by Riley London
But I don’t stop.
Because they don’t stop.
Demonus ad infinitum.
I remember asking Erik what he could possibly know of Hell. He had looked so grim and simply said he knew enough. After this day, I imagine that my own response to such a stupid question would be exactly the same.
How could you even explain this experience to someone?
A river of demonic foes without beginning, without end.
Each one more powerful than the last.
Adrenaline courses through me as I go laser focused, slaughtering foe after foe. One gets too close and almost cuts open my abdomen.
Erik throws himself in front of me, expertly twisting out of the way and wrenching the demon’s neck until it’s broken with a sickening crack.
Not before he takes a cut that’s gushing blood. But it doesn’t seem to slow him down.
Once the demon’s down, he’s back on his feet, wading into the fray again while I stab and behead the thing just to make sure it stays down.
I don’t know how long we fight but we’ve had to retreat because of a number of bodies piling up in front of us. Some of them are mine. But most of them are Erik’s. As I watch him out of the corner of my eye, I am humbled to realize what an incredibly gifted fighter this man is.
What an opportunity it is to study under him.
Why I have never managed to kick his ass.
What’s really starting to concern me are the demonic voices, joined together in chanting. They’re crafting some sort of magic, and that’s going to be harder to fight.
At least it’s taking them some time to get started.
Erik has stepped back and is hastily wrapping his side, to stop it from bleeding.
Our eyes meet, and he signals that he’s okay.
From behind me comes Tristan’s voice, familiar yet entirely new. It seems to emanate from the space all around him, and to echo back from the far reaches of the hellish landscape. He raises a hand, starting on the far left of the scene of horror that’s unfolding in front of us, dragging it all the way until he’s made a circle around himself. At the same time, he says hush. The word is long and drawn out.
Husssssssssssssssssh.
But it’s impossible to mistake it for anything but a command.
What follows is one of the most miraculous things that I have ever witnessed. Pure chaos, pure torture, pure hell melts into a complete silence. Gone are the sounds of fighting, of steel on flesh, of wounds being rendered. The screams of the prisoners, the howls and grunts of the demonic guards, the ambient hissing that seems like the backdrop of hell. Even the sound of my own breathing.
It’s gone.
Most importantly, he’s rendered the demon magic workers silent. And without their words, they’re helpless at least for a minute.
A blanket of silence falls, and with that, we gain the advantage. Erik and I push forward, fighting, fighting. A magical signature moves to my right, Noah, wielding those ice staves. He shoves the biggest demon I’ve seen yet back with one, and then impales it on the other. It bursts into flames and evaporates in a way I’ve never seen before.
Fire and ice, baby.
Our eyes meet, and I’m struck by how alive Noah looks. The focus, the purpose, the passion that’s intent on his face.
I’d love to find a way to touch this part of him every day. If only the magical parts of him that were so appealing didn’t hide behind so many layers of an entitled asshole.
Yet, I count myself fortunate to be fighting beside this talented mage today.
Finally, the demon onslaught stops.
Tristan jumps down, silent as his leather boot soles hit the stone.
Erik and Noah are smeared in blood and gore.
They both grin. It is a hell of a fight.
Erik’s injured, but not badly. A reasonable cost for a hard-won victory, his face seems to say.
“We have to figure out where we are,” Tristan says, unfolding the map again, looking at it.
My eyes track the faces of the prisoners. Most just look afraid, terrified, but there’s one woman with sharp eyes beneath a crisscross of scars on her face.
At least we seem to be able to talk.
“Does anyone here know their way out of here?”
I’m not surprised when she spits, grinning to reveal missing teeth. “I do. You’re in the lowest parts of Lucifer’s personal dungeon.”
Lucifer’s Tower.
She has a cockney accent that sounds old, out of place, like a movie.
Something tells me that she’s been here for a long time.
Noah and Erik pull close. I look at Tristan.
“Clearly she’s an old-timer,” I say, reasonably. He nods, wise dark eyes boring into mine.
“She could guide you out, Tristan. Help you use the map to figure out where the hell we are.” I grin. “And how to actually get out of Hell.”
His face takes on a defiant look, stubborn like he’s going to fight. “I’m not leaving you. We do this together or not at all.”
Erik’s voice is grave as he cuts in. “She’s right, Tristan. We don’t have much time. You’re our best shot of getting out of here alive, man. The only way that we get out is if you can find the path to a gate. I don’t think we have a witch waiting to magic us back.”
Three sets of eyes turn toward Noah, and he gives a quick head shake. “Yeah, sorry guys. That’s beyond what even I could do without out serious preparation and even then?”
He doesn’t look hopeful.
Tristan looks at me again, and for a second, everything else fades away. I try to summon up what influence I can, not in a dark way at all. But I want him to feel the urgency. The belief that I have in him. The knowledge that we’re relying on him and that he absolutely can do this.
It pushes out, and I can tell by the widening of his eyes that he feels it. A shrug of his shoulder sends it skittering off, but that doesn’t mean he’s unaffected.
