Tellan opened his mouth, but when Reya flung her arms around him with a small cry of desperation, his words were cut short before they were even spoken. She buried her face into his chest, squeezed him tightly and within that moment, Tellan’s heart sang as he gratefully pressed his cheek against her head. They held one another for what felt like an eternity, the solid bond that he had once believed to be unbreakable now healed firmer than it ever had been. He would always be her uncle and she his niece…nothing could ever take that away from either of them. When Reya stepped away slightly, she smiled grimly up at him and as her fingers entwined firmly with his, he became lost in the wonderful serenity of those violet eyes.
“I love you, Uncle.” She said.
Those four simple words bolstered Tellan’s soul beyond any pride he had ever felt before and as he kissed her forehead in the manner he had always done, Reya felt the most tremendous relief that he had granted her such a priceless gift of familiarity.
The demon’s rage crackled through the air with the power of thunderous electricity, scorching the breeze with its venom as he roared his frustration at the six soldiers that cowered before him.
“No sign? No sign?! You dare come before me with nothing?!” Belial screamed, his eyes a blazing silver sun that flashed with Abyssal wrath. He stooped with a feral snarl at one soldier in particular that had the audacity to flicker his gaze up at him, “Tell me, insect, why I shouldn’t press hot coals into your eyes?”
“S–Sire! We searched–”
Belial snarled like a wolf and his hand shot out with a titanic grip around the man’s lower face. “If you searched properly, then you would have found them!!”
“Please, Sire, I beg of you–” The soldier grunted through the vice grip of Belial’s punishing hand.
“You don’t know how to beg, not yet.” Belial snarled viciously as he increased the pressure upon the man’s jaw. He grinned sadistically when the soldier’s eyes rolled back in his head and hissed, “Even when I flay your skin, inch by inch, you still won’t know what it means to truly beg!”
The soldier’s face boiled ruby red from the sheer pressure of Belial’s hand, and with the hardening of the demon’s ferociously clamped fingers came the crunching of bones. Belial’s eyes blazed as he tore the man’s lower jaw off, spurting blood and tissue across his brethren beside him and every soldier fell forward as one.
“Sire! Sire!” They chanted in terror, face down in the dusty dirt of Ilema’s destroyed shadow, still aflame from the carnage they had raged upon the city in search of their master’s prize.
Belial growled in satisfaction at the fear that radiated from his minions, as palpably strong as the minute fragment of his own Dark he had gifted to each of them. He pushed the dead soldier from his grasp and flicked hot, dripping gore from his hand dismissively, his mirror eyes speared upon the line of his so–called elite with nothing short of abject disgust.
Humans…he couldn’t believe he had been reduced to working with these pathetic creatures. Of all the planes he had to Fall to, it had to be Midgard; they were no better than flies in this fucking realm. Like children with fire, they all ran around without any real inkling of what they were doing or why, but nowhere else was there a life form quite as self–delusional as these creatures. They thought they were so masterful, so important…they weren’t fit to be anything more than fodder. Look at them…He thought through a sneer of derision as he loomed over the line of snivelling mortals, worshiping me as their god, swallowing the belief of immortality like animals.
He hadn’t lied to them, that much was true. A demon – contrary to popular belief – rarely told lies, but they always spoke half-truths and skewed meanings. What he offered them was immortality of a sort; it just so happened that the Dark they had so willingly invited into their souls would grow and fester within them like a cancer. It would slowly corrode their own human soul, dissolving every shred of humanity until they became all but hollowed out, like a dead tree. All that would remain would be a shell, moulded and twisted in the image of the Dark that dwelled within them like a parasite, feeding and growing on the inhuman acts that Belial decreed. For these drones would do anything he commanded and would do so for evermore.
