Reaper

by Larissa_Ion

  Thousands of Unfallen and Memitim had lived here over the millennia. Inside this realm, angels and demons alike had kneeled before him. This had been his home, and these people had been his family.

  One of the youngest, Obasi, climbed atop a broken pillar, toppled when Azagoth had tried to break his way out of Sheoul-gra. The fountain was still broken, its basin dry. And Lilliana’s favorite statue, an early work of Michelangelo’s that Azagoth had commissioned, lay shattered in a pile of rubble.

  Everyone had been working hard to fix the destruction he’d caused, but it was too late. Some damage couldn’t be repaired.

  Some didn’t need to be.

  “Sheoul-gra is no longer safe. Ares is clearing a portion of his Greek island to create a new community where you can live and train in safety. Collect your things. Ares will be here in minutes.”

  In the stunned silence, he searched his brain for more words. He wished he had a meaningful speech to comfort them, but ultimately, he wasn’t all that eloquent, and these were warriors. They were strong, and they’d thrive.

  “Father!” Emerico stepped forward, pushing his way toward the front of the crowd. “You’re truly kicking us out?” His brown eyes glowed with anger as he gestured to the buildings. “Was all of this a joke to you? Did you bring us here to assuage your guilt about the way you brought us into this world, abandoning us before our mothers even gave birth? And now…what? You lose your mate and no longer want to deal with us?”

  “I’ll bet you’re keeping Raika here with you!”

  That came from someone in the back, and following on the statement’s heels was a chorus of agreement.

  Unexpectedly stung, Azagoth lowered his voice. “I’ve failed you in a lot of ways,” he said. “Kicking you out of here isn’t one of them.” A rabbit darted out from a bush, and he swept it up in a surge of power and dropped it into Cipher’s arms. “And take the animals. They were gifts from Reaver.”

  Shouts rose up, questions that weren’t going to be answered.

  Azagoth flapped his wings and banked hard toward the portal, where Zhubaal and Razr were watching, their expressions as shocked as everyone else’s. And yet, as Azagoth landed in front of them, Zhubaal came forward, all business.

  “How can I assist with the move?”

  Man, he’d hit the lottery when he brought Z on board. The fallen angel would be an incredible asset to whomever he chose to work with in the future.

  “You’re going with them.” Azagoth ignored Z’s subtle, disapproving growl. “You, Razr, your mates…everyone in Sheoul-gra.”

  “For how long?”

  “Forever.” The finality of it caught in Azagoth’s throat. “Zhubaal, no one is ever coming back.” He looked around at the realm he’d built. “Not to this.”

  Zhubaal stepped back in shock. “My Lord, have you discussed this with Hawkyn? I’m sure he—”

  “My decision is made. I release you both from my service. You’re free to do anything you want. You don’t have to live on Ares’ island with the Memitim. But Thanatos and Ares would both welcome you if you are willing to work with them. The End of Days is coming, and they could use all the help they can get as they prepare.”

  “Is there anything I can do to convince you not to do this?”

  Azagoth shook his head. “Go. If you aren’t out of Sheoul-gra by the bottom of the hour, you might not ever get out.” He clapped each male on the shoulder, his claws digging in despite his effort to be careful. “Take care, my friends.”

  With that, he flashed himself away from there, because…fuck that. Fuck the pain.

  It was time to cause it.

  Chapter 35

  Azagoth hadn’t felt the weight of a sword at his hip in thousands of years. Not since he was an angel. Felt good. Felt right. Especially since the sword resting against his leg was the very blade he’d carried as an angel. It might be darkened with the malevolence of Sheoul-gra, but it could still behead someone from twenty yards away.

  His scythe, however, had tasted blood much more recently. His gloved fingers curled in anticipation around the smooth wooden handle.

  Not long now.

  He gripped the bag in his other hand tighter as he waited for Hades in the Inner Sanctum’s antechamber, his mind strangely calm. Ares had told him that on the eve of battle, his mind raced, his adrenaline pumped, and his blood ran hot. But that, in the minutes before the fight began, he found a quiet place. The cool distance needed to survey the game board and make sure all the pieces were in their positions.

