by Fox Lancet
The surrounding Demons shuffled anxiously, roused by the sight and sound of absolute devastation. Many drooled, their gazes feasting upon the blood and amputated ligaments. Slipping control was evident as several inched forward, craving to be the dealer of the damage.
Calious ran his tongue over his lips as he finished closing the distance. His claw fell to Lenees’s throat and squeezed enough to disrupt her voice box, but still allow her breath. She squeaked and then sobbed softly past his grip.
His eyes were locked on Aisleen, who dropped the severed wings. She stared back at him nonchalantly as though nothing had happened.
“That was,” he choked, his eyes darting over her shoulder nervously, “that was the most…” He grimaced and paused. “…stunning sight I have ever beheld.” He sneered with disgust, never having wanted to compliment the creature before, but he found he could not help himself. Aisleen’s jaw went slack and she stared at him in shock. “We need to release her before they kill her. They are impossible to control when there is blood and anguish near at hand. I want to send her back to her clan with a message.”
Aisleen nodded slowly, still gaping at him. When she was finally able to focus and look away, she crouched and reached past Lenees to relieve one of the daggers strapped to Calious’s ankle. She sliced through the ropes and Lenees crumbled to the ground, her body shuddering in the dirt. “What would you like to tell her?”
“Tell her to inform her kind that they are more than welcome to send more. That we have many Demons starving to maim and bathe in blood.”
She smiled and translated his words to the dismembered Seraph.
When Lenees did not make any moves to get up, Calious added, “And tell her if she does not leave now, she will be torn apart and kept alive for as long as possible while the task is performed.”
As Aisleen finished reiterating his threat, the Seraph healer groaned and pushed herself off the ground. After several failed attempts, she was able to stand on quaking legs. She stumbled to the tree-line with Demons barking and growling behind her in protest.
* * *
The ground was hard and unforgiving beneath Lenees’s aching feet. She had crossed the mountains’ tops, past the saddle dipping between Strace Peak and Delaphane Peak.
There had been nothing but opportunities for her to sit, or to lay. She had chosen to press on. Fear and precious little time urged her forward.
The cliff slicking up enormously to form the face of Delaphane Peak loomed behind her, eclipsing the setting sun and shrouding her and her path in an eerie swath of lightlessness. Its black rock was jagged and leering, an unfriendly sight, filled with cracks and crevices housing creatures the sheltered Seraph had never known.
Just before reaching the edge of shadow, a loose rock gave under her step. Lenees cried out shortly as her body hurtled down the steep mountainside. Twigs and gravel bit at her already tender flesh. A groan of discomfort at the tiny perpetrators was knocked out of her throat as she hit a boulder bordering a ledge that canvased another lofty decline. There she landed beside the boulder with a grunt and broken bones.
Lenees remained prone, cradled in soft, pink grass, until the sun made its full descent and its light had been vanquished from the sky. Pain skittered down her sides and legs. Numbness throbbed on her back where her wings had been. Lenees uttered no complaint. She simply lay, breathing gently, her face tucked into her bent arm.
When she finally pulled herself from the blanket of caressing grass, she settled back on her heels, her knees digging into the fluffy dirt that riddled the ledge. Her eyes fell apathetically onto the clusters of winking stars above her. They laughed and danced between each other, not seeming to take notice of the hopeless, disheveled creature below. Her eyes fell to the giant orbs climbing the sky across the giant expanse beyond her.
Eyes shutting, Lenees allowed the damage festering across her once-perfect skin to take precedence and she filled her chest with air. When her eyes snapped open, glowing brightly against the blackness of night, she released a scream infused with frustration, anger, loss, and hatred. Emotions the Seraph had only ever encountered in others.
The scream ripped from her for several long seconds, piercing the silent air around her and cracking the rocks nearby. The boulder that had broken her fall crumbled behind her. As the cry fell away, its determined sound echoed into a faded din. The mountainside came to life, loosened crags tumbling down. Lenees stood but did not turn to survey the mountain as it sloughed away a thin layer before finally quieting again. Her eyes remained lit and she trembled briefly amongst her stone-stillness.
Blue streaks of dried blood tarnished her white skin, but the fresh wounds of her recent fall had been sealed. The lacerations on her back had long ago ceased bleeding and were now closer to stitching back together, barring any more grime from entering the openings.
Lenees stretched without a sigh, signifying the lack of broken bones. Some comfortable cracks ticked in her arms and back. She relaxed again and rolled her neck.
She had utilized her healing power upon herself. Something she had never done. That had never needed to be done.
The light in her eyes dissipated, her face still blank of emotion. She cocked her head, listening. Half way down the mountain, she caught the sounds coming from its base. The beat of a horse’s hooves. A single horse.
Lenees reached out with her mind, touching the thoughts of the animal. They were simple, and light. It was the steed of a Seraph, but there was no one accompanying the horse. Only one Seraph steed went wandering alone often and that was Alliander.
Feeling strengthened, Lenees hopped from the ledge and half-slid, half-ran down the mountainside, grabbing carefully at skinny trees to slow her descent and keep her balanced. It was not long before she reached the bottom. And Alliander was not far off. He galloped from the edge of the Plains of Eslendor to meet her, but stopped up short, seeming perturbed.