He had broken them all so easily, these so called warriors; bent them to his will with barely any effort whatsoever. But rather than be pleased with this easiness, he felt disgusted at their fragility, revolted at how quick they were in accepting his influence. In the Abyss it was a tremendous privilege to even be near the influence of a demon prince’s Dark…it sickened him that each of these insignificant animals housed a little piece of him. But after the Asgardian bastards had nearly killed him fifteen years ago, he had had no choice but to build an army with what pitiful resources he could scrounge.
Belial turned back to the line of men that still bowed and scraped before him and as he regarded them all with his nose wrinkled in distaste, he surveyed them each in turn. His gaze fell upon one soldier in particular, larger and stronger looking than the others and his lips pulled back in a sick smile.
He unsheathed his sword with a ring of steel. “You!” He barked as he flicked the tip of his sword under the soldier’s chin, lifting the blade until he could look into the black haired soldier’s eyes.
The matt sheen of silver just beneath his pupils marked him as one of his more influenced soldiers, one who had accepted a little more of Belial’s Dark than the others, and Belial grinned cruelly. “What are you called?” He asked him.
The man’s hazel eyes never wavered as he returned Belial’s insistent gaze and answered promptly, “Tharis.”
“Very well, Tharis. Tell me why I should spare your life over all these other men?”
“Because I am better than the others, Sire. I bloodied the bastard angel Tellan myself.”
“A pity you didn’t do better than bloody him.”
“Give me another chance, Sire and I’ll bring you his head.”
Belial regarded the soldier’s steadfast gaze with thoughtful dissection, amused at the audacity of this creature; how self–important he was in thinking that he could slay an Asgardian being single handed. Finally Belial replied bluntly, “No, you won’t.”
“He bleeds like any other man, Sire.”
Belial snarled like a feral animal and pressed his blade a little deeper against the soldier’s throat until a bead of blood dripped down the black steel. “Tellan and Jenko decimated your kin with barely a scratch to show for it.” He retorted coldly. He stared at the man momentarily and added, “These men are unlike any opponents you have ever faced. They are strong, swift and fearless; you are nothing to them but an animal.”
“Forgive me Sire…” Tharis began boldly, “But you sound as though you admire them.”
Belial’s eyes dulled dangerously at the audacity of the soldier’s words and he replied coolly, “I respect them. As should you. Your numbers make you strong, human, but that is all you have over them.”
Tharis stared at his sire, wounded that he had so little faith in his abilities. “Grant me command of a squad then, Sire and I swear on my honour I’ll find them.”
Belial grinned wryly, “I have no use for your honour, Tharis. And I already have your soul. So I ask again: why should I give you a second chance over the others?”
The soldier swallowed nervously and the downwards flicker of his eyes was almost imperceptible as his mind raced for an answer. “I can track, Sire.”
“I already have a tracker, Tharis. And he is far more worthy than you could ever hope to be.” Belial sneered as he gestured at the white haired soldier that stood attentively nearby, entirely unseen by Tharis and the other fodder, he was so deadly silent.
Tharis’s face blanched as he looked up at the soldier stood so still beyond Belial, the harsh metallic shine of the man’s eyes such a contrast against the tarnished and dented armour he wore. Belial grinned malignantly at the panic within Tharis’s eyes as he dropped his gaze, knowing perversely that the
human knew he could never compete against his champion.
“With respect, Sire, sometimes two pairs of eyes are better than one.” Tharis said boldly, for he knew that within this moment his very life hung delicately in the balance and as such, he had nothing to lose.
Belial stared at the human in silence for some time, gauging whether or not he should just kill this Tharis and be done with it. But within the soldier’s inept fumbling he couldn’t deny that there was a small kernel of wisdom there, and so he relaxed the point of his sword. “Rise.” He said simply.
Tharis did as he was told, his broad shoulders expansive as he brought himself up to his full, impressive height. Belial plucked the soldier’s two handed sword from its sheath and as he handed the weapon to him, he ordered, “Claim your place.”
Tharis’s hand curled strongly around the handle of his sword and he growled darkly through a murderous smile, “With pleasure, Sire.”
