by Ivy Asher
“Well done, Delta,” she tells me proudly, taking me in with a satisfied nod of her head. Her gold armor gleams in the moonlight, despite the gore and grime covering her. “Shall we give them a show?” she asks, scanning our surroundings, her eyes glimmering with excitement.
I follow her stare and see Inner Ring demons silently surrounding us, like they’re either moving into position or getting good seats for a show. When they’ve all circled around us, they suddenly part, making way for someone. It takes a moment for dark dreads, olive-toned skin, full lips, and mud-colored wings to stride into view.
The Ophidian’s eyes glow like a cat’s do when light hits them just right. As he moves closer, I realize two things, his eyes are completely white—with the exception of a vertical black slit in the middle for a pupil—and his hair isn’t made up of dreads like I thought they were. They’re long black snakes attached to his head.
Did Medusa have a hot little brother that the myths forgot to mention or something? Because, damn!
Shit!
I look away, suddenly remembering that you’re not supposed to look at Medusa or else you risk turning to stone, but when I spot Nefta’s purple eyes still affixed on the other demon, I realize that’s a stupid thought. I look around in an effort to cover up the panicked eye drop I just did, attempting to adopt the same indomitable mien as Nefta. It’s harder to do with the grimace affixed to my face, but I’m in too much pain to make it completely drop away.
“I should have fucking known it’d be you, Morax,” Nefta declares calmly as the Ophidian moves cautiously closer and the demons all around us close us off.
I scan all around, looking for the guys or Tazreel, but I don’t see anything beyond the Ophidian and the wall of demons watching and waiting. I sweep my eyes over the demon that’s been calling for my capture, trying to figure out what the fuck his deal is.
His black snake hair moves slowly around him, like the serpents are coiling together in preparation of a strike. The yellow eyes of the snakes seem to be watching his surroundings as though they’re watching the Ophidian’s back.
“It’s been a long time, Nefta. You look well,” the Ophidian, aka Morax, comments, and I’m surprised when his voice isn’t a hiss but something more in the realm of James Earl Jones. I fight back the urge to ask him to say, “Luke, I am your Father,” and try to get my fucked up head in the game.
Maybe I have a concussion?
I take a deep breath and focus my enraged thoughts on Morax, hoping to test out my new blacklight ability and end whatever this fucker wants once and for all.
She sweeps her purple eyes around the graveyard boredly. “Still feeding into that overwhelming jealousy of Lucifer, I see,” she comments evenly, and a tic starts in Morax’s jaw.
“Still an arrogant, heartless bitch?” Morax asks Nefta before his white snake eyes land on me.
I’m still trying to blacklight this fucker up, but I’m either not doing it right or it’s not working.
“Nice try, little one. I’m immune,” he purrs at me, and I have to chase away the goosebumps that want to rise up on my arms like I’m a grumpy old lady armed with a fly swatter. “You know, you could save everyone’s life here and cooperate,” he adds, and he suddenly doesn’t seem so appealing. Nope, there’s definitely a creepy stalker, murderer vibe about him now.
“You know, you could just fuck off and then nobody dies. There is that,” I counter.
He chuckles as if what I’m saying is just too hilarious for him to keep a straight face.
“What are you doing, Morax?” Nefta asks, drawing his attention back onto her. “You’re going to try and overturn Lucifer? For what? If you think you’re going to change how things are done, you’re in for a rude awakening. Heaven will never allow it.”
“I guess we’ll find out then, won’t we?” He strikes out so fast that I can barely track it. One second, he’s ten feet away, and the next, he’s right in front of me. “Wait right here. I’ll be back for you soon,” he tells me, and then out of nowhere, the sound of metal-on-metal starts ringing in my ears as Morax brings a massive sword with a curved blade down to slam against Nefta’s light-filled weapon.
The swords hiss as they clash, like the contact hurts them both somehow. They strike and parry, dodge and slash, faster than anything I’ve ever seen. Nefta and Morax are a whir of deadly movement, and surprisingly, I hear Nefta laughing as they go, maneuvering around in the demon-made circle. I’m not sure if I respect the badassery of it or if I think she’s batshit crazy.
