The Demon Trappers: Foretold

by Jana Oliver

  Furious, Riley swung at it, but missed again. Stumbling a few steps, she tried to regain her balance. Instinct made her turn, and she buried the burning blade deep into the fiend’s chest as it dived at her. It shrieked, then wove erratically in the air, black smoking blood pouring from the wound. With a dying howl, it fell and the ground shook from the impact.

  ‘Riley!’ Simon called out.

  She ducked as a blade swung so close she could feel the fire singe her skin. Her ex advanced on the larger Archfiend.

  ‘Come on, I’m the one you want,’ he called out, giving her time to recover her footing.

  They double-teamed the monster, driving it backwards. When it rose in the air to dive at them, they’d split apart and it couldn’t decide which one to target. Unfortunately, the Archfiend learned the trick too quickly. When it rose again, it tracked towards Simon, sailing low across the ground, its curved blade positioned to slice him in half.

  Riley rushed underneath the wings. As the fiend passed over her, she raised her blade and it severed one of the main wing tendons. Unable to fly, the demon tried to compensate, but it crashed into Simon. The trapper’s sword fell from his hand as they rolled over and over in a jumble of wings and legs.

  As Riley ran to help him, another Archfiend blocked her way. She hacked at it, parrying thrusts, but her moves weren’t as fast as before.

  ‘Your demi-lord weakens,’ the demon taunted.

  Riley aimed a blow at its wing, then pivoted at the last second. The blade caught the Archfiend in the throat and it reeled back. It wasn’t a mortal wound, but it bought her time to reach Simon. Somehow he’d regained his feet and was once again battling his own foe.

  With a cry of triumph, he decapitated his Archfiend, the demon’s head rolling away, stunned surprise its last expression. Nearby another fiend fell under Jackson’s sword, though he cradled a broken arm to his body.

  Beck was bloodied, but he was gaining ground against one of the Archfiends. The two masters, along with the other trappers, were addressing the Threes, reducing their ranks as if they were at a slaughterhouse. Fighting next to them was Ayden, her blade slashing with deadly precision. Blue flashes of magic lit up every now and then like oversized fireflies.

  There was a scream and Riley turned to discover that a group of bystanders was trapped against the remains of a building, with no escape. Moving closer to them was a pack of Gastro-Fiends, their claws bloodied, with an Archfiend in the lead.

  ‘No!’

  She’d taken only a few steps when a winged figure appeared in between the frightened citizens and the ravenous demons. It was a Fallen, with ash-grey wing tips and brilliant blue eyes.

  Please don’t be one of Sartael’s guys.

  The angel observed her coolly, then shook his head as if he’d heard her thoughts. Then he barked something in Hellspeak at the Threes and the Archfiend leading them. The demons’ leader shouted something back and the war was on.

  It was no contest as one by one the demons fell under the angel’s blinding white sword. When they were all dead, he remained in position, guarding the mortals, his face solemn. Behind him, people wept and others were on their knees praying.

  ‘Thanks,’ she whispered. ‘Whoever you are.’

  I am Gusion and I am heeding the call of an old friend.

  A cry of rage brought her attention back to Ori and their enemy. They were no longer in the air, but fighting across the wreckage of Demon Central. Her demi-lord was losing the battle, growing steadily slower with each sword thrust. Sartael, on the other hand, seemed as strong as ever.

  The ethereal blade in Riley’s hand vanished, evidence that Ori wasn’t going to last much longer. If he had shared his power with her, could the Archangel pull strength from his demons? Of course he can.

  It was time to do some good old-fashioned trapping.

  When Riley sprinted to where her pack lay on the ground, she found Peter crouched near the makeshift fence.

  ‘Why are you still here?’ she demanded.

  ‘Because you are,’ Peter replied, his chin out, defiant.

  ‘Ah, geez. OK, then you can help me.’

  She pointed at a trapping bag that sat a short distance away, though she had no idea who it belonged to. ‘Pull out all the blue spheres. Hurry!’

  Digging through the duffel bag, her friend did as she asked while Riley did the same to her pack.

  Peter held up two orbs. ‘Now what?’ When Riley told him exactly what he needed to do, he nodded.

