Light And Shadow (Part 5)

Chapter 22 - Power

We were wet.

We were tired.

We were hungry.

In other words, we were soldiers.

A soggy mist had followed the night’s downpour and the road had become less a path and more a muddy stream wending its way through the felwood forest. Black and knotty bark shrouded by twisted leaves hung sullenly low with their watery weight, and any who brushed against them would experience a fresh deluge.

For those of us mounted upon riding Graxh that was an all too common occurrence. The local Count responsible for the upkeep of the roads had obviously not bothered to clear the hanging snarls of branches for far too many cycles. The road itself needed attention as well, too many stones were loose, dislodged, or simply swallowed by the mud. It was a topic I intended to grouse about in detail when we arrived at Count’s fortified town.

“We any closer, Praztus?” I grumbled, wiping moisture off of my helmet with a leather sleeve. The stuff kept dripping down across the eye slot where it’d splatter and, you guessed it, get into the very eyes the dang helm was supposed to protect. “Or are we just wandering in circles within this damned fog.”

The silver-armored devil riding a graxh alongside me snorted. “Have we received some word from the Duke of which I am unaware, Captain? Last I checked I still held superior rank and thus deserve to be addressed accordingly.” If it weren’t for the pointy teeth, slitted eyes, and an amazingly exaggerated pointy nose, Praztus could have been mistaken for human. A stylish one at that what with his blue cloak and pennant-bearing lance setting him up as a proper knightly figure.

Under the helm my eyes rolled. “Oh come on, Major. It’s not like they can hear us back there.” I gestured with a thumb over my shoulder at our escort which had again slipped further behind. Twelve empty wagons were accompanied by ten of my mismatched shuffling crew along with an additional fifteen of Praztus’ mortal souled spearmen who somehow continued to march with precision despite the mud. His lancers and their graxh were back with the rest of our company setting up camp a ‘safe’ distance behind.

Apparently showing up to a town with enough muscle to conquer it caused remote lords to be overly paranoid. Praztus had advised taking only enough of our lunatics to defend the resupply and thereby lessen the chance of an ‘incident’. I hadn’t liked it, but Horatio had concurred.

“Such is beside the point, Captain,” Praztus commented, still stuck on being all formal. “Propriety is important to maintain discipline. I suggest you have your military inclined assistant explain this to you in detail, lest you unwittingly offend those far less tolerant than I. Given your unusual circumstances I would have thought this as obvious.” A set of gleaming canines grinned from within Praztus’ knightly helmet, his faceplate having been pushed up so he could see better through the blanket of obscuring fog.

Despite the wet it was still a fantastic change from having wandered around in total darkness for so long on the flip side of the realm. It had taken several transits of the Hole’s lift to get all the demon mercenaries and our supplies across to the other side of the Rock, each trip taking about an hour end-to-end. If we hadn’t been so tightly packed into the circular transit pod for my own passage the whole free-fall of the transition could have been fun. Except with no windows and having my face shoved tight into the armpit of a creature best left undescribed the word ‘fun’ was about the last way I’d describe the experience.

But we got it done and were able to emerge into what was for all practical purposes an entirely different realm. Lit by its own small sun hovering low at the center of this carved out semi-sphere, its initial warmth was both painful and wondrous. I’d overheard some folks call it ‘Lucifer’s Kiss’ once. Cute. Most just referred to it as the Spark and left it at that. Directly below its glow lay an impressive volcano whose caldera filled not with lava but water which was continuously boiling into steam by the proximity and focus of that burning orb.

All that generated steam kept gushing up and outward to form the perpetual thick clouds which spread out along the limits of the sky just above the altitude of the Spark itself. Yep, it could be raining buckets and you’d still wish you were wearing sunglasses against that glare. Having the ‘sun’ be below the clouds took a lot of getting used to.

Today however the fog had settled near the ground and made it darn near impossible to see past your own nose - especially if it was as long and sharp as the Major’s.

“Sheesh, fine!” I said, giving in. “Major Praztus, would you so kindly inform this lowly Captain whether we’re any closer to the town and this Count’s keep?”

The devil huffed. “The Major would remind the Captain that she has demonstrated on numerous occasions superior abilities in perceiving the proximity of spirits and souls and thus she is better equipped to answer her own question. Or is she now claiming that all those successes in ferreting out enemy forces were simply flukes? If so, I daresay her luck has been amazingly uncanny.”

“Why Major, are you teasing this poor Captain?”

With an exaggerated sniff the Major sat taller in his saddle. “I assure you, Captain, I would do no such thing.”

It was my turn to grin under a helmet. Praztus had initially been dubious and entirely unhappy upon his assignment to lead the combined forces of the Duke’s regular army and my group of literal Hell-raisers. We’d been charged with hunting down the opposing army’s irregulars who’d been sent out into the Duke’s countryside to disrupt supply lines and cause general mayhem. As a result we had spent the last several cycles meandering all over the damned map like a child trying to paint a picture with syrup across their pancakes.

Mmm pancakes. Oh what I’d do for some real maple syrup. The stomach rumbled its sad agreement.

To give the Major credit he’d treated me with a modicum of respect at the start despite his personal opinions. Unlike far too many other high-ranking demons who’d simply refused to believe I’d killed Dhalgrix in a fair duel and who had been downright insulting when issuing us our orders. Horatio and Hank had needed to talk me down from throwing out more formal challenges, claiming that it would be unwise to start slaughtering Duke Valgor’s chain of command.

Meh.

But yeah, Praztus was okay. Especially since as a devil he didn’t need to munch on hapless souls to exist. And after seeing me and mine fight I think he was actually pleased to be working with us.

Not that he’d ever admit it.

Of course having Maddalena around to heal not just our team but his soldiers as well was a huge bonus. One which he had deliberately left out of his regular reports back to command lest we be reassigned to baby-sit a general in case he stubbed his toe. Her talent really was remarkable. And once I’d made it crystal clear to the demons that none of them would survive trying to swallow her, they had kept her well guarded instead. Not that the woman liked that, but it beat the alternatives.

Keeping firm grasp of the reins in one hand I pulled off the helm and tucked it under an arm. The grey padding covering my head was going to get damp, but as Maddalena had given the brain-protecting bucket an enchantment to aid in such defense I always got a weird tint splashed across everything when peering across to the mystical side of things. Which was annoying. From under the cloth a few tufts of reddish-gold poked out from the front, having dislodged from the piece of armor’s removal. These tickled at the eyelids and earned a hasty shove back under the pad. After wearing the helm for awhile I’d decided adding some natural padding would help the dang thing to fit better so had stopped shaving my head.

And yeah, it had itched like crazy when the hairs first came in.

Taking a moment to focus - ignoring the stomach’s continued gurgled requests for things best forgotten - I scanned a slow one-eighty sweep in front of us.

“Well?” Praztus asked. “If the maps are any good we should be close.”

“Hang on,” I said. “Huh, well that explains a few things.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. I think the Count must have pulled all the farmers to the town. That would be why all the lots looked hastily abandoned and stripped as we went past. There’s nary a soul across the whole area. Instead they’re all clumped up ahead. Two leagues, maybe three.”

“I see.” The Major looked towards the Spark. “As the Shroud’s edge is not yet visible it’s already midday. It shall be a tight schedule to arrive, load wagons, and get back to our camp before dark.” The ‘Shroud’ was a construction of the Fallen, a huge metal bowl of sorts rotating around the Spark to block the light for half the time, causing a ‘night’ versus ‘day’ effect. The thing also slowly precessed every sixty days which moved the edges of the simulated sunrise and sunset around the horizon so dawn each day shifted a littler further around the created circle. Each complete spin was called a ‘Cycle’.

Terms and measurements of time differed dramatically from realm to realm, anchored to any features available usable for such. For example, I’d overheard demons who’d lived in Dis refer to things as having been ‘many Hellstorms ago’. Apparently that place gets covered end to end in hellfire on a regular schedule, leading all its buildings to be constructed from fireproof materials wherein all the flammable folks ride out the storms.

Sounded absolutely lovely, didn’t it? Clearly a vacation paradise. Might even make this damp realm and its swarms of steroid-infused mosquitoes seem quite palatable in comparison. Though I wasn’t too eager to get a Hell-tan.

Plonking the helm atop my noggin such that it was tilted back with the metal cheekguards level much like the brim of a hat, I spurred my graxh (why yes, my boots DID have actual spurs) to pick up the pace. I might have looked ridiculous but my face needed a few more minutes of fresh air. “Let’s get a move on, Major. If it rains on the return trip with the wagons all heavy with supplies my boys are going to get really grumpy lifting them out of the mud every acre or two.” Not hearing an objection from my nominal superior officer I whistled to the crew lagging behind us. “C’mon lazy bones! No one eats until we get to the town, got it? That includes me. Don’t make me single you out as being the reason why my stomach is filling this valley with the sounds of its displeasure!”

From the rear of the wagon train Balus’ booming voice put a finer point on it. “MOVE! GO!”

With a few (albeit forgivable) groans the lot stopped lollygagging and picked up speed. Having a two-story tall monstrosity shouting at one’s behind was excellent motivation. After all, Balus had a stomach much scarier than mine. If he’d wanted I’d bet the big guy could bite most of us in half.

Our armor might even yield a nifty crunch to the texture.

 

~o~O~o~

 

By the time the rampart surrounding the town finally came into view we were all quite a bit soggier and hungrier. The erected felwood palisade offered limited protection to any attackers who could wield serious sorcery but it was better than nothing. It may even have been built more to stop potential thieves from easily escaping the interior, who knew.

Yet to me it looked rather flimsy and the wooden parapet with arrow slits set over the closed main gate should have been rebuilt hundreds of cycles ago. Felwood was fairly hardy stuff - our camp tree-cullers spent as much time whining about having to continuously resharpen their axes as doing the actual work - but the boards used to build this defense had warped horribly and too many of its rusted nails were popping free. Not to mention the layers of dark brown mold growing across all the corners due to the encouraging weather.

Of course for anyone trying to be polite the ridiculous gate was as good as solid stone.

Praztus called a halt about twenty yards short of the structure, stared at it for a moment, then motioned for me to accompany him closer.

“Something up, Major?” I asked, nudging my graxh. After spitting its annoyance at having to walk again after finally being allowed a moment’s peace the scaly beast reluctantly moved alongside its comrade. While I missed Martha and Stewart (rest in pieces, big guy), Gilbert here had proved a reliable if grumpy companion.

“It’s too quiet.” Praztus lifted the lance so its butt again rested upon his mailed boot, allowing the pennant to wave at about the same height as the top of the wall. Cupping a mailed hand to his mouth he shouted, “Hail to those within the wall! Is anyone there?”

He was right. Behind us were the sounds of all the graxh and equally grumpy demons and humans, some taking swigs from waterskins and sneaking bites of the hard-tack they’d hidden in various pockets under their cloaks. My fingers were itching to retrieve similar from the folds of my own garment which had again tried and failed to keep water from sinking through to the armor underneath.

From the wall - which should have been manned by the Count’s soldiers - there was nary a peep.