Maybe both.
“You’ve always been one-sided,” Morax growls as he twists back, narrowly avoiding Nefta’s Heavenly blade.
I notice that while she has the scythe in her hand, she’s not striking out at him with it. I watch them like a double Dutch jumper, just waiting for the right time to sneak in and make my move.
Several of the snakes on Morax’s head lash out at Nefta as she steps inside his swing and finally bats at him with her scythe.
“You know you can’t reset me,” Morax taunts.
“No, but I can end you,” she counters with a backhand swing of her sword.
Like a ray of sun breaking through the clouds to light my way, I see my chance. I take three strides forward and swing at Morax’s winged back. He whirls around tornado fast until he’s facing me. I raise my scythe to swing it toward him, ready to hook around his neck. One quick pull and they can call me the Queen of Hearts, because it will be off with his motherfucking head.
“You don’t want to do that, little one,” he tells me smoothly, his tone vibrating with an undercurrent of something that makes me pause.
His eyes flash with determination as he takes me in, and I find myself oddly drawn to him. Why am I trying to kill him instead of trying to understand what he needs from me?
Out of the corner of my eye, I can see demons converging on Nefta, but the sounds of the battle that’s still raging all around me are muffled. Morax steps closer to me, and I can feel his large hand snake around my waist, making my lips part on a gasp.
“Mmmm, so responsive,” he purrs, and he’s so close I can feel his breath on my mouth. I lean in, my eyes staring at his face greedily.
My scythe is hanging limply at my side, and something about that pulls me from my thoughts of Morax’s full lips and why I don’t want to kill him. I stare down at the blades, feeling like there’s something really important that I’m supposed to do with them, but I can’t for the life of me remember what.
“You’re so ripe for the picking, it’s almost wrong. Too bad I’ve never cared much for wrong or right. You’re so quick to abandon your will,” he says, his hand cupping my cheek and his thumb grazing gently over my lips. “Not even an ounce of fight,” he observes, tilting my head back as his white snake eyes study my face and trace the lines of my lips. “You want to be owned, don’t you?”
Bewilderment sparks somewhere inside of me. I’m not sure exactly where it comes from, just that it’s there. Morax leans down like he’s going to kiss me, but instead of responding to that like it’s a good thing, all I can think is that he’s not one of my Guardians. I don’t want to be kissing anyone but them.
Their images flash through my mind as the Ophidian’s chest presses against mine. I can feel my heart steadily beating, and that strikes me as odd too. When my demons touch me, hold me, my heart always picks up the pace with excitement. But now, it’s almost like it’s anesthetized.
Will.
Fight.
Owned.
The words rise to the surface of my foggy brain, and I clench my hands as I become aware of the scythe again.
This is wrong.
He’s not...them.
In a move so quick it rivals the speed of the demon who’s somehow fucked with my mind and is closing in on my lips like a predator does prey, I flip my scythe in my hand so the straight blade is leading. Morax tracks the movement, but I’m sinking the blade into his chest before he can so much as try to take a
step back from me.
My eyes widen on the spot where my blade pierces his flesh. I expect him to turn to ash, but he doesn’t. He doesn’t even flinch or gasp in pain. Confused and panicked, I pull the end out of him and step back, flipping the scythe again so I can get him with the curved blade now that there’s space between us and room for me to use the other end.
He blocks the second strike like he’s swatting away an annoying bug. Black blood pools onto the fabric of his shirt, but instead of acknowledging it in any way, he reaches down and adjusts himself. I quickly look away from the bulge in his pants.
“You’re stronger than I thought,” he tells me with a lascivious grin, need glimmering in his unusual eyes.
Unease churns inside of me as alarm bells sing in my head. I can feel all the wrongness that’s wrapped around him like a cloak. I don’t know who this dude is or what exactly his power is that he used on me, but fucked up doesn’t even begin to cover it.
“I’m going to have the best time playing with you.”