Belial took a single step back as Tharis did as he was commanded, his two handed sword slicing deeply into each genuflected neck with zealous fervour. The demon prince’s hold over each man was so complete that not one of them offered any contention against his dark will and, with the last plunge of the bloody blade, came Tharis’s triumph.
As Belial cast his eyes along the line of mutilated bodies, haloed in the burning horizon that was the husk of Ilema, he felt a tugging upon his instinct that had become a familiar twinge. He gasped in anticipation as his vision became unfocused and in that moment, it seemed as though the entirety of the landscape rushed into his being. A sensation of a tremendous wind buffeted his mind and with it came a breathless spiral of disembodied vision, as though he looked at himself from outside his body.
His metallic eyes clouded over with a dull sheen that swallowed the glow of the flames that licked the towers of Ilema’s skyline. And for the briefest fraction of a second, not longer than the pulse of a hummingbird’s heartbeat, Belial saw the soft glow of sunshine reflected off a tranquil lake and the shadow of a mountain in the distant valley beyond. His eyesight returned to him with the velocity of a whip lash and with it came the shine of metallic triumph in his quicksilver eyes. He’d found them.
“Prepare well and head east, towards the mountains in the coal valleys.” He ordered his new tracker, his silver eyes hungry and shining as he stared intently on the horizon, “Cunning will be your greatest ally in dealing with Tellan and Jenko. But your priority is the girl; you must bring her back alive.”
“As you say, Sire.”
The man turned to walk away until Belial called out to him once more, “Prove your worth to me, Tharis and you will be rewarded well. But should you fail, death will be a sweet dream in comparison to what will await you.”
Belial watched his minion walk away with an aggressive pride in his shoulders that he had been chosen to follow out his master’s orders, a laughable gait that Belial scoffed at. But the Dark that blazed like a bonfire within the white haired soldier nearby called to Belial as loudly as a banshee’s wail, and as he turned towards him, he was relieved that he still had this particular weapon in his arsenal.
“Look at them.” Belial sneered at the silent soldier as he looked across the ruin of his men, strewn upon the ground like bloody autumn leaves, “Pathetic creatures…squandering the Dark I’ve given them.” He snarled as he paced with his hands on his hips, “It makes me sick.”
The white haired soldier still stood silently, his eyes absent of any indication that he was aware of Belial’s words, or even his surroundings. But the mirror shine that engulfed both his pupils and irises was solid like molten silver, a testimony of how powerfully the Abyssal taint filled his soul. It was as though awaiting Belial’s commands was all he lived for, strong backed and powerful with dormant fatality rippling through his corded forearms; but he remained utterly silent. There wasn’t even a desire to speak, the man stood so still; unwatchful of his master’s actions, yet alert to his presence all the same.
Belial sighed with a frustrated shake of his head. “I’ve underestimated them. Allowed my passion to overrule my judgement.” He grinned suddenly and turned to the soldier behind him, taking in his white hair and waxen face with malignant glee, “But that’s not a burden you need to bear, old friend.”
The man ducked his head in an acknowledgement of his master’s words and Belial laughed at the cheap amusement such a mocking name gave him. But as he looked upon his most devoted follower, Belial considered the danger he faced in sending him after the angels’ trail. This was his trump card, even over the army of expendable vermin he had under his boot heel; if he overplayed this particular hand, things could become a lot more difficult.
But what other choice do I have. He thought as he narrowed his eyes shrewdly; the piercing examination not phasing the statuesque soldier one bit. Every day my prize gets a little farther away from me.
With that thought, Belial’s eyes flashed and as he stepped before the upright soldier, he rapped into his face, “Your time for combat will come soon, but not now. Track the angels and report their movements, but keep yourself hidden. Tharis will be a useful distraction to slow them down, enough for me to follow from a safe distance.” Belial’s lips then skewed in a mocking smile as he added darkly, “And when the time is right, we will strike together, old friend.”
