Chapter 9
We approach the abandoned warehouse—a hulking structure of corroded metal and broken windows at the edge of the industrial district. Finn walks beside me, tense but determined, the spray bottle of his ridiculous holy water-lemon juice concoction clutched in one hand.
“Remember your promise,” I remind him as we reach the rusted side door. “Stay out of the fight.”
“Unless you’re dying,” he amends stubbornly.
I suppress a sigh, then push open the door.
The interior of the warehouse is cavernous and dark, illuminated only by moonlight filtering through broken skylights and the eerie green glow emanating from Valefar, who stands in the center of the open space.
“How touching,” he observes as we enter. “You brought your pet to watch.”
“Witness,” Finn corrects firmly. “I’m here as a witness.”
Valefar’s eyes narrow slightly, reassessing Finn with new interest. “The mortal has spirit. I can see why you find it amusing.”
“Enough talk,” I interrupt, striding forward. “Let’s begin.”
I remove my shirt, allowing my wings full freedom of movement, and step into the makeshift arena—a rough circle defined by fallen support beams. Valefar does the same, his scaled form gleaming in the dim light.
For a moment, we circle each other, assessing, calculating. Then, with no visible signal, we both move.
The clash when we meet sends shockwaves through the warehouse, dust raining from the ceiling as our powers collide. I block his initial strike, countering with a blast of concentrated hellfire that he barely deflects.
What follows is a battle unlike anything Finn has witnessed before—demonic powers manifesting in physical force, energy blasts, reality distortions. We move faster than human eyes can properly track, striking with supernatural strength, each blow powerful enough to shatter concrete.
I land a solid hit to Valefar’s midsection, sending him crashing into a support column. He retaliates with a barrage of green energy bolts that I deflect with my wings, though one grazes my shoulder, leaving a smoking wound.
“You’ve grown soft,” Valefar taunts, circling again. “Too much time playing house with your mortal.”
“And you’ve grown predictable,” I counter, feinting left before striking from above, my claws raking across his chest.
He hisses in pain but manages to grab my arm, using my momentum to throw me across the warehouse. I crash through a stack of abandoned crates before regaining control, wings snapping open to halt my trajectory.
From the corner of my eye, I see Finn watching with horrified fascination, knuckles white around his useless spray bottle. The momentary distraction costs me—Valefar appears directly in front of me, landing a punishing blow to my chest that cracks several ribs.
Pain lances through me, but I use it, channeling the sensation into focused rage. My next attack drives Valefar backward, my wings becoming weapons as I slash at him with their reinforced edges.
“What will you do when he withers and dies?” Valefar gasps through the assault. “A few decades—nothing to us—and your pet will be dust.”
“He is not my pet,” I growl, pressing my advantage. “He is my chosen companion.”
“Semantics,” Valefar sneers, summoning a shield of green energy to block my next strike. “The result is the same. You’ve bound yourself to something temporary.”
His words strike at that same vulnerable fear, and my attack falters just enough for him to counter. He slams me to the ground with enough force to crack the concrete beneath us, his clawed hand closing around my throat.
“I could spare you this pain,” he offers, voice almost gentle despite the crushing pressure on my windpipe. “Return with me. Forget this mortal distraction.”
Through the pain and gathering darkness, I catch sight of Finn edging closer, desperation on his face, clearly about to break his promise to stay out of the fight.
No. This ends now.
With a surge of power I didn’t know I still possessed, I break Valefar’s hold, driving my knee into his abdomen while simultaneously striking at his face with the edge of my wing. The combination sends him stumbling backward, momentarily stunned.
I press the advantage ruthlessly, channeling every ounce of my power into a final, devastating assault. My wings become blurs of motion, my claws finding vulnerable points in his scaled armor, each strike punctuated with the names of those I’m fighting for.
“For my territories.”
Strike.
“For my legions.”
Strike.
“For myself.”
Strike.
“For FINN.”
Final blow.
The last attack lands with such force that it sends Valefar crashing through the warehouse wall, leaving a demon-shaped hole in the corroded metal. He lies amid the rubble outside, green blood seeping from multiple wounds, scales cracked and broken.