“Tristan, you have the best chance of all of us of going undetected. You can shift your form, make some adjustments so you blend in better.” The words are barely past my lips before his visage shifts.
The skin darkens to the grayish tinge of the demons, underlit by veins of red. His hair looks shaggier, less well-kempt. Bumps below the hairline give the impression of horns. He seems bigger, more raw muscles and less lean athlete.
It’s Tristan, but not Tristan.
Haunting.
But brilliant.
He’s already moving to the cell where the woman stands, regarding him with interest. “Well aren’t you a lovely creature,” he croons. It’s been centuries since this woman could have been lovely, if she ever was. But something in her responds and preens to his words.
“What pretty eyes you have,” he says. “What’s your name?”
My stomach tightens a little with some strange emotion. Am I jealous?
Am I seriously feeling fucking jealous right now?
I tamp that down so hard.
“Bella,” her voice crackles.
“Well, Bella,” Tristan says, doing more elaborate hand sigils that seem to melt the bars enough to let him pull her through. “Let’s you and I take a walk. Show me the way out, if you would.”
She gives the pile of dead demon guards a wide berth, with eyes only for Tristan.
Seduction magic at its best, I guess.
He asks her to wait, and comes back to stand in front of me.
“Max,” he says, “I need to make sure that I can find you.”
Not a problem I had considered.
He looks unsure for a long second, before he says, “Do you consent to allow me to mark you, so that I may find you in the depths of Hell and forever more?”
Forever more’s a long time, I want to say. But practicality is what matters now.
“Do it.”
His hand moves in a sigil, and for a second, I feel something. A featherlight touch that dissipates. Then he’s walking away, put
ting a hand on Bella’s back.
“I’ll be back,” he mouths over his shoulder. “Find Gabriel.”
My eyes go to the two lethal men in front of me.
“Now what?”
Erik shifts. “Tristan’s basically in charge of the getaway car. We need to find Father Gabriel.”
“And just how do you suggest we do that?” demands Noah.
But I have an idea. Bella had pointed to the lowest levels of the map. Apparently, the only way out was up.
The guys agree to the plan, and we’re off, moving as one tightly coordinated unit.
From what I can tell of the map, Lucifer’s palace is basically like an elevator shaft. It seems like we’re at the bottom, but if we can get to the center, we just need to keep working our way up.
Eventually, that’ll bring us somewhere.
Down the hall, bank a right, and then up the stairs. Halfway up, one of the most terrifying demons I have ever seen casually walks down the stairs. Fat pads and clawed toes on his feet scrape against the stone and I swear he’s doing something like humming.
Erik is already moving to block his path, but I shoot past him, thrusting my sword straight through his center. Noah follows with a series of blows and soon the demon falls dead, rolling down the stairs to the ground below with a series of inelegant thumps.
The next level looks like torture rooms, but they’re empty, and the level after that is a barracks. They’re mostly deserted, but Erik surprises two huge demons rounding a corner. Almost before they can react, he’s in motion, his form launching through the air with a grace that’s totally at odds with his size.
For a second, it looks like the faintly runic tattoos on his arms glow. But maybe it’s a trick of the awful Hellish light down here.
Their skulls crack together, and one falls to the ground. The other comes at him, disoriented but not dead. I move to go in, to help, but Noah holds up a hand.
“He’s got it, Max.”
Erik rips that demon apart, limb from limb.
I swallow hard, remembering again that I have a lot left to learn.
On the move upwards, Noah stops and cocks his head. He puts both palms to the stone of the wall, whispering words.
We wait, Erik’s eyes vigilantly scanning for approaching enemies.
I watch Noah, who is deep in concentration. His eyes fly open and those green eyes lock with mine.
“Next level up.”
“Did you just talk to the stone?”
“There’s an elemental consciousness or maybe something else. It’s in all the Hell rocks, I think. Father Gabriel, one more level,” he says.
I move when he grabs my wrist, and his hand is not gentle. The snap of pain is so real, so grounding, that I stop abruptly. “There are a lot of guards.”
Erik has a plan. We creep closer, and he scouts, coming back to indicate that there’s a line of cells beyond the landing to this level. If I counted right, there’s only one more level up to the highest point in Hell.
Or at least Lucifer’s tower.
His signals indicate that there are a lot – a serious lot – of guards. We’ll just fight our way through. Noah gathers his power, while the other big warrior rolls his shoulders. But I have a different idea.
I envision a cloak of darkness descending around us, obscuring our movements. Noah hisses, but his hand comes to find mine and he gives it a squeeze. The three of us move as one down the hall, virtually undetected by the guards that are very thoroughly occupied with the very brutal discipline of their captives.
There’s a man being flayed alive in the first cell.
Someone – I couldn’t identify them if I had to – being racked in the second.
A small person just rocks alone in the third cell, weeping into a cold and uncaring silence.
My heart aches to free each and every one of them.
There’s so much I’ve never considered.
Why are they here? Victims, like Father Gabriel? Or if that whole angels and demons thing plays out the way that the old stories explain, maybe they deserve to be here?
