Chapter Forty-five
Brecken
We race to the border without any problems, but then, at the speed we’re going, nobody would be able to keep up.
“Slow down!” I yell from the backseat, but all I hear is Heidi’s laughter. Jag glances back at me and laughs too.
A sign appears on the side of the road, welcoming us to Turkmenistan. We cross the border as though it doesn’t exist at all, and I guess when you think about it, it doesn’t. The demons don’t recognize borders, and I doubt God does either.
My past is ever present in my mind, and the closer we get to The Door, the more I feel the seductive pull, the power and the heat, that comes along with being a demon. Closing my eyes, I pray for the strength and courage it’s going to take to face the beings who were once like family to me—or as close as you can get as a demon—and the strength it’s going to take to destroy them if I can.
Demons don’t feel love, so I’m not sure what these feelings are that I have for them, but something inside me cares. Cares for their souls. I don’t want them to perish. I want them to change… like I did. I want them to choose good rather than evil. To choose a mortal life of their own rather than stealing someone else’s, but I know most of them won’t. Most would rather die than admit they picked the wrong side.
“Dude, are you okay?” Owen asks. He’s sitting in the middle of the backseat between Doug and me. “Your face is all sweaty.”
“Yeah, man. You look sick.” Doug leans forward, studying my face.
“You better not throw up!” Heidi yells from the front. “Do I need to pull over?”
I shake my head. “No,” I whisper, bowing my head, feeling defeated before we even begin, which is no way to start at all. “I’m just worried.”
“Okay.” Jag turns in the passenger seat, so that he’s looking at Doug, Owen, and me. “Let’s talk about our plan, since we don’t even know what it is yet.”
My stomach sinks. How do I tell them I have no plan? What is a bunch of kids with a few runed daggers going to do against the greatest and most powerful demons that exist? How do I tell them there is nothing we can do to stop them?
Doug pats my back. “Don’t worry. We can do this.”
He seems to have read my mind, and I look up into his trusting brown eyes. An icy fist wraps around my heart, and I picture him lying dead on the ground. I see it in my mind like a vision, and I look away, shaking my head in denial.
“Seriously, Bret,” Jag says. “What’s the plan?”
I meet his gaze and his eyes narrow, his lips pressed together. He studies me intently, waiting. “I see.” He turns back around and faces front.
“What do you see?” Doug asks, frowning. He glances at me. “What does he see?”
“I know what he sees,” Owen states. “That there is no plan. That we came all this way to stop millions of demons, but Bret doesn’t even know how to do it himself.” He stares forward, his hair flopping over his forehead as if he hasn’t combed it in days. Maybe he hasn’t. He hasn’t changed his T-shirt either, but that’s not going to matter in a few hours.
“What?” Doug asks again.
“There’s no plan,” Jag says, reiterating Owen’s words. “But I already knew that.”
Doug swirls in his seat so he can get a good look at me. “Dude! We need a plan and you said you had one.”
“I’m trying!” I yell back. “I know these demons, and I honestly don’t know how to defeat them. I’ve been wracking my brain for weeks trying to come up with something! And I don’t know how to keep you all from getting hurt in the process!”
They all stare at me, even Heidi, in the rearview mirror. It’s a few moments before anyone says anything.
“What about a bomb?” Doug asks. “We could blow up the hole.”
“That would just make the crack bigger.” I shake my head, knowing we need to come up with something else.
“I don’t know what else we could do to destroy a hole that size.” Owen taps his knees, bobbing his head as though he’s listening to music. “We don’t need to destroy the demons right now. Just shut the hole. We can get to work killing them later.”
My head snaps back as I realize he’s right. Why didn’t I think of that before? I think back to my original meeting with Michael and Raphael. They never said anything about killing demons. Only shutting The Door. I let my mind mull over this as my heart picks up speed.
“Owen, you’re a genius!” I grab his head and pull it towards me, hugging him fiercely. A mile-wide smile grows on my face. “All this time I’ve been trying to come up with ways to kill the demons who are in charge of this mess and who are keeping The Door open, and all this time, the answer was right before us… and you thought of it.”
