by Nazri Noor
Fallen Reign
Nazri Noor
This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.
FALLEN REIGN
First edition. January 23, 2020.
Copyright © 2020 Nazri Noor.
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 979-8-6010-5502-4
1
My life turned upside down the day the angels came to kill me. Life’s tough, being an abomination.
On my eighteenth birthday, a squad of celestials kicked my door down, screaming bloody murder. It’s been a string of horrible encounters since, most of them with otherworldly entities who wanted me captured, dissected, or dead.
So there I was in an alley, eight months since the angelic attempt on my life. My blood raced and my muscles tightened as I sized up the latest engagement with my supernatural stalkers. This time it was demons, and they had me cornered. I just wanted to be left alone, damn it. And maybe make rent. Was that too much to ask?
“You’re coming with us,” said the taller demon, the one with the hair in pointy spikes.
“Over my dead body,” I said, like I was reading from a script on the inside of my head. Buying time, you see? I make it look easy, but retrieving a weapon from the Vestments takes a bit of time.
I gave the demons a quick scan. There were four of them, which was twice as many as the last time, plus they were actually hounding me in broad daylight. You see, angels can be a special kind of asshole, but demons are pretty damn awful, too. Two sides of the same asshole coin, really. The good news is that demons aren’t impossible to kill. Not if you stab them really, really hard.
These particular demons were wearing human faces and bodies, of course. You can’t just walk through the streets with horns on your head and a prehensile tail, or red skin, or whatever shape it is a demon decides to take on any given day. Hey, I know it’s California, and we’ve got our share of freaks, but there are some limits to what the normals will turn a blind eye to.
They won’t, for example, ignore a fireball shot like a cannonball from out of a woman’s hand.
I cursed and leapt out of the way, the flames coming so close that I could feel the heat streak past my face. There was the telltale crackling and brimstone stink of demonfire, too, plus a bonus noise that sounded very much like the tips of my hair being singed. The fireball struck the side of a dumpster, creating a horrible bang and leaving a huge, charred dent in the metal. I blinked, gulped, then collected myself. Fuck these guys.
“What the hell?” I shouted. “I don’t know who keeps sending you bastards, but you can’t just throw that shit at people out in the open.”
The woman rolled her eyes, bouncing another little gob of flame in the palm of her hand. A second woman, this one wielding a wicked knife, chuckled and answered for them.
“Our master doesn’t care about the Veil. That’s a problem for the humans. Mages want to hide from society? Well and good. And we get it. You want to hide your true nature from them as well – nephilim.”
My blood chilled at the sound of the word, and I grimaced. So they knew who I was. Typical. All those months of being careful, of hiding out in the shitty shoebox I called my apartment hadn’t mattered in the end. The agents of hell would always find me. It was only a matter of time until heaven did, too.
“I’ll keep this simple,” I said, holding my hand out, trying not to freak out over the fact that I had my back to a wall. “Either you guys leave me alone, or I kill each and every one of you. Send your asses back to hell.”
Literally. That was how it worked. The problem was that the fuckers kept on coming back.
“We’ll just keep showing up,” said the last of the demons, this one wearing the skin of a stocky, muscular man. “Over and over, until we get you to come with us and see our master.”
I raised my eyebrow. “But they’re going to be pissed, aren’t they? Whoever this master is. Super pissed. You’ve come to find me, what, three times now? And I’ve beaten your demon asses away each time. I don’t know who owns you losers, but they aren’t going to be very patient forever.”
The four demons glanced at each other uneasily. The first man, Spike, broke into a sweat. It was a nice day out in Valero, but it wasn’t that hot – I’d struck a nerve. They were going to have to drag me kicking and screaming back to whichever of the myriad hells they came from.
“Fuck this,” Spike said. “Get him.”
They moved in against me, wielding flames and weapons, a slowly tightening circle. My heart pounded. Four against one, so not fair. And in a back alley, too. I could shout for help, make a ruckus to scare them off, but that’d attract the normals, maybe the authorities – shit, even the Lorica, which would be the worst possible thing of all. Nah. I’d have to fight them off. I flexed my fingers. It wasn’t going to be easy, but I’d been in tighter spots.
“We don’t have to hurt you if you just come,” the fire-woman said.
I grimaced, baring my teeth, and made my voice as gravelly as I could, pretending in my heart of hearts that I was an action star.
“Go to hell.”
I thrust my palm forward, rushing straight for Spike’s chest, slamming my hand there like I was shoving him. A golden sword launched from the palm of my hand, summoned from the Vestments. Spike’s eyes went wide as the sword speared him from sternum to spine. He gurgled as blood welled up in his throat and spilled in trickles down his chin. I grasped for the sword’s hilt, pulling it out of the demon’s chest even as I stomped my foot firmly in his stomach. He staggered backwards, shoes scraping over the gritty pavement as he stumbled, then fell.
The other demons hissed, their eyes flashing momentarily red as they backed away. See, now they were scared. Strength in numbers, sure, but once you start whittling away at them, that’s where you separate the cowards from the killers.