Despite the Major’s free hand falling to the pommel of his sword, he asked casually, “See anything Captain?”

I knew what he meant. This time I pulled the helm all the way down to better hide any glow while I took a deeper look.

Huh.

I spoke quietly so only he could hear. “One demon only, hiding up on top. Weaker one at that.”

Praztus grunted acknowledgment. “I say again,” he called up to the parapet, “Anyone there? Or has Count Tzaghesh abandoned his post? Respond now or we shall assume forced entry is required!”

After a startled squeak a boar-headed demon popped up, tusks and all splitting its wide lips. “Apologies, good Lord! But our town is closed today!” The guy wore battered pauldrons atop chainmail and was otherwise wrapped in a damp blanket.

I had to keep myself from laughing and it wasn’t easy. The dude reminded me of Jabba The Hut’s ridiculous keep guards. Seriously, the resemblance was uncanny. Two details stood out anyway however: first was that the guy was unarmed despite the expectation of at least having an axe of some sort.

Secondly, fresh blood dripped down the jowl of his left cheek.

“Closed?” Praztus scoffed. “I assure you, sir, that it is not closed to me! Inform Count Tzaghesh that the Marquis of Rha-Ze-Gorn, Major Ixustian Praztus, has arrived. I am chartered with military command by Duke Valgor and your Count’s assistance is required.”

Pig-dude flinched. “A…a Marquis? But I have strict orders-”

“Which I hereby countermand!” barked the Major. “Open this gate soldier. Now. Or you shall find yourself reassigned to cleaning our encampment’s latrines with your tongue for the rest of this war!”

Oh wow. Gross.

“But I c..c..can’t!” Spittle joined the blood pooling in the clefts of his face. Something had cut a short line under his eye.

“Enough of this,” Praztus snapped. “Captain, get me inside.”

I retrieved my bow from where it was slung across my back and reached for an arrow. But thinking about it I’d had a better idea. “Hey Balus! This gate offends the Major. Do something about it, will ya?”

The over-sized demon didn’t hesitate. A thick brilliant beam of green power immediately lanced forth from his singular oculus to punch right through the ancient felwood and blow a fiery opening wide enough to grant passage. Black smoke belched upward as along the edges of the hole the old wood and all its covering mildew caught flame.

The guard had tried to shout an objection but that proved an impossibility. Mouth open his neck sliced neatly from side to side and as the head began to tumble blood rushed free like a red waterfall cascading down a cliff.

I never saw where the head landed as my arms were instantly in motion, wrists crossing in front of my helm to block what felt like a heavy blade with enough momentum to knock me clear off the graxh. I hadn’t seen the attack coming even with my sight still open.

Only a flash of premonition and the speed of Camael’s gifts had saved me.

I rolled when I hit the ground, keeping a wrist held up defensively as I scrambled back to my feet. Good thing too as whatever was attacking hadn’t stopped. Praztus’ too-much-silence found itself filled with the ringing of metal against metal as I barely kept ahead to block each invisible strike. Unable to see the source, my vision unfolded instead to show all the ways in which I was close to being split in two, with me desperately pruning the search tree to find exactly where those bracers needed to be to avoid losing precious things like arms, legs, and head.

Scarily in every image where I got hit my enchanted armor was as useful as if I’d been wearing tissue paper. The attacking weapon would slice through metal and limbs like butter, the only armor holding its own were the heaven-forged bracers. There’s nothing quite as motivating in keeping focus as watching yourself be disemboweled and dismembered a thousand different ways.

“Captain!” The Major had swung his graxh around, stabbing his lance in front of me.

He hit only air.

Deflecting punishing blow after blow triggered the red flames of Camael’s power to engulf forearms as I was forced to rely on its skill over my own. With arms moving essentially on automatic I studied the attack and the pattern became more clear. My unseen opponent stood taller than me by at least a foot and likely was much wider as well. Whoever it was wielded a hand-and-a-half bastard sword, swinging for maximum strength with complete disregard towards any return counterstrike.

Well duh, he obviously couldn’t be hit so why worry about it? Truly disturbing was other than feeling every powerful impact ringing through my arms I couldn’t sense his presence.

At all.

A second blast of green flashed past my nose as Balus tried to scorch a wide space where the invisible assassin should be.

No effect. This was beyond demonic sorcery.

“Everyone back the heck off!” I shouted as Praztus’ spearmen began forming a circle around me. “You’ll just get killed!” Still holding the bow in one hand I must’ve looked like a crazed martial artist on meth doing a funky block-only techno dance, feet shifting madly about as burning red sparks showered the air from each contact of bracer and unseen blade.

As good as I was if all I had was defense eventually I was going to fall apart. Literally. Strikes not blocked entirely in time were already slipping a sharp tip through my armor - and into the skin underneath. That the magic armor immediately re-closed the holes in its metal was small comfort to the cuts below. Trying to change that calculus I jumped forward on the attacker’s next swing, flinging one arm into the line the sword had to be passing through while I plunged a fiery fist into the space where the bastard’s body should be.

The burning bracer didn’t clobber the attacker the way I’d hoped, but it did look real interesting from a different perspective. Beyond the spirit I narrowed focus to the structure of the realm itself. More specifically on the rules underlying its reality.

Those rules were being messed with, though not overwritten or broken. As Camael’s wristguards swept across, the script and intent maintaining our physicality warped like a distended trampoline. The hand tingled with a quick sensation of passing through jello.

My opponent must have felt it too because they paused. And the forward images of possibilities filled instead with images of Praztus’ spearmen getting cleaved as if run through a Cuisinart instead. The jerk was going to shift targets.

Not good.

“C’mon you coward!” Pulling off the useless helm I tossed it aside. “Or are you afraid of a girl?”

The gory pictures in my head immediately returned to again showing variations of my own bloody corpse. Uhm, yay?

Keeping the attacker’s attention didn’t solve the real problem of course and the next block almost knocked me off my feet, shoulders and back ringing like a giant bell pounded by a hammer as the impact rippled painfully through muscle and tendon.

“How do we stop it?” Praztus shouted.

“You can’t!” I huffed back, sucking in gasps of air between strikes. “He’s hacking the damn Matrix!”

“Then we should retreat!”

Hmm. Actually that wasn’t a bad idea. It might give me time to come up with better ones.

“Bet you can’t catch me, asshole!” I yelled. Reversing direction I ran opposite from where the attacker expected.

Instead of heading back to the forest I booked it straight on through the gate Balus had so kindly opened for me, the visions clearly showing the attacker’s bloody pursuit.

Past the scorched and broken wooden defense lay more muddy road leading past merchant houses all clad with garish signs advertising their goods. Not that the sellers were still in residence. The populace had obviously been forced into a single warehouse by the docks lining the back end of town along the river, a glance had shown their soul-lights as being all bunched up in that one distant building.

Geeze, they must’ve been packed in there like sardines.

Not that I had time to focus on that, a fact that the many bodies of the Count’s Guard strewn all about the street made clear. Their armor had done them no good either.

It had been an entirely one-sided slaughter.

The count’s mortal-souled soldiers had retreated to the town center to form up around a tall marble fountain, one which depicted various demonic figures standing in poses of victory. From their chiseled goblets held high a strawberry fruit punch burbled to the pool below.

Except it wasn’t punch. The water ran with the stains of the soldiers’ destruction. Their soulstones had also been harvested from gaping holes carved into the wreckage of their torsos.

The fresh stench of their viscera flooded nostrils as I ran closer. I was reminded yet again of a fundamental truth of Hell: pleasant sensations were dulled but the horrific was always experienced in full.

Disgust and rage merged with Camael’s flames. Feet dug into the ground and I spun around. The assassin, close on my heels, struck instantly with a forward lunge.

As I’d foreseen.

Catching the blade between the two bracers I sidestepped to avoid the intended evisceration, using all my strength to lock the sword in place for a full three second count before a massive yank by the unseen antagonist managed to pull it free. I had to either let it go or get skewered by the next shove attempt.

Yet that was time enough: the script running through the sword had coalesced clearly into view. Parsing the hack, it was displacing interactions with other physically-clad spirits such that to their perceptions (like touch or sight) the sword and its owner would be manifest in a different place entirely. Specifically a couple kilometers overhead.

Erglyk’s soul-forged bow was still clenched within a fist.

Boots shoved mud aside for a broader stance as I grabbed an arrow from the quiver, slapping it into place against the string and filling the crystalline arrow with that violet maelstrom constantly pushing for release. With a snarl I sent the shaft into the thickening clouds hovering over the town.

Less an arrow and more a laser straight out of some sci-fi movie it pierced the sky as a tight purple ray, clouds fleeing its passage to leave an expanding circular gap through which the colorless Abyss lurking further above could be glimpsed.

A loud thump came from behind. Engraved with emerald angelic writing and still gripped by two gloved hands, a long and gleaming sword had fallen to the mud.

The arms along with the rest of the body took over fifteen seconds to wetly rejoin those missing hands.

It yielded a much more satisfying splat.

 

 

 

Chapter 23 - Fuel

 

Emerging from the town past its smoldering gate I tossed the head of the assassin into the mud before Praztus’s graxh. Under an arm was held the enchanted sword, now carefully bundled within what was left of my shredded cloak.

“Major,” I said with a forced calm I didn’t feel. Post-fight jitters and adrenaline still had every nerve vibrating and on edge. “Seven demons of the enemy are by the docks loading rafts with soulstones and probably as much food as they can fit from the town’s storage. They scan as being between five souled to at most eight each. I sense no further assassins. Shall I dispatch my squad?”

Praztus was smart and didn’t argue. “Proceed, Captain.”

“Balus!” I shouted. “Kick their asses! Rescue those villagers!”

“Confirmed. Formation!”

My ten mercs with weapons ready in their hands (or tentacles) gathered up in a straight line before Balus. As one they turned and gave me a longer salute than usual. While I’d done my own share of fighting alongside the rest over the past few cycles, they knew I’d just taken down an opponent which would have waded through them with ease and left none alive.

I returned the salute as sharply as I could.

“Out. Roll!”

The squad rapid-marched towards the town with Balus taking up the rear, knocking a few burnt planks aside to fit through the gateway. While they weren’t as in sync as Praztus’ troops and certainly didn’t have fancy matching armor (or in a few cases any armor at all), they really did look like a team. Hank’s efforts to whip them into shape was paying off, especially with big guy enforcing discipline. Any objectors had found themselves set afire by Balus’ eye, harsh but immediately effective. Those that lived got healed by Maddelena and thereafter followed orders to the letter.

Those who hadn’t, well, they died. And the souls within them freed. Win-win as far as I was concerned.

Praztus and I watched them go, though I kept an eye on the sky just in case I’d been wrong about any more of the enemy having similarly enchanted weapons.

Never can be too careful.

After the wrecking crew had disappeared into the town Praztus finally asked the question written upon his face ever since I’d waltzed back out. “How did you pierce the illusion?”

