by Ira Robinson
Jessup's hackles rose, and within seconds he had transformed into his dire wolf form, the hide toughening and the fur coiling together in their weird armor, as his eyes darkened away from the white and brown, gentle stare to veiny red and amber. His legs twisted beneath him as his snout dove to the floor, the hiss of breath from him joining the small bit of steam that exuded from his skin in the cold air.
"Can you find Lisa?" Carver bent to pull Jessup's face toward himself, staring deeply into those terrible eyes. "Can you smell her?"
He pried his snout loose from Carver's hand and nodded, his nose nearly touching the floor again with the vehemence. He growled as he passed a paw over the surface, the long talons there jutting out and scratching the metal.
Carver stood up and said, "Find her, Jessup."
Before he could react or move further, the wolf bounded away, a howl coursing through his throat as he sliced through the air in a leap that carried him all the way to the door at the far end of the hall.
Carver took off, the cloak trailing behind him flying so wildly it caressed the wall as he ran after Jessup. "Damn it! Too loud!"
A rumble came from the room beyond the doorway, followed by two loud thumps as something slammed into the wall hard enough to vibrate the wall Carver passed, transmitting particles of dust from the ceiling to the floor below, wafting slowly in the dim shine. Another roar was joined by a garbled cry.
Carver burst through the door, his hand upraised and ready as he glanced to the left, the direction Jessup had bounded, and saw the wolf pressing his body tight into another form, a tall, gangly figure, scaled and gleaming, a coiled snake with hands and legs.
Another already lolled on the floor, pestilence and bright green blood coursing through a neck that was no longer whole, bitten through by the powerful jaws of the brute. Drips in a long stream extended across the ground, drooling away from his mouth.
Carver rushed forward, instinct kicking in as the creature fought against Jessup. He raised his hand and shrieked, "Appara Unum!"
Light flared from his palm as he brushed the skin, hard and dark slime crawling with tiny mites and the buzzing of flies the thing had carried with it. As soon as his flesh touched that of the demon, the power within him swelled brilliantly, and the sucking sensation began. The devil pulsed as it was broken apart bit by bit, rapidly dissipating into non-existence as its essence was drawn away into his arm.
It kicked and fought, scratched and wailed as its consciousness became a part of himself, but he bit back against it. He hated it, abhorred having the stuff inside of him, its malevolence piercing through his entire being, but he would require its power. Would need much more, before everything ended.
"Be silent!" he growled. Jessup glanced his way as he padded over to the demon laying on the floor, perhaps wondering if Carver was speaking to him. "Not you," Carver added, nodding to the wolf.
Jessup's nose probed the monster, its throws of death still continuing as it gasped, its own essence fading into nothingness as it poured away, the scraps of its reality vaporizing as its consciousness did.
It might take some time for it to die, to go back to hell screaming vengeance, to plot its twisted mind toward vengeance on the human and animal that dared bring it to an end. Carver could consecrate it, to finish its existence entirely, but it would be a waste of power he could need soon.
He took no pity on it, merely wished it would die quieter, the hissing of its breath seeping from the hole in its throat.
It lasted only seconds though. Whether Jessup understood what was going on, the need for this to resolve quickly, or out of spite, his jaws clamped down on the creature and crunched down. A snapping of sinew and one guttural sound from the demon reverberated and then it disappeared with a flutter of ash and smoke, the last traces of it hanging in the air around Jessup for a moment before fading entirely away.
Let me go! the voice of the demon echoed in his mind, spitting and clawing into his being, finding the pathway into his head somehow.
Carver glanced at his arm, the scars there glowing a deep red, the essence of the demon fueling the fire within himself in ways he still did not understand. He could hold it, could make use of it, but the longer it went on, the more chance the thing had of doing something hazardous to him, and he needed to get through this quickly.
Carver did his best to ignore the taunts and jibes, the begging and pleading becoming unintelligible as he gritted his teeth and kept his palm wide open. A subtle light split the scar as he held the thing back.
Jessup sniffed the floor again, shifting himself to the doorway they had come from, his nose going back and forth until his eyes narrowed, steeling himself to move fast.
"Stay near me, Jessup," Carver hissed, but it was too late. The wolf was off again. Carver hoped he was chasing after Lisa and not some other demonic threat, as he cursed again and followed behind.
Metallic clatters and scrapings emitted ahead as Carver tried to be more careful about his steps. Jessup was out of sight, too far into the murk for him to catch a glance of. With the demon inside of him scrabbling for purchase against his hold, the pull of other demons was no longer a part of him, coming from everywhere at once and so strong it threw his senses off. If there were actually any about he would not be able to know it ahead of time, and there was so much wrong here.
Damn it, Jessup. Where did you go?
More clatters of metal scraping against alloy and Carver could now make out a set of stairs leading up the wall to the second tier above. That area, too, was shrouded away, hard to glean a good sight of, but a figure moved along rapidly. He squinted and noticed it holding low down, hunkering as it progressed.
