by Cate Corvin
All Hell Breaks Loose
Razing Hell 4
Cate Corvin
All Hell Breaks Loose
CATE CORVIN
All Rights Reserved © 2020 Cate Corvin. First Printing: 2020
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means with the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.
Author's Note: All characters in this story are 18 years of age and older, and all sexual acts are consensual. This book is a work of fiction and liberties may be taken with people, places, and historical events.
Cover by Luminescence Cover Design
Contents
1. Melisande
2. Melisande
3. Melisande
4. Melisande
5. Melisande
6. Melisande
7. Melisande
8. Belial
9. Melisande
10. Melisande
11. Melisande
12. Melisande
13. Melisande
14. Tascius
15. Melisande
16. Melisande
17. Lucifer
18. Melisande
19. Melisande
20. Melisande
21. Azazel
22. Melisande
23. Melisande
24. Melisande
25. Melisande
26. Melisande
27. Melisande
28. Melisande
29. Melisande
30. Melisande
About the Author
1
Melisande
The archangel who’d been dead asleep only moments ago moved so quickly he was just a golden blur.
His fingers fastened themselves around Tascius’s neck, digging into the Nephilim’s bloodstained skin. The sound of their snarls filled the air as Tascius latched onto Michael, and the archangel tumbled out of the sarcophagus, dragging his shroud behind him.
Azazel vanished and rematerialized around me in a cloud of smoke, drawing me backwards towards one of the towers and out of harm’s way.
“He’s going to kill him,” I hissed, trying to claw my way forward, but Azazel had reduced me to an ethereal mist. If the fight spilled over here, Michael wouldn’t be able to touch me, but neither could I move forward. “Azazel, let me go!”
“Unwise, Melisande,” he whispered in my ear. He still hadn’t entirely left his darker form behind. The acrid scent of lightning and ozone filled my nose, washing away the stench of the Pit. “You’re injured and have no place in this fight. He’s weak. Tascius will be perfectly fine.”
Easy for him to say; Michael’s wings flared wide, throwing out beams of light like the rays of the sun, the razors embedded in the tips of his feathers glittering dangerously.
I’d already lost one man to Satan today. I wasn’t going to lose one to an archangel, too.
“Belial, stop them!”
The Prince of Wrath was watching with amusement as Tascius managed to flip Michael over and pin the golden archangel to the floor. “Maybe I will, as soon as this idiot realizes Gabriel isn’t here.”
It hurt to acknowledge it, but it was all too easy to see how Michael might have mistaken Tascius for Gabriel. The son had taken on the father’s silver and moonlight glow entirely, and even worse… he gave off the same sense of power the archangels possessed.
If the transmutation Azazel had spoken of wasn’t already complete, it was very close.
Either way, I didn’t want Michael killing him before I got to see what he would become.
“Michael,” I called, bracing myself and trying in vain to pull against Azazel’s ghostly power. “He isn’t who you think.”
The two archangels continued wrestling. One of Michael’s wings slashed Tascius’s bicep, and blood slowly dripped down the corded muscles of my once-Nephilim’s forearm.
Michael’s golden eyes were completely wild, gleaming with rage and hate as he pressed the attack.
I gained an inch of ground, slowly but surely. Azazel sighed in my ear, clearly disapproving of my desperate need to be in the thick of things.
“Gabriel is dead. Belial captured him; he cut off his wings and had them gilded. I have them hanging over my throne right now. Then we tortured him. Tascius ripped off his head; I cut his body apart and stole his bones, and we burned his remains. Gabriel was cut to pieces and turned to ash.”
I kept my voice loud and clear, cutting through the sounds of their pained grunts. How much more obvious could I make it?
“He’s extremely dead, Michael.”
And there it was; some of my words finally pierced whatever wild rage had overtaken the archangel.
Michael finally tore his eyes from Tascius and flicked them towards me. He was sitting on Tascius’s chest, his hands still wrapped around the newer archangel’s throat.
“What lie is this?” he asked, his voice hoarse.
“No lie,” I promised. “That isn’t Gabriel you’re trying to kill. His name is Tascius.”
Michael’s lips drew back over his teeth in a feral snarl, but slowly, ever so slowly, he looked down. Confusion and exhaustion finally overtook the hate in his expression. “The resemblance…”
“Is uncanny, yes. That would be a given, considering Gabriel is his father by blood.” I tried my hardest not to sound sour about it. After all, if Gabriel weren’t a total hypocrite, I never would have met Tascius at all.
Michael was still breathing hard, and he hadn’t moved off Tascius’s chest. His hair was tangled from the fight, making him look like a complete madman. “You say… Gabriel is dead?”
He was completely disbelieving. I supposed I would be too, if I’d just been woken up in the depths of Hell.
I felt myself gaining corporeal form as Azazel slowly relaxed, but his shadows never left me. Taking a few steps forward, I held up my hands, swallowing back a groan as the pain of my broken wing came back along with my natural weight.