That creepy smile on his face goes hand in hand with my need to vomit. I feel rattled and violated, and all he’s doing is looking at me. All at once, his snake hair looks at me, and they start writhing around in some kind of weird ass hypnotic dance.
“It’s time to go now, little one. Take my hand.” He reaches out, palm up, and once again, I’m completely discombobulated.
It’s time to go.
Frowning, I reach for him, but before I can close the distance between us and slip my palm into his, a winged being slams down between us, and a cloud of dirt and grass goes flying out all around us from the impact.
“That is my daughter you are fucking with, Snake Charmer,” Tazreel growls, his blond wings held out proudly on either side of him.
Taz’s voice yanks me from the confounding venom Morax keeps slipping into my head. How the fuck is he doing that?
“Why, Pride, it’s lovely to finally meet you. Any friend of Lucifer’s is an enemy of mine,” he jokes.
Tazreel and Morax go at it.
They clash together like two ocean waves battling for control over the sea. I feel their impact through the ground. They hit hard, and this time, no one is laughing.
I look over to find Nefta practically standing on a hill of bodies as she continues to fight relentlessly against the demons who surrounded us. I abandon my spectator status of Tazreel and Morax’s showdown. I want to get as far from the Ophidian as possible. He scrambles my brain, and I feel like I can’t trust myself with him.
I scan for my demons. I haven’t seen them since I was drop-kicked earlier. I was supposed to look out for them, and instead, I got myself netted and just almost left willingly with the enemy. I need to find Jerif. Maybe I can convince him to punch me in the face to knock some sense in me, or at least tell me what the fuck my problem is.
Out of nowhere, something wraps around my waist, and I’m yanked to the left, like one of those old time acts who get hooked off the stage if they’re bad. Before I can so much as scream, I slam into Echo’s chest and his arms wrap around me.
His hold makes me cry out, and he immediately drops his arms. “Shit, are you okay? Where are you hurt?” he asks me, his shadows running over my body like they’re checking for injuries.
My teeth are clenched as I try not to hurl, and I suck in a breath to try to mentally separate myself from the pain. “My wing,” I manage to say, and Echo moves to look, hissing out an exhale when he sees. “Shit, Delta. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have hugged you until I checked…”
“It’s okay,” I assure him as I reach down and squeeze his hand.
“Maverick, Echo, over here!” Iceman yells, and our heads snap to the right to find him twenty feet away, shattering frozen demons where they stand. Echo and I head over, trampling over dead bodies in an effort to get to him. There are so many eviscerated, broken pieces of deceased demons everywhere that I start ashing bodies just to make it easier to navigate the battlefield that was once a tranquil graveyard.
A flash of flame shoots in a straight path toward Iceman, and I see Jerif making his way over too, making another surge of relief hit my soul. Neither of them look injured, but they do look exhausted. I search around us for Crux, apprehension bubbling in my stomach.
Not again, not again, I keep chanting to myself, trying to push thoughts of the Vestibule away. He’s okay. He has to be. If the others are on their feet, he is too somewhere. I won’t let myself think otherwise.
Getting to Iceman is slow going. I feel like I’m wading through molasses while also fighting off stray demons here and there, but every swing of my scythe sends another lightning strike of agony down my wing. I can tell Echo tries to take down every attacker so that I don’t injure myself more, but his power is exhausted. All he has left are a few semi-transparent wisps to work with and the ice sword in his hand looks about a foot shorter than it used to be.
Eventually, we make it to Iceman. “Broken wing,” I blurt before quickly smashing my face against his chest and curling my arms around him. He barely stops himself in time from wrapping his arms around me and touching my wing. I have to force myself to pull away because the fight’s not over yet, and I can’t let myself shut down or bask in his hold.
As soon as Iceman’s eyes land on the break in my wing that I probably don’t want to see, he reaches down, and without warning, sends a sharp rush of cold at the spot. I suck in a surprised breath at the pain, but in the next blink, it’s replaced with numbness. “Better?” he asks, and I nod gratefully.
“Yeah.”