  A hand extended in their direction. It was attached to Blaze, her hair askew and a dark smudge on her cheek.

  ‘I’ll help too,’ she said. ‘These things have to be stopped.’

  Riley gaped at the actress. ‘This isn’t a TV show.’

  ‘Duh,’ the actress replied, waggling her fingers now. ‘Hand them over.’

  Riley reluctantly dropped the spheres into the woman’s palm. ‘Let’s go kick some demon butt, people.’

  Peter sped off, dodged a rampaging Three, then tracked along the temporary fence on the other side of the battlefield. Blaze did the same in the opposite direction. Once they were in place, Riley gave them the signal.

  Spheres hit the ground, broke open and energetic blue lines of magic leaped to the fence. The magic seemed to take a deep breath, then it zipped along the metal, wire by wire.

  Now it was Riley’s turn. She sprinted to her sections of the fence, dropping the magical spheres as she went. When all four sides were engaged, the Geo-Fiend would be grounded and Sartael would be deprived of some of his power.

  Or at least that was the plan.

  The final run of grounding magic connecting all four sections of the metal together began to pull the demon towards the earth. The Five reacted like they always did, shrieking and trying to rise higher to avoid contact with the ground.

  Hail hammered down and erratic winds buffeted the trappers. When a Three began a run at her, it went down with one sweep of Stewart’s massive claymore. Another died a short time later when Ayden stepped its way.

  Abruptly the grounding magic ended and the fiend began to rise again. It turned its blazing eyes on the two masters, lightning sparking out its claws.

  Stewart swung his sword, loosening up his shoulders. He was singing a song in Gaelic, she thought. Harper stood next to him, sweat on his forehead. One by one the trappers lined up, facing down the Five.

  Behind her she could feel Ori fading away, his life force dwindling.

  Unexpectedly, Mort stepped in front of the trappers, his hands seething in magic. Next to him was Ozymandias, who seemed to be coaching him on how to handle the incantation. With a bright snap, the magic shot out of the junior necromancer’s fingers and enveloped the Geo-Fiend. The demon fought against the spell, but slowly the winds dropped and the hail ended.

  A shout of joy erupted from the trappers when the Five fell to the ground, its power draining away. It bellowed and struggled as another earth tremor levelled one of the decrepit buildings nearby.

  Without warning, two massive claws erupted from the ground and clamped themselves round the torso of the Geo-Fiend. It flailed against its captor, its ruby eyes reflecting endless terror.

  ‘Traitor to the end,’ a voice called out, and then the fiend was dragged deep into the hole, wailing its death cry.

  Lucifer had begun his purge of Hell.

  Riley . . .

  Ori was on his knees now, face white, his chest a mass of blue blood. His faming blade faltered and died.

  ‘No!’ she shouted, racing towards him.

  She skidded to halt and fell to her knees next to him. As she cradled the angel, Beck took a defensive position between them and Sartael, sword at the ready. In his own way, he was granting Riley time to say goodbye to her first lover.

  ‘Valiant Light,’ Ori whispered, trying in vain to touch her face, but he could not raise his injured arm high enough.

  She became aware of an angel kneeling next to them. It was Gusion, the one
who had fought the demons.

  ‘I am sorry, old friend, but our Prince has not granted you death,’ the angel said.

  Ori was murmuring in some archaic language, his face full of pleading. His wounds began to heal and he cried out in anguish. ‘No! Release me! I beg of you!’

  Riley’s eyes met Gusion’s.

  ‘That is a favour I do not have the power to grant, my friend,’ the angel said.

  Favour . . . ‘Lucifer,’ Riley called out, not bothering to raise her voice. She knew he could hear her. ‘We had a deal. I did the favour you asked. I freed Ori.’

  Why do you believe that? the Prince asked in her mind.

  ‘Because your Magpie told me to free him and he did that because you ordered him to.’ She took a thick gulp of air. ‘Now it’s your turn. I call in my favour, Prince of Hell. Release your servant and let Ori die. Let him find peace.’

  Ori’s eyes widened as he choked hard.

  ‘Lucifer!’ she called out again. ‘Honour your promise!’

  The Prince swore in her mind. Then came the words she hoped to hear:

  Your debt has been paid. My servant will die. I hope you’re happy now.