“Yes, I promise you he’s dead. I don’t know how he put you down here, but he’s long gone. That’s my mate you’re trying to choke to death.”
Michael just stared at me, clearly unwilling to accept what I was telling him. “How…”
Then Belial stepped up behind him and slammed the hilt of a dagger into the archangel’s temple.
Michael dropped like a sack of bricks. He sagged onto the floor, and Tascius kicked him off, climbing to his feet and dragging in a ragged breath.
“He’s incredibly fucking lively for being stuck in a coffin for who knows how long,” he said, massaging his throat.
I rushed forward, hunching over from the pain in my wing and back, and gripped Tascius’s shoulders as he crouched over Michael’s body to check his pulse. “Are you hurt?”
He turned his head, managing the faintest smile. “Only my pride.”
Belial sheathed his dagger and stepped around the sarcophagus, yanking the rest of the shroud off of Michael’s slack form. The archangel’s gilded armor wasn’t the slightest bit tarnished even after years in a sarcophagus, glowing like the sun in the darkness.
“Maybe we should kill him now while he’s unconscious,” the Prince suggested, scowling at Michael.
I couldn’t prevent myself from resting a little more of my weight on Tascius as spikes of pain ripped through my back. “Belial. We can’t just kill him.”
“Why’s that, angel?” he asked, nudging Michael with a toe. The archangel didn’t move. “He’s the enemy.”
I scowled, taking shallow breaths. “We don’t know for a fact that he’s the enemy. He slept through the e
ntire Apocalypse. He has no idea what’s going on.”
Belial raised his eyes to me. “And you want to bring the lost little puppy dog home.”
“The puppy dog might know something that can help us. We need to go after Satan and get Lucifer and Vyra back. If we have to team up with an archangel to do it, so be it.”
And perhaps Michael would be able to shed light on Tascius’s transmutation. None of us would be any help for that.
Belial’s eyes softened. “Most importantly, you need healing. We’ll bring back your new pet, angel. But he’ll remain tied down until we’ve determined whether or not he needs a killing.”
“Let’s give him a chance. If he isn’t complicit in murdering God, then maybe all hope isn’t lost for Heaven.”
“He’s an archangel, love. They don’t have the most spotless track record.”
I frowned, even though it was technically true. “What if you’d killed me on sight just because of what I am? We need every weapon we can get now.”
“The situation was different. You weren’t my sworn enemy,” Belial said.
One of my eyebrows popped up. “But I was trained by them. I was raised by them. And I never once saw Michael or Raphael while I was there. They might not be accomplices.”
“Point taken,” he grumbled. “The things I do for you, Princess Wrath.”
It was getting harder and harder to think as the ache settled into my bones. I nodded, feeling the blood rush from my face as a jolt of pain went through me. It was impossible to voice any appreciation for his restraint in the face of bloodlust when it felt like my ribs wanted to collapse on themselves.
Belial was suddenly all business, his face tightening in alarm when he saw my face go white. “We’ve wasted too much time here. Azazel, take her up. I’ll bring Michael.”
I felt Azazel surround me. This time I breathed a sigh of relief for the sensation of weightlessness that took the strain off of my broken wing. “Don’t crunch him, Belial,” I whispered. “He probably doesn’t taste good.”
Belial was already shifting, his mass increasing by the second as his bones stretched and grew. A moment later the enormous golden lion was picking up Michael’s limp body in his teeth, letting out a rumbling chuckle.
I gazed down at the shards of the Sword of Light scattered across the inky floor of the abyss, regretting that I couldn’t bring them back now. Each shard gave off its own internal light.
At least no one would be able to touch them. Even in pieces, the Sword’s inherent nature was intact. I was the only one who would be able to return for them.
Azazel rose into the air with me in his arms, and Tascius spread his wings for flight. We ascended as the lion leapt from tower to tower, his claws squealing on the obsidian and leaving deep scratches behind.
The higher we rose, the more I wanted to close my eyes, but I forced myself to keep them open. The scent of death was left behind us, trapped in the Pit below, but the reek of smoke replaced it.
Because I’d been one of the main causes of all this destruction, it was only right that I see where my plans had led us and accept the damage as my responsibility.
We ascended above the Pit, on a level with the Ninth Circle.
And the destruction was terrible. Hundreds of the obsidian buildings had been shaken to pieces, strewn across the streets in piles of rubble, and many of the structures still standing either tilted precariously to the side, or were riddled with cracks.
Demons, most of them covered in blood and dust, were busy pulling bodies from the rubble and piling them like cordwood. I caught sight of Adranos, his dark hair slick with blood and sweat, dragging the shrunken corpse of his father Mammon to one of these piles.
He tossed him on the pile and didn’t look back.
“You don’t have to look,” Azazel whispered to me, but I shook my head.
“I do have to,” I said quietly, comforted by the stars glowing around me. “This was the price we paid to get rid of him, and we still didn’t win.”