I stalk toward him, preparing to deliver the final blow.
“Yield,” I demand, standing over his broken form.
Valefar coughs, green ichor bubbling at his lips. “This… changes nothing,” he gasps. “The mortal… still dies… eventually.”
“Yield,” I repeat, raising my clawed hand threateningly.
“I… yield,” he finally spits, hatred burning in his eyes. “The victory… is yours.”
A binding contract forms between us at his words—ancient demonic magic that enforces the terms of our combat. Valefar is now obligated to honor his defeat, to leave me and mine undisturbed.
I step back, allowing him to struggle to his feet. “My territories and legions remain mine. Finn Hughes remains under my protection for the entirety of his natural life and beyond. You will not touch him or interfere with him in any way.”
“As agreed,” Valefar acknowledges bitterly. “But remember my words, Morax. Mortals are temporary. This victory… is also temporary.”
With a final hateful glare, he tears open a jagged portal and limps through it, disappearing back to Hell to nurse his wounds and his pride.
The moment he’s gone, the adrenaline that sustained me evaporates, and I stagger, suddenly aware of my numerous injuries—broken ribs, lacerated wing, various wounds leaking obsidian blood.
“Morax!” Finn’s voice reaches me as if from a great distance. I feel his hands on me, trying to support my much larger frame as my knees buckle.
“I’m fine,” I try to reassure him, though the words emerge as more of a pained grunt.
“Like hell you are,” he retorts, his veterinary training kicking in as he quickly assesses my injuries. “We need to get you home. Can you walk?”
“Of course I can walk,” I insist, taking one step before nearly collapsing again. “Perhaps… with assistance.”
The journey back to the apartment is a blur of pain and Finn’s constant reassurances. Once there, he helps me to the bedroom, carefully arranging my injured wing before gathering first aid supplies.
“I don’t suppose demon anatomy is covered in vet school,” he mutters, examining the wound on my shoulder with clinical focus.
“Surprisingly similar to your larger predatory mammals,” I manage through gritted teeth. “Though our healing capabilities are significantly enhanced.”
“Good to know,” he says, beginning to clean the wounds with gentle efficiency. “Because you look like you went ten rounds with a wood chipper.”
Despite the pain, I find myself smiling slightly at his characterization. “You should see the other demon.”
“I did,” he reminds me, applying some kind of antibiotic ointment to the worst gashes. “Right before you threw him through a wall.”
We lapse into silence as he works, his hands steady and sure despite the unusual patient. When he reaches my cracked ribs, his touch becomes even gentler, carefully wrapping them with practiced movements.
“This would be easier if you weren’t seven feet tall,” he complains mildly.
“I could shift to a smaller form,” I offer.
“Don’t you dare waste energy on that now,” he scolds. “Just… hold still and let me help you.”
I comply, watching him work with a strange warmth spreading through me that has nothing to do with my injuries.
No one has ever tended my wounds before—in Hell, showing such weakness would be an invitation to further attack.
Yet here is Finn, caring for me with the same gentle determination he shows his animal patients.
When he finishes, he sits beside me on the bed, exhaustion evident in the slump of his shoulders. “That’s the best I can do. Will your… demon healing take care of the rest?”
“Yes,” I assure him, reaching for his hand. “By morning, I’ll be significantly improved.”
He nods, then suddenly his composure cracks, and he’s blinking rapidly, turning away to hide the moisture in his eyes.
“Finn?” I question softly, concerned.
“I thought he was going to kill you,” he admits, voice thick. “When he had you pinned… I was about to do something really stupid with this.” He holds up the spray bottle of holy water-lemon juice, laughing shakily.
“Your ridiculous concoction would have done nothing,” I inform him, though there’s no rebuke in my tone.
“I know. But I couldn’t just stand there and watch him… I couldn’t…”
I pull him carefully against my less injured side, wrapping my uninjured wing around him. “I appreciate the sentiment, even if your plan was tactically unsound.”
He laughs against my chest, the sound suspiciously wet. “That’s me. Tactically unsound but well-intentioned.”