“Alliander, I am glad you have come.” She reached out a hand, her features telling of relief through great exhaustion. The horse did not take any more steps forward. Lenees’s head swiveled, her eyes remaining on the animal. “Alliander, it is I, Lenees. My wings may be no more, but that does not mean I am not still myself. Please come to me. I am in the need of comfort.”
The horse finally plodded forward, head slung low.
She took Alliander’s elegant head gently and cradled it in her arms, hugging his warm, flat cheek to her chest.
“I know I must seem different. One cannot expect to have dealings with Demons and come out the same Seraph. You may sense dark feelings in me. But I can promise you they are reserved for the enemy only.”
15
Killing Time
“Ah.” Nefarion paused in his gait, breathing out a relieved sigh. Syler halted his progress down the sidewalk, turning to survey his leader.
Orange streetlights were flicking on along the stretch of barren back road, triggered by the extinguished sunlight. Each light plotted a fuzzy glow. When darkness completely swallowed the street, there would be swaths of blackness sweeping between the rusty circles of light, the distance between the next too great to blend into one another. Even vagrants did not wander here once night settled between the buildings and among the corners and crevices where light would not go.
“I can feel her again. It has felt like ages have passed since I have felt her mere presence.” He took in a deep breath as if savoring the scent. A strong, tattooed hand smoothed the length of his carmine t-shirt, his chest expanding to inhale another deep breath.
“Death.”
Nefarion’s eyes had been shut, his head dipped back, but the short statement had his eyes snapping open and his head slowly coming down. He was pondering the word. Suddenly he realized why Syler had mentioned it out of context and he lifted his right hand, glancing down at it.
“Yes, Death, the Grim Reaper, the Fourth Horsemen of the Apocalypse.” He dropped his hand. “I learned of him on the internet; a very valuable tool.”<
br />
“I am quite aware. It is where I obtained a vast quantity of my knowledge of this world.”
Nefarion nodded. “I scanned it whenever I was presented with the opportunity.”
A light wind pushed by, carrying the recently familiar scent, sending an abrupt look of irritation rolling over Nefarion’s features. “I do not wish to idle here any longer.” Not waiting, he began again in the direction they had been moving down the desolate sidewalk.
“Lord, we are still but two miles from the warehouse, can you truly feel her at this great of a distance?” Syler inquired with avid curiosity.
Nefarion smiled to himself. “I can.” He paused. “She and I are connected in a way I can not explain. She feels my presence now as well, I am certain.”
The pair took the next block silently. Less than a mile from the warehouse, the two Demons watched Hunter emerge from its recently repaired door. He jogged steadily toward them, his habitual grin marring his dark features.
“Lord Nefarion, it is magnificent to meet you on this plane.” Hunter bowed his head. “The key claimed you were near, but I did not attune to your presence until long after.”
Nefarion returned the gesture of greeting and smiled candidly, pleased to see his other second-in-command maintaining the same blithe attitude.
“She does already portray an intense loyalty for you.” Syler threw an accusing glance at Hunter, who half-smiled and shrugged.
“Of course she does.” Nefarion’s voice was laced with wrath.
The rest of the walk was taken in clouded silence, the Demon Lord seeming distracted and neglecting to admonish Hunter for his actions toward the key as promised earlier.
When they reached the door, Nefarion’s eyes flashed anxiously. Whether he was looking into the light or into shadow, red kindled inconspicuously in the back of the black voids. “I require solitude with Saliea as to readapt to her nearness again. I have learned more since our separation and I believe there is something she requires of me.” Nefarion tried to mask his demure under stern features. Hunter smiled wickedly while Syler nodded once stiffly.
“Here is the key to her restraints.” Hunter placed a tiny key in Nefarion’s hand.
“We will wait here until you call for us,” Syler affirmed. Nefarion glanced from soldier to soldier. Hunter nodded emphatically and began flipping a dagger. At that Nefarion turned and disappeared through the door.
As he trudged up the stairs, he could make out the sound of Saliea’s labored breathing. A smirk grew on his face, knowing it was a reaction his near presence induced and could not be alleviated until he spoke to or touched her.
The sound of metal shackles scraping concrete floor echoed into the stairwell.
His insides thrummed the closer he got to the peak of the staircase, his anticipation of her burning in his veins.
The top of the stairs came to a dead end save for an opening to the left that led into a spacious, windowed room. Nefarion stepped into the room, assaulted by her scent; his eyes fell on her crouching form immediately.
A mattress had been shoved into a corner next to a concrete pillar, two manacled restraints freshly bolted into the wall. Saliea’s curvy figure was braced on her knees in front of the mattress, the links of the chains taut as she pulled in his direction. Her breathing was shallow and her eyes glittered.
“Nefarion,” she uttered his name reverently, seeming relieved at the sight of him. A black, free-flowing skirt fell midway down her thighs, and a tight, violet shirt cut low to reveal the smooth whiteness of her chest and cleavage that raised and fell spasmodically with her gasping breath.