His lips stretch into a huge grin. “Well, yeah. Now it’s doable. We can do this. We just need to figure out how.”
“Yeah, how.” Jag glances over at Heidi and reaches across, taking her hand.
***
Because of the Rift upheavals and shifts in the Earth, it takes hours longer to reach The Door than I thought it would. Darkness covers everything and night has come to the desert again. I’d hoped to arrive during the day when the demons were still hiding from the sun. Now they’ll be awake and alert.
Our Jeep bounces over the rocks and dirt toward a massive circle that glows in the distance with the radiance of the sun. There are no trees for miles, and desolation covers everything. The closer we get, the colder my heart grows.
It’s the energy of this place, I know, but it doesn’t change the fact that it’s real, and that I’ll have to fight my demon tendencies every step of the way. I hadn’t anticipated this. I’d figured it would be more like the Idir Shaol battle five years ago, where angels were at my back and the power of God surrounded me. I didn’t have to struggle with my demon side then.
I don’t want to do this. I hold onto the front seat until my knuckles are white, practically ripping the upholstery from the frame. The closer we get, the more the realization sets in that there’s nothing we can do to stop the demon infestation. I won’t be able to shut The Door. I can’t. And I’m taking these kids—including my sister—to their deaths.
“Dude, are you okay?” Owen asks me again.
I swear he asks this every five minutes, and I snap at him. “Of course I’m okay. Stop asking me that!” The words come out like a snarl, and everyone turns around to stare at me. I shake my head and growl under my breath, unable to apologize. I don’t even care.
“Dude,” Doug whispers. “We’re all in this together.”
“I know,” I whisper back, resting my head on the front seat. But we’re not in this together. It’s just me. They won’t be able to shut it. That’s my job. It will take more than muscle. It will take something supernatural, but I’m not sure what that is. I don’t want to make this scarier for them, but I can see from the looks on their faces that they are afraid. At least Doug and Owen are. Jag, if he’s nervous, has the best poker face of everyone. Heidi… well, I just can’t figure her out. She’s been so different since the hospital.
Heidi stops the car about a hundred yards from The Door. The glow beckons me. I open my door and step out so I can gaze on its beauty with my own eyes and not through a window. The others do the same.
“Wow,” Heidi breathes, her arms resting on her door, one foot still in the car. “That’s incredible.”
“Yeah,” I agree. “Get your weapons. It will be your job to keep the demons off me.”
“Where, exactly, is the opening?” Doug asks, strapping on his dagger. “At the bottom? We won’t have to actually go inside, will we?”
“No,” I say. “You’ll burn to death if you even try. You’ll have plenty to do up top.” I can’t help the sarcastic chuckle that escapes me as I picture it, and then glance away. This is not good. I have got to get more control over my emotions. The power around the crater is unbelievable, and I feel stretched thin and weak, my knees shaking as I walk toward t
he fiery glow in the distance. My home.
The others follow, the five of us looking pretty insignificant, walking toward the OK Corral. But I don’t feel like Doc Holiday and I doubt the others do either. We’re truly walking toward our deaths, but I’ve yet to see anyone else around.
It’s late. It’s dark. It’s quiet, and the air around us grows hotter.
It doesn’t take long to get to the edge and look down into the burning pit—a huge crater, over two hundred feet across and a hundred feet deep, with embers and flames that never stop smoldering. We gaze into its depths in silence until Heidi speaks up.
“This is amazing. I’ve never seen anything like it, and when you described The Door, this is not what I pictured.”
“Me neither,” Doug answers.
Jag is silent with his hand resting on his dagger. He backs up slowly. “Step away from the edge,” he says. “And stop looking at the flames or you won’t be able to see in the dark.”
“Too late,” a voice says from the darkness.
We whirl around. A host of demons stands at our backs. Mostly gray men, shoulder to shoulder, their wide, dark maws cracked and jagged in their glee. They think they’ve already won. All they have to do is move forward and push us into the crater.