Jessup. He was mounting the stairs and way ahead of Carver.
But if there were other demons on this floor, Jessup would probably have either found them himself or attracted their attention. Carver let himself go, abandoning caution to follow after the wolf form as it made it to the top of the stairs and slid his claws against the steel catwalk.
Carver's own soles were quieter as he hit them one at a time, keeping hold of the railing as the demon inside of him, perhaps sensing what was happening, bucked once more, trying to throw him off-balance. He gripped the rail tighter as one by one the stairs flew beneath his feet and he reached the pinnacle.
The rail was flimsy, and the catwalk, itself, was not much better. As Carver crossed it, the thing shifted a bit, tipping him one way and another. He heaved a breath, his stomach lurching, but it held steady as he approached Jessup, who was clawing at a metal door, sparks showering down from the long nails against the thick steel.
No windows there but light grew from the bottom of the exit, the inch-wide crack there glowing brighter than the bars lining the ceiling of the large area he was in. He glanced sideways and down, the metallic floor on the first level at least twenty feet distant.
If he opened the door and was immediately attacked, the railing would likely not hold. Even the weight of the two of them combined made the rickety walkway difficult to traverse. How much worse if demons poured out?
With his senses not working because of him carrying the demon within, there could be nothing beyond the door or an army.
Carver tried to push Jessup aside, his legs shoving the hard flesh of the wolf, but Jessup kept scratching at the door, the rest of his paws almost wrapping into the slats of metal that held them aloft. As frantic as he was, Carver hoped he was sensing Lisa beyond the portal.
The door broke loose, Carver's grip on the knob sweaty as he raised his other hand, the subtle glow reflecting off of the door.
Jessup was in first, and Carver stepped in right after. Both stopped in their tracks, Jessup's claws scrabbling against the steel riveted floor.
The massive entity in the center of the large room took up more space than the entourage surrounding him did, combined. Huge wings gently caressed the air, their black leather slightly shining the light around them with their glossiness, but that did little to illumin
ate the blackened image of Azazel. He was the biggest creature Carver had ever witnessed, and his stomach dropped to his feet as trembling began in his body, the fear exuding off of the demon palpable, a dense soup.
Two demons were next to him on his left side, and on his right hand was the tall, gangly figure Carver had seen before. The familiar grin on Indris' face widened further as he saw the terror in Carver's eyes rise.
In front of them all, so small and frail, was Lisa, her nightgown torn in so many places it was hanging loose, the dirt on her skin so thick it was almost brown. Her eyes were wide and staring, glossy, perhaps not seeing anything at all.
Both of the massive hands of Azazel held her, one across each shoulder. One finger was extended out, though, resting on the crux of her neck, the long claw ready to pierce her tenderness.
He could not see her hands; they were behind her. Her mouth, as well, was hidden with a gag.
"Come in, Hallow." The voice of Azazel was smooth and fearless, vibrating the floor at Carver's feet. "We've all been waiting for you."
Chapter 28
The sword flew into Carver's hand, his grip tight even as sweat began to pour through his skin. A glare of light from his palm crept from around the corners of his palms, the blade, itself, taking on a blue glow along the etchings.
Azazel's eyes widened, the brows on his horny forehead raised. Then they narrowed to slits as he said, "Drop it, human." The statement echoed through the room, booming through the short distance between himself and Carver. His hands, dark and sooty, squeezed Lisa tighter, forcing a soft moan to come from behind the gag.
Carver's movements halted, but the sword remained in his hand, staring at his daughter in the control of this gigantic creature, this thing of darkness so profound it washed out of him. The floor beneath his heavily booted feet was nearly obscured by thick, black smoke.
"Let her go," Carver said, straining through the effort of keeping himself in control, suppressing the tingle of unformed terror etching its way through the back of his mind. His next words choked out. "You don't need her."
His arm trembled, the blade swaying as his own body fought to run, and the demon he carried within struggled even more. He bit down on his molars, grinding them together as his lips parted.
"I think not," Azazel replied, the finger hovering over Lisa's neck pushed ever so slightly inward. "Let it fall, and we'll talk."
Lisa groaned again as a pinpoint of blood came from her skin, the blackened claw digging in just over her jugular. Her eyes widened further, and though she still did not seem fully aware of what was happening to her, they glazed over as if in a haze of drugs, her body responded to the pressure the demon put on her collar and tried to move aside. The other held her too hard in place.
The single release was joined by more, one droplet after another pooling around the dig before falling to rest on the dingy nightgown. Scars of red plumed out as they linked.
The blade fell, his grip loosening as his guts churned and his heart gripped tight, his breath catching fully in his lungs for a long moment. It clanged as it hit the metal floor, its own steel joining it as the glow faded.