I moved over to Gilbert, patting the side of his broad face in reassurance. “Not an illusion. This wasn’t magic, at least not really. It was a hack of perception and interaction.” Taking a waterskin from the graxh’s pack, I poured some across a palm before splashing my face. “Look, the realm’s reality is a construct, right? And the rules specify that if object A smacks into object B, then in turn object B can smack into object A. Because they each perceive the other as being close or touching. You follow?”

The devil frowned but nodded. “I believe so.”

“Good. The sword’s enchantment messes that up. Object A sees B as normal and therefore can affect object B, but the sword displaces object B’s perceived position of A to somewhere else. So as far as object B is concerned object A is far away and out of reach. To see it you have to look in the right place.” I pointed into the sky. “And only at that position can your stuff touch it. The symmetry of spacial interaction is warped. It’s clever and complicated, what with the restrictions of separating the ground from the things it wants to mess with and that kind of thing.” It was also subtle, only bending the rules without overtly breaking them and thus likely lessening the chance of fallen attention.

“And you overcame such a powerful spell?”

“Heck no. I shot the bastard where he’d been perceptually displaced. Right outta the clouds.”

The fog down by the docks flickered green once then twice, quickly followed by agonized screams.

Balus had obviously reached the enemy.

I put a hand against the wrapped blade. “This trick was crafted by an angel, Major. Your Duke demands proof that one is behind all this crap with the invasion of his realm, right? Well here it is. They must have had this or a few of these in the Spires when they disappeared from my sight back at Epsilon. I was just too stupid to look far enough up.”

Praztus considered but then slowly shook his head. “That alone is insufficient.”

“Bullshit!” I growled and pointed at the head I’d thrown to the feet of Praztus’ graxh. “A five-souled demon like this asshole would never have gotten his hands on something as powerful as this on his own. And you know it!”

“Duke Juxtyle is an ancient. Unless you can prove that the sword is newly enchanted, it could have been put aside by the Duke for countless cycles.”

Pulling back the cloth I pointed an accusing finger at the blade. “Look! Woven into the script is the name of the one who enchanted it: Turiel. That’s the name of a Grigori - one straight out of the Book of Enoch. Which also means Azazel has pulled old allies into whatever he’s up to!”

The Major stared at the sword then at me, snake-like eyes watching all cautiously. “Well versed am I in the mystic arts, Captain. But to my vision that weapon is unadorned.”

“Then find someone else who can read it, dammit. It’s right there!”

He emitted a slow sigh. “None can other than one of the Fallen themselves. While I believe you are speaking truth, a mortal soul like yourself should not have the ability to see such things. Duke Valgor can hardly present that weapon to a representative of the Fallen and have it turn out to be but a normal blade due to the imaginings of a single soul. The political embarrassment and damage to his honor would be considerable. Tell me, how did you come to have such an ability?”

“I’ve told you before.” Slinging the bow over my back so the string crossed tightly against the armor protecting my chest, I lashed the bundled sword to the back of the graxh’s saddle. Fortunately poor Gilbert hadn’t taken damage from the attack that had knocked me free of its back. He’d only been startled by it all. “I’m a seer.”

“You are far more than that, Captain.”

“It’s damned simple, alright?” I said before scooping up my discarded helm and plonking it back onto my head. “Due to crap outside my control my third eye got ripped open. The long term effects weren’t my choice.”

The devil regarded me oddly. “There are many who would envy such ability.”

“The whole frellen thing made a bloody mess of my life!” With a boot shoved into a stirrup I swung onto the saddle. “It caused a shit-ton of troubles - not just for me but for everyone I cared about. Eventually the whole thing led to a too-close encounter with a super-charged explosive and my ass got blown apart. And I wasn’t the only one killed in that madness. So they can take their envy and shove it where the Spark don’t shine.”

“And yet it clearly has saved your existence on many an occasion. Always is power a two-edged blade. It cuts one’s foes but equally cuts the wielder.” Praztus tugged on the reins and his graxh began moving into the town.

I did the same, pulling alongside.

“Speaking for myself,” the Major continued, “I much prefer the capacity to effect my own attacks and defense than be weak. Even if such comes with undesired burdens. If you were honest with yourself you would realize you prefer it as well.” The devil gathered his thoughts before continuing. “In these past few cycles I’ve observed you to be a rare soul, Captain. I daresay that you are one who even if powerless can hardly step aside and do nothing, even should the cost to yourself be high. Without those gifts your natural recklessness would likely have destroyed you by now. I suspect your death on Earth was due to such a disposition. Only the paranoid and cautious survive these realms, you would be wise to consider this. I say this with wry acknowledgment that your tendency may indeed have just saved my life, yet the truth of it still holds.”

To that I had no reply. We rode without further conversation through the empty town ahead of the clatter of wagons and the march of Praztus’ spearmen.

By the time we reached the docks and the many rafts lashed to wooden beams to keep from drifting down the river, my boys had already completed their dirty work. The bodies of six demons were laid out in a row upon the dirt and the seventh was on its knees. Its claws were bound behind a head which would have been human except for having additional eyes blinking out of its forehead, looking like five black dots on a six-sided Vegas die. With utterly androgynous features it wore what was obviously enchanted armor as despite the weather the metal surfaces gleamed free of mud and detritus.

Behind it loomed Balus, tentacles wielding implements of instant decapitation should the idiot try anything stupid. The rest of my squad had formed a line in front one of the large warehouses and as we approached threw another salute.

I ignored the blood and other bits splattered across their faces and armor. “Good job, boys.”

Balus’ nodded his Japanese-like ogre helm in acknowledgment then laid the side of an axe blade atop the kneeling demon’s scraggly hair. “Surrendered. Ransom promised.”

Praztus pulled his graxh to a halt in front of the prisoner. “Ransom? State your name and title soldier.”

The five-eyed head lowered respectfully. Either that or was trying to duck away from the axe. Past fangs worthy of a vampire they said, “I am known as Rithgal, Lord. I have the honor of being Baron of the mining town of Dagon within the county of Iglargh.”

The major ran a finger over the long sweep of his nose. “Dagon? I’ve heard of it. Iron and gold aplenty.”

“Yes, Lord. Return me and five thousand denari are yours.”

A wide grin broke out below Praztus’ mighty nostrils. Similar expressions of greed were also reflected across my squad’s faces for they would be due a cut of the payment.

Not giving a crap about that I called out. “Where are the townsfolk? Are they safe?”

The demon smiles around me faltered and my stomach felt uneasy from more than just hunger.

I looked to the giant. “Balus?”

“Show.”

Several of the squad shot uncertain glances at each other and none moved.

“Now!” Balus’s voice cracked out causing many to flinch. Two turned and hurriedly pulled the tall wooden doors of the warehouse open. Again the stench of death assaulted sinuses.

Except this time so much worse.

Piled floor to ceiling were the bodies of every merchant, farmer, and boatsman who had gathered within the town for safety. To maintain the integrity of the stack the body parts had been placed like a grotesque game of Tetris with severed limbs and portions of torsos having been carefully wedged to keep the whole from collapsing.

In front of it all sat massive red sacks. But unlike the Christmas colors covering Santa’s sled these sacks had turned crimson from their unwashed contents. I didn’t have to open them to know what lay within.

Soulstones. Hundreds of them. Ripped from each and every body in the stack.

I don’t remember dismounting. Nor crossing the distance.

Pressing a soul-forged dagger against its throat I snarled into the demon’s five eyed face. “WHY?!”

Utter incomprehension blinked back. “Easier to move,” it breathed. “Why else?”

“Captain!” shouted Praztus. “He has surrendered for ransom. Back away. That is an order!”

The cries of the wrongful deaths of hundreds of thousands swelled within, the purplish-black energy I’d kept contained resonating the outrage and pain of too many who’d met equally tragic fates. I couldn’t hold the resulting surge back.

Not that I wanted to.

Demons scattered away like dominoes as a font of that energy roared forth to envelop me and the prisoner within its twisting madness. Only Balus stood his ground, breathing in those flames his eye glowing bright with an ecstatic joy.

To him the fires were but raw fuel. The very essences from which he could harness even greater power.

Just like Sariel had. Like the mad Queen had.

Like I had.

The dagger fell with a soft thump to the mud below. I stared at that horrible glow as it streamed and twisted between my fingers.

Did it matter how such terrible energies were used? Would it be any solace to those who’d suffered its creation were it to be used to help others?

Would they even care?

I cared.

Praztus struggled to get his graxh under control despite the beast’s desperate attempt to flee. “Captain! Kill this prisoner and you will have dishonored the Duke. Remember your contract! All of those in your command shall suffer the consequences should he die!”

Five dilated eyes stared upwards in terror and awe. Behind each blackened orb lay a soul whose suffering lent this creature its existence.

“Fear not,” I announced, feeling a strong pull from within and without to action. “For he shall live.” Rithgal the demon held perfectly still as a hand slid into the thick hair behind its head, the grip tightening upon its greasy strands. The other palm pressed itself over those eyes, fingers curling onto the forehead. “But no longer by the suffering of others shall he draw breath.”

Purplish flames burned through those many orbs to reach the pattern within, tracing along its structure until I saw it complete.

As the demon shrieked and thrashed smoke from the freshly burnt flesh added to the air’s already tainted scent. I leaned closer through that smoke to whisper into its ear.

“I curse you, Rithgargaxith. By your true name shall you never again harness sustenance from an unwilling soul.”

Receptors wired into the essence of its demonic structure sparked and withered, connections to the souls within severed and torched beyond repair.

“I also leave you with a gift whose flames shall support you for a hundred cycles and no more.”

That terrible violet-black energy coalesced into a solid core, its tendrils feeding a trickle of its power which would fuel the demon’s pattern and sentience.

“Once those flames are depleted only by that which is freely given shall you remain.”

Into that gemlike core I whispered the seed of a single word. The tiny spark of golden light sank into the violet gem and faded entirely from view.

But it was there.

Only then did I rip the trapped souls free, holding up all five softly glowing stones in my hand for all to see. As for Rithgal, the now eyeless demon collapsed to howl its newfound agonies into the dust at our feet.

Major Praztus stared at the stones pale-faced and speechless in horror. It was his turn to have no response to voice.

Under the armor the gambeson clung wetly against my skin. The burning pain from wings having again refused manifestation was oddly comforting.

 

 

 

Chapter 24 - Temptation

 

The Shroud had eclipsed the Spark before we made it back to our camp. And by ‘we’ I meant myself and a handful of soldiers along with a couple wagons filled with only enough supplies for a solid dinner and breakfast.

Praztus, Balus, and the rest had stayed behind in the town to guard the various stockpiles which the Count and his folks had been charged to oversee. The plans to resupply and move on to our next assignment had burnt up alongside the flames of the warehouse full of corpses I’d ordered put to the torch.

The usual downpour was kind enough to wait until we were only a couple leagues out from the camp so there was plenty of smoke rising up behind us as we marched until rain and fog blotted it all out.

