“Be safe, my daughter.”
She smiled grimly, staring at them all in turn. “Kill anything that comes through this portal, even if it looks like me. Temlucus and the other Demon Lords will stop at nothing to unleash the KaliYuga.”
Squeezing her father’s hand one last time before releasing it, she turned on her heel and approached the portal. The bottom of it swelled and retreated like viscous black ink. Her swords flared to life in each of her hands. She had no idea where it would take her, but she knew without a doubt that whatever lay on the other side would not be welcoming. Huffing a breath, she climbed to the edge, bracing herself for the drop, and froze.
The space shifted as another being entered the void with her. Her eyes darted to the base of the portal, but what had arrived hadn’t come from there. Sera turned in slow motion.
Jem stood there, his face pale and his mouth set in a grim line. “I’m coming with you.”
“No.”
He lifted his shirt to reveal the spot where her rune had been seared into his flesh. “This happened because of me. They used me. I . . . I want to help, make up for what I’ve done. Let me do this, Sera, please.”
Frowning, she weighed the value of having Jem there. On the one hand, he could help her, seeing as how Xibalba hadn’t killed him yet. On the other, he could be a liability, the need to keep him safe one more distraction she didn’t need. And the demons could use him as leverage against her. Though his betrayal was still fresh, she couldn’t stand to have his blood on her hands. She started to shake her head.
“I’ve been there before,” he interjected. “To the second. I know my way around.”
Her eyes narrowed on him. “The second?”
“It’s where they’re holding Kyle. Temlucus told me.”
Sera exhaled—the second dimension was ruled by Nequ’el, the Demon Lord of war and enslavement. His was one of the few dimensions she hadn’t visited. She recalled the image of Nequ’el in the online research Nate had given her so many months ago. He looked like a dog with a man’s body.
Enslavement. It made sense that they would keep Kyle there for whatever it was they were planning.
“No,” she said. “It’s too dangerous.”
“I can fight. You wouldn’t have to worry about me.” His voice was quiet. “I owe you. I owe them.”
Sera sighed, staring at his resolute face. “Fine. But if you die, that’s on you.”
“Agreed.”
Without a backward glance, she closed her eyes and jumped into the blue-black pool, the sticky fluid sucking her body down like a ravenous beast. Sera’s mind emptied of all thought—and of all memory—as she plummeted into the space where love would be nothing but weakness. She stripped away all emotion, all empathy.
It was time to become a monster.
THE CHAMPION OF XIBALBA
Kyle’s eyelids cracked. He was in a dark room, lying on some sort of stone altar. Its edges were rough, and they cut into the exposed skin of his back. He was bare-chested, clad only in his jeans, and both his hands and ankles were restrained with the familiar barbs of an Ifricaius. He looked down and winced as the movement pulled his sore skin tight. Fresh runes were carved into his upper chest.
He was not alone, either. Kyle could sense the demons in each corner of the room, keeping silent watch. Rakshasas of some sort, he expected. They remained in the shadows, so he could not determine what manner of demons they were, or whether he had the power to coerce them. Being the son of Ra’al might still have its benefits.
“Welcome back, Lord Kalias.”
“That is not—” he began and then broke off, his gaze focusing on the one who had spoken. The voice was nasal and high-pitched. He did not know this Demon Lord, although he knew of him: Nequ’el. The head of what looked like a black Doberman rested upon the muscular body of a man. Short black fur covered the thing’s neck and half of its shoulders. As far as Demon Lords went, Nequ’el was not as unpleasant to look at as some of the others. “Where is Ra’al?”
“Your father is busy.”
“Why have you brought me here?” Kyle asked, watching the Demon Lord carefully.
“To fulfill your destiny, of course.”
Kyle bared his teeth in a hiss, straining against the chains tethering him to the stone. “Whatever pitiful attempt Ra’al and Temlucus are making to invoke the KaliYuga, it will not see the light of day. I will not yield.”
Nequ’el smiled. “You already have,” he said, with a pointed look to Kyle’s bare torso.
