The Opal Blade (The Ashen Touch Trilogy Book 1)

by Kristy Nicolle

  The song continues to ring throughout the car, as if the CD is stuck on repeat; because I’m pretty sure it’s been on more than once by now.

  The lyrics give me strength, make me grit my teeth, and I swerve the car once more as a Succubi latches onto the roof with its long sallow fingers. It appears from nowhere, causing me to jump in my seat as the sound of nails on metal makes me cringe. The sudden sideways motion of the car successfully dislodges it, leaving it in a miniature mushroom cloud of ash as it hits the ground. I feel triumphant for a moment before continuing to steam forward, not looking back.

  The volcano looms overhead, nearing at an increased speed as I smile, optimism growing with each mile that passes under the tread of the tyres.

  I’m going to make it. I’m going to make it.

  As I’m about to start singing along to the song, tapping my fingers on the steering wheel, I hit a pothole beneath the layers of ash and the car judders. I fly upwards in my seat, banging my head on the roof of the car. As I’m regaining my focus and my seated position, trying to get my feet back on the pedals, I realise that the Banshee who are lagging behind me have called their packmates for backup and are catching up quicker than I’d like.

  Damn their telepathic links. I cuss, watching as a large group of beasts block my path.

  I brake quickly, realising that I cannot possibly mow down so many. They surround me on the right, layers upon layers of the moth eaten looking demons with white eyes, long claws and hungry dripping jaws. Within moments, the left side of the car is also surrounded by Abraxians with wicked gleams in their eyes and the intermittent flickering of Gorgonian camouflage adapting by the second. I swerve the car as I begin to slow, pulling on the handbrake and slamming the rear end of the vehicle into several of the onlooking Abraxians, trying to clear some semblance of a path through to my destination.

  They are sent flying, only making the surrounding demons more ravenous, more desperate for revenge as they close in tighter.

  The car stops, right in the middle of the demon ring that has formed, all focused on me, right in the middle of the battle, which they seem to have abandoned at the realisation of where I was headed. This has been organised, and they’ve been given orders not to so much attack but to protect the last place they have to call home.

  I’m so close to The Fallen Kingdom, so close. I can see the entrance to the old cathedral-esque hub from here, the silhouette of the crumbling walls, feel the heat coming off the volcano and the darkness which is thick in the air.

  This was a very stupid idea. I cuss again, wondering why the hell I attempted this in the first place.

  Then, amid my panic as the demons begin to place limbs and claws onto the metal bonnet and trunk of the vehicle, I reach over, grasping a sword in my palm. As I feel steel in my hand once more, I remember the only reason good enough for me to have done something this insane.

  I need to prove I’m not all bad. If I save her, then maybe, I’ll be worthy… Duty is all I have, and now saving her life is mine.

  The thought of being so weak, so pathetic and vulnerable to my own instincts, I feel a fire ignite in my stomach, a rage in my soul, and I watch my skin scorched demonic as my darker self presents. It is as though in my hating that very part of myself, I’ve brought it forward, made it strong.

  The Banshee cries echo, rippling through the air like a weapon in their right. The noise would be enough to kill any human at close range, now they’re together in a pack, and certainly enough to send the glass windows and windscreen splintering before they explode around me. I cover my face and eyes, waiting for the rain of glass to end, waiting for the fighting to begin.

  As the demons close in, surrounding the car on all sides, I think of her and hope that she’s as strong as she’s always claimed to be. After all, I’ve never met someone who can tame the rage and shadow within me like her, and that is just a little too precious to lose.

  Chapter Twenty Eight

  Back In Black

  PANDORA

  My feet touch down on the black stone of the Dark Colosseum floor, the crumbling structure casting shadows across my unimpressed expression from above. The air is chill on this side of the volcano; perhaps because the wind is blowing in the opposite direction, and I feel the eyes of the five Demon Lords turn to me, ranging from milky bone white to onyx tinted crimson, expectant. I place the box safely in the pocket of my leather skirt, bracing myself for their questions.