Despite the weather the flying scouts from the camp spotted our approach, one of the three darting ahead to relay news of our imminent arrival. Hank had changed the usual two-demon scouting pair to three to allow for one to act as a courier of messages and not leave those at the perimeter’s edge all alone. In fact a lot of his focus had been on how to improve communication links between fighters and command, having lamented the lack of radio equipment. Back at Epsilon I’d once asked Erglyk why such things weren’t available considering surely some souls who had ended up in Hell would have known how to build them. She had explained that each realm had its own physical properties and electronics only worked properly within a few of them. Hence the adaptation of steam-power and sorcery here on the Rock because electricity would, as she put it, ‘run wild’.

Along our marching tour we’d certainly gone past enough evidence of such, passing by entire chunks of forest laid waste by a single lightning strike. It had chained from tree to tree to exploded tree and left massive swaths of destruction. Impressive to look at after-the-fact, but not something you’d want happening when, say, trying to make a phone call.

Riding into the camp we could see that Hank had kept the others busy as two platoons were engaged in training exercises within the larger tents set up for that purpose. Hank had been teaching them how to safely ‘clear’ buildings in an urban environment, the former soldier having also loudly grumbled about how medieval tactics only applied to structured battlefields. The platoon sergeants were overseeing the activity, standing there just as soaked as the demon fighters they were shouting at.

I too had spent many a morning or afternoon participating in such activities. Hank was a firm believer in the mantra that ‘everybody works, everybody fights’. I’d teased him about having read Starship Troopers one too many times but instead of laughing he’d only asked, “If men are not potatoes, what are demons?”

That response was still unsettling.

When the graxh finally got to my tent Horatio, Hank, and a demon named Ugart were waiting outside of it. Ugart was a demon Lieutenant who belonged to Major Praztus, one who spoke even less than Balus did unless necessary. Of course having the head of a crocodile probably made clear speech difficult.

Roaring though had not so far been a problem.

“Welcome back, Captain,” Horatio said, holding aloft a wide umbrella and offering me a hand down from the saddle.

“Thanks.” After I’d dismounted he tried to shift his umbrella’s protection to cover me instead of himself and I snorted. “Don’t bother. I’m already soaked. In fact, here. Hold this.” I removed the helmet and handed it to him.

He took it, giving it a quick check-over for any new dents and tutting over all the mud caked into its decorative plume. “Veronica is preparing a hot bath as we speak, my lady.”

“Sounds fantastic.”

Hank however was frowning after sizing up the group and coming up short. “Where’s everyone else? Trouble?”

“Yeah,” I said. “The Major and the rest are still at the town. It was wiped out. To the last soul.”

Horatio stiffened. “What of the food? Those supplies are vital to the Duke’s defense!”

If my arms weren’t heavy with exhaustion I might have taken a swing at him. “Is that all you care about?” I snarled. “Well I can report that the food is just peachy-keen! Happy?”

He took a step back. Smart.

A gentle hand touched a shoulder. It was Hank’s. “He cares about those who would otherwise starve.”

I shrugged him off, pulling the bow and bundled sword free of where they’d been secured to the saddle. “We break camp in the morning to rejoin the Major. We’ll need to stand guard in the town until messages can get to the Duke and relief arrives. Horatio, get the cooks busy with what we brought back. Hank and Ugart, I want everyone fed, rested, and ready to break camp at dawn.”

So saying I pushed the tent flap aside with the tip of the bow and stepped inside.

Heat hit my exposed face like a slap. I still wasn’t used to how hot Veronica let the stoves heat the space.

Although in this case the sauna effect was due more to the prepared buckets of steaming water standing by to fill my new prized possession: a makeshift bathtub. Horatio had commandeered a large standing barrel, got it sawed in half top to bottom, and added supports so it wouldn’t roll when on its side.

It may not have been entirely practical to lug around from campsite to campsite, but rank hath its privileges dammit. Besides, I’d freed up space by ditching that ugly skull throne. I’d considered getting rid of the bed as well but Veronica had been apoplectic over the idea. She hadn’t verbally objected but the veins on her forehead had looked fit to burst from the effort of staying silent. She’d therefore been given the task of chiseling out each and every skull embedded in its wood and burying them. It had taken her awhile but she got it done.

Instead of encountering a vision of the holy tub however I found myself standing face to face with Twitch. He’d uncharacteristically unwound the cloth from his face revealing the burn scars covering cheeks and forehead. He stared and was obviously uncomfortable about something.

He also didn’t move and was blocking my path to steaming sanctuary.

“What,” I finally said to break the awkward silence, “Have I sprouted horns or something?”

His lips moved as if to speak but he silently shook his head and took a step back.

Not sure what was going on I pushed the bow and sword into his hands. “I’m fine. Put these by one of the chests, will you? Then unless you’re going to help Veronica wash my back, see if Maddalena could use a hand with making sure the camp cooks don’t turn dinner into mush. Oh, and make sure she eats. I sensed her warding the camp as we rode in, she’ll need the refill.”

Awkwardly holding the weapons Twitch stumbled towards a chest that set next to a small table where one of Maddalena’s stones sat glowing softly in response to all her warding efforts outside. With a clang he steadied the bundle against a chest before pulling his mask back into place and quickly disappearing outside.

Veronica, who was busy pouring a bucket into the tub, muttered under her breath.

“Something wrong?” I asked as I sat on a small stool resting before a stove so I could get the squishy boots off tired toes.

With a grunt she lifted the now-empty bucket clear of the tub and let it thunk to the ground. “No, my lady.” Her tone clearly said otherwise as she rerolled the sleeves of her peasant’s dress up her arms.

Holding the second boot in a hand and extending feet towards the fire behind the iron grill I sighed contently as frozen digits began to thaw. “Spill it, woman. If you don’t get it out you’re going to rub my back raw from holding it in. I’ve had a bad enough day as is and would like to avoid a sandpapering.”

She came over to assist with removing the rest of the armor. Curt movements to loosen the ties ceased as she gave a sharp intake of breath. She’d seen the red-soaked cloth waiting underneath. “My lady!”

I pulled the chestpiece free, carefully setting it aside. “That wasn’t from anything to worry about.”

“We should fetch Madelena!”

“No need. Just help me get this mess off.” Standing again I unbuckled the belt and with her help dropped the armored skirt. After sliding Camael’s bracers free I tugged on the sticky gambeson’s fabric, feeling the resistance as it peeled away from skin. Veronica also took hold and together we managed to slip it over my head and onto the floor. I cursed as the blood had soaked through into my only properly fitting bra. And dammit, the padded undershorts had been stained across my butt too.

Veronica meanwhile was running a finger over my back looking for a large gash that wasn’t there. She found instead only the numerous minor cuts which had already scabbed over. “This is far too much blood. Was it someone else’s?”

“Nope. All mine. Just not from a wound you’d be able to see.” I reached behind to release the bra.

She pushed my hand out of the way and managed to free the sticky ties. “I don’t understand.”

“Long story.” Once fully naked I climbed into the tub. Holy crud it was almost boiling hot. Back when I’d been a guy a sauna bath like this would’ve left me feeling sick from overheating. While I knew I’d have no problem now, instincts still tried to shout a warning which was promptly ignored as I sank chin deep to soak.

Heck yeah, that was good.

After a minute I sat up so she could sponge any stubborn spots. The water had already turned red even in the soft illumination from the various rune-stones, an unpleasant reminder of earlier. “Right then,” I said as she knelt behind to scrub between the shoulder blades where the worst of it was. “What was it you said under your breath earlier? Tell me.”

She paused. “It’s not my place to say, my lady.”

“I’ll be the judge of that.”

After yet another hesitation she stated, “It wasn’t fair to him.”

Wait, what? “Fair? To whom?”

“To Twitch. And then teasing him so - he deserves better. My lady. Uhm, rinse please.”

As the barrel wasn’t anywhere near long enough, I had to stick legs up over the far side to sink down enough to dunk under the waterline properly. The maneuvering required was certainly not lady-like, but whatever. Not that she’d ever comment on that.

“Okay,” I said after wiping water away from my face having come back up for air, “I’m clearly missing something.”

She had fetched a freshly steaming pail while I’d rinsed. Wringing out the sponge she dipped it into the hot clean water to use on my scruffy hair. We’d run out of her shampoo a cycle ago, much to her chagrin and lamentation. “He adores you. And while he psychs himself up to make a move, he’s too shy to carry through. Like just now.”

“Just now?”

With an exasperated sigh she said, “He was hoping to kiss you.”

Holy biscuits. Uncomfortable stance, check. Face free of impediments, check. Horrible shy anxiety freaking out, checkmate. “Well crap.”

“And then, my lady - and I say this meaning no offense - you were cruel.”

“Cruel?”

“You teased him with the prospect of being the one to wash your back.”

I had, hadn’t I. “I didn’t mean it that way.”

“No, my lady. But the puppy is besotted with you. Innocent love such as his is special and all too rare.”

“I’m not sure I’d classify him as an ‘innocent’. He’s suffered far too much loss.”

“Oh?” She continued trying to get the road ick off my scalp, which was akin to trying to sponge an over-grown chia-pet.

“They’re not my stories to tell. But every time I’ve tried to talk to him about what he’s gone through, hoping to maybe help him work through what’s happened, he withdraws again. Then out of the blue he does things like this.” Splashing more water onto my face, I rubbed hard to get off what grime I could.

“He’s a man. Of course he doesn’t want to talk about his feelings. Rinse again please, my lady.”

Holding my breath I slipped down under the surface, head and wild hair included. Resurfacing, her sponge squished behind an ear.

“I stand by my statement,” she said as the sponge switched sides to leave no ear untended. “He is terrified he will do something wrong and drive you off - all while believing you to be the most perfect thing he has ever beheld. Only someone still innocent in the ways of love could be this besotted.”

Sadly I had a feeling she was right. I just had no idea what to do about it.

“Which is why,” she added, “I think you two are a perfect match.”

“Excuse me?” Water sloshed over the side as I turned sharply to face her, making a splash against the tarp covering the dirt below.

Hard emerald eyes stared back, ones which had experienced centuries of abuse - if not more. “I may be out of line in saying this, my lady, but please hear me out.” There was a deep weariness behind that gaze, beyond the years of endured pain and far past any remnants of pride.

It hurt to see. I wanted to weep at witnessing such within a soul and my face must have shown it.

“There,” she said with the smallest of smiles. “Right there is why. You too are an innocent with a heart brandished openly upon her sleeve.”

Images from the day’s bloody events flashed past and closing eyes did nothing to stop them. “I am no innocent.”

“Forgive me, but you are. If not I would have already been beaten senseless for daring to speak to my master so.”

“You have the right to say what you think.”

“No. I do not. Here the rule is simple: the mighty own the weak. And I am weak.”

“That’s hardly true. If you were you wouldn’t have survived.”

She laughed, not bitterly or at me, but rather with genuine humor. The sound brought to mind windchimes dangling within a surprisingly gusty breeze. “I survive because I recognize my weakness. If I had to guess, you have not been in Hell for very long and you have managed so far due to your extraordinary strength and powers.”

I wanted to argue but realized I couldn’t. Praztus’ lecture was too freshly in my thoughts to disagree.