Kyle craned his neck again. The runes formed a circle with seven points—symbolizing the seven levels of Xibalba, each marking representing one of the Demon Lords. He recognized his father’s rune at the topmost point. Each of the spikes led to a strange-looking rune at the center of his belly, right at the bottom of his sternum. He squinted at the thing.
“What is that?”
Nequ’el’s grin widened, his beady eyes glittering. “I suppose it won’t hurt to tell you. It’s the rune of the avatar of Xibalba.”
Kyle blinked his surprise. “Avatar?”
“We got the idea from that new friend of yours, the incarnation of the goddess Durga.”
“What about her?”
Nequ’el cocked his head. “Have you ever heard the story of how she came to be? It’s quite fascinating, really. She was created by the Trimurtas to fight the imbalance caused by the reign of the rakshasa Mahishasura. She was the ultimate embodiment of the three gods—wielding all their collective shakti and susceptible to none of their weaknesses.”
Kyle tried to follow what the Demon Lord was saying, understanding that he wasn’t talking about Darika, but rather the goddess Durga. His breath stalled in his chest as all the pieces came together. “Wait, you made a Demon Lord avatar?”
“Not just any avatar,” Nequ’el howled gleefully. “An immortal Azura, born of each of us.” The Demon Lord indicated the rune etched on his own wrist—a series of three triangles that resembled the face of a dog. “Here’s mine.” He then pointed to the matching one to the left of Kyle’s ribs, and moved to another. “This, you must know, is Ra’al’s.” Kyle swallowed at the image of the tri-curling horns. “Your brother Dekaias’s,” he continued, indicating another that looked like a lock of hair curled around a trident. “Along with each of the others. They all connect to this.” His fingernail stroked along the length of Kyle’s sternum to stop at the eighth rune at the center. “Aranyasura.”
“It won’t work,” Kyle countered, ignoring the chill the name had spawned across his skin. “Whatever you create will still be bound to Xibalba.”
“Not with your blood. Just as you were tethered to the last apocalypse demon, so you will be tethered to this one. While you live, she will be able to pass between the realms through the very portal that brought you here and awaits your return. It won’t be long now.”
The possibilities assaulted him in a rush. No wonder they had wanted to lure him into opening the portal in the first place. The gateway he’d summoned to banish the demons had been the start of their attack. And Sera had known. Panic spread through him—that thing in the gym was holding the portal between the realms open. Oh, God, what had he done?
“Don’t worry, young Kalias,” Nequ’el crooned. “Lord Ra’al can be forgiving, at times. And after all, you will have an eternity to beg his forgiveness. Once he has eaten his fill of the mortals, he will be in a more forgiving mood.” He nodded to the rakshasas on guard in the room. “Enjoy your new accommodations.”
“Wait.” His mind raced. He did not know Nequ’el well or understand what motivated him, but Kyle knew one simple rule: all demons were egocentric. Their universes began and ended with themselves, and Nequ’el would be no different. Thinking quickly, Kyle allowed derision to color his tone. “Do you really think that Ra’al and Temlucus will reward you as you deserve?”
The Demon Lord paused at the threshold but did not turn. “Go on.”
Kyle suppressed his sense of t
riumph, keeping his voice even. “If what you’ve told me is true, you hold the key to the plan’s success here, in your dimension. You. Not them, you.”
Nequ’el turned then, his upper lip curling slightly across the row of teeth. “What is your point?”
“If I’m the key, then neither of them could have made your Aranyasura without me. And yet you are the one who has me—their most valuable asset—in your hands. Tell me, Lord Nequ’el, what have you received for this gift? For this sacrifice?” Kyle paused, letting the charged silence between them swell dramatically. He wanted the moment to be perfect for his next words. He could almost hear the wheels turning in Nequ’el’s head, see the frustration mounting in those beady, black eyes. Kyle lowered his voice. “Such an important role to still be last in the pecking order, do you not agree?”
A low, unearthly whine emanated from the Demon Lord’s throat. “What do you mean?”