  This must be what Ares was talking about.

  Oh, there was a deep, smoldering rage in Azagoth’s heart just dying to break out, but it seemed to be okay with taking a moment to gather fuel before exploding.

  Maybe his rage knew that the fuel would be worth the wait.

  The air shimmered as Hades and Cat materialized. Several yards away, a thousand armed fallen angels formed a semicircle behind him. Malonius, a beefy warden at the Rot, Hades’ torture prison, stood separate, Wraith’s body in his arms.

  Hades gestured for Cat to remain, and he strode forward, clothed, for the first time that Azagoth could remember, in actual garments. Black leather pants that were similar to Azagoth’s, minus the buckles. A matching jacket over the top of a tee with the words, WHAT DOESN’T KILL YOU DISAPPOINTS ME. Holsters and harnesses crisscrossed his body, holding swords, daggers, throwing stars, and an axe.

  Azagoth nodded approvingly. “Clothes are an interesting choice.”

  “Right?” Hades shot an annoyed glance at Cat, who grinned sheepishly in her own similar battle gear. “She thinks I should wear stuff when I go outside of Sheoul-gra.” He lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper and tugged at one of the harnesses. “Plus, these things chafe bare skin. I would have worn a shirt anyway. Just not the unicorn and rainbow one she got me.”

  “I heard that,” she called out. “And it’s a unicorn skeleton.”

  Despite the dire circumstances, Azagoth snorted with amusement. Lilliana had gotten him the T-shirt he was currently wearing too, as a joke. And it was hilarious because he had enjoyed coffee from a cup made of the skull of an enemy. Not that he’d told her that. She probably wouldn’t find it as funny as he did.

  “Is everyone here?” Azagoth asked as Hades came to a rigid halt in front of him. “Every last one of your men?”

  “Yeah. They’re excited to fuck up a bunch of angels. You did mean what you said, though, right? After the battle, they get twelve hours of freedom.”

  They were going to get a lot more than that. He nodded. “You leashed them to you?”

  It was Hades’ turn to nod. “They have to respond to my summons within an hour, or unimaginable agony will drive them to me.” He paused. “I know this is a last resort to keep Heaven from breaking in, but leaving the Inner Sanctum unattended…” He shook his head. “It’s dangerous, man. And it’s another violation of the contract—”

  “It’s handled,” Azagoth broke in. There wasn’t time to make up a bunch of lies or try to explain what he was doing. “Just go. Get out of Sheoul-gra. Leave Wraith with me.”

  He signaled to the griminions hovering on the periphery, and within seconds, they’d gathered Wraith’s body from Malonius and carried him away.

  Hades’ eyes narrowed on him. “Why does it sound like you’re telling us to evacuate, not sending us to fight angels?”

  “Oh, there will probably be angels to fight.” Cara’s hellhounds were only going to hold off Heaven for so long. He handed Hades the bag and waited while the male opened it and removed a fist-sized crystal, its core glowing a brilliant violet. “This is eternal hellfire from Sheoul-gra’s core, contained inside a stone mined from the Mountains of Galilee in Heaven. Take it with you. It’s what will allow you to rebuild.”

  “Rebuild what?” Hades’ eyes peeled wide. “Sheoul-gra?”

  The smoldering rage inside Azagoth took flame as anticipation built. “Remember how you used to joke that humans got it
wrong when they named you the ruler of the underworld in their various belief systems?” Azagoth laughed bitterly. “Joke’s on us. Turns out, it was prophecy.”

  “Azagoth…” Hades growled. “What are you doing? What are you going to do down here?”

  “That…I can’t tell you.”

  A tense silence stretched as Hades seemed to grapple with his divided loyalties and the potential consequences of the choices he’d have to make within seconds.

  “Please, Azagoth,” Hades finally said. “We’ve never been the best of friends, and I’ve been a vocal critic when you’re being a dumbass. But I’ve served you and the realm well. You owe it to me to tell me what you’re planning.”

  Hades was rarely so laid bare, and if Azagoth weren’t drowning in rage, he’d probably feel worse about this.

  “I can’t.”

