Chapter 6
DOWN IN FLAMES
MURMUR STUMBLED, AND HIS KNEES GAVE OUT UNDER him. They hit the ground, and he fell forward onto his hands. The knife he’d been holding clattered away, and the palm he’d cut with it smeared blood across the floor.
Black and purple smoke filled his library with an impenetrable gloom. The sharp scent of magic was still strong in the air, but it was already dissipating.
He fought to keep conscious, focusing on his breath while his head spun violently.
If he passed out, he would lose control over his souls.
They couldn’t do much without his necromancy giving them power, but his territory would be vulnerable.
His wards were still formidable, but the patrolling souls were how he’d gained his fearsome reputation.
None crossed the Necromancer when they risked attack from a formless foe.
Then again, it might be nice to pass out for a while. Enjoy the oblivion, forget your failures.
“It won’t be oblivion,” he muttered to himself. “It never is.” He would just have the dream again and awaken in a cold sweat.
Well, that’s a poor excuse for escapism.
“My point exactly.”
He shook his head and tried to focus. It was hard to care about anything in light of current circumstances.
The spell had failed. Again.
He’d been so sure it would work this time. He’d gotten so far, so close that he’d seen the portal starting to form amid the black haze. The hellfire had burned exactly as it was supposed to. The blood sacrifices had gone perfectly.
But the spell still wasn’t strong enough. Why? He had all the necessary ingredients; he was sure of it now. The witch’s blood was so powerful, he was certain he’d barely scratched the surface of what it could do.
Maybe it’s not the blood’s fault. Maybe you need to be stronger.
“How? What can I do differently? What more can I give?”
He pushed every drop of himself into each casting, to the point where it took him days to recover, and he felt his body becoming colder and more lifeless with every failed attempt.
He’d been certain that Suyin was the missing ingredient.
No, he was still certain. He had studied Gamigin’s research diligently.
He blew out a breath, forcing his eyes to focus. When he was exhausted like this, the souls’ screams rose in volume. Without his will fighting them back, they overtook his mind, pounding at the inside of his skull like a thousand hammers.
Pushing into his palms, he sat back on his heels, tipping his head back to look up at the vaulted ceiling above. The blackened point of the tower’s spire was so covered in cobwebs, it was hard to see the top.
The room started to spin, so he closed his eyes again. His body started to list to one side. He focused on keeping his spine upright.
You need to sleep.
“Shut up.” He hated sleep. Not only because his defenses were down, but because his stupid death vision haunted him without cease. He could never get away from it. He could never truly rest.
He’d been awake for two entire cycles in Hell, which was equivalent to nearly five Earth days, though demons generally needed sleep every twelve hours, as humans did. And now, he’d drained himself attempting his spell, and the brain fog was making it difficult to form coherent thoughts.
Not to mention the screaming.
Always, the endless fucking screaming.
Somehow summoning the will, he climbed to his feet, stumbling over to the table to steady himself. He tried to think. To remember what he had to do.
Need to check boundary wards. He hadn’t left his tower in days, save for his visits to Suyin’s cell. Need to repair sigil from failed attempt. Need to clean mess in library.
Screaming filled his head. He shook it roughly.
Need to gather ingredients for another attempt. Analyze failure and determine cause. Need to …
Screaming.
Need to …
More screaming.
“Shut up,” he growled at the infernal souls. “Shut the fuck up. Shut up!”
For once, they actually listened, and the din dampened to a dull ache at the base of his skull. He lifted his head and blinked, almost surprised to find himself alone.
Need to sleep.
Before he toppled where he stood, he stalked out of his library, leaving the carnage of the failed spell behind. He went down the dark hall to his chambers, slamming the doors behind him as he entered the gloomy room.
As he stripped off his clothes and dropped his weary body into bed, he thought of the witch in his dungeon.
If you want me alive, you’re going to have to feed me.
He scowled. He knew humans needed sustenance to survive. It was partly why he despised them. Despite their short lifespans and multitudinous weaknesses, these were the beings that were the true rulers of creation.
