to me,” I said, taking the jar without waiting for an affirmative. “Get out.”

  I heard Lady Savage’s acerbic stage-whisper before they closed the door. “Kiss-ass.”

  The Overseers didn’t argue, thankfully. They both practically bolted for the door, shutting it behind me and leaving me alone with the beaten, bloodied pit fighter.

  I stepped closer to the bed, taking in the slew of scars that covered his skin, the bloodied knuckles, and wondered if maybe they were right to run.

  Maybe I’d just locked myself in with a beast.

  7

  Melisande

  Now that I was alone with exactly what I wanted, I froze in place, clutching the jar with white-knuckled fingers.

  The giant was completely unconscious, draped across the wide bed that barely seemed big enough for him. I waited for what felt like an eternity, half-expecting him to pop up and grab me with one of those massive hands, but eventually I was reassured that he was genuinely passed the fuck out.

  And likely to stay that way, at the rate he was losing blood. In some places the sheets had soaked up so much they were almost black.

  I set the jar on a dresser and bundled the top sheet away, the one that was soaked the least. Worst case, I could probably rip it up to use as bandages.

  The giant didn’t so much as stir as I tugged the edges out from under him, and I finally worked up the nerve to take a closer look.

  I couldn’t explain what the pull was, that magnetic draw that seemed to tug somewhere deep inside me, and that pissed me off. If there was one thing the Choir of Righteous Fury had beaten out of us, it was those uncanny emotions that had no place on the battlefield and would only cloud our minds.

  Here in Hell, those hard-learned lessons didn’t seem to matter at all. All that time suffering under Gabriel’s tutelage for nothing.

  I grabbed the jar and climbed onto the bed. Exile was big enough that I was going to have to get up close and personal if I was going to take on nurse-maid duties.

  The part of me that Belial was awakening- unwillingly, I might add- was perfectly fine with being so close to the fighter.

  I settled the jar in the sheets and knelt beside him. He didn’t move at the shift in pressure on the bed. A lock of hair covered his face, and I carefully moved it aside, leaving a smear of blood across his cheek.

  He was beautiful even under the blood and bruises, the planes of his face shaped by master hands. Dark lashes belied the almost silver tones of his hair. If I didn’t know better, I’d say he’d been formed by the angels, given their same strong features.

  My gaze dipped downwards, taking in the expanse of his chest and shoulders, every ripple of muscle painted with blood down to the waist of his pants. Whatever a catoblepas was, it’d torn him up, but luckily none of the wounds looked too deep.

  I couldn’t help but touch him, reaching out to graze my fingertips from the hollow of his throat down to the musclebound curve of his ribs.

  His breath hitched. I froze with my fingers still on his stomach, but then his breath shallowed and evened out again.

  My heart thrummed in my chest as his eyelashes fluttered once, twice, and went still.

  Only when he was truly out again did I reach for the jar, and clumsily uncork it after wiping my blood-slicked fingertips on my baggy clothes. The pungent, bitter scent of herbs hit my nose, searing my nostrils.

  It’d better work damn well if I had to suffer through this smell. I carefully dabbed away some of the blood from his chest with the edge of a sheet and scooped up a fingerful of the waxy salve.

  Exile didn’t move at all as I smeared it over the gash sliced in his chest. If I let my hands linger a little, well, let it be said that he was flawlessly formed.

  To my great relief, the salve worked almost instantly. The free-flowing wounds clotted, and the skin
was beginning to knit together at the edges of the first wounds I’d cared for by the time I reached his stomach. I smoothed a little more on the smaller scratches there, holding my breath as my hands brushed over the fine hair dusting his skin.

  The small ones healed immediately, leaving nothing but faint silver marks behind. He was already scarred over with so many, like Lady Savage, that his skin seemed to be a tapestry of violence.

  I pressed my hand to one of these spots, feeling the silk of his skin and the ridges of his scars against my palm.

  “What landed you here, big guy?”

  I got the lack of response I’d expected, and a surge of sadness filled me. Whatever or whoever he was, seeing all these marks of agony painted on him made me want to go hunt down the ones who’d done it.

  With his front healing, I finally had to turn him over. I carefully arranged his arms over his head and tugged on the sheet under him, using it to roll him onto his stomach. When I tossed it aside, expecting to find more gore beneath, shock ripped through me instead.

  I pushed aside a messy plait of the silver hair that reached his lower back, exposing the breadth of his shoulder blades.

  Two identical scars marked him, so old they almost blended into his skin. They started as wide knots on either side of his spine and tapered as they traveled downwards.

  I touched the scars with trembling fingers, tracing them downwards until my fingers rested in the hollow of his back.

  He’d had wings once.

  They’d been cut away, leaving whatever he was permanently earthbound.

  Had he been an angel? A demon? He was beautiful enough to be the child of a higher demon, but with that silvery hair…

  I forced myself to take a deep breath, torn between terror and all-consuming empathy. If he was higher demonspawn, he was a danger to me. If he had angelic blood…

  He would be too good for me.

  Several moments passed before I shook my head, smiling a little at my own ridiculousness. Too good for me? It didn’t matter one way or another, because I wasn’t here to win any hearts.