  Disappointment in Hades’ expression veered quickly to resolve. “Then I can’t let you do it.”

  Azagoth glanced at his watch. Dammit. He didn’t need this. “Don’t try me, Hades,” he warned. “Do not.”

  Hades inhaled deeply and let it out on a curse. “When you brought me in, you gave me dominion over the Inner Sanctum, told me to run it the way I wanted to.” Hades’ black, leathery wings burst from his shoulders, and behind him, Cat and the fallen angels tensed. “You made me swear an oath to protect Sheoul-gra. Even from you.”

  “I did do that, didn’t I? Very short-sighted on my part.” He sighed as the last vestiges of his civility began to turn to ash. “Ah, Hades, I didn’t want it to go down this way—”

  Hades didn’t wait for Azagoth to finish his sentence before he struck out with a hammer Thor would envy. It sizzled with crimson lightning as it arced through the air, searing Azagoth’s skin. He blocked the summoned weapon with his scythe, clenching his teeth as he held off the powerful blow.

  “Don’t fight me,” he snarled. “Don’t make me hurt you in front of your mate.”

  “This is my duty. I will not back down.” Hades flashed behind him, and this time, his swing nailed Azagoth in the lower back. He felt his spine break, felt his ribs pierce his organs.

  Felt his inner demon come fully online.

  As he hit the ground, his beast erupted, horns and claws slicing through his skin. Hades had transformed, as well, his gray skin marbled with black veins, his eyes inky, his teeth gone piranha.

  A need to draw blood and strip flesh from bone swallowed Azagoth in a wave of evil. This was who he’d been for most of his tenure here, and he embraced its return like a starving vampire welcomed a drunk who’d turned down the wrong alley.

  He struck Hades with a barrage of summoned ghastbats that tore into his body, ripping away chunks of skin and muscle. Hades shouted in agony, and Cat screamed.

  Shit. Azagoth whirled around as she charged him. As enraged as he was, he wouldn’t hurt her. Not if he didn’t have to.

  Throwing out his arm, he put up a shield, blocking her and the fallen angels who had moved closer. It was unlikely the fallen would be a threat, but he wasn’t going to take the chance.

  Something struck him in the head, and he pivoted back around in time to take a second strike from a basketball-sized rock that Hades was using to show off his telekinesis skills.

  It hurt, but it wasn’t enough. Nothing Hades could do would be enough.

  Blood dripping down his face, Azagoth flicked his wrist, and the ghastbats flew off. Hades stood there, mangled and bleeding, his head bowed, but anger burning in his eyes.

  “I can’t…let…you…do this,” he said between panting breaths.

  “I know.” Azagoth’s voice was little more than a smoky rumble. “That’s why you will replace me. You’ve always been a male of honor.”

  With a thought, Azagoth dropped a blow to Hades’ head that made the male crumple to the ground. Cat’s scream of anger and agony wrenched his insides, but only for a second. He couldn’t be sentimental. Emotions were more than useless right now. They were a hindrance.

  He released the barrier and signaled for the fallen angels to pick up Hades.

  “You asshole!” Cat yelled. “How could you?”

  “Take him,” he said, the iciness in his voice making her shrink back. “Sheoul-gra belongs to Hades now. Tell him to fix the crack in Satan’s cage. And I apologize in advance for the mess I’m about to leave.”

  He launched into the air and gestured toward the exit portal. “You have six minutes to get out of Sheoul-gra. Go.”

  To get them moving, he blasted the area with a stream of fire and then chased them all with fireballs until everyone was gone.

  And then he hit the portal with another fireball wrapped in a spell Cipher had given him. It splashed against the portal and spread, melting it like a marshmallow.

  The Inner Sanctum was now sealed.

  Chapter 36

  The denizens of Sheoul had never been especially attentive to the politics of their realm. Or any realm, for that matter.

  Which was why, as Flail stood atop the battlements of Moloch’s stronghold, inhaling the musky scent of bloodlust and excitement, she was baffled by the army of millions gathering in the realm. Why were they so willing to fight for someone they’d never met or even heard of before now? What had Moloch promised them?