The stocky man wasn’t one of them. He stared at me with his mouth pulsing as the two women circled. What the hell was he so afraid of? These husks the demons wore were temporary, and it felt to me like they could get as many of them as they liked, probably stored up in some disgusting subterranean armory. Maybe dying really, really hurt for them. But more likely, he was terrified of going home to report to their boss about how they couldn’t beat up and restrain a single itty-bitty nephilim.
I danced away as the woman thrust her knife at me, entering way-too-close quarters so I couldn’t maneuver as well with my sword. I recognized her favored weapon, a balisong, a Filipino butterfly knife, the kind that folded. Probably poisoned with some toxin or another, too, knowing demons. I grimaced as it glanced off my leather jacket, cutting a shallow gash into the shoulder. I was being too confident, I thought, clenching my teeth. That knife had come too close.
And so did the dart of flame that flew past my ear. Thank God that other lady had such shitty aim. I dodged farther back, grabbing the best thing I could find for protection: the lid of a garbage can. The knife-woman screeched as she launched another attack.
“That’s cheating,” she said, thrusting, then slashing. “Dirty nephilim bastards, bringing a garbage can to a knife fight, you can’t – ”
The lid wasn’t for the knife. I dodged as she came in for an especially deep lunge, then smashed the lid directly into her face. The sounds were a combined clang of metal and the crack of what might have been her nose. I didn’t stop to check, spinning from my hip and slicing my sword straight through her neck. Her knife clattered to the ground, its tip leaving a greasy black smear of something terrible and poisonous on the cement. Her head went flying, bouncing against an exposed brick wall and thumping, quite conveniently, into a dumpster.
The same one that the fire-woman’s first missile had slammed into. I turned to face her, loo
king like some bedraggled excuse for a hero, gleaming divine sword in one hand, dented face-smashing trash can lid in the other. She gritted her teeth, then flicked her wrist at me, a last ditch effort.
A dart of flame fired from each of her fingers, easy enough to absorb with my improvised barrier. Five ineffectual pings sounded as the missiles struck the garbage shield, warming the metal but doing very little else. I braced myself, gripping my sword tighter as I anticipated her next attack, thinking it was a buildup to a bigger projectile – but she turned tail and ran. Just beat ass all the way out of the alley, her heels clicking double time.
Well, shit. I should have closed in and killed her when I had the chance. That was going to bite me in the ass, I was sure of it. I turned my head, locking eyes with the last of their group, the stocky one with the mouth, who had spent the entire fight watching and trembling on his own.
I wasn’t going to make the same mistake twice.
2
I dived for the demon, charging with the garbage lid and smashing it full into his chest. “Oof,” he gasped as I slammed against him, his breath smelling of onions, the stench of fear-sweat wafting from his clothes as he flew off his feet. I sighed with grim satisfaction as he landed on his back, thudding bodily against the cement.
“Please,” the demon blubbered, holding his hands out for mercy. “Please, I was only doing what I was told. I won’t hurt you. Let me go.”
I planted one foot on his chest, just in case he had ideas about running off like his lady friend. “No can do, buster. You guys threatened me. Four against one? That’s hardly fair. Now, who would want me so badly that they’d send so many worthless mooks to corner me in an alley – in broad daylight, I have to reiterate. You idiots really pulled out all the stops here.” I tilted my head, restraining a smile as I pushed my foot deeper against his chest, as he wheezed in fright. “You must be desperate. Your employer’s clearly pissed about all the other times your friends tried and failed to catch me.”
The man’s eyes darted to either side of me, his face gleaming with sweat as he gawped like a fish out of water. “I – we – no, I swear. I’m not going to be a problem for you anymore. Just let me go. Please.”
I smushed my sneaker even deeper into his body – come on, it didn’t hurt that much – leaning forward and resting my elbow on my thigh for good measure, putting more weight into the pose as I brought our faces progressively closer. “Listen,” I said quietly. “Between you and me, your master is going to be extra pissed about you defecting like that. I know how the princes work. You’re not just going AWOL. You’ll be deserting. And the princes, they’ve got ways of tracking down bad eggs. Surely you know that. You’re not new to the system, are you?”
He blinked hard. Poor guy. I could hear the gears turning in his head as he considered the consequences. “What will they do if they catch me? No, they won’t find me. I could hide. And keep hiding, up here among the normals. They won’t find me then.”
I leaned in even closer, grinning. “So. A prince did send you after all.”
His mouth snapped shut immediately.
“Which one of them was it?” I said.
Silence. His eyes darted frantically, reflecting the light of the sun. I took some satisfaction in knowing that he wouldn’t be coming up to the surface again any time soon, not if he was reporting yet another failure to an actual demon prince. Stabbing him through the heart was going to hurt, but whatever punishment awaited him was going to be so, so much worse.
“Listen,” I said, reaching down to pat him on the chest, just by where my foot was resting. “You should just tell me, really. It’s going to be the same shit either way. Your master’s probably ultra pissed at this point. You’re going to get snuffed out regardless.”
He shook his head.
I shook mine, too, and sighed heavily. “It’s your funeral. Welp. Nice knowing you, I guess. Send my regards to your master. Tell them to stop fucking bugging me already.”