“Tell me,” she continued. “And if I go too far in asking I will of course shut up - but have they ever taken you by force? A girl as beautiful as you, there must have been attempts.”

She obviously meant sexually. Crossing arms over my exposed soft chest I huddled deeper below the water, chin dipping past the surface. “When I first got here there were a few who tried to gang up on me. It didn’t go well for them.”

“You fought them off?”

“Yes.” I’d woken up to three demons trying to secure shackles to my arms and legs. In a panic that dark energy had lashed out, melting one attacker entirely. I’d then shattered my favorite chair against the others and used the snapped off pieces to impale the very parts of their anatomies they’d intended to weaponize. The two survivors scampered off at that point, leaving me panting in terror and holding two chair leg shards stained with their blood. At the next squad meeting no one mentioned it. Apparently finding the scorched remains of a guard in a random cupboard and having two others in the infirmary was not worth any particular commentary by our Captain.

So no, the harshly powered wards I’d later placed upon my doors had not been overkill. Nor the ones I’d placed on the tent we currently were in. As for the two who lived, funny story but they apparently wandered off alone beyond the outpost and were never heard from again. I can neither confirm nor deny any knowledge of where they might have buried themselves.

“You see?” Veronica was saying. “Strength. Which you seem determined to use for the rest of us, like with this business of you paying a wage to us human slaves. Noble to be sure, but ultimately foolhardy.”

“You deserve compensation for your work.” This was something I’d instituted immediately, making use of the cash hidden in Erglyk’s chests.

Again that laugh chimed as the sponge splashed against the back of my neck. “Our compensation is to avoid being torn apart and turned into stones. What do you think will happen when you’re gone? Do you really believe we’ll be able to keep the coins you’ve paid out?”

“What do you mean when I’m gone?”

“The demons are using you. I don’t mean these mercenaries for they will serve as long as you can provide them battles to fight. Some even are beginning to like being under your command. But the bigger ones like the Duke, he’ll use you now because he’s at war yet at some point he will be forced to deal with you. A human soul in charge of demons cannot be allowed to stand. You may be strong, but I don’t think you’ve ever faced the truly powerful.”

I wanted to point out that I’d stood next to an archangel, but uh yeah. Couldn’t exactly say that. The real truth however was that with the withdrawal of the light I’d been running on empty except for the absorbed energy I kept bottled up. What would happen when it ran out was a constant worry. I had the bracers as backup, but those could more easily catch the attention of the fallen. The situation was nuts: I needed the fallen to recognize the threat Azazel posed, but at the same time wanted them to not know about me.

That would be a hornet’s nest of an entirely different scale. Once that got disturbed there was no way I could go back to a quiet out-of-the-way existence, one which every passing day seemed more and more unlikely to ever happen.

She squeezed the sponge over my head. “The demons will find a way to crush you or they’ll force you into solitary exile somehow. Either way, we will be taken by new masters and they will strip us of all that we have. For we and all we carry belong to them. Just like at the moment I and all that is mine belong to you.”

“That’s just wrong.”

Leaning in, her hand slid down an arm where it perched on the tub’s edge, fingers curling around mine. “You see? Innocent.” Her nose softly nuzzled an ear as she breathed across it. “He could easily be yours, though perhaps you’d prefer a woman’s touch?” Teeth nipped at the earlobe, tugging with a heat that had nothing to do with the steam from the bath.

Water splashed all over as I jumped out of the tub and spun around to face her. She kept an arm lazily against the lip of the bath, resting her face against it. She was smiling, conveying wickedness mixed with amusement. “Forgive, my lady. As you said, I am a survivor. One willing to offer much to ensure I remain one. You’ll find I possess some excellent skills.”

Being nude I felt terribly exposed. “Uh, no thanks.”

She stood, running hands slowly up the front of her own gorgeous body. “Are you sure? You’re a hard one to read, but I think you’d enjoy a dalliance with either sex.” Taking a step closer she reached out towards the front of my own ample curves.

My hands caught hers before they got there. “I said no.”

After a moment’s futile struggle against the grip she dropped to her knees, blonde hair falling alongside her face and reaching the ground. Her arms were still aloft and held firm within my hands. She shivered, saying quietly, “If you won’t take me to your bed, then what am I to you?”

There was no fear in her voice, only ancient resignation. I let go and took a step backwards. “I need a lady-in-waiting, as if that wasn’t obvious enough. And maybe a friend.”

Standing she picked up two clean towels, holding them out like an offering. “I can do the former. But we shall never be equals, my lady, and I will always do what I must to survive.”

Accepting one I draped its cloth around my chest, tucking it in so it wouldn’t fall. “That shouldn’t prevent a friendship.”

She moved behind to professionally pat at the spiky wet hair with the other towel, rubbing firmly yet with care to not tug too hard. “How can it not?” Leaving it there she walked towards the wardrobe. “We should get you dressed for dinner.”

My stomach growled. Food sounded like a wonderful idea. I hadn’t wanted to eat much after what had happened at the town but that was hours ago. “Works for me.”

As she sorted through possible outfits she did say one last thing. “You should embrace that boy to your bosom and bed him, my lady. You are in desperate need of tenderness and relief. If you won’t accept such from me, find it from somewhere before you pop.”

I didn’t argue. Instead I donned the clean bra and panties she set out and wondered whether I should re-don the armor. Not for dinner, mind you, but for when I went to bed later while she slept on the blankets on the floor nearby.

Because it had been so darn tempting to let her close that distance.

 

 

 

Chapter 25 - Camping

 

I’d eaten too much.

Using the fresher ingredients, Maddalena - with Twitch’s assistance - had prepared a stew fortified with chunks of salted meat and a blend of not-vegetables which almost, but not quite, tasted like a proper Shepherd’s Pie. Baked crust and crunchy side biscuits included. She’d been recruited as the new head chef because the souls pressed into such service by the demons were clueless and - as I’d suspected would happen - the Lilim twins had claimed Cookie as rightfully theirs. I blame him making them a batch of his special souffles. I knew though that Vance was likely keeping the little chef happy with better supplies of luxury spices and whatever tools he could ever ask for. That magic tent of theirs had probably been turned into a professional kitchen to spoil the palates of Vance and his merry band of Lilim.

Heck, by now Vance might even have taught Cookie how to grow a proper mustache.

Whereas here we ate as best we could depending on the circumstance and logistics of war. Crouched upon a wide canvas ground cover under a large open-air tent were several rows of demons all slurping and swallowing bowls laden with what should have been regarded as a special treat which instead was just getting inhaled, burped, and forgotten. At least the human servants lined up along the edge were smiling, despite the occasional wind drenching them all. Regularly spaced charcoal heaters also kept things mostly comfortable.

For us this was downright festive.

As for me, I was at the far end with back against the one protective (admittedly canvas) wall. Sitting cross-legged and holding empty bowl and spoon, I had Twitch to the left and Hank on the right. Normally Praztus would be at the head of the ‘table’ but with him gone I was stuck with that duty. Veronica had remained in my tent; I’d sent Horatio in with her dinner and he must’ve elected to eat with her.

“More?” Madelena was standing over us carrying yet another pot of the hot mixture.

“Good grief, I’d love to but no.” Groaning, I looked at my coat-covered stomach. After some argument with Veronica I’d put on a long-sleeved blue jerkin with thick wool-like grey tights tied around the tops of boots, all bundled under a long fuzzy coat. I’d also included a belt with one of those nasty daggers tucked into its sheath and despite disapproving looks regarding the lack of fashion taste Camael’s bracers were fastened into place behind leather gloves.

No matter how long I’ve had and used them, they were still Camael’s. I couldn’t shake the feeling of having only ‘borrowed’ them. After all his Name was inscribed within the folds of their pattern - it was a literal case of ‘his name’s on it, it’s his’.

Madelena nodded, offering more grub first to Twitch then Hank. Twitch also refused, but Hank enthusiastically took a third helping and dug in.

How he still had room I had no idea.

“You get any yourself, Maddalena?” I asked before she could walk down the line for more takers.

She grinned over a shoulder. “As top chefs, myself and Twitch are required to verify its worthiness before we can offer any to your ladyship.”

I smiled back. “Then I appreciate your efforts at quality control and offer my thanks. But if you are still hungry, please take a break and have some.”

“I shall, but out of the last batch. It will be ready in a few more minutes.” She proceeded to make her way past the uncouth creatures of unending appetite, spooning out reinforcements as she went.

Each demon remained perfectly polite and not just from her growing special status. My warning at the Hole had penetrated their thick skulls, indeed the smarter ones had taken up policing the more forgetful ones to shut down any brewing conflict at our dining tables before things ever got out of hand. One sharp look from me and they’d take instant action to restore a perfectly peaceful mealtime.

As it damn well should be.

If there had been any mutterings of rebellion against their crazed-commander I hadn’t heard of it. Especially after the first assassin who one night had tried to slice their way into my tent and met the same fate as Dhalgrix’s brother. You know, becoming ward-assisted barbecue.

Not that I dared to ever relax my vigilance. The demons were truly only content to follow as long as I kept delivering two key things: opportunities to fight and payment in coin. The contract with the Duke paid well enough, but other than a few skirmishes they hadn’t really had a chance to go all out on a battlefield.

This was becoming a concern.

But we had our orders from the Duke to patrol for pockets of intruders and we’d been diligently carrying that out. There just weren’t enough invaders to satisfy our more eager blood-thirsty warriors. The ones at the town had barely gotten warmed up when they’d run out of targets, something which had been a common occurrence.

Resting covered hands over a happily bloated stomach, the mind wandered to a different concern entirely, namely what Veronica had brought up. Surreptitiously I eyed Twitch and nervously looked away before he could notice. Was she right? I’d not taken anyone to my bed since cancer had laid its claim to Caroline, my wife. But that had been two lifetimes and an entirely different body ago.

‘Til death do we part. And now we both were dead.

Sure, I hadn’t talked about her since arriving in Hell, always pretending as best as possible that the ‘old’ life was done and over. Except when I shut my eyes I could still see her soft smile, still smell the lavender shampoo in her hair, still feel her gentle touch against my cheek.

I didn’t want to lose that. I didn’t want another to take that place in my heart.

Twitch was a good man, kind and loyal. If my new female self needed such a partner he’d be an excellent choice.

I just wasn’t ready to let go. The thought still hurt too much.

With a rueful sigh I shook my head, putting aside the bowl. In its place I picked up the other item I’d carried out and laid it across my lap.

The sword itself was nothing special: an unadorned cross-piece and round pommel formed the hilt while a standard blood groove ran the length of the blade. No jewels, no inscriptions etched into the metal, plain and boring.

Except for all the intricate programming embedded within its underlying structure. Running a finger along the blade I idly traced some of the hidden symbols within its pattern, marveling at the simple elegance of what was effectively a program standing by to execute its payload upon the fabric of our local reality.

“That’s new,” Hank commented between bites. “Thought you liked spears and bows.”

“Battle trophy,” I said as I flipped it over to examine the other side. “Took it off an invisible assassin.”