Every rule angels enforced and every scheme demons concocted was for the purpose of influencing these mercurial creatures. Their whims controlled the state of the Earth. If they were evil, the world descended into chaos, and if they were good, the planet thrived.
How such witless lifeforms had secured this integral purpose was a mystery he would never solve.
He was well acquainted with the weaknesses of humans. He just hadn’t expected Suyin to believe she had them. At first, he’d thought she was lying to trick him, but now he wasn’t so sure. She’d seemed genuinely depleted when he’d visited earlier.
Could she actually die from simply believing she was starving to death?
He grimaced. He couldn’t deny that it was a possibility. The power of the mind was formidable, and he knew better than to underestimate it.
Just look at you. You’ve divided your mind into so many parts, you forget that the voice in your head is you.
“Will you shut up, for once?” Murmur mumbled, sinking into the sleep he both craved and despised.
He was burning alive. Agony seared every particle of his being, and the air was filled with his screams. Death was a mercy amid this unbearable torment, and he longed for it with everything left of him.
And then, a cool numbness descended upon his body, and the glaring light faded blissfully away. The link between his consciousness and body snapped, and he let go. He eagerly awaited the dissolution of his essence, its merging back into the energy upholding creation.
That was how death worked for a demon.
Humans had souls. Those souls were what Heaven and Hell fought so hard to claim. When a human died, their soul was sent to either of the two realms. There they would rest or suffer until they were ready to begin a new cycle.
But a demon was a manifestation of the dark forces in creation, and a demon had no soul. This was accepted as fact. No one questioned this truth.
But when the tether to Murmur’s physical body snapped, his consciousness … did not dissolve. He did not end.
Instead, he felt his formless self being drawn by a powerful force he could not resist. He was sucked toward an impenetrable cage. He cried out in despair, and his voice reverberated everywhere and nowhere at once. And it mingled with the others trapped with him. Thousands of others—
And then he woke up.
His body covered in cold sweat, Murmur stared at the vaulted ceiling of his bedchamber.
Just like his library, cobwebs crisscrossed the beams and coated the chandelier.
He’d had this dream a thousand times, but it never failed to inspire the same bone-chilling terror.
And that was because it wasn’t simply a dream, but a vision of the future.
His future.
In the beginning, the vision had come sporadically. But now, it came every time he closed his eyes. He interpreted its increased frequency as an indication that the time for its realization was near.
Time was running out, and if he didn’t find a way to make his spell work, he was going to find himself caught in the very prison he was trying to destroy. There would be no one coming to his rescue.
Speaking of no one coming to your rescue …
Unbidden, his thoughts returned to the witch he’d left crumpled on the cell floor.
No one knew where she was, save for him.
The dungeons of his lair were so vast, Murmur didn’t even use half the space.
That had made it easy for him to find a secluded wing to keep Suyin hidden from his other prisoners and even his own subjects. He trusted no one with his ingredient.
Murmur’s lair had formerly belonged to Paimon, a powerful Queen of Hell and supporter of Lucifer. It was an impenetrable fortress, surrounded by high stone walls and full of hidden passages.
In the end, however, Paimon’s defeat had come from within, at the hands of her prized servant, Mishetsumephtai the Hunter. Mist had been bound to Paimon by an unbreakable magical bond, and he had still found a way to betray and defeat her.
Yet another reason Murmur never trusted anyone with anything. Betrayal could come at any moment.
Paimon’s old favorite spot, the Pit, was where she’d gathered spectators to watch her monstrous goraths consume whatever wretched prisoner she tossed to them. It was now empty.
Murmur did not feed the goraths, and he definitely did not host social events to watch them being fed. He despised social occasions. He despised other people, humans and demons alike. More than anything, he wanted to be left alone.
You’re never alone.
“As alone as I can be,” he amended, for the obnoxious voice in his head was right. He was never fully alone. His mind had splintered over the years. In his head, his souls screamed for mercy, and indecipherable visions played on loops. And he argued with himself, to top it off.
With a sigh, he tried to remember the many things he had to do. Instead he just felt tired. Tired but afraid of sleep.
And his thoughts kept returning to the witch in his dungeon.