The soldier’s still lips cracked barely millimetres in a marble face as pale as a winter sky, and the shredded rasp of a husky whisper seeped through from the grave itself, “As you command, Sire.”
Belial watched as his most loyal servant walked into the smouldering ruin of Ilema without any consideration or fear of the destruction that still resounded calamitously around him. His stride was uncompromising and determined, for what little personal emotion still smoked within that hollowed shell was miniscule under the influence that had swallowed him whole. The Dark Belial had filled him with had moulded him into the perfect killer, fearless and emotionless, no thought of his own within that head but the desire to fulfil his master’s every wish.
Jenko had been right: Belial mused as he watched his white haired champion disappear through Ilema’s flames, fifteen years is a long time to wait indeed. But sometimes patience reaps the greatest of rewards.
The journey down the worn trade route was a long and arduous one, but with every grand tree and vibrant wildflower they passed, Reya was filled with such wonder that she could almost forget the terrible bruise upon her soul. She would point and gasp with innocent excitement at every swooping bird and delicate butterfly, and as she drank in everything with childlike awe, even Jenko smiled with contentment. As they walked on she asked where she had brought them to and with a little recognition on Tellan’s part, Reya finally realised that she had taken them to a place she had once read about in one of her stories. When she told her guardians of this realisation, Jenko looked back at Tellan so significantly that she stopped dead in her tracks.
“What?” She asked with sudden trepidation.
Behind her, Tellan grimaced as he formulated the words in his head. “You need to be careful with your gift, Reya.” He explained carefully, “If you act instinctually, there is no telling where you will end up.”
“But…we know where we are now.” Reya replied uneasily.
From his point at the front of their line, Jenko hitched his head back and interjected, “What Tellan meant is: did you think of the place when you opened the gateway?”
Reya opened her mouth to speak, but when comprehension dropped in her mind like a rock thrown into a pond, she balked at her unspoken answer. “Oh.” She uttered.
“Exactly.” He replied and he swept the horizon with narrowed, ever watchful eyes, “You were lucky enough that the gateway opened on the ground.”
Reya’s brow frowned in confusion. “How so?”
“I don’t know if you noticed, but we were up on a cliff. A few meters to the side and it would have been–” Jenko then finished his sentence with a crude whistle and a downward thumb that ind
icated how their journey would have ended.
Reya shuddered in horror and Tellan sped up to gather her protectively under his arm. “But you didn’t, so it’s okay. You just need to be a little more careful next time.”
That night as they had made camp Reya slept soundly at first, but as the hours drew on and Tellan sat on watch, he heard her whimper from beneath the meagre protection of his worn overcoat. He had sat beside her and stroked her hair soothingly, but the more she whimpered, the more animated she became and soon she was thrashing against his strong arms. The commotion had become so loud that Jenko woke himself and the two men were beside themselves as Reya screamed and fought in the depths of her nightmare. Tellan gasped worriedly as he tried to wake her; shocked with the awful knowledge that Baldur had carried the burden of this terrible display all by himself.
But when the familiar flare of blue light began to emanate from her chest, Tellan had shouted for Jenko’s aid and together the men panicked in the face of yet another gateway being opened. In a spur of immediacy, Jenko had done the only thing he could think of and pinched Reya’s nose in spite of Tellan’s protestations. With this childish disruption upon her breathing however, Reya had sputtered terribly and the blue light faded as she woke up with bleary eyed confusion.
She had no idea what she had done as she lay in Tellan’s arms and rubbed her eyes sleepily, but when she smiled and drifted back off to sleep, Tellan’s skin had still trembled with electric terror. Jenko’s cheeks puffed in sheer relief as Reya snuggled deeper into Tellan’s embrace and together the men had stayed awake for the rest of the night, both of them far too alert for sleep after witnessing such a near miss.
The Fallen Page 18