“I knew it would be you, Mictian.” I stare my old nemesis down, my hand on the hilt of my Nephilim.
“And I knew it would be you.” He stares back at me, his sword tip resting on the ground. He also uses a Nephilim blade, as do a few of the others, but none of the gray men do. They have no weapons at all. Only the fear they try to instill in men’s hearts.
“The gray men have no power here,” I say to my Cazadors. “Don’t let them scare you.”
“Create a shield around yourselves,” I say. “Like I explained in the car.” I try to do the same for myself, but I struggle to picture the bright white glow of power, and my shield fails to appear. I’m not like the others. I’m still a demon, at least partly, and I don’t deserve God’s protection. I don’t deserve to be saved. Even so, I try again as Mictian steps forward, walking toward me with slow, sure steps. His army follows a few paces behind.
“I have missed you, my friend,” he says. “Come back to us. There is still a place for you among us. Stop this nonsense of redemption. You are already redeemed in us.” He smiles and reaches out to me. For a moment, I think of how easy and appealing his offer is. I’m tempted to drop my dagger and run forward, taking my place beside him.
Shaking my head, I push those damning thoughts away. “I’m on another path now.” I glance to my right and then to my left, making sure my team is ready.
Jag holds two daggers. One in each hand. He stands spread-eagle, ready, his gaze never wavering. Heidi is between him and me, the radiance of the crater making her hair glow with fire. She’s the personification of a demon huntress times a hundred. Her daggers are poised, her eyes riveted on Mictian. Is she’s planning to go directly after him? Not if I have anything to say about it.
Doug and Owen stand on the other side of me. I feel their fear—raw and palpable—but they don’t show it. They also have two daggers each. We’re ready. We’re armed. And we’re not leaving here until it’s over, one way or another.
Chapter Forty-six
Dean
We’re riding in a limo… off-road. The wheels bounce over the terrain as if we don’t have shocks, and the beams from the headlights slice through the dark, showing only gray dirt on the ground for miles and miles. No trees, plants, or anything else. A fiery, red circle glows in the distance and, from what my demon captors say, it is The Door to Hell.
A pit grows in my stomach. I’m not sure what is about to happen or what we are up against, but my captors’ anxiety also heightens as we gain ground. They know something I don’t know, and they won’t tell me what it is.
We’re still a good distance away when it comes into full view. A steady burn of cinders, flames, and the silhouettes of demons—hundreds of them—blotting out the backdrop of stars.
We pull closer, until we’re only a few yards away. “You stay here,” Coem orders as the car stops. He opens his door, the smoky odor of sulfur filling the confines of my new prison. Within seconds, I’m sitting alone. Flipping the ceiling light on, I grab my pack and pull out my sketchpad, but after getting everything ready, I realize I can’t see through the tinted windows. Not with the dome light on, and I won’t be able to see my sketches without it.
Quietly, I pull on the door’s handle. It doesn’t open. Child locks. I scoot to the other side and try that door. Locked. I sit there a moment, trying to figure out what to do, when I notice the partition to the driver’s compartment is still open. Idiot! Slipping through without a problem, I unlock the front doors. I hide a chuckle as I slide from the quiet into the chaos.
Gray men are pouring from the crater’s edge in a tidal wave. They don’t do anything but wail and screech. It’s a terrifying sound, and my heart quakes. I skirt around the edge of the crowd, trying to stay out of sight. If I can get to the other side of the crater—the side devoid of demons—maybe I’ll be able to see to draw better.
The few that notice don’t stop me. Maybe they think I’m one of them now since I’ve painted their faces. The temptation to run is almost overwhelming, but where would I go? I circle The Door and sit down among the rocks and dirt, the glow of the eternally burning pit lighting up the stage for me.
Not sure how to catch each individual demon at this distance, I opt for something else, hoping it will work. I sketch the silhouette as one entity, heads and shoulders mostly, coloring them in as one body. Then I take my eraser and slash through the narrow section of their necks, picturing their heads falling to the ground.
