by A. J. Norris
Reflexively, the angel tried to flatten his wings to his body. The devil spawns gripped each wing, forcibly stretching them to their fullest extension. Bones snapped under the pressure. Feathers fluttered about the cavern, blood staining the plumages.
They hacked at the angel’s wings, from the tips to the base. With each whack, he screamed. For angels there was no greater loss; the removal of one’s wings created emptiness too profound to fathom.
CHAPTER
THIRTEEN
Abaddon
Abaddon heard screams. At first he didn’t recognize them as anything other than ordinary. A shriek to curdle blood bombarded his ears. He rose from his four-poster bed and lurched toward the entrance of his private bedroom. The volume of the yelling increased as he stepped from the room.
Amalya.
His form began to change. Leather boots split down the center when his feet became too large to contain them. Shredded clothes peeled off his body, dropped onto the floor, and slipped into the molten rock on either side of the path. The beast’s hooves chewed up the ground. Faster he sprinted, bulldozing lesser demons and Damned souls into the liquid ore. They screeched as they hit the lava and sunk below the surface.
He skidded to a halt inside the cavern where his Amalya was being tortured. In a battle stance, he roared. His servants covered their ears, shrank to the ground, and rolled around on the floor, bumping into each other. Aba trampled the ones closest to him. Eyeballs exploded when he stepped on their necks, detaching heads. He lifted another slave, ripping each limb from the sockets, biting the head off another.
Blood dripped from his mouth down his chest. He roared again, angry with himself for allowing Amalya to run from him and forgetting to seal off the tunnels. One last demon slave stood between Aba and his female.
The demon stared at Aba with his eyes wide and his mouth open. He didn’t try to run. The master swiped a clawed hand at the goat, relieving the underling of the top half of his skull.
Thud. Splat. The sound sickened Aba. The gray matter hit the stone floor and bounced once.
Amalya’s eyes were as wide as plates. Even though she was no longer able to scream, her mouth moved like she was yelling. Aba poised over her, willing his beast back inside. There was no change in his appearance. Burns marred her exposed legs, stomach and arms. The dress he’d fashioned was torn up the middle and parted off to her sides. There were more marks. He hissed. He’d not meant for her to suffer. He raised a palm to her forehead and her body went limp.
When he lifted her into his arms, the cuffs fell to the ground. He grabbed the remains of the dress and draped it over her hips.
They entered one of the rooms of his set of chambers. Inside were warm mineral bath pools. This was the only place in Netherworld the water didn’t stink like rotten eggs. Quivering, he removed the cloth covering her core. So feminine were her curves. Her…
He felt a stirring not usual for his beast. Lifting her away from his body, she caught on his hardened shaft as he held her over one of the pools. A guttural groan slipped past his lips, and he dropped her.
CHAPTER
FOURTEEN
Amalya
Amalya sank under the water. Her limbs flailed beneath the surface and splashed above as she attempted to right herself. She came up gasping, her hair plastered to her scalp. She scrambled for the edge but he pushed her back.
“Stay down. It will help you.”
The sound of his voice didn’t exactly match the look of a beast. Even though it was deep, she expected it to sound rough and animalistic, and less human. Instead, it had a sensual quality to it; a purr. Her nipples hardened despite the warm water. And he was correct, the water soothed her burns. The healing process had begun just after the torture session was cut short. The man-creature had come to her rescue. This stage of the recovery would be at its most excruciating apex if not for her being in the mineral bath.
Her skin no longer felt raw. What she felt was exposed. The waters were crystal clear now that she’d stopping thrashing. She covered her breasts and sex with her arm and hand. The beast stared at her while he panted. He closed his eyes and took long dragging breaths.
His body quaked. Once. Twice. Amalya allowed herself to float to the back of the pool as far away from him as she could possibly get. His face was the first thing that changed. His nose narrowed, eyes shrank, and the deep creases in his brow lessened. The skin lightened, his raised etchings became less pronounced. He shook his head and the last of the changes were complete. What was left was an angel of a man with sawed off horns. His eyes were the color of brilliant sapphires. She found herself wanting to reach up and caress his face, which was morbidly stupid.
What’s wrong with you?
The draw was magnetic, hypnotic. Weren’t his eyes ice blue before? She remembered them being a different color. When she reached out to him, he knelt down and gripped her wrist.
“Never, unless you want to lose this hand.”
Snatching her arm back, she kicked to the back of the pool again, splashing his chest. He jumped to his feet, his erection bobbing with his movements.
“Fuck you!” she yelled at him then found herself needing to apologize, beg for his forgiveness for being so brash.
An eyebrow rose. “A proposition?”
“Not if my life depended on it…” The words trailed off as her eyes zeroed in on his shaft.
Stop staring.
“Oh? You still think you’re alive, is that it?” He walked over to an ornate cabinet with symbols etched in the wood, similar to a pendant she’d lost. The doors flung open on his way over.
“Well, I still feel pain and I have arms and legs and I’m still talking.”
“This constitutes living?” He put something under his arm and closed the doors. “One doesn’t live in Netherworld.”
