Reaper

by Larissa_Ion

  I’m so sorry, baby. “If I do this, I want Moloch delivered to my door. Alive.”

  Done. And then I will slaughter that faithless pig, War, and I’ll grant you his island. Lilliana and your daughter would love that, wouldn’t they?

  They would. Lilliana would bloom like a rose on an island of her own, in the sun and away from the malevolence of Sheoul-gra. But not…not Ares’ island.

  Not because he was dead.

  Azagoth didn’t want that. Releasing Satan would get Heaven off his back, seeing as how they’d be busy fighting a war. And it might save Lilliana. He’d be killing two birds with one stone.

  But he’d also be killing a lot more than birds.

  What kind of world would his daughter grow up in? What kind of hell would all of his sons and daughters live in?

  A remote calm settled over him at the clarity of his thoughts. Sometimes when he became overwhelmed by the emotions of others, it left him empty. Clear. Too often, it was the opposite. But this was what Satan’s emotions had always done to him, even when his evil was just a drop in the sea that swallowed it.

  He couldn’t release Satan. Only a fool would trust him, especially one who had been lied to.

  Satan was communicating with someone. Somehow, he was getting information from outside.

  “Tell me, Satan, who are you talking to?”

  I told you! No one.

  “Then how do you know about my daughter?”

  There was silence, and then an enraged shout. Asrael. Asrael! Release me!

  No. This wasn’t the answer. This would make him the biggest villain in history, the one to destroy prophecy and the world.

  He had one other option.

  He’d still be a villain, and he’d probably lose everything he had, everyone he loved, and most likely his own life.

  But those he loved would be safe. The human realm would be safe.

  “Yeah, you know what? Fuck off.”

  Fuck off?

  “Want me to say it again?”

  Lightning filled the dark space all around, tearing the darkness to shreds. Azagoth looked around, stunned. This shouldn’t be happening. Satan shouldn’t have this kind of power. Not the kind that could command electricity, not the power to communicate with someone outside.

  There had to be a crack in the cage.

  A bolt of lightning stabbed Azagoth with a zillion degrees of agony, burning his flesh, searing his mind. He heard screams, his own, he thought, as his blood vaporized inside his veins. The bolt snapped back upward, leaving Azagoth on his hands and knees, smoke curling into the air from his charred body.

  A shriek of fury blasted through Azagoth’s eardrums. Release me, you cocksucker! Do it, or so help me, when the Lamb finally sets me free, you will be the first person I come after. And when I’m done slaughtering your sons and raping your daughters in front of you, I will fuck your mate until she’s dead! And then I’ll—

  Roaring in rage, Azagoth summoned everything he had, every ounce of power available to him, and sent the cube tumbling into the void, the blackness swallowing it in a disturbing, slow ooze.

  “Thanks for the heads-up, fucker.”

  As Azagoth unfurled, ash falling to the ground and revealing healed, strong flesh, Lilliana’s voice echoed in his head.

  All I ask is that, no matter what happens, you don’t become the monster you used to be.

  He wouldn’t. Oh, fuck no.

  He was going to become a brand-new monster.

  Chapter 33

  1:02:46

  Azagoth had one hour, two minutes, and forty-six seconds left to release Satan.

  Which meant he had just over an hour to get his affairs in order because setting the evil fuck loose wasn’t an option.

  He held his daughter against his chest, feeling her heart tap against his and committing it to memory. His inner demon had been in command when he’d returned from Satan’s prison, but the moment he saw Raika asleep in her cradle, Cat watching over her, he’d calmed. Holding her had brought him completely down.

  Well, not completely. Inside he was raging, ready to do what needed to be done.

  Soon. Just a few more minutes…

  Raika wrinkled her nose and yawned, her little fists waving in the air. He pushed aside her blanket and ran his fingertip over the downy material of the demon duckie pajamas Eidolon had sent.

  The demon was mourning his beloved brother, and he’d still taken the time to send a gift. On a shortlist of demons Azagoth respected, Eidolon was at the very top. Azagoth couldn’t return Wraith’s body to the doctor, but he would bring an end to Wraith’s suffering, one way or another.