“You are last, are you not?” Kyle pursed his lips. “My father is first in line, followed by Temlucus, then Wyndigu, then maybe Belphegar.” He squinted thoughtfully and made a big show of considering the rest of the lineup. “Lamasha next, and then Dekaias, because everyone knows that the son of Ra’al will have some favor. Which leaves you, dear Nequ’el, dead last.”
“You are mistaken,” he growled.
“Am I?” Kyle shrugged nonchalantly, then winced as the movement of his shoulders tugged on the bonds around his wounded wrists. “If that is true, then why are you here tending to me while they welcome the KaliYuga without you? To them, you are unimportant. Small. Insignificant.”
The rumble that came from Nequ’el’s throat was awash with rage as the Demon Lord strode toward Kyle and cracked the back of his hand against his jaw. Though the blow made him see stars, Kyle did not move or allow his contemptuous expression to drop. He arched an eyebrow.
“You are as slick as your father,” Nequ’el bellowed. “Don’t you think I see what you are doing?”
Kyle’s teeth felt loose in his mouth, but he pushed the words out anyway. “What do I have to gain? I’m tied up. I don’t expect you to free me. You’re not that stupid. But you are smart enough to know when you’re being played.” Kyle’s eyes narrowed. “They’ve always underestimated you, haven’t they? You are the master of the dimension of war, and yet when your brothers are poised to enter the greatest conquest of their lives, you’re stuck behind the battle lines. Says something, doesn’t it?”
Nequ’el raised his hand to strike again, but paused to let it hang in midair. Without another word, he marched from the room. A sigh eased from Kyle’s throat as his muscles relaxed against the stone table. Every bone in his body ached. His jaw felt dislocated, but it would heal. Eventually.
Though he knew that getting under Nequ’el’s skin might not be enough to get him out of this room, he hoped he’d damaged the Demon Lords’ fragile hierarchy to buy himself some time, or at the very least derail some of their plans. Dissention in the ranks could cause mistakes. He’d already seen the clash of the egos when Temlucus had stood up to Ra’al the last time they had tried to unleash hell on earth. Demons were special snowflakes like that.
Closing his eyes, Kyle calmed his erratic thoughts. He needed to think—to figure out a way out of this mess that he’d created by acting without thinking in the first place. He couldn’t escape the Ifricaius binding him to the table. He’d seen what they’d done to actual Daevas, immortals far more powerful than he. The dark weapons had bound them to the earth.
But he was still the son of Ra’al.
That had to mean something, here in Xibalba. Otherwise why would they have needed him? He was the eighth seed—the blood from which Aranyasura had been spawned.
Kyle suppressed a shudder. Imbued with all the strengths of the seven Demon Lords—just as Durga had been forged from the gods of Illysia—their creation would be fearsome. And powerful. But if she’d been born from his blood, then she would be bound to him, too. Which meant he had to get to her before she was unleashed upon the Mortal Realm.
Kyle concentrated, feeling the heartbeat of Xibalba pulsing all around him. He could summon Mordas, but the sword would do little good if he couldn’t wield it. No, there had to be another way. Movement in the shadows caught his attention and he seized upon an idea. It was worth a shot.
“Come forth,” he commanded. Nothing happened. If the rakshasas had heard him, they paid no heed. He repeated his command, putting as much force into the words as possible. “As heir to the seventh, I command you to come forth. Now.”
A scraping sound ensued, like jagged metal on metal, and if he could have clapped his hands to his ears, he would have. Kyle braced himself, expecting the worst. Four forms materialized from the shadows that had shrouded them. He could feel two near his shoulders, but they remained just beyond his line of sight. The two near his ankles, however, he could see clearly.
Kyle sucked in a sharp breath. He’d expected pishachas, but these rakshasas weren’t ugly and deformed. Stunning to look at, with bronzed faces and flashing dark eyes, they were manushya-rakshasis—female demons in human form. Though they were nude, a cascade of dark, curling hair covered most of their bodies—which like their faces, were sculpted perfection.
His father had a perverse sense of humor.