The Eighth Circle was hardly better off. We drifted over it, and I made myself look at each and every bit of the ruins.
My heart was in my throat as I considered what our home might look like.
The massive spire of the Consortium was still standing, looking as fresh and clean as if nothing had happened at all, but far fewer of our buildings were destroyed than those in the Ninth Circle. The electric lights strung across the Nightside were out, most of the glass bulbs broken, and many of the trees had been ripped out by the roots from the force of the Dragon’s wingbeats.
I held my breath as the Nightside arena came into view.
The gates still stood. A large crack ran up the front of the building, one of the doors was off kilter on its hinges, and several of the spiky parapets had fallen to the front lawn, but it was still there, still whole.
I never thought I’d feel such relief, even if it was mixed with guilt that we, at least, had a home to return to. So many demons in the Eighth and Ninth Circles would have nothing now.
All because of us.
“Stop fretting.” Azazel’s clipped tones were firm. “None of this is your fault.”
I wished we were corporeal so I could physically touch him. “But we drove the plan forward.” I would’ve traded the entire Seventh Circle just to have Lucifer and Vyra with us.
“Lucifer and I drove the plan. None of the guilt is yours to bear.”
My lips twisted, but there wasn’t much I could say in return. Lucifer and Azazel had been plotting this for centuries longer than I’d been alive; long before I’d even been raised again as an angel.
But I’d had a hand in this, and there was no way to deny it.
Azazel lowered me to the ground and once we became corporeal, he wove an arm around my waist to hold me up. My wing had completely sagged to the ground, my exhausted muscles no longer able to support its weight.
Belial stalked after us, still holding Michael gently in his jaws. Demons all over the Seventh Circle stopped and stared, whether they were cleaning up rubble or dragging out bodies. It was impossible to miss the gold and white gleam of a pure angel in the midst of Hell.
“Great,” I mumbled. “Now everyone will know. I should’ve thought of that.”
My thoughts were muddled. Black spots bloomed in front of my eyes as we turned towards the doors. My Chainlings were spilling out, all of them gripping weapons of some kind, but I hadn’t heard them at all.
“You’re in shock from the pain,” Azazel said, and even though he was right beside me, his voice sounded like it was coming from underwater.
I caught a glimpse of coppery red hair, and Haru stalked out among the Chainlings, his hand on the hilt of his sword. Bloody scratches disfigured his face, and his fangs flashed as he spoke.
“You don’t have her?” he asked sharply, amber eyes narrowed, and Azazel said something too quiet to hear.
Whatever it was, Haru’s response was to bare his teeth in a snarl. He stalked away, leaving a trail of bloody footprints behind him.
“What happened here, Azazel?” I asked, but the black spots were growing wider. I had to squint to focus.
“Worry about it later,” he said, but the black overtook my vision. I felt like I was spinning in a void, falling down a deep, dark well.
The last thing I felt was Azazel’s arms tightening around me.
2
Melisande
I opened my eyes with a start, trapped in the clutching confines of a large, soft prison. Digging in with my nails, I tried to drag myself out of the grip of the thing-
And realized it was sheets I was tangled in. I wasn’t trapped in anything but the confines of my bed.
“Calm down, angry angel.”
I turned my head and saw that I had a front-row audience to my panic. Belial sat on the bed next to me, stroking his huge hand over my hair and shoulder.
Standing behind him was a young demon girl. She had her white hood pulled up, and was biting her lower li
p, her hands twisting nervously.
“Belial, what happened?” I asked, my voice rough. I was so thirsty my mouth felt like I’d been eating sand out in the wastelands, my throat gritty and painful. “How long was I out?”
“Well… for a while, but it was necessary,” he assured me. “You’ve been asleep for three days. Azazel brought you up and healed your wing as much as he was willing to risk, but we needed to call in a true healer to make sure the bone was set correctly.”
As soon as he mentioned my wing, I realized there was something that felt oddly constrictive and suffocating on my back. I twisted my head, trying to look over my shoulder, and saw that my broken wing had been neatly folded up and bound.
“No, you can’t fly yet.” Belial’s tone was dry. “Seriously. There was enough damage that you might never fly again if you don’t let it heal.”
He got up and poured me a glass of water, which I managed to drink without lifting myself off of my stomach. “And Sarai?” I gasped, draining the glass without stopping for a breath.
Nothing hurt in my abdomen, and I’d kept up my shield, but if the damage was that bad…
Belial tucked a piece of hair behind my ear and took the empty glass. “She’s perfectly fine. You were just in shock, and your body couldn’t take anymore. What you should be doing is resting.”
I let my head drop and cradled it on my arm. The last thing I wanted to do right now was sleep more, especially with so much to be done. “I’ve been asleep for three days. I’m tired of being in bed, and we have a lot to clean up.”
“How can you be tired of it if you weren’t aware you were here?” Belial asked, sounding annoyingly reasonable.