“Then what do you do here?”
“Exist.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
The man-creature rolled his eyes, offering her a towel in one hand and help out of the pool with the other.
She didn’t take what was presented, feeling unusually self-conscious. “Turn around…please—”
“I’ll give you one more warning, Amalya. You are mine. You do not ask nor tell me what to do. I decide.”
“Okay.” A niggling feeling in the back of her mind told her something was wrong, though she couldn’t figure out what. It was as if someone was influencing her emotions like a puppeteer controls a marionette. She felt confused and single minded all at once.
She maneuvered over to the side. The water was still up to her chest when she stood to her full height. Not taking his hand had been a mistake, as she had to jump several times before she was able to get a knee out of the water and up onto the edge. Her arms gave out, landing her flat on her front. The weakness in her muscles bothered her. She’d somehow wasted all of her energy.
His hands snaked around her. One arm grabbed her around the waist, his other cupped one of her breasts.
“Hey, at least buy me dinner first.”
He lifted her off the stony ground like she weighed no more than a toy poodle. She sagged in his arms. Her muscles didn’t want to listen to her commands, but she could feel his cock digging into her back.
“Your strength will return.”
“Oh, yeah? When?”
“You’re gaining strength right now,” he breathed into her ear.
Helplessness scared her more than being in his arms. She told herself he’d saved her from the demons who’d been torturing her. And this man-creature could have hurt her anytime in the last however long. But she was dead, and how did that make any sense? What exactly had he saved her from, if she was not living anymore?
He carried her to another room with stalagmites in the center, circling around a bedding platform, where he laid her down. The covering was black fur, with the feel and texture of a baby llama, soft and fluffy. An out of place deep red glass chandelier hung from the tall ceiling. The crys
tals sparkled in the candlelight. A towel was placed on her. He dried her off, rolling her over to make sure she was completely dry.
“You are beautiful, my Amalya.” The creature stretched out on his side next to her. His face hovered over hers as he stared into her eyes.
She swallowed hard. Even with the remnants of horns he was perfect.
What?
The stray thought lingered. What was she thinking? The thing wasn’t even a man. A human.
“I must have you. You’ll be my queen. Anything you want I shall give you.”
Anything? Really? She wanted to believe him. It.
“What are you?”
A low chuckle rumbled up from his gut. “I am everything,” he proclaimed.
“But what are you?”
“Darkness.”
She crinkled her brow. “What does that mean?”
“What does it sound like?”
“You’re nuts.”
He pulled his head back slightly. “Maybe.”
The sad look the self-proclaimed darkness had in his eyes softened her even further. Although Amalya knew she should fear him, he appeared lonely. The feeling was something she could relate to; her parents had provided her with a house but not a home. There was luxury but without any substance. He had everything at his fingertips; power, authority, respect, but yet had nothing at all. No love. No family. He needed her. They needed each other.
“What’s your name?” She wanted to touch his face again. He read her hand twitch and grasped it, placing a kiss on the palm.
“Sadly, I must confess, it is unpronounceable. Most call me Aba.”
“Oh. It’s as if you don’t have a name.” He nodded and his eyes roved over her body.
She studied his features. “Your eyes are different. They were paler before.”
“When I’m angry the color fades.” A sly smile appeared. His fingers stoked one of her arms.
“And you weren’t angry when I was in the—”
“I wanted you when you were in the pool.”
“You looked like you were mad, though. I reached for you and you threatened to remove my hand.” She raised her hand, examining the back.
“Sorry,” he whispered looking away, hiding from her gaze. “You may touch me. If you’d like.”
She hesitated for a moment then ran her hand along the length of his side, starting at his shoulder.
He inhaled quickly and held his breath. The skin was smooth to the touch. Warm. The only hair on his body was on his head. He had not a single blemish or scar. Perfect. Now she could even overlook the stumps where horns once were. Had their removal been painful? She didn’t want for him to have suffered.
Heat spread over her body while he moaned. His enjoyment made obvious by the lustful expression on his face. Encouraged by the reaction, she wrapped a hand around his hard cock.
“Oh Amalya,” he purred. “What you do to me.”
“What do I do?”
“What don’t you do? I want to feel inside you,” he drawled, placing a hand over hers as she worked him. His breathing labored. Eyes closed. “Mmm.”
Surprising her, he pulled away. The shock made her cold. She rolled onto her back and buried her face in the crook of her elbow. “Did I do somethi—?”
“Shhh.” He was right on top of her, between her legs. Her arms were placed over her head and kept there with his hands. “I need your submission.”
Um, okay…wait…
“My wha—”
He smashed his lips to hers. The kiss was demanding. He took. She wanted to give. Their tongues thrashed about, dueling for space. He sucked on her lips. Keeping her wrists locked in one of his hands he worked her nipples with his mouth, sucking on the tight beads and swirling his tongue around the tips.
A hand found her sex. The fingers found her G-spot. She cried out, arching her back as she came over and over. The tightness in her belly lingered. Her whole body ached for more. Then he left. The air around her became chiller with him gone.