Nefarion had meant to savor the moment, perhaps make her beg, and would have for any other female of either world, but the urge to touch her again gave him more satisfaction than the thought of making her grovel. He stalked across the room.
Saliea backed up to relieve the tension of her restraints so she could stand to meet him. She climbed weakly to her feet just before he reached her.
“Yes, Saliea?” he replied once he was peering down into her glowing face.
Without disturbing her, he tore the chains from the wall effortlessly, disregarding the key Hunter had given him.
She rested a cheek on his chest and drew in a reviving sigh, her freed arms dropping to her sides.
After the heavy chains hit the mattress, Nefarion bent at the knees and grabbed the back of Saliea’s thighs, lifting her. She practically cried out at the contact and dragged her still-burdened arms around his neck, pulling herself tightly against him. The action incited the jagged bracelets of the restraints to cut into his shoulders and the back of his neck. Vague pain heated his skin and lanced through his body, pushing a growl of pleasure from his throat.
Saliea’s breathing had deepened, but became erratic all over again in her excitement of the physical contact.
Nefarion stepped toward the pillar, pressing her between himself and it, before canting his neck to meet her lips with his. She moaned as he opened his mouth and slid his tongue between her lips.
Desire tore through him and he pulled away to gasp for a breath. He had known what he was going to do when he had the chance to touch her again, but had not been expecting the intensity of it to seize his control.
Saliea whimpered, causing his eyes to pop open and gaze down at her. His eyes puckered when they met hers. Her lids had become heavy with pleasure. Past them, in the small circles of her black eyes, tiny red dots had appeared. When utter surprise stole his features, Saliea’s eyelids pulled back further.
“Nefarion?”
Her voice drew him back from his distracted attention and he squeezed her thighs and pressed his chest harder against her. He felt the red of his own eyes ignite as he continued to stare into hers.
“Mine,” he breathed before smashing his lips against hers again, eliciting another moan from Saliea.
As their lips came together again, Nefarion recognized traces of a dormant power humming from her body. He deepened the kiss, thoughts of her power being liberated once she crossed the gate flitting through his mind before they melted in the blurry heat of desire.
* * *
“I am restless. Sitting in that desolate warehouse with my guns and that mouthy woman can only keep one sated for so long.” Hunter sat on the curb, his boots resting in the gutter. He played carelessly and expertly with a butterfly knife. Syler was propped casually against the warehouse next to the steel door.
“I believe I can go kill someone, or many, and return before the Lord emerges.”
Syler’s eyes fell on his cohort’s back. “I would advise against it, Hunter. Lord Nefarion may not take as much time as you suppose. And you are still a wanted criminal.”
The last of Syler’s reasons put a smile on Hunter’s face. “Well, I should refresh my notoriety.” Hunter stood from the curb, reaching up to stretch his back and shoulders.
“You do not have access to your guns.”
“I had no gun when I claimed the key and I killed forty-two humans that day. Granted, thirty-six of those were by grenade or related to my grenades.”
“It would seem that I am wasting my breath.” Syler pushed from the wall, allowing specks of red to show through his eyes in the pervading darkness—the nearest streetlight across the road.
Hunter shut his knife and tucked it in his pocket. “Would you like to join me?” Syler shook his head, shaggy black hair sweeping across his eyes.
“I will remain here, near Lord Nefarion. It is my duty. It is a shame that you cannot control your urges.”
Hunter smiled broadly at the statement. “Why should I? We are not creatures of morality. Rather self-serving and indulgent.” He patted his stomach and smoothed a hand down the black material over it.
“Yes, but we are also creatures of discipline and loyalty.”
“I will return before you begin to miss my presence.” Hunter ignored his comrade’s final statement and began to amble away.
“Who is to say I ever miss
your infernal presence?”
The proclamation elicited a deep chuckle from Hunter, who turned on a heel mid-step and continued to take his leave backwards.
“Do not jest, I know you feel naked without me, as you do without your chain or without Lord Nefarion,” he called over the distance growing between them, his playful smile never wavering.
Syler scowled after him. “That is false! I revel in solitude. Just go already.” He leaned back on the wall, turning his back on Hunter. His cohort’s laugh faded as he disappeared around a corner. Syler shook his head and let a small grin creep onto his face.
Broadway breathed with life as he stopped a block from its seething brightness. It feigned daylight with bustling human activity and consuming light. He had moved two miles south from the warehouse, bringing himself within miles of rich suburbia. He did not have time to go any further, and suburbia was less publicly dense than the commercial-urban area that had a plethora of dank neighborhoods stemming into it.
Tonight, after being holed up for days on end, Hunter needed multiple kills. Not necessarily according to Syler, who chose control, or what Hunter considered starvation. Demons should sate bloodlust, why deny it? Without contentedness, a Demon was without focus. Though, Syler seemed to thrive off starving his lust.
“Don’t fuckin’ move, motherfucker. Where’s your wallet at?” Hunter hardly stiffened at the knife poking his ribs through his shirt; the stiffening mostly due to his surprise of the human’s lack of instinct. Humans usually shied from his oversized, muscular form; this one thought to rob him. A half-grin climbed onto his mouth for the man who appeared to be begging for death, and he, looking to oblige.