When I glance up, all those gray men are gone! I didn’t even get to see it happen! I rip out that page and begin another.
And that’s when I see her… her long hair whipping free as she swirls in a circle. My throat catches and I jump up, moving as close as I dare to see her better.
Heidi shows no fear and she moves with precision. She attacks without hesitation. Her daggers slice into the attacking demons as she spins, but they don’t die. She only has runed daggers, and they won’t kill the demons that aren’t in a human body. The moment it registers, it’s like someone has cut my feet out from under me.
But she doesn’t seem to care. This is not the Heidi I remember. The one who wanted to be powerful, but wasn’t. The one who yearned to be a Cazador, but who harbored insecurities only shown to a few. Me, for one.
This Heidi… this girl is the one in my art book, right down to her style of combat boots. I can’t tear my eyes from her. My heart swells. I want to run up to her and throw my arms around her.
Did I do this? Does my gift work on humans too? And all this time I’d thought only of the demons. I could have been beefing up my friends and maybe even myself!
There’s only one way to find out.
Frantically, I switch her daggers to something she needs, drawing Nephilim blades. Long and sharp. Quick and deadly. The moment she realizes something has changed, her whole demeanor shifts. I’m close enough to see the glint in her eyes as her ferocity is dialed up a few notches and the demons start disintegrating at her feet.
I quickly turn the page and search for the other Cazadors. I count them one by one and find that they’re all here! I start with Owen and Doug, who have always been joined at the hip. I put them together on the page, twin warriors. Yin and Yang. One dark and one light. One tall, one small.
I sketch with urgency, my lines hurried, but as accurate as I can make them. I draw Owen with height, lean and quick. I draw a fierce look on his face, his eyes piercing and sharp, never missing a demon in his path, his feet un-trippable. He’s magical as he spins and stabs. Last of all, I begin the downward slash of Nephilim daggers. Poison to demons. I quickly examine my work, pleased.
The moment my drawing is finished, the shift takes place. Owen stills for a split second and his eyes close, hi
s face raised to the heavens, and then it’s as if his lungs fill with an ethereal power. When his eyes open again, he’s different. Fine tuned. His movements become precise, quick, and deadly.
His arms swirl in an arc as he slashes through gray men as though they’re made of butter. They disappear in clouds of ash so quickly that he’s killed the next five before the dust even settles on the ground. Sketching frantically, I make touchups to the blades, making them longer, gilding them with the designs I remember seeing on Bret’s Nephilim blade.
I start on Doug, and even though he’s stalky, I bulk him up, imbuing him with strength and stamina. I give him Nephilim daggers also. They sit in his grip like fangs, deadly poisonous. Each strike causes a demon to disappear. There are fewer and fewer to deal with as the moments tick by.
I switch to Jag. There isn’t much to do for him. He has always been an animal in battle, but I give him Nephilim blades, plus speed-enhanced reflexes—if that is possible—and enhanced vision, so that nothing will get by him. The changes are minor, but I can see the difference as he fights. Does he notice?
Chapter Forty-seven
Brecken
I kill mindlessly, without focusing on each demon I slay. If I stop to think, even for a moment, I might not be able to continue. The pull of the crater is so great that it almost overcomes me. I don’t want to go in there, and yet, I yearn to jump inside and revel in the energy emanating from The Door. I haven’t felt these passions in ages. Not since I left the Underworld.
For a demon, these feelings are normal and common. For someone trying to leave his demon side behind, they’re excruciating in their seduction. It’s power. It’s control. It’s supremacy. It’s evil dominion in its purest form.
And I love it.
I make my way forward, trying to get to Mictian. He isn’t even fighting yet, only watching from a distance, just beyond the ring of demons that surrounds us. They have no hope against me, and I wonder why he keeps sending them into the fight. He must be trying to wear us down. I happen to glance at Heidi, who fights on my left, my heart swelling when I see her. She’s amazing and strong, and then… I do a double take. What the hell is she fighting with?
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