A warm hand tugs at my arm, and then I’m being spun around and Jerif is pulling me against his hot chest, his hands carefully staying on my hips as he holds me to him. I feel like warm laundry fresh out of the dryer is giving me a hug, only it smells like sulfur and blood. Jerif pulls back after a beat, but then a figure pops up on my left out of nowhere. It smells horrible, and I swing at it, pissed that it’s trying to fuck with my reunion.
“Jeter, it’s me!” Crux shouts out, and my eyes go wide with surprise, and I stop my scythe from delivering a blow just in time.
Crux is covered head-to-toe in gore. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think he just bathed in the blood of his enemies. His green eyes are prevalent, but that’s the only thing not tainted by the stamp of demon innards.
“Dude!” I say, shocked at his state.
“I know. It’s a messy job, but someone has to do it,” he teases.
Relief finally washes through me at the fact that all four of my Gate Guardians are here. Crux opens his arms for a hug, so I pinch my nose and lean in, patting at him on the back with the safe wood part of my scythe.
He chuckles as I pull back. “When this is all over, I’m going to chase you around until you give me a proper battle kiss.”
“Cool, just hose yourself off first,” I suggest before taking another step back, just in case he tries to tackle-hug me right now. I mean, we’re still technically in the middle of a battle, but I wouldn’t put it past him.
Nefta’s warrior scream fills the night air once again, interrupting our moment, and I look over to see that once again, she’s working with Tazreel, and they’re both fighting Morax now.
“Let’s go kill that fucker,” I snarl as I start stomping off toward the fight. Iceman’s icy-numbness did wonders to help, and now I no longer feel like vomiting every time I move.
“I love it when you get all ruthless,” Echo says as they all move to join me.
“Just don’t let him fuck with my head, okay?” I tell them, but before anyone can reply or ask what I mean, a roar reverberates all around us, and our heads snap in the direction of the mausoleum. The gargoyle is still on the roof like some kind of battle announcer, and it seems like he’s calling any surviving demons back to the Gate, because the horde starts to retreat.
“May I?” Jerif asks, eyeing my scythe and holding his hand out expectantly. I hand it over, and he flips it until the straight blade is facing down. All
of a sudden, the curved blade folds down, and in three strides, Jerif chucks my Swiss Army scythe through the air. It moves like a spear through the night and, in a poof, hits its gargoyle target right in the chest, instantly turning him to ash.
“How did you do that?” I ask, shocked and a little jealous that the scythe listened to him and transformed easily into what he wanted it to.
“I just told it what to do in my head,” he answers with a shrug, like it’s as easy as that.
I huff out a sigh and look out at where my scythe-spear is now sticking out of the mausoleum roof. Walking stick, broomstick, spear...that thing is seriously versatile. I just need it to work with me.
“Come,” I call to it, holding my palm up expectantly.
Nothing happens.
“Come on, don’t make me look bad! Heel!” I tell it in my best alpha bitch commanding voice.
Still nothing. It just stands there proudly, straight blade stuck into the pile of ash on the rooftop like it’s claiming territory.
I huff out an exasperated breath.
Nefta’s voice pops up in my mind. “Have you named her yet?”
I don’t let myself debate the merits of naming the weapon, I just decide to go with the first thing that pops in my head. It probably won’t work anyway. I think my scythe likes me nice and annoyed.
“Queen of Hearts, get your ass back down here!” I order it.
And what the fuck do you know...the scythe disappears from the roof of the mausoleum and reappears in my hand less than a millisecond later.
Well, shit. Looks like this little lady just got a name.
I beam at it, feeling a part of my heritage snapping into place. “Come on,” I tell the guys, and the five of us rush forward, but most of the demons are either dead or running. They heard the gargoyle’s signal, and the mass that was still pushing to surround the Ophidian protectively are now racing toward the mausoleum to escape through the portal.
“Jerif, with me. We’ll head them off!” Iceman calls, and he and Jerif race toward the mausoleum, ready to cut down the demons who are daring to run away with their tails between their legs. The last thing we want is to let them go to regroup and attack again.
