CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
A low hum rattled the rocky ground beneath Molly’s knees and rose through her with a palpable force she felt in her bones.
Beyond the edge of the pit, a lurid light appeared, pierced by shadowy tentacles emerging from below, seeking.
Her heart galloped and as fear flooded her she forgot her stiff limbs, her cuts and bruises.
She pulled back as far as her chain would allow, her head twisting to the side.
Not far from her, Cole struggled against his own bonds, clutching at the chain as if he thought to yank it loose. Useless.
“What’s happening?” she cried, voice shrill with terror.
Cole’s gaze rolled toward her, white-edged. The chain-leash holding him gleamed and pulsed. His bruises were dark against his white face. He shook his head and muttered, “Devourer.”
Molly’s attention shifted back to the pit, to the rising tentacles.
The hum deepened and turned to a staccato huffing – a low, alien laughter.
Sudden weakness made her limbs shake. Her arms dropped to her sides and she sagged on her numb knees.
The fear remained, but it grew distant. A strange, fatalistic calm settled over her.
She observed her approaching doom dispassionately.
“Our lord comes,” said a sweet, familiar voice full of religious fervor. “At long last.”
Molly roused herself, blinking. The voice had seemed to speak right into her ear, but there was no one near her but Cole to her left and a weeping Katy to her right, and neither of them had spoken.
She peered across the vast pit and saw figures emerging from the dark mouth of the tunnel leading from the crypts, gathering at the edge of the pit.
They wore gossamer robes, pale in the garish glow, that did little to conceal the bodies of the men and women wearing them.
She recognized the squat outline of her most hated teacher and the burly build of a particularly vicious guardian.
At the center of the group, standing a little apart, her robe edged in scarlet lace, was Abigail Hollander.
“Our wait has been a long one,” Abigail said, her voice soft and intense. It filled the cavern, echoing from the rocks. “Generations have prepared the way to our ultimate triumph. Countless of my blood have sacrificed to bring us here. Rejoice, faithful! The Ascension is at hand.”
The robed figures stepped forward to the very edge of the pit, faces aglow with fervor.
“Yours is a necessary sacrifice.” Abigail’s voice slithered in Molly’s ears, and nearby Cole jerked and let out a strangled howl.
Abigail was speaking to them all directly.
“You have fed our great lord, you and many others like you – a greater destiny than any of you deserve.” Her tone turned wicked and cruel.
“The wayward, the broken, the useless. Your blood is cursed in the world above, but here it is blessed. It feeds our master well. In death, you will serve a higher purpose. Take pride in that!”
The robed figures began to move, a solemn procession along the edge of the pit, leaving Abigail alone.
Each of them stopped beside a chained child, and each held a long, curved blade in their hands, the metal glinting in the rippling light.
Molly’s breath quickened. Panic broke through her catatonia.
She huddled on the hard rocks, on her hands and knees, watching a guardian approach her with an ecstatic smile on his lips.
He gazed at her with something close to kindness.
All she could see was the gleaming knife in his hand. She knew what he and his associates intended to do. Drained of life, and then of blood…
Dear Goddess, save me!
A strange, low shriek reverberated throughout the cavern.
The shadows heaved, tentacles lashing wildly.
The guardian looming over her suddenly stiffened, along with all the others, their attention drawn to the tunnel mouth.
As one, they swarmed toward it just as a tall figure emerged, wielding some kind of long-barreled weapon.
There was a deafening blast and one of the guardians dropped to lie writhing on the rocks. The newcomer, dressed in a peacekeeper’s uniform, did something to his weapon with his free hand and fired again, taking out two more guardians with one shot, all in the span of a few seconds.
The remaining guardians ran full tilt against the shooter, blades raised, but he held his ground, plucking small vials from the bandolier across his chest and throwing one after the other at them.
Explosions and smoke rose from the rocks, enveloping his attackers.
They fell, screaming, skin peeling and blackening.
Molly wanted to look away, but she couldn’t move.
It was over as soon as it had begun, leaving only the man and Abigail Hollander alone on the ledge.
The black-haired woman had remained close to the pit, her back to her “great lord.” The man took a step toward her, his gun pointed at the ground, his free hand held high.
A small blue bottle glinted in his grasp.
Molly held her breath. Would the potion ruin Mrs Hollander as it had the others? She prayed to the Goddess it would!
But the man hesitated, his raised hand wavering. He seemed oblivious to the danger, his eyes pinned on the seemingly helpless woman in her long, diaphanous robe.
Molly saw the knife before the man did. He never saw it coming at all.
It had taken more effort than she’d expected to break through the damnable shield, and now her muscles shook as she chased Keen through the ruined catacombs beyond the fallen barrier.
The fact that she was letting Keen lead spoke to her diminished capacity, but the “needle” she’d driven into the dragon’s heart had required a concentration of her formidable power.