“Invisible?” Hank’s brow arched. “Neat trick. You saw through it anyway?”

“No and yes. I figured out the secret and used that to take the bastard down.”

Hank was smart and had a good memory. “That how they escaped your sight back at Epsilon?” He popped a fully laden spoonful into his mouth.

“Probably. But it does me no good.”

“Mmph.” He hastily chewed the too-large bite and finally swallowed. “No good?” he finally asked. “How so?”

I gestured to the demons around us. “No one else can see the enchantment. They can’t read the hard proof that our enemy has angelic support.”

He took a deep draught from a mug to chase the stew and shrugged. “So what if they could? What’d you expect them to do?”

“Alert the fallen in charge of this realm that a Grigori asshole is messing with their turf.”

“And if’n they don’t care?” He tilted his head. “You gonna force ‘em to? You sure you want that kind of attention?”

I froze. “What do you mean?” Fingers curled around the hilt.

“Just sayin’. I’ve not seen much of this place but let’s face it, you stand out. The lost souls in this camp are divided on the topic. Half of ‘em are like Maddalena and think you’re a savior-in-waiting; the other half are terrified you’re some sort of demonic illusion and the other shoe is gonna drop on their balls. To the demons - the few with a brain - the former is freaking ‘em out. Yet they all agree on one thing: you’re somethin’ the likes of which they’ve never seen. These angel overlords you’ve mentioned could figure you’re the greater threat to their cushy system.”

The weapon’s inner writings tickled at my palm. Hank didn’t know it but he’d hit uncomfortably close to the truth. “What else can I do?” I asked quietly. “I’ve touched the enemy’s mind. He won’t be content until he’s made everyone slaves to his will, mere puppets with which he can go grab more.”

“And you’re the one to stop him?” Hank was watching me carefully, spoon idle in his hand. “Like I’ve said before, so what if he conquers some demonic duchies and gets them stirred up. You can go elsewhere and stay away. Let the fallen eventually wake up and deal with it. Or not. This is Hell, after all. Crap like this likely happens all the time.”

Ancient memories of Aradia’s battles came to mind. “You don’t know what he was, what he can do. He threatened all of Earth and it took a coalition of gods, angels, and fae to take him down. He’s gathered old allies, this is proof of that.” I lifted the blade and held it sideways towards him. “This was made by another Grigori. He’s not doing this alone.”

The old soldier didn’t back down. “We’ve been marching about for cycles. That enemy of yours hasn’t sent a single thing after you specifically like you’d feared back at the Hole. It’s doubtful he even knows you’re here. Meanwhile I keep watching you bleed out of thin air when overdoing your mojo. You’re wounded. And you don’t want folks to know how or why. You’re in no shape to fight in their arena. ”

I traced a finger along the cold metal and knew deep down he was right.

Horatio, bundled under an old patchwork coat whose original furs were likely replaced long ago, hurried over to us through the rain. Twitch scooted over to make room for him and poured him a drink.

“Veronica eat?” I asked the valet-turned-logistical-officer.

“Yes, my lady.” Sitting cross-legged, he threw a wistful gaze back towards my tent. Interesting. Veronica apparently had admirers of her own.

“How about you? Did you get enough?”

“More than plenty, a rare luxury.” Patting his belly he gave a rueful smile. “When I was alive I firmly believed that upon death I would never starve again. How foolish such an assumption turned out to be. Hell’s torments were well advertised by the church, after all. I should have expected it.”

Hank waved his spoon. “More like a side-effect, if’n you ask me.”

We all looked blankly at him.

He plinked the back of his spoon against his forehead. “Been ponderin’. This whole place acts like it’s solid, but really is more like a dream that just won’t quit. Y’all know what I’m talking about. Feels like if you turn away and look back again things may be different the second time.”

I did know what he meant. On the dark side the terrain itself was inconsistent between circuits of our reaper routes.

Horatio was nodding. “This realm has more of a fuzziness to it than others I’ve been to. Yet in all of them I have had moments as if I was about to wake up and everything around would slip away.”

Hank leaned forward on an elbow. “Maybe it comes down to perception. We’ve still got the same ol’ set of senses tryin’ to perceive this place. And not just the ones everyone thinks about like sight and hearing. I mean all of ‘em. Balance, pain, pleasure, the lot. It’s what we know, right? Including hunger and its lack.” He pointed the spoon at me. “You’re the one who warned that starving for too long wouldn’t kill. Just lead to despair and collapse into one o’ them soul balls. Maybe we starve because we believe we still need outside sustenance. Or maybe we do need to eat, and the food serves to keep our focus on this place instead of hells of our own internal making. I dunno, just been thinkin’ is all.”

“You’re quite the philosopher, sir,” Horatio said, raising his cup.

Hank shrugged. “Passes the time.”

I smiled at him. “I think I’ve heard it said that if you scratch an old soldier you’ll find a philosopher hiding underneath.”

He shook his head. “Just been starin’ too much at that Spark thing on the march whenever them clouds clear out. Beats lookin’ at the nothingness beyond it and gives the mind somethin’ to chew on, especially knowin’ they keep tossing fresh souls into it.” His cheeks scrunched up to his eyes in thought. “Could be they’re related.”

Sipping from the cup, Horatio asked, “How so?”

The spoon shifted to point up towards the Shroud and the Spark hidden behind. “That whole business of trees fallin’ without sound. Maybe they’re forcing them souls’ to watch the entire bowl. Maybe that keeps it steady and also gives the real energy for the crazy plants we been slogging through to grow.” Serious eyes met mine. “Demons swallow souls to keep on goin’, right? Using a soul’s focus just to exist and be able to think.”

A capability which I’d just blocked within the demon Rithgal. Once again I’d done something without fully understanding how, weird instinct having taken over. Trying to focus on the memory to better understand exactly how caused the wing to twinge. Not wanting another bath I backed away from that thought and instead found myself remembering words which someone had said to me so long ago. August, who had once been the angel Tamiel, had tried to explain that everything existed because the Source - i.e God at the highest level - watched everything. And that Lucifer’s power as the channel of the light meant seeing it all in the fullest. I’d touched that channel, brushed the scope of that awesome perception, and had darn near lost myself within it.

Here in Hell, as in the Fae dream I’d almost destroyed, the perceived reality of each realm had to be sourced from a more localized source of power. Though that local reservoir ultimately still must have come from the All if traced back far enough. And Hank was implying that souls, at their core, held that same power. If so, just imagine what billions of souls could accomplish if they all focused on a single goal.

I wondered if such a thought terrified the angels in Heaven. And if Nephelim somehow had that capacity too - perhaps even stronger! - that could explain why Heaven had been so determined to wipe them out or at the very least bind them. Maybe they had the potential to upset the entire apple-cart of the universe.

Thinking along those lines I realized that could also apply to me and wondered if it had been to the benefit of everyone that I’d been effectively shut down by being sent to Hell. Who knows what kind of damage I’d have caused otherwise.

One less thing for Michael to worry about.

Hank scooped up another large spoonful. “Just some literal food for thought.” He popped more stew into his mouth, chewing and grinning while waiting for everyone to realize the pun.

Twitch offered a golf clap. I groaned and said, “Seriously, Hank? Was all that just a setup?”

He dropped a hand over the contents of his side plate. “What can I say, I’m on a roll.”

I laughed. “You’re gonna bowl us all over if you keep going.”

He offered quick retort. “Just don’t make me eat my words.”

“That’d be more than you can swallow.”

“Nah, I’d be savorin’ the sweet taste o’ victory!”

It had to have been the weirdest pun war I’d ever experienced. We weren’t speaking English, but having both spoken (and thought in) that language the strange translation somehow managed to carry the intent of the puns across. For a moment I worried that it was a by-product of my own universal ability, but Twitch and Horatio were equally facepalming as our attempts stretched further and further due to, dare I say it, running out of stock.

The demons however were looking over at us like we’d lost our damned minds.

A commotion at the other end of the tent saved everyone from Hank and me escalating the silliness even further. One of our bat-like fliers was shoving his way towards me and beyond him Maddalena had emerged from the cook tent to stride quickly after him. This time without a refilled pot.

Ignoring Hank’s latest verbal volley I got to my feet, sword still in hand and its tip resting against the ground-cover. “What’s going on? Report!”

The scout went to one knee and bowed its pointy-eared head. The guy looked like how Batman should if his DNA had properly reflected his name.

“A coach is coming, Commander. At speed. Flag of the Duke and another I know not.”

“Just one coach? Alone?”

“Yes, Commander.”

Horatio obviously wanted to speak so I gestured for him to go ahead.

He looked at the scout. “Describe the other flag.”

The bat-guy flicked an ear and snarled, obviously not liking being interrogated by a lowly human.

I leaned on the sword. “Answer him as you would me.” Okay, some violet fire may have sparked at my fingertips. I also may have growled.

The scout’s eyes doubled in size and he fell to his other knee. “Gold spiderweb on black under a crown!”

Horatio startled in recognition. “That’s the personal symbol of the Duchess.”

Maddalena stepped closer, also going to one knee. “My wards sense great and terrible power, my lady.”

Uh oh. I let senses sweep beyond the camp and found that the witch was right. Two mighty flares of soul-energy were approaching, making it difficult to distinguish the stand-alone souls bracketing them. One was huge, possibly four times as powerful as Dhalgrix had been.

The other was even scarier.

It contained more souls than the sum total possessed by every demon in my camp, all concentrated into a small yet terrifying package.

With a steadfastness I didn’t feel I called out. “Ugart! Double the watch on the perimeter and prepare an honor guard to welcome our guests! Everyone else is to stand ready for battle!”

As Ugart heaved himself onto wide crocodile feet and began shouting (and kicking) at the crew, I turned to Twitch who’d gotten up when I had. “I need my armor,” I told him. “Get yours as well.”

Worried eyes peered over the cloth covering nose and mouth. I forced a smile and gave him an impromptu hug. “It’ll be fine,” I whispered.

He tensed at the embrace, hands unsure and staying at his side. When I let go he raced off to my tent as a moving blur, mud splashing behind.

“Alright,” I said to everyone else. “Other than Horatio I want all souls out of sight. I need his advice regarding etiquette. Hank, get these demon idiots into formations to welcome our visitors as well as defend the camp in case that coach is being chased by nasties. They’re driving their graxh hard and that’s concerning.”

Hank got to his feet. “And if it’s the ones in the coach we should be worryin’ about?”

“Then I hold them off while everyone runs for it.”

“Can you?” Hank’s question startled Maddalena - and also Horatio. Huh, Horatio must’ve joined the savior camp at some point and I hadn’t noticed. Lovely.

Flipping my grip, I lifted the sword into a guard position. “Oh, I’ll think of something. Maybe I’ll even pun-ish them too.”

That got a genuine laugh out of the soldier.

We got to work.

 

 

 

Chapter 26 - Reveals

 

Standing in front of my tent I watched the largest coach I’d ever seen be escorted through the camp. It was flanked by two rows of demons, one led by a standard bearer holding Duke Valgor’s flag, the other by a demon waving a golden four-pointed star shining against the darkness.

