Chapter 5 – Ashtaroth
“W ell, not all of them suck.”
Sariel is looking at the Elioud from our vantage point on a hill overlooking the fortress of Abaddon, his eyes nearly manic with glee. All my adoptive son needs to complete the image is the snack humans unimaginatively call popcorn.
“Perhaps I should send you on tasks to the human realm more often if you are so easily amused by mortals.”
“Aw, come on, Father. Even you must find it interesting that there are Elioud in the Underworld.”
“Must I?”
I sweep my gaze over the training mortals. There are a few dozen of them and a handful of Fallen overseeing them. They look like swarming ants.
“Look at that redhead, she totally owned that guy!”
I sniff in disdain. “Is there a dictionary I can use to translate your words, or am I meant to infer the meaning from the tone of your voice?”
My son snorts. “Yeah, it’s called The Urban –”
“It was a rhetorical question,” I interrupt him. I find the Elioud he was referring to, a tall and shapely woman with pale skin. It is as much individuality as I can discern from this distance. “Mortals die easily. You starve them – they die. You cut their heads off – they die. You stab them in the heart – they die. Utterly useless.”
Sariel turns to me and cocks an eyebrow. “I thought we’re not meant to impale them, with swords or otherwise. Speaking of impaling mortals, they’ve been here a while now, how are you keeping Uncle from them?”
I press my lips together at the reminder. “Hmm. I convinced Asmodai entering Abaddon is not worth the backlash from the Council. Once the offspring venture into Hell, however, it will be out of our hands.”
Sariel scoffs and turns his attention back to the field outside Abaddon. “Here’s to hoping he doesn’t leave cum-soaked bodies in his wake. I bet the angels wouldn’t find that amusing.” Suddenly, he straightens and points towards the left side of Purgatory’s training field. “Whoa! Look at the size of that guy! Definitely has a behemoth for a father.”
Thankfully, I concealed us from both sight and hearing, or everyone would have heard his shout. I look at the man he described and have to agree. That kind of stature suggests an ancestor among Hell’s brawlers, the oversized brutes we call behemoths, who feed on violence. Demons predominately share similar physical attributes, but there are a few exceptions. Very small demons are universally known as imps. Those that gain sustenance from sex, with features similar to those of humans, belong to the family of succubi and incubi.
But my gaze quickly returns to the redhead, now using her staff to sweep a smaller blonde off her feet. While they’re both wearing tight leather armor, it is not the blonde’s backside I eye.
Perhaps Sariel senses my hunger, as he smirks suggestively. “So, are you going to wet your sword with any Elioud?”
I frown and turn away from Abaddon. “No. And if any enter my domain, I will know, and I will oust them.”
“Right,” Sariel drawls. “Is playtime over then?”
I unleash my wings, the susurration of feathers answering his question as I launch myself into the dark sky.
There is nothing to see here. And it is time for me to feed.