Brute strength alone wouldn’t have brought down the shield, only precision and absolute focus.
Her blade, white hot and razor sharp, had carved a line of fire down the invisible barrier.
It had pushed back against it, but she’d held fast even as her palms burned on the hilt and her muscles started to tear, wishing she could have summoned her beast aspect to boost her strength.
Her tall, angular form bent with the effort of forcing her sword downward, slicing inch by inch, until finally the barrier gave way.
Hero stumbled forward, her sword no longer afire. Darkness and silence swallowed the catacombs with shocking abruptness, broken only by the fiery glow of her eyes. Panting, heart thundering, she stood breathless, her sword in her hands.
“The veil is lifted,” she said into the silence.
Keen answered, his voice high with excitement. “They know we’re coming now.”
She grinned, calling up a new wreath of fire to light their way. “Good.”
The confidence she’d felt in that moment faded almost immediately.
A few steps into the new passageway, she knew she was drained down to the dregs, and Keen took point when she had to stop and rest. He was like a hound on a scent, all his energy focused on what awaited them.
If he was afraid of this Devourer, whatever it was, he wasn’t showing it.
As for her, she wasn’t so much afraid as sick with doubt.
She hadn’t expected to face cosmic-level evil on an empty tank.
She stumbled on a pile of scattered bones. Fuck . It took her longer than she cared for to recover and Keen pulled ahead of her. “Wait!” she hissed. They couldn’t charge headlong into this creature’s lair.
He paused for a moment, glancing back at her, eyes reflecting the flames she’d called. “I intend to strike quickly,” he said urgently. “Catch it by surprise.”
He seemed profoundly confident, and maybe with good reason.
After all, they’d made it this far without triggering the protections they’d encountered the first time.
She wasn’t sure what that meant; the Devourer might have started devouring its guardian elemental demons, or the creatures may have fled to the hills.
Keen held his blunderbuss primed and ready in one hand and a glowing potion in the other, his saber sheathed for now.
Perhaps he thought he could take the thing out with one shot?
Still a damned squirrel .
“We don’t–”
But he was gone. Dashing down the final stretch of broken tunnel toward a light at the end, red and threatening. Suddenly, she felt too tired to move. She needed to rest, just for a moment.
The blast of Keen’s blunderbuss echoed down the corridor. She groaned and pushed herself upright. Another blast, then explosions. Damn it, she was going to miss the whole thing! She staggered into a run.
The tunnel opened into a vast cavern. Jagged rock floors edged a deep pit – a pit that, judging by the pulsing heat and foul stench of brimstone, cut straight to the depths of the Underworld. It felt as if she’d opened the Gate and her blood sang, a surge of strength flooding her flagging muscles.
This was no mere summoning. Someone was trying to punch a hole through reality straight to Pandemonium.
It explained how those guardian demons, the sylphs and fire wraiths, had appeared on this plane: they had slipped through the burgeoning cracks – cracks she could now see spearing like jagged lightning all over the walls of the pit.
What awaited behind this final layer, swiftly buckling under an onslaught of life energy that snapped in the air like static electricity, must be the Devourer her father had warned her about – an ancient being banished to Pandemonium by the Goddess Herself, chained at the beginning of Time.
A creature older than demons, yearning for freedom.
For absolute destruction.
Hero quailed, skidding to a halt just beyond the end of the tunnel, overwhelmed by the sheer power of her enemy.
She couldn’t fight this thing, even at full strength!
She nearly turned and dashed back the way she’d come, frozen by unexpected and unfamiliar terror, chagrined at the thought that her partner – her human partner – had charged headlong to the edge of the pit even in the face of dreadful danger.
Only one thing stood in his way: a slim, black-haired woman in a gauzy robe.
Her eyes were turned up to Keen, wide and pleading.
A delicate hand reached out to him, so seemingly innocent, so helpless…
His blunderbuss was lowered, the flaring barrel aimed at the ground, and he held the potion in his other hand as if not quite sure what to do with it. His whole body seemed to lean toward her, drawn inexorably into her orbit.
“You’re here,” Abigail Hollander said to him, red lips parted seductively, cheeks bright. Her soft voice reached Hero’s ears as if she had whispered directly into them. “My hero.”
Abigail stepped closer, and the hand she’d kept hidden in her robes swung at Keen from the left, fast as a striking snake.
Keen jerked as she buried a wicked, jagged blade in his side.
He stumbled forward, nearly falling on her, but she slipped aside and there was nothing between him and the pit to Hell.
Hero leapt forward, but her movements were slow, the air thick around her. Flame and shadow billowed from the pit, along with low, hideous laughter. For a moment, Keen was a dark silhouette against the hellish backdrop, hunched over in pain, teetering, the hilt of a knife protruding from his flank.
And then he tumbled over the edge.