  Raika reached for him, and he dipped his head, letting her touch his face as he inhaled her fresh, clean scent that went beyond the baby soap Cat had used to wash her. She smelled pristine, deep down in her soul, and somehow, he knew she hadn’t lived before.

  New souls were beyond rare, a once-per-century kind of thing, and he wondered what was in store for his daughter. She had so much potential.

  Her gaze met his, and he couldn’t deny the intensity of the love that surged through him. She deserved better than being born in Hell. He’d failed her, and he’d failed her mother.

  He was done failing. And he was willing to pay the ultimate price to keep it from happening again.

  There was a knock at his office door, and Azagoth didn’t have to wait for Ares to call out to know that he and Cara were in the hall. He’d felt Ares enter Sheoul-gra, and he’d taken those last precious moments of time alone with his daughter to memorize every detail about her.

  Another knock. A death knell, Azagoth supposed.

  “Enter.”

  Ares and Cara came inside, and while Cara closed the door, Ares, his leather armor creaking, strode across the room.

  “Fucking angels,” he growled.

  “Obviously, your hellhounds took care of them.”

  Calling Cara for a hellhound assist had been a stroke of genius. Hellhounds despised angels, and the hounds’ king, Cerberus, had a particular affinity for Hades and the Inner Sanctum. Chasing angels from Sheoul-gra’s entrance had probably been great sport for them.

  Ares snorted. “A thousand hellhounds against a hundred angels? It’s a great distraction, but Heaven’s going to send backup. We don’t have much time.”

  “Azagoth.” Cara smiled politely, but she was wringing her hands like she had a dripping towel between them. “It’s great to finally meet you in person.” It was a lie, but it was nice that she tried. “I’m just sorry it’s under these circumstances. Tears filled her eyes as her gaze dropped to the bundle in Azagoth’s arms. “Can I do anything to help? Anything at all?”

  “It’s why I asked you here.” Somehow, he said that without his voice cracking.

  Raika cooed, and pain took his breath. Her mother should be here. This shouldn’t be happening.

  “Her name is Raika,” he said, and this time, he couldn’t stop the emotional warble in his voice. “I don’t know if Lilliana will like that.”

  “It’s beautiful,” she assured him.

  “It means hellmouth.”

  Cara contemplated that for a heartbeat. “Well, I heard her crying in the background while you were talking to Ares on the phone. Seems appropriate.” She smiled. “Can I hold her?”

  He swallowed. Panicked. He didn’t want to let her go.

  “You don’t have to,” she said quickly. “It’s okay.”

  Buck up, asshole. Lilliana’s waiting, and Moloch isn’t going to bite his own head off.

  “No, please.” Very carefully, he placed Raika in Cara’s arms, and the sense of loss nearly drove him to his knees. He backed away before he snatched Raika back. “I asked you here because what I’m going to ask affects you both.” He gestured to the series of paintings depicting Sheoul-gra’s history. “For thousands of years, my realm sat empty. Then I filled it with fallen angels to help me, and Unfallen who sought safety, and finally, Memitim. But I’ve come to re
alize that Sheoul-gra should always have remained empty.”

  He looked at the space on the wall meant for art reflecting Sheoul-gra as it had been just days ago. Green, undamaged, full of life.

  “Things have to change. My realm is no longer safe, especially from me.”

  “What is it you want from us?” Ares asked, getting straight to the point, as usual.

  Azagoth finally turned away from the wall. “I want you to take in the refugees from Sheoul-gra. Your island is safe, secret, and secure. They can build apartments and a training facility on the opposite end of your island. You’ll never know they’re there.”

  Cara looked up from the baby as Ares stared, processing for a moment.

  “Damn, Reaper,” he said under his breath. “When you want something, you want something big.”

  “I know it’s a lot to ask,” Azagoth said. “But I want my family to be safe.”

  “What happens if we say no?” Cara asked.

  Please, don’t say no. “The Unfallen will be at risk of being dragged into Sheoul. The Memitim will go back to living the way they did before they came here, hiding among humans or staying in smaller training camps. The youngest will be safest in those.”