  ‘Yes,’ she said, without hesitation. ‘I am.’

  Ori’s wounds began to bleed again, torrents of blue blood flowing on to her hands and on to her lap. He smiled at her weakly. ‘Thank you.’

  Riley’s tears spilled down her cheeks. ‘Find the Light, Ori. Never stop looking. You were never meant to stay in Hell.’

  A faint nod. I release your soul, Riley Anora Blackthorne. Watch the sunrise . . . and think of me.

  A soft stream of an unknown language passed Ori’s pale lips with his final breath. A prayer for forgiveness, perhaps?

  As Riley held him, she knew that in some way she still loved him. He had shaded the truth on occasion, but he’d never lied to her. He had saved her life and that of Beck’s.

  The angel’s body grew fainter until all that remained were the stark patches of blue blood on her hands and arms. She looked up at Gusion and saw a single tear track down his face.

  ‘He is at peace. I envy him,’ the angel said.

  This time Ori was gone forever.

  Beck’s foe smirked at him, Sartael’s breath unusually laboured. ‘Step aside, Denver Beck, and I will grant you any wish you choose. The master’s whelp is not worth your life.’

  ‘You got nothin’ I want.’

  ‘I can free your mother’s soul from Hell.’

  Beck hesitated, then shook his head. ‘No deal. This ends here, for one or both of us.’

  As his foe’s blade came uncomfortably close, Beck reared back. He was tiring, but then, surprisingly, so was his opponent. With his cohort of demons out of commission, both here and in Hell, Sartael had only his own power to draw upon. Still, that was enough to kill a trapper ten times over.

  Sartael’s next blow sent Beck’s sword flying and he retreated, desperate for a weapon. With a shout, Simon tossed him his sword.

  ‘Thanks!’

  He waded back in. ‘What’s with you, angel?’ Beck called out. ‘Figured you’d have levelled the city by now.’

  Sartael redoubled his blows, sending waves of pain through to his arm and shoulders. With a prayer on his lips, Beck drove his own sword towards the archangel, but Sartael’s blade struck him first, slicing deep into his upper left chest.

  Beck screamed in agony, his left arm going numb in a heartbeat. He fell backwards, the wound spreading shards of ice along every vein, as if he was being frozen alive.

  As the archangel moved closer now, keen to impale him, there were shouts from some of the trappers. None of them would be close enough to save him.

  A dirty figure rose, Beck’s sword in her hand and hate in her eyes.

  Riley was facing down one of God’s most deadly creations.

  ‘Stupid child. Bow down to me and I’ll spare you!’ Sartael ordered.

  ‘Like Beck said, it ends here. Now!’

  The archangel closed in for the kill. Without Ori’s protection, he would cut her down like a stalk of ripe wheat.

  With one final burst of strength, Beck made it to his feet and took his place next to his woman, though he had no weapon.

  ‘Lad!’ Stewart called and the master’s sword skidded to a halt near Beck’s boot. It took every ounce of his energy to pick it up and it felt as if it weighed more than he did. Beck could barely hold it in his right hand, his left almost useless. He forced the numbed fingers round the hilt and clasped his good hand over the top of them.

  ‘All or nothing,’ Riley said.

  ‘All or nothin’,’ he repeated, his throat dry and his heart bursting in his chest.

  Please, God, give us a chance. Just one chance.

  The archangel’s strike was faster than Beck had anticipated. It struck his blade first, then slid off and knocked Riley’s from her grasp. She cried out when the flames came too close to her face and staggered back, blinded. A quick clip of Sartael’s wing knocked her aside.

  ‘You son of a bitch!’ Beck shouted, and dived forward in his last desperate bid to kill their enemy. Stewart’s powerful sword drove home deep in the centre of the archangel’s chest, exactly where Ori had told him to strike. Using all his power, Beck pulled the blade to the right, destroying the Fallen’s heart like a ripe fruit.

  The archangel reeled backwards, shocked, as blood pumped from his chest and soaked into his monk’s robe. He reached out with a hand, trying to pull energy from those in Hell who were his to command. The blood continued to pour, faster now.

  Lucifer had cut his lifeline.