His feet took a step back but bent, ready to pounce at the slightest chance but he did not take his eyes off of his daughter, her gaunt face almost igniting in magnificent brilliance next to the sooty skin of the demon holding her captive, so pale and weak.
The devil inside of him screamed as Indris came forward with a nod from Azazel, the terror in its voice screeching through Carver's mind, and as it twisted and fought, the red emitted from his scars billowed, the skin stretching out like a pustulent infection.
Let me go! it squealed, but Carver tightened his hand into a fist and clamped down on the thing as hard as he could. I'll be wiped out!
Its screams continued, claiming its master would kill it if he didn't set it loose, but Carver knew it would be destroyed, anyway, if he used its power for himself.
Azazel pulled his finger away from Lisa's neck, and within a few seconds, the trail of blood ended. It glistened in the lights but was darkening quickly as it dried. Lisa calmed back to the catatonic state she had been in when he entered the room.
Carver's vision flicked between Lisa and Indris as he approached cautiously, keeping his own eyes on Carver's movements as he ducked to pick up the dropped sword. He came back to Azazel's side slowly, backpedaling with the blade held out before him, the leather straps of the hilt conforming easily to his hand.
Jessup groaned behind him, but Carver could not afford to look at what the wolf might be doing. Scrabbling against metal met his ears, joining the soft hiss of steam releasing from somewhere just outside of the room, but the wolf made no moves forward. He seemed to be in control of his instincts, but scarcely.
Azazel remained in place as Indris returned to him, silent until the old king took his spot. When he opened his mouth to speak again, the sound was gentler, almost passive, but thick and resonant through the vacant space between them.
"There is much you don't understand," came the voice. "But you made this necessary."
Carver unconsciously took a step. His own speech was hardly audible as a flap of the giant wings stirred the air in the room. "How? By eliminating your competition? You should be happy with that."
Azazel, in response to Carver's edging closer, lifted Lisa in his hands, her legs lifting three feet from the floor. They kicked a little in the empty air, the black sooty smog wafting outward with her movement, pushing toward Carver as his stomach lurched and he halted.
She hung there for a moment longer, the strange hiss again emitting from Azazel as another wave of smoke flowed from his form, carpeting the metal all around. The two demons at his side laughed, their chattering grating as they pushed at each other.
Azazel flashed a glance their way, and they fell into silence again, becoming unmoving statues with his silent command.
Indris held Carver's blade high, ignoring the display going on as he examined the edge of the sword.
When Carver made no more moves, the master demon brought Lisa back down to the floor, a brief nod accompanying the return of his malevolent sight on Carver. His hands still wrapped firmly around the girl's shoulders but broke the gag that had overcome the room.
"There is no competition," he said, a flick of his tongue sliding past his lips as he spoke. "I am the Prince of Princes, Hallow. I have taught you pitiful humans what it means to make war." His hands came off Lisa but the girl remained motionless despite them being gone. "I've ruled you since your beginnings, since the Almighty, Himself, put you here. You are nothing to me."
Azazel waved his hand in a wide arc. "None dare stand against me!"
His arm twisted uncontrollably as the demon's vehemence shook the room, bits of dust and grime clinging to the ceiling falling away to scatter helplessly across those present.
"Then why murder my friend?" Carver asked, the rage at this being even touching his daughter growing to a red heat. "And Trading Circle. Why kill those who were defenseless and could do you no harm?"
A snorting cackle extruded from the demon prince, his sharpened fangs black and gray with decay and rot flaring beneath his lips. "You mean the priest? Those of the pitiful Syndicate?" Another laugh, booming louder. "I'd take pleasure in it if I wanted to, Hallow, but you're mistaken. It was not I who did those things."
Carver's eyes slid to Indris, bringing the sword down. The ancient king nodded, the familiar grin widening.
Carver returned to Azazel.
"I've known his plan for a long time now," the demon said, "but even I did not expect the lengths of deception my brother was capable of." A wing tipped downward before rising up over the procession, their width encompassing all of the figures in front of Carver. "I must say I'm impressed."
Carver flushed. "What? Who?"
"Your master," the demon replied. "I'm afraid he's rather lost control of his power of reason."
Carver's feet slipped back a pace, a glimmer of understandin
g beginning in his mind, even through the fear exuding from his every breath.
"Your brother is Biel?"
Azazel smirked. "That might be what he calls himself now, but there was a time when the heavens shouted his praises as Barachiel."
With his words, a great weights came down over Carver's shoulders, the sick feeling in the pit of his stomach reaching his throat. His fist relaxed, the nails cutting into the flesh releasing as he glanced at it. The scars circling around his palm still held the slight white glow of his power, ready to be unleashed at his command.
"He's an angel?" Carver asked, his voice hollow. An image of Biel flashed in his mind, the dark suit and confident smirk as he stood above Carver laying on the damp basement floor of a flophouse. The sensation of agony through his soul as the scars cut into his skin, into the depths of his meat, biting him and binding his every atom to the service of the demon.