We sit in comfortable silence for a while, his heartbeat gradually slowing to a normal rhythm against my skin.
“He was right about one thing,” Finn eventually says, voice so quiet I almost miss it. “I am temporary. Compared to you, anyway.”
The statement pierces me more painfully than any of Valefar’s physical blows. It’s the fear I’ve been avoiding confronting—the inevitable math of our situation. Finn’s human lifespan measured against my immortal existence.
“Finn,” I begin, not entirely sure what I’m going to say.
“It’s okay,” he interrupts, pulling back to look at me. “I’ve thought about it. A lot, actually. You’ll outlive me by… well, forever. And that sucks, but… I’d rather have whatever time we can have than nothing at all.”
I study his face—this remarkable human who faced down demons for me, who tends my wounds, who accepts my alien nature with such grace. In his features, I see courage and kindness and a depth of feeling I never encountered in all my millennia in Hell.
“There are… possibilities,” I say carefully. “Options that could be explored. Ways to extend a human lifespan or… other arrangements.”
His eyes widen slightly. “Are you talking about making me immortal? Or… a demon?”
“Not precisely,” I hedge, uncomfortable with discussing possibilities I’m not certain of myself. “But there are various states of existence between fully mortal and fully demonic. It’s… complex.”
“Huh.” He absorbs this information with surprising calmness. “That’s… something to think about. For the future.”
“The distant future,” I clarify. “These things require careful consideration.”
He smiles, some of the tension leaving his shoulders. “Of course. Wouldn’t want to rush into eternal damnation or anything.”
“It wouldn’t be damnation,” I correct, somewhat offended. “It would be transformation. Very different concepts.”
His smile widens. “My mistake. Wouldn’t want to rush into eternal transformation.”
I’m about to elaborate further when he yawns widely, the events of the day finally catching up to him.
“Sleep,” I urge, shifting to make room for him beside me. “We can discuss metaphysical transformations another time.”
He settles carefully against me, mindful of my injuries. “Promise you’ll still be here in the morning? Not suddenly deciding to check on your territories in Hell or something?”
“I promise,” I assure him, wrapping my uninjured wing around him like a blanket. “My territories can wait. You cannot.”
He makes a small sound of contentment, nestling closer. “Good. Because I’d have to come after you with my spray bottle, and nobody wants that.”
I chuckle despite my injuries, the motion sending a twinge through my cracked ribs. “Sleep, Finn.”
Within minutes, his breathing evens out, exhaustion claiming him. I remain awake, keeping watch, processing the events of the day and the revelations they’ve brought.
Valefar is defeated, at least temporarily. My position in Hell is secure, though my continued absence will undoubtedly cause complications eventually. But most importantly, Finn is safe—officially under my protection by demonic contract, a status that will be recognized even by my enemies.
As for the question of his mortality… that is a conversation for another day. There are options, though each comes with significant consequences. But the mere fact that I’m considering them—that I’m contemplating binding my existence to his in some permanent way—is unprecedented.
I look down at the sleeping human in my arms, so fragile and yet so remarkably strong in all the ways that truly matter. In saving me from Valefar’s curse, he gave me more than freedom. He gave me perspective. Choice. The possibility of something I never knew I was missing.
I love him, I realize with sudden clarity. The emotion I’ve been circling, unable or unwilling to name, is love.
The recognition should terrify me—a Duke of Hell, capable of love? Preposterous. Dangerous. Revolutionary.
Instead, it feels like the most natural thing in the world, as though my entire existence has been leading to this moment of understanding.
“I love you, Finn Hughes,” I whisper into the darkness, testing the words, finding them perfect.
He shifts slightly in his sleep, mumbling something incoherent before settling again.
I’ll tell him tomorrow, when he’s awake to hear it. For now, I’m content to hold him close, my injuries already beginning to heal, the future—our future—stretching before us with possibilities I never imagined.
Let Valefar plot his revenge. Let the legions of Hell wonder at my absence. Let the universe itself question this unlikely pairing.
None of it matters. I have found something in this small apartment, with this extraordinary ordinary human, that all the power of Hell could never provide.
I have found home.