  “Pandora. What is the word?” Barbas demands, his poker straight white hair billowing around him as cool air wafts inside of the entrance chamber to the arena. There is no light here, only the dark outlines of dead carcasses that have been dragged along the floor for disposal, leaving the stains of bodily fluid behind.

  “Haedes will not trade Mortaria for his daughter’s life,” I announce, feeling my irritation grow as the five figures visibly slouch, their eyes narrowing and mouths becoming thin grimaces. I have failed them, and now I have no doubt they will make me suffer.

  “Well, I could have told you that,” Barbas laughs, cocking a smile. I narrow my eyes at him.

  Did he want me to fail?

  “What do you mean?” I snap, short, and he smirks.

  “Well, Haedes’ ultimate fear is death, isn’t it? There’s no way he’d ever give up control over the one place keeping him alive,” he elaborates.

  “You couldn’t have possibly mentioned this to me before?” I catechise him, and he shrugs.

  “I wanted to see what would happen; can’t blame an old cat for being curious,” he sniggers.

  “Haven’t you ever heard of the phrase curiosity killed the cat?” I mutter, digging my long nails into the flesh of my palm and letting them draw blood. The bite of keratin on flesh gives me a small rush, boosting my confidence.

  “Now Pandora, it wouldn’t be wise to threaten the Demon Lord of fear and terror, would it? After all, I know exactly where your deepest fears lie,” he taunts me, clearly aware of my weaknesses. Perhaps that’s why he’s done this, knowing that inadequacy is my greatest fear, and that in making me look stupid to the others, he’s proving just that.

  “Why are you all standing here anyway?” I demand, changing the subject and trying to reiterate my new authority.

  “We’re trying to decide whose Kindred should attempt to kill the girl first,” Lilliana informs me, turning in a long and rugged gown of black taffeta that looks like it’s been put together by a seamstress turned blind. The top of the dress is little more than two bunches of netting which barely cover her breast, plummeting to where her protruding ribs can be seen moving in and out in an irregular and feral rhythm.

  “What do you mean, first? This isn’t a game. All the Kindred shall be set on her together. Why would you even consider sending them in separately?” I interrogate them, mystified as I take several steps forward, allowing the lilac sunlight to settle over me as I still, finally, beneath a hole in the roof.

  “Our demons don’t work together. Everyone knows that. They turn on one another within only moments, particularly when they’re hungry.” Gorgon makes this clear, cocking an eyebrow and smiling at me, revealing a forked tongue within his mouth as he licks his bottom lip. It’s almost as though in this look, he’s encouraging me to pursue the issue further.

  “Well, they should work together! What, you don’t have enough control over them to stop them from killing one another? That’s utterly ridiculous. What kind of Lords are you?” I demand, and they look affronted. “Has it never occurred to you that you could use Banshee as mounts, have your demons move on their backs at the same speed? That you could have Gorgonian’s infiltrating buildings and letting the other’s inside?” I put this idea to them, and several eyebrows rise on foreheads. Eyes twinkle, and then Abraxis speaks up, pushing his dark hair back on his head with one hand. In full demon form, his scarlet tattoos shine out, swirling in the dark like molten rivers as his eyes burn into me with an amber glare.

  “This is not the way it i
s done,” he begins, looking to me with a grim expression, but then turns to the others, “but perhaps, it is the way it should be done from now on,” he suggests and Gorgon nods.

  “I agree; if we cannot control our own Kindred, then we should not be in control. Period. We must work together. I feel Pandora may have ignited my hopes that we may reclaim Mortaria, however ill-informed her own intent may have been, but perhaps there is still a chance. What if we ask the girl to join us?” Gorgon suggests, and I sneer.

  “Excellent idea. If we can’t persuade her father, I’m sure the one with her life on the line can be swayed.” I agree, and Katerina speaks up, her deep rust coloured gown rustling around her as she turns to me.