They’d stitched that one up for me.

The coach was pulled by a team of ten mighty graxh, the finest I’d ever seen. Taller than any others in our camp, they grunted and spat like they knew they were better than anything around. Considering they were surrounded by demons I’d have agreed to their point.

Ugart, clad in the full-plate of Praztus’ forces, stepped forward as the coach came to a halt. With a gesture our demon escort spun ninety degrees to form a line, stomping in unison as they did so. They almost seemed professional - except that too many of my mercs had mismatched armor. And by that I don’t just mean they didn’t match each other, several demons had greaves and bracers of different lengths and styles or wore helmets yet had nothing on their chests. Like I’ve said before, they were a motley crew.

Just don’t ask them to sing. Seriously, don’t.

A coachman hopped down and placed a golden stepstool ladder besides the fancy door which took up a good portion of the coach’s side. He had on a long coat which formed almost a skirt below the waist, complete with silver buttons going up his chest in two neat rows. He also wore a top hat of all things.

Fashion in court had obviously changed from when Charles had last been there as that hat was definitely straight out of the 19th century.

After rapping on the door twice with a riding whip the coachmen proceeded to open the door, swinging it wide as he stepped to the side to make room for a passenger to emerge into the rain. A man stepped out and donned a black top hat of his own to go with the off-brown narrow and high waist pants, paisley vest and necktie of muted greens, plus tailcoat and boots.

Yup, called it. And the style totally went with the theme of the night’s rainy gloominess. Though the Victorian handlebar mustache on the gentleman climbing down from the coach clashed a bit against the scaly and reflective demonic skin.

Demon cosplay must have only gone so far. Given the waves of power flowing off the guy I didn’t think anyone would challenge or poke fun at the attempt.

He cleared his throat and spoke in a mild-mannered tone totally at odds with the potential for violence his very presence conjured to mind. “I am Major-General Nalphris, companion and guard to the Duchess Ruchinox who graces you all with her presence this night. Where can be found our Major Praztus?”

Ugart, who if he could sweat would have been beating the rain at its own game, attempted a salute. “Major-General, I am Ugart, Lieutenant to Major Praztus. The Major stands guard at the remains of Tzaghesh.” Ugart’s words were slow, the crocodile mouth doing its best to keep the speech clear and understandable.

“Remains? Has Tzaghesh fallen?”

“Yes, sir. All his court slain. A flyer was dispatched with the news this very night.”

“And he placed you in command in his absence?”

Poor Ugart shifted a foot in embarrassment. “No, sir. He placed Captain Jordan in charge.”

The Major-General’s eyes narrowed. “The one who defeated Dhalgrix.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And where is this soul whose victory has caused such a buzz at court? Where is this Captain?”

That was my cue.

Stepping forward I released my hold on the hilt of the sword. It was slung over a shoulder where it rested within a back sheath we’d rustled up. Letting go released its location translation effect and so to the eyes of the Major-General I simply appeared out of thin air in full armor and helm.

Therefore doing so without any energy signature of canceled magic.

“Right here, Major General,” I announced, even giving him a salute. Hey, I was now in the military and stuff too, right? Praztus would be proud.

To the guy’s credit he didn’t jump. Instead he stiffened and held in check a reactionary blast of power whose potential could have incinerated everything where I stood if he hadn’t. Though I’d been ready to try and counter or dodge just in case.

The coach itself did react, as if a great weight had just shifted from the far side to the door.

Fingers reached out, each with a ring affixed to the black lace which stretched up the rest of the slender arm. Its appearance did seem to startle the Major General who spun around far more smartly than my guys had a few moments ago. Instantly he took hold of that hand and thus did the Duchess descend the few steps to the ground wearing a deep red velvet gown accentuated with more of that black lace, complete with hoop skirt and all. Somehow the coachman was ready with a matching umbrella to hold over her head.

Three things struck me upon seeing her.

Firstly was that she was short, maybe four-foot eight even in those ridiculous heels, and her features were rather reminiscent of the fae: high cheekbones, pale skin, braided raven locks, and penetrating violet eyes making a sharp contrast with the flowing scarlet of the dress.

Second was that she was amazingly pregnant. Like ‘holy crud are you going to have your baby this very moment’ pregnant, her extended belly practically doubling her small size.

But thirdly, and more disturbingly, her entire appearance was an illusion which covered the truth.

She wasn’t fae-like at all. Underneath the glamour perched a giant spider, eight red eyes sweeping through the rain like a scythe as half the legs braced against the coach while the others found purchase upon the ground.

That spider though had one shared truth with the illusion. She too was terribly pregnant, distended and enlarged belly ready to lay its sac full of hundreds of demonspawn.

Good grief. What the hell was she doing here. Pun this time totally not intended.

Everyone bowed, myself included. Technically I think I was supposed to have curtsied, but I was wearing battle armor and I definitely wasn’t feeling ‘lady-like’.

The Duchess completed her scan of the camp and our minuscule escort before settling its gaze - all eight ruby orbs worth - upon me.

“Remove the helmet, Captain.” The illusory woman’s voice was soft as silk but it was like a bad anime dub over her actual words which rasped like claws over pebbles and glass. “I would see the face of the legendary reaper who avenged her commander’s demise.”

Doing as bid I lifted the helm and cradled it between arm and chest. Raindrops immediately pelted my cheeks as I was standing into the wind but I didn’t dare wipe them away. That would have left me momentarily blind.

Okay, I may have been somewhat intimidated by our guests and feeling extra cautious.

The fae-who-was-spider examined me for a long count of silence broken only by the slight clinks of armor as demons unused to parade rest adjusted their feet. I met that gaze with my best poker face, aiming for neither defiance nor concern.

Whatever she saw must have passed muster as she announced, “The Captain and I shall share conversation.” She then walked regally while scampering on eight legs towards my tent, the coachman matching pace to keep the umbrella over the illusion.

I opened the flap wider than needed for a small slender woman and she passed within. As I continued to hold it so the Major-General and Horatio could also enter, Major-General Nalphris put a hand in front of Horatio.

“The Duchess requires a private audience.”

Oh great. It was going to be like that.

The fact that Horatio was at first personally relieved before giving me a guilty look of worry wasn’t encouraging.

I stepped inside anyway.

The Duchess had moved to the center of the tent, again examining everything and likely noting every last detail. Veronica, following sharp instincts, was already on the floor with forehead touching the backs of hands pressed against the ground.

Being uncertain if I should tell Veronica to leave or not, the Duchess did it for me. “Your servant is dismissed.” She didn’t even look over as she said it.

Veronica immediately fled. Though she was careful to do so backwards with head bowed the entire time as she slipped past me in her escape.

Considering this was still my tent, I figured I should play hostess. “May I offer the Duchess refreshment?” I moved further into the space, placing the helm atop one of the chests next to the small table with goblets and a decanter of mild not-berry wine plus Maddalena’s alarm-stone ready to wake my ass up should her wards fail or in this case if anything rude should happen outside.

Every last bit of security helped, right?

A hand / spider leg brushed the blanket atop my bed before her many legs hauled her bulk onto the straw mattress. Thin trails of wispy webbing stuck to the poor comforter as her overly-large rear slid across it. The image of the fae lady however simply seemed to float backwards to settle in its center.

Ugh. How hard was it going to be to wash out the demonic spider-web butt residue? Dangit, I liked that blanket.

She ignored my question regarding a beverage and announced, “My son is dead.” She said this without emotion but the statement still slammed every nerve with constrained fury.

So much for pleasantries. “My condolences on your loss.”

The Duchess gave a disparaging glare. Apparently my sympathy was utterly irrelevant. “Despite my husband’s lack of concern, I have ordered the death be investigated.”

I swallowed. When she said ‘investigated’ my mind instantly imagined torture chambers and sharp pointy implements being visited upon whomever she wanted ‘questioned’. “I’m sure Captain Tuthos was as forthcoming as possible.”

“He was. Eventually.”

That did not sound good. At all. “How may I be of assistance, Your Grace?”

“They believe my son a traitor,” she snarled, even the fake pleasant features twisting into something decidedly less. “If I was not already pregnant with this upcoming parasitic brood that gluttonous fool would have had me killed. Only this has kept me alive on the chance that at least one of them won’t flee howling into the ground but instead shall latch to a soul and become potentially useful.”

Gluttonous fool? Oh heck, she meant the Duke. “Your son wasn’t a traitor, Your Grace.”

“So said Tuthos at the end, despite the official reports.”

I paled. Despite what I’d told him Tuthos had chickened out and kept quiet about Azazel, an omission which had cost him. Maybe even his life.

“Now,” she said, hands and spiderlegs gripping the ruined comforter, “you will tell me what you know. You will explain how my son would dare be stupid enough to betray his mother who owned his name. You will enthrall me with the tale of how a newly arrived soul crushed a demon warrior of particular skill. And you will also detail why you stand there pulsing with a power beyond the reach of any normal soul, one which wraps and hides your inner core.”

Left unsaid was that if I didn’t, I’d have a really bad day. A torturous one, you could say.

No pressure.

It was tempting to just grab the sword hilt over my shoulder and trigger the Grigori’s enchantment, hopefully before she’d turn me into a smear from here to the next Duchy. Unfortunately I didn’t like the odds. With that kind of power she might have been perceptive enough to see through it like I had.

I just didn’t know.

“Your Grace, my story is complicated,” I said slowly. “Much has happened in the world of the living; I was caught in those tempestuous winds before falling to here.” I paused, gathering my thoughts. She’d never believe a normal soul could contain the purple violence I held within. While I hadn’t tried to check possible futures due to her potentially noticing the ability, instinct was screaming that this demon probably perceived far too much to fall for any bullshit. I was cornered like a rat in a maze with no exit.

A cheesecake-worthy reply here was going to get my ass torn apart. Dammit, dammit, and also dammit.

“Allow me to start with the last question.” I waved a hand at myself. “My soul is of the Nephelim, for I am a daughter of one of the Bene-Elohim.”

The spider-lady rose up, giving me complete - and unnerving - attention. “Continue.”

I did so. I told her my spirit had been involved in the ancient battle against Azazel before he’d been locked under the mountain. I told her that several Seals had broken, and that Azazel had struck at me and mine in vengeance before he himself was cast down to Hell. I explained how Azazel worked, how he conquered others’ will - including angels - much as demons do, using them as pawns in his designs. I added that due to the chaos of recent events on Earth and all the various factions fighting each other I had ended up on the receiving end of a necromantic bomb thus ending my tenure on Earth.

Then I told her that Azazel was the one who had used her son to betray my comrades.

“And you know this how?” Her question was said without emotion.

She was still weighing judgment.

I plowed ahead. “I once saw someone - a human guard - be possessed by the Grigori. Xargglxesh had the same thin energetic connection leading off into the ether. I warned Tuthos to be careful, that Azazel could use that to kill him whenever desired. As had been done to the guard despite the best wards our mystics had available.”

“Tuthos and his sorcerer both swore they saw no such magic.”