  Movement along the wall below caught her eye, but when she looked, there was nothing there. Odd. She could have sworn she’d seen something big and black. Maybe the hellhound Moloch had claimed was lurking around. The things were attracted to violence and death, and while they couldn’t fight against Satan’s armies, they could defend themselves and their packmates, and they could eat anyone or anything that was already dead or dying.

  Moloch would be wise to put out traps.

  As if merely thinking his name had conjured him, Moloch materialized next to her. As subtly as she could, she put a couple of additional inches between them.

  He looked out over the hundreds of thousands of bonfires that stretched over the Plains of Destruction and into the foothills of the Massacre Mountains. “Glorious, isn’t it?”

  “It is.” She’d never seen such an army, and it gave her tingles to know she was witnessing history. She’d see to it that she played a starring role in the chronicles. And she could if he’d assign her to something besides babysitting Lilliana and overseeing the seizure of Satan’s castle from Revenant. “But why?”

  “Apparently,” Moloch growled, “Azagoth isn’t going to release Satan.”

  Interesting. She wasn’t overly surprised at Azagoth’s decision—after all, releasing Satan to save Lilliana’s life would have been a total crapshoot. But so was defying Moloch. Her only partially healed face and the right side of her body could attest to that.

  She turned to look at him in profile and, as always, was struck by how handsome he was. Even as he’d been burning the flesh off her cheek, she’d marveled that, if anything, he’d been even more attractive to her. The sadistic light in his eyes, the strength of his jaw as he clenched it, the erection she knew he’d use on her when he was done making her scream.

  And how fucked-up was it that when he did bury his cock in her, she screamed again, but in ecstasy?

  Hey, she was fucking evil. She was allowed to get off on pain. Even if it was her own.

  She still hated Moloch for what he’d done to Maddox, though.

  “If Azagoth isn’t releasing the Dark Lord, what is this army about?”

  “Azagoth isn’t going to just sit back and let his mate’s death go unpunished.” He grinned. “But what he doesn’t know is that I’ve put up wards to keep souls and griminions from entering my region. And if he somehow manages to take down my defenses the way he did Bael’s, my army is equipped with weapons that fragment souls and force them to retreat while they regenerate.”

  She barely heard anything after the first sentence. “You’ve killed Lilliana already?”

  “Do you care?”

  “Of course, not.” She sniffed, looking out over the army of millions.
“I just wanted to watch. I hope she suffered.”

  Actually, the idea that Lilliana had suffered left Flail a little…well, she wasn’t sure. She was fucking evil, and she liked it that way. But, sometimes, a clean kill was the better way to do things.

  “She’s not dead yet.” Moloch reached into his waistband and withdrew a twisted dagger, its wicked edge glinting in the orange light from the torches on the battlements. It was an aural, one of the few weapons guaranteed to kill an angel or a fallen angel. “I’m assigning the task to you.”

  “Me?” she asked, startled. “I’d think you’d want the honor.”

  “I have preparations to make. And besides…I think you need to rid yourself of the lingering sentimentality you have for her.”

  “I don’t—”

  He backhanded her so hard, she fell back into the battlements and nearly tripped over them.

  “Lying bitch!” he hissed. “Kill her. And when you’re done, bring me her head. I want it displayed at the top of my flagpole for Azagoth’s army to see.”

  “Yes, my lord,” she gritted out as she took the aural. “As you wish.”

  “You still seem hesitant. Perhaps you need incentive.”

  Fear spiked, and the healing parts of her body screamed. “I don’t.”

  “I think you do.” His eyes shifted to the campfires and then back to her. “I don’t trust you not to spare her out of pity, so I’ll tell you what. Bring me her head, and I’ll take you to see Maddox.”

  She’d been avoiding his garden for a reason. If anything, he’d just given her incentive to not kill the stupid angel. “I don’t need to see your scarecrow again.”

  “That’s just his skin,” Moloch said slowly, relishing and savoring her horror. “He’s still alive.”

  Her mouth fell open, and she had to force herself to snap it shut. “You…skinned him?”

  He’d been alive and suffering all this time? She gripped the aural tighter as she battled the urge to bury it in Moloch’s chest.