Even at the thought, my mind rejects the idea.
No one deserves this. Not for an eternity. At least, maybe, very few. Far fewer that the hoards of prisoners in the endless cells that line this hallway.
But we pass one cell with a familiar sound, a moan that sounds like a hint of voice I know, brings me up short.
At first, I can’t tell. The man is chained to face the wall, his back scarred and bloody. His head falls forward, but I know that back with its broad shoulders. He’s lost probably forty pounds since I’ve seen him last, but that’s Father Gabriel.
“Gabriel?” I whisper, not that anyone is nearby to hear us over the screams of whatever is happening the next cell over. The stench turns my stomach. When his head comes up at the sound of his name, I feel like I’m going to heave.
Horror for all he’s been through.
Relief that we’ve found him.
Wracking guilt that I didn’t get here sooner.
Every second that he suffered, at the beatings he took, ever horror I can’t image. I feel the weight of every minute of his suffering like the fault of that lands at my feet. My fault.
Gasping for breath, it takes me a minute to register the hands on my arms holding me up. Not gentle. Noah’s face, not unkind but not forgiving.
“Are you going to come this far to what, weep? Then you’re not the person I’d started to believe you are, Max,” he says sharply.
Erik’s eyes are worried, and I start to realize why. In my distraction, the cover of darkness evaporates. I call it back, summon it with such force that even my own vision is obscured.
“Max,” Erik’s voice is a warning. I ease up, knowing that the next few minutes are crucial.
The three of us move silently into the cell. Father Gabriel seems to be alone. I try not to look at his scars, but he mouths something over and over that I can’t see, straining to turn his head as Erik removes a small saw from his bag and begins to cut at the chains.
Noah seems to be communing with the wall again, and the stones split apart to release the roots of the chains, sending Father Gabriel tipping back at the release of the weight. I move to catch him, and my hand makes contact with his back.
He screams in agony, and it’s like every fiber of my being screams with him.
My heart is being ripped out of my chest.
Father Gabriel.
I manage to lower him into the filthy straw, holding him up while Erik and Noah work frantically to break the chains. The ones binding his wrists to the wall have fallen free, and the ones holding them together.
Next the chains binding his ankles, bloody and raw.
And then his throat.
All the while, his lips keep moving as if in prayer and I can’t see what he’s saying. Finally, they’re done cutting and Noah moves to hold him up.
I crouch in front of him, steeling myself. One tear leaks and rolls unbidden down my cheek.
“Father Gabriel, can you hear me?”
He doesn’t seem to have control of his head, but it gives a jerky little movement.
I lean closer, trying to see what he’s whispering. A prayer?
Close enough, I can finally read his lips.
“Max. Max. Max, my Max. You came. Max.”
I feel like I might pass out.
But then, something about his demeanor shifts.
His eyes are wide with fear, mad with pain and the horror of it all. But he tries to communicate something, his eyes frantically rolling back in his head.
His entire body starts to shake.
With a great force of will, he manages to say a single word in the rawest voice I’ve ever heard. “Run.”
My mouth goes dry. “We’re getting you out of here, it’s just one floor up.”
I look at Erik. “It’s just one floor up.”
He nods. We reach for him at the same time, hauling him to his feet.
J
ust one floor.
And that’s when I feel it. The shift in the room. The increasing urgency of the vibrating fear that’s wracking Father Gabriel’s body to a fever pitch.
If demons give off signatures, the Devil is like an explosion of every neuron at once. A shower of light, an elucidation of the meaning of pain, the deepest embodiment of fear.
Lucifer himself stands in the door.
“Why hello, Maximiliana. So glad you could join us, even if you’re ahead of schedule,” he says, a lizard tongue flickering over lips.
The whole world fades to black.
16
Lucifer, Erik, Noah, Father Gabriel, and I materialize in a room that’s completely unlike anything I’ve seen in Hell.
It’s much less stone and torture, much more gluttony and greed.
Everything seems to be red velvet and black, like a sleezy Las Vegas motel I stayed in once during a really strange string of casino exorcisms.
But it also has that feel where everything in the room, any individual item, costs more than I’ll make in a lifetime.
Paying too much money to look dark and cheap.
Father Gabriel collapses to a heap on the floor. Erik moves in to catch him.
I catch his eye.
Pretty soon, this whole fucking thing is going to blow up.
Pretty soon, I’ve got to face the devil.
My eyes rest on the man that took me in.
Gave me everything I have.
Loved me when no one else cared.
My eyes meet Erik’s and he reads it on my face. There’s a desperate look. He doesn’t want to go, doesn’t want to leave.
His eyes say, but what if I never see you again.
The hardest part is that I don’t have an answer.
I look from Erik to Gabriel, knowing what this choice means. I could be sending them to their deaths. Or I could be committing myself to mine.
Maybe I’ll never see them again. Never get to thank Father Gabriel for everything he’s done for me. Never get to ask the questions that have come to dominate my life in the last few weeks.
And Erik. Whatever this is, this attraction between us, it could all just evaporate to nothing. A possibility that simply never was.