  ‘No! You cannot deny me!’ he cried. His eyes went to Riley and cruel smile formed. ‘Blackthorne’s daughter will serve me just as well.’ His hand went towards Riley and she began to flail on the ground, crying out in agony as brilliant white light flowed from her to the wounded angel.

  A figure stepped between then, cutting the flow of healing energy from its source.

  ‘Gusion. Why do you do this?’ Sartael demanded. ‘I cannot heal without – ’ He wheezed, each breath tighter now. ‘Why?’

  ‘As a favour to an old friend who is no more,’ the angel replied. Gusion gestured to Beck, ‘He is yours, mortal. It is between you two now. Whoever is better will win.’

  Sartael swung at Beck, but missed. Beck did not, his slice a perfect union of holy steel and righteous anger. The instant the blade slid laterally across his enemy’s neck, severing it from the body, the corpse and the head fell into a heap on the dirty tarmac. It immediately ignited into a mass of black, roiling flames, but there was no smoke, no stench of burning flesh, only absolute destruction. Lucifer’s rival was no more.

  Beck had kept his promise to Riley’s angel.

  He lost his ability to stand, his strength gone. Arms held him and there was dampness on his cheeks. He wondered if it was raining.

  ‘Promise me you’ll live,’ Riley begged.

  ‘I love . . . you.’ It was the best he could do, for there were no promises left.

  As Beck slid into utter darkness, fell voices assailed him, carving through his soul like a barbed whip does tender flesh.

  Scores of demons called to him, naming his fate.

  Angel killer.

  Destroyer of Divines.

  Hell is your home now

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Riley was oblivious to everything but the man in her arms, though her face and eyes burned so badly that tears flooded without restraint. Why wasn’t anyone helping him?

  It seemed like forever before someone touched her arm.

  ‘Riley?’ Harper said. ‘Let go of Beck so we can treat him.’

  She didn’t want to let go, but she did anyway, hearing unusual compassion in her master’s voice. When someone took hold of her hand, she forced her eyes open, even though they felt as if they’d been bathed in acid. Peter knelt next to her, unharmed.

  ‘He can’t die. Not after all this,’ she pleaded. Her friend’s repl
y was a tight hug.

  Through the sheen of tears, she watched as Harper gently peeled back Beck’s jacket and then his shirt. The wound was high on his chest, but it wasn’t bleeding. In fact, it had sealed over as if it had already healed. This was something different. Something very frightening.

  When her eyes met Harper’s, his had saddened. ‘This isn’t good, Riley,’ he said. Then he was up on his feet, talking to Stewart in hushed tones.

  ‘Aye,’ the Scotsman said in reply. ‘The lad will want ta be in his own bed when . . . Remmers, you and Simon carry him to my car and take him ta his house.’

  ‘Shouldn’t he go to the hospital?’ Remmers asked.

  ‘There is . . . no need,’ the old master replied, his eyes meeting Riley’s.

  It was then she knew that the man she loved was dying.

  Riley remembered little of the journey, other than sitting in the back of the car with Beck’s head in her lap. The longer they drove, the more his colour grew ashen, his breathing increasingly shallow. She hung on every one of those breaths, afraid that it would be his last.

  He can’t die. Not now.

  After Peter helped her disable the alarm – she had trouble seeing the keypad – the trappers carried Beck to his bed. Simon stripped off his boots and Remmers helped remove the injured man’s outer clothes. Once Beck was settled under the covers, Riley sat near him, holding his hand.

  As she bent down to kiss him, the scent of his aftershave caught her nose. It brought back memories of them in this very bed, laughing, making love, talking about their future.

  Through her fog of grief, snippets of conversation came from the front of the house. One of the voices belonged to Carmela, the Guild’s doctor.

  ‘I want to examine him,’ she insisted.

  ‘Aye, I understand, but there is nothin’ ya can do for him,’ Stewart said. ‘Mortals are not supposed to kill an Archangel. Angelic wounds are unlike any other and the healin’ must come from within him, not from without. There is nothin’ ya can do for him.’

  ‘My God,’ the doctor murmured. ‘What are his chances?’

  ‘Astronomically poor,’ Stewart replied, his voice catching. ‘We’ll know within twenty-four hours.’