  He glanced over at his wet bar and decided that now would be a good time to open the thousand-year-old rum given to him by craftsmen from the Grimmon region of Sheoul.

  “I’m sure you need to discuss it.” He gestured to the door as he crossed to the bar. “Feel free, but don’t take too long. I have a hard deadline.”

  Ares nodded and moved for the door, and Cara started to hand over Raika.

  Azagoth backed up. “No, please keep her.” He hoped they didn’t notice the way his hand shook as he reached for the bottle. “She’s probably sick of me.”

  “Are you sure?”

  He didn’t look at them. “Positive.”

  They stepped outside, and he slumped against the bar as he unsealed the bottle. He couldn’t put it to his lips fast enough.

  He embraced the burn, welcomed the smoky bite of the brimstone beds the liquor had washed over on its way to the bottle. It scoured away what nothing else could: the last, clinging remnants of his emotions.

  Only one thing could bring them back, and he was going to get her or die trying.

  Ares had lived a long time. He’d done everything, seen everything. Nothing surprised him anymore.

  The Grim Reaper had just shocked the shit out of him. Cara as well, if her wide-eyed worry was any indication.

  “What was that?” she asked in a hushed voice. “What’s going on with him?”

  “His mate is being held by a sadistic demon,” he said, his voice bordering on a snarl. “He’s prepared to die for her.”

  Ares could feel Azagoth’s pain to his bones. Reseph, when he’d become the evil version of himself known as Pestilence, had taken Cara once. The sick things he’d planned to do to her before he killed her, the way he’d hurt her in front of Ares…it had turned Ares into a male bent on one thing: getting her back. He would have sacrificed anything, including himself, to save her.

  Cara’s lips pursed as she shifted her gaze from the baby to him. “Do you think she’s okay?”

  “I don’t think Moloch is stupid enough to kill her before the deadline. But he will do it.” He shook his head in a futile attempt to rid his mind of the memory of Cara, bruised and bleeding, at Pestilence’s feet.

  “We have to help him,” she said as she rocked Raika. This was the first time they’d been away from their own month-old daughter, and Cara was clearly missing her. “The island can support what he’s asking.”

  It could, and Azagoth was right; they’d rarely even see the Memitim and Unfallen. But, shit, the analytical part of his brain that couldn’t stop running disastrous scenarios through his head was in rapid-fire mode. Someone inside Sheoul-gra had killed one of Azagoth’s children, almost killed another, and helped arrange for Lilliana’s abduction. Until the person was identified, the idea of letting so many unvetted people near his family made Ares jumpy.

  “If you think it’s a security risk,” she continued, being psychic or something, “I don’t think there’s anything to worry about. Nothing is getting through your Ramreels and my hellhounds.”

  Nothing was getting through Ares.

  “And,” she added because she was evidently on board with this, “if our island ever comes under attack from outside forces, imagine how much help a hundred Memitim will be.”

  Ares cursed to himself, knowing he’d lost the battle but acknowledging that he hadn’t fought too hard. He and his siblings owed Azagoth, each in their own way, and his island was large enough to accommodate five times that many Memitim and Unfallen.

  “You know exactly what kind of arguments will sway me.”

  Cara blinked up at him, all mock innocence. “Me? Manipulate you? I would never.”

  This time, he cursed out loud. “Come on. The Grim Reaper is waiting.”

  He held the door open for Cara, and the moment they entered, he sensed a change in the air. Azagoth was standing in front of the tunnel in the wall that allowed him to view the passage of souls his griminions brought, holding a half-empty bottle of liquor loosely at his side. He was ushering them through too quickly to actually assess any of them, but Ares wasn’t about to call him on it.

  Not with the way his horns were out, and the fire in the hearth had gone so cold that Ares could see his breath.

  He swung around, his eyes nothing but midnight marbles filled with flame.

  “Your answer?” His voice boomed, rolling upward from the pits of Hell itself.

  “We will welcome your people,” Ares said. “When do you want this done?”