She stayed in the same position. Hands over her head, legs flopped to each side spreading her wide. Ecstasy waves rolled through her. She never wanted to the feeling to end and prayed for his return.
CHAPTER
FIFTEEN
Elliott
Elliott couldn’t breathe properly. It wasn’t from the soot, the foul odor, nor even from the broken ribs he sustained while that goat sat on his spine. No, it was because of the hole in his soul left behind by his absent wings. A single tear slid out the corner of his eye, across the bridge of his nose, and onto the dirty ground. The goats dragged him to where he lay now; on his stomach, with his head to the side. Using one eye, he looked at the closed door in front of him. The walls surrounding the wood panel had been scraped as smooth as one could get stone with some type of tool, maybe a hammer and chisel. He brought a hand up to his face. The ends of the nails were bitten down past the tops of his fingers. Grunge caked around the cuticles.
He came to Hell to find a woman not slated for this realm. So far, he’d been tortured, betrayed, beaten, and had his wings removed. Was this what Deus had in mind? He’d instructed him to find her in order to find himself. However, he was no closer to either goal. Christ. How could he even call himself an angel anymore?
Elliott rolled onto his back with a brittle groan. He hoped that the dirt and grime beneath him would stave off the trickles of slow bleeding from the wounds on his back. He stared at the ceiling that had been chiseled into a dome. Any dripstones that may have existed had been removed as well. He listened. The quiet was odd, but a welcomed relief amid all the shrill noise beyond the door.
His sensitive hearing picked up a low male sounding moan, perhaps in the next room. Then it stopped. A woman’s scream, in the throes of passion from the sounds of it, reverberated. The screams got louder and louder.
Then it stopped and a door slammed.
Amalya?
He hoped not. His instinct, however, told him a different story.
CHAPTER
SIXTEEN
Abaddon
Chains rattled.
Souls moaned.
Aba shivered. Coming to this part of Netherworld always gave even him pause. The section was reserved for the particularly heinous of the Damned. Child molesters were lined up and chained along a wall, their punishment involving dull cutting instruments, made his knees flimsy.
Bypassing the sickos, the ruler of demons went straight for the Void, as in…avoid. A hole, with a sea of hundreds, maybe thousands of naked, shit covered souls piled on top of one another. It was in a state of perpetual flux. They constantly climbed over each other vying for the highest position near the surface. As one soul would reach the peak the whole heap would collapse. Then the jockeying would begin again and was repeated over and over, with no one ever getting out. The whole thing disgusted him.
He’d come for one particular Damned, a just-in-case insurance policy. Peering over the edge, he searched the mass. He covered his nose with a bicep and coughed. The dead souls reeked of putrid body odor and human excrement. His eyes watered. He wasn’t even sure anymore whose idea the pit had been. Maybe it had just happened.
“I seek one of you!” Aba bellowed into the pit. The screaming, hair pulling, and eye gouging paused for a moment.
Souls shouted and raised their hands. “Me, pick me!”
“No, me!”
“You want me! I’ve been here the longest!”
“No you haven’t. Shut up asshole!” A fight broke out.
Aba reached for two souls within arms’ distance. He looked into their eyes.
Nope.
He threw them back in and grabbed another two. After two hours of this he had piles of broken bodies on his left, right, and behind him. Limbs sat at awkward angles. Loose heads with open eyes croaked mutely, mouths opening and closing. And a waning mound still waited inside the hole.
Where is that fuck-head?
The Supreme Demon looked up. Over the pit were
steel girders, remnants of a crane installation. He just needed something to lower himself with…Aha! A thick chain. He snapped his fingers. Over in the corner lay a length of links with a hook at one end.
He swung the chain over a steel beam. The hook caught. After testing the strength, he lowered himself into the hole head first. To his surprise the bottom couldn’t be detected. Souls began to jump for the end of the chain. Aba easily bashed a successful one into the side by swinging the chain. The soul screamed as he fell. Down. Down. Down.
Souls volunteered themselves to be inspected as “the one.” Aba worked diligently. Eventually his bottled up frustration exploded. The wake of his roar sent many flying down the peak of twisted bodies. Then there was one left standing amid the swarm, fighting against the wind with his hands up protecting his eyes. Aba caught the soul’s wrist and yanked with enough force to break the neck. The Damned was flung up and hurtled through the air. It landed in an awkward way next to the opening of the Void. The body lay on its stomach with the head twisted around facing the ceiling.
The demon lord sprung from below and settled on his feet. The soul looked up out of the corner of an eye. Hours wasted, but Aba finally found who he sought.
He nudged the soul over onto his back with a foot. The head remained face up. “I have a job for you.”
“Who are you?” The snapped neck made the man’s voice sound garbled.
“Who are you to question me? Ask another and I’ll throw you back in and bury you under the rest.” Aba motioned to the piles. The soul looked away. Aba knew he’d faced away because he’d wanted to ask another question, and thought better of it. “I have a job for you and if you please me, I will reward you.”
Aba waited for a question from the immoral bastard, who kept his mouth shut.