“Release me,” Kyle commanded.
They laughed at him, the sound like a rustle of leaves. “Why should we?” they said in unison.
“Because I am your master.”
“We have no master.” Their laughter erupted again. “But if we did, we would want it to be you.” They came closer, running their fingers along his ribs and his limbs. Kyle kept his eyes closed, as if avoiding looking at them would make him less susceptible to their charms. One of them trailed their hands along his wrist, skipping over the ifricaius bond and stroking the inside of his palm.
Kyle didn’t hesitate. He closed his fingers, clutching the hand there. Recognition jolted through him like lightning. Recognition and power. So much power—each of them linked to the next by something. But it was transient and not yet fully formed. The manushya-rakshasis needed a host. For a moment, he wondered if that host would be him. His spine arched as feminine laughter filled the room in a loud unending rustle, and his skin felt as if it were coming apart at the seams.
No, he was not the vessel the manushya-rakshasis sought.
He was nowhere near strong enough.
But they wanted something from him. Something important.
Gasping, he struggled to draw breath as they surrounded him, the scent of smoky incense permeating the air as the manushya-rakshasis touched each of the runes in succession. His body bucked, compelled by something unseen, the chains bearing down to hold him in place. A point on his chest burned as though a knife was being inserted through his ribs. He felt warm blood trickling down his chest, the sensation of rough tongues scraping along his flesh.
Kalias . . .
He screamed and opened his eyes to see the rune at the center of the seven, glowing red like the fires of hell. The mark on his chest pulsed with awareness. His heart raced with fear. The manushya-rakshasis had used him. They had needed his blood and his rune to become one.
Kyle closed his eyes.
They’d needed both to become Aranyasura.
“This way,” Jem called to her. Sera followed warily. They were in a desert, and she didn’t like being this exposed. Xibalba tended to be full of surprises—and not the good kind.
“Are you sure this is right?” she wheezed as they plodded up yet another sandy dune. “And remind me why I can’t fly, again?”
“Yes, I’m sure,” he replied. “And we can’t fly because your deifyre will kill me, and you’ll only fly in circles. This dimension is built so that there’s no way to escape, above or below. Nequ’el likes punishment. He forces his slaves to trudge endlessly through this desert without water or sustenance, letting the sun burn them until they’re nothing but husks.”
Sera shuddered, recalling the i
mage she’d seen of the Demon Lord with his long line of mendicants.
“This whole plane is an unending maze,” Jem said. “You just can’t see it. Trust me, we’re on the right path, and we’re nearly there.”
“What do you mean, it’s a maze?”
In response, Jem bent to collect a stone that lay on the surface of the sand. He threw it a few feet to the right—and it instantly sank into some kind of hole. “There are traps like that one all over if you don’t know where to step. And you’ll be sucked into way worse levels of this dimension, or sent back to the start of the desert. Those who step out of line or who try to escape pay for it.”
Sera frowned. “How do you know the route?”
“I told you,” he said. “I’ve been here before.”
Following his footsteps carefully, she doubled her pace to catch up with Jem, who didn’t even seem out of breath. Sera frowned, every instinct within her warning her not to trust him. He had murdered his family. He may have been possessed, but it was hard to reconcile where free will had come into play. He had been the one to slaughter his loved ones.
Sera exhaled a troubled breath. She stared at the boy who had been her friend. When Jem had returned to Silver Lake, she had wanted so badly for things to go back to the way they had been—but now she realized how unrealistic that was. They couldn’t turn back the clock, and neither of them could change who they were.
“There,” Jem said at the crest of the dune. He pointed toward what looked like another sea of rippling, golden sand. But unlike the last, this desert was not empty. At its center was a spindly tower. “That’s where they’re keeping him.”
“How do you know?”
“Because it was my idea.”
Sera’s eyes shot to the boy she’d known for half her life. How had he become this person—so twisted and angry that he’d made a deal with the devil, or devils? And now he was bound to her, by force. Either Jem was truly a victim, or he was more cunning than anyone she’d ever met.
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