“They couldn’t see it, Your Grace. Just like no one else seems capable of perceiving the enchantment within the sword upon my back.”

“Show me.”

Carefully, oh so carefully, I pulled the blade free and held it out, letting her examine both sides. “I took this from an assassin earlier today, the one who killed your Count. It can make the wielder for all practical purposes invisible and immune from counter-attack. It wasn’t a fight so much as a one-sided slaughter when it was used to take out the Count and all his guards.”

She regarded it with suspicion. To my surprise she said, “I see no workings. Demonstrate its power.”

I hesitated. She couldn’t see the working after all. If I were to trigger it she’d have no defense if I’d wanted to strike. “I already have, outside when you arrived.”

Misinterpreting my reluctance, her bulk leaned forward menacingly. “Use it now. Do so or all in this camp shall be consigned to the battle-pits of Dis. There they can prove their warrior’s mettle until only one among them remains.”

Wrong thing to say.

Gripping the hilt my intent tripped the waiting programming and to her I vanished instantly without a single pulse of power.

She reared back, having expected to track me by energy signature much like I would have. Except as far as this realm was concerned my pattern was now a couple thousand kilometers above hanging out in the clouds. The freezing wind was even blasting against my face.

What she felt however was the cold edge of steel not against her illusion’s neck but against the folds at the throat of her true spider self.

It would have been all too easy to plunge the blade past the skin, sending Camael’s crimson rage within to free the hundreds of lost souls trapped forever beneath her hide. She couldn’t penetrate the Grigori’s spell, she was as helpless as all the terrified victims in the town had been.

I wanted to do it. God, I wanted to.

But could I have protected everyone else from the Duke’s vengeance if I had? The only way would be to immediately march on the Duke’s palace and slaughter him and his entire family as well. That though could very well hand to Azazel everything he had hoped to accomplish with this whole attack on the duchy. Alternatively I’d have to kill every demon and silence every soul within our camp, lest they reveal that she and I had gone into the tent and only I had emerged.

That so wasn’t going to happen.

From the side of the bed - and outside the reach of her hairy spiderlegs - I reappeared, ready to immediately re-trigger the sword if need be.

The pregnant demon swiveled faster than something of her bulk had any right to, yet did not attack. Instead many eyes regarded me with a fresh appraisal. Those rubies burned with an acknowledgment that the balance of power within the tent had changed.

“Well, well, well,” she said, those many eyes gleaming with ancient and terrible cunning. “Fascinating. It appears we share a powerful enemy, Captain. One who should pay for their audacities.”

“On that we agree.”

“Tuthos’ story seemed too outlandish to be true, yet even so it was my duty to relay it to the true rulers of this realm. The disgraced Captain claimed you believed the fallen overlords would act.”

Hope swelled. If she’d gotten them a message, hopefully they’d deal with the entire mess. Maybe I could leave it all in the hands of the fallen and take Erglyk’s money as well as those souls I’d gathered somewhere else entirely.

Somewhere safe.

Her next words crushed that dream like a military boot stomping an orchid. “Such is not to be. Prince Abagor of the Emerald Court is not currently in residence at his palace of ice upon the Mount’s peak. The Sarim of Hell have called a Grand Conclave at Dis, the first such convocation so issued since the Morningstar and Beliel abandoned us all. Petitions to the Emerald Court shall pend unread until his return. The petty disagreements between minor demons of this provincial realm are of no import.”

My gut dropped deep below ground as the implications sank in. “We’re on our own then. And Azazel likely knows it. Heck, he’s probably counting on it.”

“Can you defeat this angel?”

The blunt question caught me off guard. Unfortunately the conversation with Hank had bared the uncomfortable truth whether I liked it or not.

“No, madam,” I admitted. “Not directly. Not as I am now.”

If I thought she’d be disappointed I was mistaken, for the illusionary fae woman smiled. It wasn’t a friendly smile, rather it was filled only with harsh approval. “It is good to know one’s limitations. So then, what would you suggest be done?” The spider-fae’s tone had shifted, sounding more like a high-school teacher nudging a wayward and under-performing student towards an obvious solution.

“Honestly? I still don’t know what Azazel is after here, not really. But I do know that he prefers to work through patsies. Take those out and he’s likely to withdraw and regroup, maybe even aim his evil somewhere else entirely.”

“Patsies. Like Duke Juxtyle. And my son.”

I winced. “Yes.” Also like poor Tsáyidiel and Kokabiel.

“Could this angel have infiltrated my Court?”

“It is entirely possible.”

“And you can see who has or hasn’t been compromised?”

“If I look closely, madam.” I’d already checked her out while invisible and the spider-demon was clean.

She studied me. “Tuthos stated that the Lilim were also unable to see this. They too are of angelic descent. Why then are you capable when they are not?”

My hand tightened its grip on the sword as I stared at the floor. I hadn’t wanted to reveal more. I really hadn’t. But the fallen weren’t going to act. If I cut and run, if I threw hands over ears and pretended it wasn’t my problem, Azazel would win. Whatever he was up to, he was going to succeed. And I knew painfully well where his successes led: to needing an army of the most powerful beings ever to come to Earth just to stop him before he could turn everything into a place worse than Hell.

Sure he must have grown weak over all those years if Camael alone had been able to punt him to here, but still. A tornado was as much a threat to a trailer park as a Category Five hurricane. If I was going to really act against him, I needed help.

I needed allies.

And the duchess needed a reason to believe I was capable of being such to her, far beyond proving I could kick the ass of some minor demon mercenary or make use of a Grigori’s gift to an assassin.

Whether I willed or no, fate had kept placing me exactly where it wanted. The Duchess being here was no less a coincidence than Twitch having been the one to find me on that empty shore. I hated it, I wanted to fight against it and shout at the sky how badly I didn’t want to lose any more loved ones to its cruel machinations. But I was its rat and the only exit I could see that didn’t end up even worse was the one it had shoved in front of me. Fate knew I couldn’t sit idle and simply let Azazel win. I just couldn’t.

It was time to put the cards on the table.

“Because, Your Grace,” I said more quietly as I was about to cross a line which could never be undone. “My spirit was sired not by a Grigori but an Archangel. I was known in that life as Aradia, daughter to the goddess Diana and Lucifer, the First of Heaven and the Morningstar.” Transferring the sword to my offhand I held up the palm now freed.

The single star blazed golden across the skin.

In her shocked silence you could have heard a pin falling upon the soft comforter.

 

~o~O~o~

 

After that small revelation the Duchess wasted no time in getting the heck out of Dodge, instantly declining all offers of hospitality for the night. One hasty conversation and resulting plan later her coach was away and speeding into the on-going storm.

The Major-General had noted the change in her attitude as she had scurried aboard, doing his best to not appear befuddled by it. It certainly wasn’t what he’d expected out of our one-on-one encounter.

Not hardly.

As Ugart, Horatio, and I watched the coach disappear back into the foggy rain, Hank walked around from the side of the tent. He must’ve been standing out of sight behind it this whole time because the soldier was drenched from head to toe.

It was Horatio who spoke first, forgetting the etiquette of our relative ranks. “What just happened?”

Hank chuckled. “I’d say our Jordan here just scared the skirt off the little lady.”

That earned a stare from me - had he been eavesdropping through the fabric?

He met my gaze with an innocent smile.

Crud. He just might have.

“Why did she come here?” Horatio blurted before remembering to add the requisite, “My lady.”

I placed a reassuring hand on Horatio’s shoulder. “She needed to verify who the true enemy is.”

“That all?” Hank raised a wet eyebrow.

“Yep,” I said. “As a result we’ve been reassigned. Including Major Praztus.”

They all looked to me awaiting further explanation.

I gave it to them. “A force has broken away from Duke Juxtyle’s main army. They’re heading for this side’s Hole entrance. You know, the place where we all popped out a few cycles ago.”

That earned a tilt of the head from Hank. “Odd. The whole portal-thing to elsewhere in them Spires was wiped out. The Hole ain’t anythin’ strategic now. No slipping more attackers to the rear of the Duke’s territory, that sort of thing. Heck, on this side it’s stuck close to the mountain rim away from the main populations so there’s also no real value to the real estate its on. Quite a march for little obvious gain.”

“Yeah,” I agreed. “And weirder still is the Duchess has intelligence that Ithx is leading those troops personally.”

Hank nodded in growing comprehension. “We catch him and maybe we find out what’s really going on, like why the Hole is such a target.”

“Exactly.” I looked at Praztus’ demon and threw him a wicked grin. “Lieutenant Ugart, dispatch a flier to Major Praztus immediately. We’ll be joining him as scheduled but then we are to immediately load up as much food as we can haul. All of us are moving out, your men included. Give the Major this.” I pulled out a magically signed scroll and offered it to the crocodile guy. “Tell him that Colonel Jordan looks forward to discussing the change in plans with him upon arrival.”

Hank whistled at my sudden promotion, whereas Ugart simply took the scroll between clawed fingers. With a sharp salute that almost collided with the long toothy snout, he scurried off to carry out his orders.

Horatio however was staring at me like I’d grown a second head.

“What?” I asked with disingenuous nonchalance.

“She made you a colonel? You. A human soul.” The poor man was having serious difficulties wrapping his head around the concept.

“Sure did,” I said with a shrug. “Deal with it. Get these lunks to bed or have Ugart do it. And send Veronica back to my tent to help me get out of this tin can so I too can sleep. Also I’m gonna need a fresh blanket. Burn the old one. And remember, I want us packed up and moving early. Got it?”

Hank’s eyes twinkled. “Got it, your worshipfulness.”

I groaned. “I am no princess of Alderaan you dork! Just move!” With a laugh I shoved him forward.

Not getting the reference, Horatio decided we’d gone insane and walked off muttering to himself. Hank followed, putting an arm around the other man’s shoulders.

As I turned back to my tent to finally get out of the danged weather I caught sight of Maddalena standing just under the dining area’s canopy. She was clutching one of the runestones to her chest and staring at me with raw and profound adulation.

The stone emitted a soft glow. A quick scan showed a connection to the matching rock she’d left in my tent. The pattern was new spellwork, which meant she must’ve added to it after my initial inspection back when she’d told me about her wards.

She was chanting in Italian to herself and I caught every nuanced meaning:

 

Aradia, Aradia mia!

Tu che siei figlia del più peggiore

Che si trova nell Inferno,

Che dal Paradiso fu discacciata.

 

Aradia, my Aradia!

Thou who art daughter unto him who was

Most evil of all spirits, who of old

Once reigned in hell when driven away from heaven.

 

The witchy spy had set up the stone to surreptitiously record conversations in my tent and had just played back the entire private conversation with the Duchess.

I’d screwed up. And now she’d heard from my own lips that I was the daughter of her Goddess, the very daughter to whom she had prayed for time unending whilst trapped within a demon’s torturous and soul-sucking grip.

In other words I had just confirmed that I was indeed the exact and literal answer to all her prayers, the female Messiah precisely as described within the sacred liturgy of her entire faith.

Fuck.