The man said nothing more, even when I ran my sword straight into his chest and pierced his heart, even as the light left his eyes. He thrashed and cried out, sure, but that was part of the demonic husk’s natural response to, well, being killed. I pulled my sword out and backed away, holding my hand up to my nose, because the next bit was always the worst.
Within the expanding pool of his own blood, the man’s corpse twitched and shuddered as it began its process of literally returning to hell. I don’t know what kind of sick demon scientist decided that this was the best way to recycle their resources, but it was how things worked for them. Demon husks decomposed as soon as they died, doing exactly as this guy’s host body was doing: skin and muscles sloughing off, bones charring in flames and melting into nothing, blood and internal organs disintegrating.
All of that gunk would then coalesce into a repulsive pink sludge that would inevitably find its way to the nearest recess in the earth. Didn’t matter if it was a manhole, sewer grate, or just some cracks in the street. That clay was going to wriggle all the way back to the hell it came from, ready to be remolded into another demon husk. Say what you want about the infernals, but they had their shit together when it came to the environment. Reduce, reuse, recycle, then resurrect that dead ass right back into service.
But it always stank, too. Holy shit did it stink. The smell was bad enough each time demons appeared, that reek of sulfur and brimstone, something like rotten eggs and farts. But the smell when they went was somehow even worse, like something had died, then something else came along, ate the first something, then threw it all up in a public toilet.
Multiply that repulsive experience by three, considering the fact that there were that many dead demon husks presently melting in the alleyway. I held my free hand over my nose and mouth, my eyes tearing, tapping my foot against the ground impatiently as I waited for all three husks to return to their makers. You had to do that, too, just to make sure that no evidence was left. It was bad enough if the cops came sniffing around. But if the Lorica showed up, too? I didn’t want to consider the consequences.
The sludge disappeared all the way, and I fanned at the front of my face, getting the fumes away, finally allowing myself to breathe. I looked down at my sword, prepared to disengage and return it to the Vestments, when I sensed another smell in the alley. Something burning, fragrant and herbal, like – I don’t know, oregano. Or sage.
Wait, no. That was pot.
My heart pounded as I whirled on my feet. This wasn’t just about someone ducking into an alley for a quick smoke. And sure enough, there he was where he wasn’t before, leaning against the side of the dumpster, smelling of joints and bong water, looking every inch like a slacker, a college dropout – or, if you squinted really hard, someone who works in tech. California, am I right?
“I just killed three of you guys.” I gripped my sword tight once more, ready for a fight. “Don’t get me wrong, it’s kind of fun – but do we really have to do this right now?”
The man chuckled, adjusting his hoodie and rubbing the faint bit of scruff on his chin. “I’m not here to fight. Just to talk.”
I groaned. That was probably worse, if I’m honest. There’s very little good that comes out of talking to a demon – especially a demon prince.
3
For some moments I hemmed and hawed about returning my sword to the Vestments, but the more rational bits of my brain reminded me that I was standing in an alley with a demon. Not just any old grunt, either, but one of the Seven. I clenched my fist tight enough to press my nails into my skin, the sword’s hilt printing its ornate engravings into the palm of my hand.
“So how can I help you?” I droned, in a not-at-all helpful tone of voice.
Belphegor blinked at me with feigned innocence from under his messy fringe of hair, his hands stuck deep in the pockets of his hoodie. “What? I’m just here to chat, catch up with one of my favorite nephilim in the world.”
I narrowed my eyes at him. “Your favorite indeed. If there�
�s so many of us, then why aren’t the princes bothering all of the others?”
Belphegor picked at his fingernails, leaning his back and one foot against the wall. “Who says we aren’t?”
“Enough chitchat. Who sent those four grunts after me?”
The prince shrugged, the look on his face clearly absent this time. “Dunno. It wasn’t me. We’re buddies, Mason, you and I. Aren’t we?”
I bit the bottom of my lip to stop myself from hurling a curse in his general direction. The only reason I was stuck with Belphegor was how I owed him a favor, in exchange for one he did for me and my friends what seemed like so long ago. It was the nature of the favor he requested that had me so stumped.
“So,” Belphegor said, flashing that shit-eating smile of his. “How’s Florian doing?”
My eyes slitted even more, if that was somehow possible. “Same as always,” I said, gritting my teeth. “A total bum. You saddled me with him and you know it.”
Belphegor pouted. “Aww, now that’s just cruel. All I did was ask you a favor, Mace. You’re the brightest, most responsible man I know. I thought that some of your diligence and levelheadedness would rub off on him, is all.”
That was the favor that Belphegor wanted. Weirdest thing ever, handing over an entire person to me and telling me that all I had to do was help get them back on their feet. But Florian was a burnout. We were barely making rent. You’d think that a dryad could be more resourceful about earning a little extra cash, but no. The request did come from the Prince of Sloth, after all, and now my grand task was to turn the laziest supernatural in all of Valero into someone who was worth something.
I glowered at Belphegor. “I still don’t understand what you’re getting out of this. Why are you making me babysit an actual couch potato?”