  “Now. I need you to take them with you when you go.” He turned back to the souls. “Zhubaal will serve you well if you let him. He’s loyal and not yet completely infected by evil. Although, now that I think about it, he might do better with Thanatos. He prefers the dark and northern climates.”

  “Now?” Ares blurted. “With no time to prepare—”

  “Now.”

  “I don’t understand this, Reaper,” Ares growled. “What’s going to happen when we’re all gone?”

  Azagoth wheeled around, the flames in his eyes putting out enough heat to take the chill out of the air, and Ares stepped up, instinctively putting himself between Cara and the male. Azagoth wasn’t as calm as he appeared to be. Everything they saw was an outer shell. A zombie. The real Grim Reaper was raging inside.

  It was time to go.

  “What about Raika?” Cara asked. “Who’s going to take care of her?”

  Clenching his fists even as claws erupted, Azagoth closed his eyes. When he opened them again, the flames had died down, suppressed by pain. “I was hoping you would.”

  “Of course,” she said. “We can care for her for as long as you need.”

  Blood dripped to the floor from his punctured palms, but he didn’t seem to notice. “What I need is for you to raise her as your own if Lilliana doesn’t come back.”

  Cara gasped. Ares cursed. “Azagoth, listen to me. Whatever you’re planning—”

  “I’m planning to do what must be done. I don’t know if Lilliana is even alive, and if she is, she might not be for long. Raika needs a mother, and she needs a father who can protect her. She needs sunlight. All my children do.” The flames had reduced to hot coals, but the effort of keeping his inner demon in check was playing out in the tense set of his jaw, the strained cords in his neck. “Please, will you do this for us?”

  Ares exchanged glances with Cara, and he knew they didn’t need to discuss this.

  “Yes,” Cara whispered.

  “Thank you.” Once more, he turned away, but not before Ares saw a single tear roll down his cheek.

  “Do you want to say goodbye?”

  Azagoth shook his head. “I already did. And I’m afraid…I’m afraid if I hold her again, I’ll never let her go.” He inhaled a ragged breath. “Take her. Get her
settled. Come back in five minutes. I need you to clear out my artifact room, too. Take everything. There will be items that will help in the Final Battle. Go. Go now. There isn’t much time.”

  “Azagoth.”

  Azagoth turned, his wings erupting and scraping the ceiling like fingernails on a chalkboard.

  Ares wasn’t sure what he had been about to say, but now he realized there was nothing to say. He’d spent most of his existence fighting. He’d won countless battles over those thousands of years. Lost a few, too. And while he’d learned a lot from the losses, it was the wins that taught him the harshest lessons.

  He’d stood with thousands of warriors of all species, from human to demons to angels, on the eve of war, knowing he wouldn’t see many of them alive again. Death was always palpable before a battle, and sometimes, it wasn’t even about the lives.

  War had a way of ending more than lives. It ended dreams. It annihilated entire civilizations. It forced good men to commit atrocities, and it destroyed morality.

  Even when you won.

  Sometimes, especially when you won.

  This was the eve of Azagoth’s battle, and Ares knew that even if the Grim Reaper triumphed, nothing would ever be the same. What did one say to that?

  Not a goddamned thing.

  Instead, Ares put his fist to his chest and bent in a deep bow of respect.

  As they used to say in my day, “may the gods grant you victory, and if not victory, then peace in death.” Good luck, brother.

  Chapter 34

  Watching Ares and Cara leave with his daughter was the hardest thing Azagoth had ever done. He wanted to scream, cry, go on a destructive rampage that would never end. But Ares would be back in minutes to take everyone to his island.

  Azagoth didn’t have time for a breakdown.

  The end is nigh.

  Inhaling deeply, he released his wings and shot upward from his bedroom balcony.

  Hear me!

  He hadn’t spoken, but he knew everyone in Sheoul-gra, save those in the Inner Sanctum, heard him. Dozens spilled out of buildings and the training arena. They looked up at him expectantly as he hovered several feet off the ground. From here, he could see much of his realm, from the hills and streams of the far-reaches to the new playground on his right, and his grand palace on his left.