  “What gives you such sudden faith, Gorgon?” She presses him to justify his claim as he spins to face her. His suit is made from velvet that’s pressed to look like snake’s skin in a deep bottle green. He’s wearing a pristine white shirt, which is a miracle in itself considering the state of the other Demon Lords and their attire. I mean, Lilliana looks like she desperately needs a bath for a start.

  “Things are changing. My children can feel it, something in the shadowy waters of the mortal world. They have been in touch with the children of Kraken, heard of a weakening in the walls between dimensions. An act of The Circle of Eight. It may be that we are able to bring back one of the Gods of Ancient after all,” he whispers, causing me to blink not once but twice. Could it be that he’s realised my assumptions about Lucifer may be correct?

  “Which god would that be?” Barbas enquires, superior in his tone and doubting in his expression.

  “The only God of Ancient who was not banished to The Island of The Blessed,” Gorgon elaborates, causing Abraxis to stroke his chin in thought.

  “Ra? But… he owes us no allegiance. He has no Demon Lord here, and his soul is floating around in The Nether, forbidden to return to The Higher Plains; you know that,” he reminds me.

  “This is true, but he cannot be successful alone. He will be able to help us free the others. Or so I believe. If things align properly.” I interject now, making sure that I am not forgotten about.

  “This is a lot of speculation,” Lilliana voices her own doubts, and I turn to her.

  “Perhaps, but it is also the only chance we have to reclaim what is rightfully yours. Wouldn’t you take such a risk?” I demand of her, and suddenly, she looks meek. She backs away, whispering only, “Perhaps,” in response.

  I straighten my spine within the boning of my corset, taking a shallow breath and pressing onward, not wanting to stop in my momentum, knowing that if I do, then my faith in my own plan may falter.

  “Regardless of this, we must first deal with the demi-god. You are happy to have your Kindred work together?” I look to them for confirmation, and they all nod in unison.

  “Very well then. Let us proceed to the arena. We have an execution to spectate.”

  SEPHY

  The lilac sun burns bright overhead, creating a glare that leads me to wish I could raise a hand to shield my eyes as I feel my pale skin sizzle. Abraxian guards surround me, their black skin swirling with variations of Xion’s coloured tattoos. They’re varied in colour, and I find myself wondering if it means anything as I stand, bored and waiting, examining them. Xion is definitely more attractive, and the female demons among the troupe look very masculine indeed.

  I should probably be scared, but I continue to be simply impatient. Is it because I think Xion or Haedes or someone else is most definitely on their way here right now to set me free?

  Perhaps.

  However, the longer I’m stuck in this nightmare, the more I’m starting to think that it’s because I’ve just given up and want them to kill me already. My hands are tied behind my back, utterly useless to me, especially seeing as I still can’t muster so much as a spark. So, thus far, I’ve become less useful than a match with nothing upon which to strike, and I’m supposed to be a demi-goddess. Maybe this is just how it’s meant to be, given my newfound discovery that Fate does in fact exist, and apparently, can knit a badass afghan to boot.

  The demons around me stir, alerting me to some sort of change in the atmosphere of my surroundings, almost as if they’ve become suddenly nervous.

  I look up to the high edges of the pit, which are made from flawlessly slick stone, making physical escape impossible.

  I shuffle on the ground, the hideous crunching of small animal bones, or maybe even the skeletons of some sort of infant, sounding underfoot. It’s disgusting, and the entire place absolutely reeks of rot, of decay.

  As I’m pondering maybe dancing to pass the time, shadows appear on all sides, and I suddenly find myself with the commercial slogan for Clorox stuck in my head. I roll my eyes. Of course, at a time like this, I’m thinking ‘For life’s bleachable moments’, as if I’m not already suffering enough.

  “Miss Sinclair, welcome.” I hear her voice come from above and glare, finding myself surrounded on all sides now. There are six of them, the Demon Lords I assume, towering over me as I stand in the pit, helpless. They are ceremoniously equidistant as they watch me from every direction, making me the star of my very own morbid stage show.

  Maybe it could be a musical? I muse.

  “Just call me Sephy; you know, the surroundings really aren’t so formal,” I call back, cocking my hip and finding Pandora looking down at me.

  “Okay, Welcome Sephy,” she corrects herself, and I immediately feel the power dynamic between us shift. If she’s acknowledging my request, it means she wants something from me.

  I’m still wearing the outfit Anubis had provided, and wonder if she had me fighting for my life in mind when she picked it out. I look fierce, and can only hope I feel the same ferocity when it comes to the fighting. Flipping my hair over one shoulder, I scowl up at her.

  “Can we get this over with then?” I challenge her, seeing the faces of the other Demon Lords examining me with curiosity. I stare right back, narrowing my eyes and looking up at their pale demonic faces.

  One looks like a snake, another like a feral child who’s been raised by wolves, the others appear terrifying in their own right, bloodthirsty faces and poker straight white hair ingraining into my memory. I never want to forget them, even if I’m not alive for very long. The final Demon Lord I lay eyes on stirs something within my gut. It’s Xion’s father. I know it is. His eyes burn into mine, and I shudder slightly; the similarity uncanny. Xion has barely mentioned him, and with a face like that, it’s not hard to guess why. He seems utterly evil, and I haven’t even heard him speak.

  “We want to offer you the chance to save your own skin, seeing as how your father has sentenced you to death.” Pandora announces, and I blanche slightly.

  “Are you kidding me?” I ask her, scowling. She went to ask Haedes to save my life, and he did nothing?

  So much for parental instincts. I grumble, realising I should have known better than to trust anyone with blue hair.

  “No. He really left you to the demons. Stings, doesn’t it?” she goads me, and I shake my head. “Unbind her. I want to see her fight back before she dies.” Pandora commands the surrounding Abraxians, who move forward, taking the irons from around my wrists. I rub the flesh there, which is red raw and tender from my rebellion, trying to keep the conversation going. I’m hoping if Pandora actually does have a point, I might start to see it on the horizon at some point soon. This death thing is becoming a far more longwinded affair than I’d bargained for, that’s for damn sure.

  “Look, whatever; guess I’ll have to whoop you myself.” I feel like a teenager again, like she’s my dormitory mistress, except a lot more vampy and with worse dress sense.

  “Whoop me?” Pandora asks, her mouth twisting into a smirk.

  “Yeah, you know, kick your ass.” I raise my hands up like a boxer, and she laughs.

  “Without your powers, you’re nothing more than a little lost girl in hell, Sephy. I’m really not scared. Now, will you join us, aid in our cau
se to take back Mortaria from your father? The one who sentenced you to die at our collective hand?” she asks me, and I shake my head.

  “I’m not lost. I’m home. This is where I was created. And I’d never help you take control of it. You look like something out of last season’s Goth reject bin,” I quip, and she frowns.

  “Stupid girl! You’d rather die?” she asks me, and I shrug.

  “What can I say? I guess seeing all this I’m just not that scared of death anymore. I mean, any Nether Realm or Higher Plain has got to be better than listening to you drivel on, ain’t it?” I ask her, smirking, and she looks like she might hit me.

  “Very well, then. Release them,” she commands, frustration obvious in both her expression and tone.

  The Abraxian guards, who have me surrounded, dash to the edges of the arena, and from five different corridors around me, pointed steel gates rise under the actions of their soot coloured hands, the clinking of chains being pulled through steel rings the only thing I can hear for a few minutes as my heart begins to unwillingly pound.

  The gates lead into five dark holes in the otherwise seamless wall, and I don’t know where to look first. They’re shrouded in abyssal dark, but I can feel the demons within getting closer and closer to me as my skin prickles, and hairs rise on the back of my neck at a barely noticeable change in the air.

  I tense my muscles, knowing I have no Eternal Flame at my disposal, but wondering if I can outwit the demons using speed and what little natural strength I possess. The odds may be stacked against me, but I won’t go without a fight. After all, I always knew I’d be dragged from this life, kicking, screaming and cursing. It occurs to me now that fighting, whether physical or mental, seems to be what I’m designed for above anything else.