Chapter Twenty-five
Chapter Twenty-one
“So, what are you doing down here, vampire?” asks the Dark One.
“I came to offer you one last chance,” I reply.
“A chance to what?”
“To end this.”
The Dark One chuckles, suckling blood through a clear tube descending down from the ceiling. The tube occasionally pulses with great gobs of the stuff, and the Dark One guzzles greedily and loudly.
His molten eyes drift toward the Devil Killer. For the first time since entering his chamber, I think I detect something almost resembling caution. “You think because you carry that sword, you hold power.”
“Well, I can and will kill you. I’ve done it before, to the devil in my home world. End the Games. Return the warriors to their home worlds, destroy that disgusting tube, and remove yourself from the palace.”
“I am the palace.”
“So you say. Leave behind what you built and go away, and I will spare you. Those are my only terms.”
“I agree or die?”
“Yes.”
“Never!”
“Oh, and release every prisoner.”
“Never!!”
“And lift the teleportation spell.”
“That cannot and will not happen.”
“You will allow every kidnapped warrior to return home. Or you will be reduced to vapor. Have you seen what I have been doing to your demons? Your fate will be the same. This sword is no joke.”
He stares at me as blood dribbles from the corner of his mouth. He shakes his head. Wow, I think he actually considers my offer. Would have been better for him if he did.
I shrug. “Now I will kill you. Truth be told, this planet is better off without you. Hell, the whole universe, and any universe you have access to.”
He bursts into laughter and more blood sprays from his gash-like mouth. The feeding tube slips free from his sharp teeth, spilling precious ounces of the stuff all over. “Now look at what you made me do. Whoever just died up there in the Games, died for nothing!”
“You’re a monster.”
“Says the vampire. You know, you amuse me, Samantha Moon. You stand in my chamber. Surrounded by hundreds, if not thousands, of my demon children. Holding a sword forged by angels who failed.”
“Their sword lives on.”
He smiles. “So it does. For now. A sword can always be separated from its bearer. You have never met these people, these warriors.”
“I’ve met one and that was enough.”
“You owe them nothing, Samantha.”
“That’s not how I think.”
“Unfortunately, I can see that,” he agrees.
Then, suddenly, a horn sounds. It comes from far above us. The Dark One doesn’t react to the alarm. That is, until another horn sounds, longer this time. Azul shifts. So does Pickles.
“What was that?” I ask.
“The start of...” begins Pickles.
“The start of the morning Games.”
Which obviously means more of the red stuff; indeed, a fresh torrent of the stuff flows down the rubber teat, filling it like a bladder. The Dark One sucks on it eagerly. Speaking of vampire.
Briefly satiated, the entity looks up at me. “So,” he says. “Have you finished bargaining?”
“I have.”
“Good. Because now it’s my turn.”
He rises slowly from his throne. The feeding tube slides from his mouth and swings lazily behind him.
It seems to magically seal itself off, thus preserving all that hard fought blood.
Bones crunch and break free as he pushes himself up.
The nearby demons stir, shudder. The Dark One stands to his full, impossible height.
An impossible height. Fifteen feet? Twenty? “First off, I decline your offer.”
“I figured.”
“Though I’d like to offer a counter one.”
“I’m listening.”
“You put down the Devil Killer, kneel before me, and surrender. And I will personally return you to Earth.”
Okay, that last part actually catches me off guard.
“You would return home. No harm, no foul. Baltazar made an error bringing you, a vampire mom, to my Games.”
“You can say that again, mister.”
“He will, of course, be punished.”
“Of course. Is your offer just for me?”
“It is, yes.”
“And everyone else will remain and fight.”
“I didn’t bring them here to dance for me.”
“Then I decline your offer.”
“You choose strangers over your family?”
“I choose innocent people.”
“You think the sword gives you leverage.”
“I know it does.”
“You think because you killed the devil of your world, you understand all devils.”
“Mostly, I understand that devils can be killed.”
The Dark One’s eyes narrow. “The devil of your world wanted death. Your devil was tired. Your devil was bored. Your devil had become a prisoner in his own right. Not me. In fact, you could say I’m fairly committed to the job.”
Pickles is oddly silent. For once, he doesn’t seem amused. His chubby face is pale, his eyes round. Maybe he is finally beginning to understand what his family has been serving all these years.
“Or, you can just quit,” I say. “Give all this up.”
The Dark One chuckles. “Quit deviltry?”
“Sure. Retire. Take up gardening. Open a bakery. Devil’s Delights. Or a coffee shop. Dark One’s Dark Roast would be a hit.”
“I was made for this job. Literally.”
“I doubt you were made to create demons, torture chambers, and a death arena to drink blood.”
“I did not create cruelty, Samantha Moon. But I do explore it. It is expected of me. An enjoyable byproduct, you could say.”
As he speaks, fresh blood pours down the tube, where it gathers, filling like a tank. The smell of it is awful and familiar. Once upon a time, blood had been my jam. That had been years ago, back when I hosted a dark master named Elizabeth. Now, I just need energy.
“You are brave because you hold a sword,” he says.
“Not just a sword, the sword. And some might say I was brave before I found it.”
“Tough words. It’s time to stop the madness.”
“I like madness.”
“I bet you do, asshole.”
“Excuse me?”
“Did I offend you, O Foul One?”
“Tread lightly, vampire.” He sits back down on his throne. More bones crack beneath him. “Remember, I am not like most people. I am a creation. I was not born. I did not grow. I came into existence fully formed, with purpose.”
“You are afraid,” I say.
That lands. I feel it. The Dark One’s eyes burn brighter. “I am not afraid of a vampire.”
“Except I’m not just a vampire anymore. Do you see these dark wings? Angel wings.”
The Dark One rises slowly, his body unfolding from the throne in a mass of blackened muscle, infused with open wounds that drip magma. The demons fall back. They fear him.
“You return here and attack my house, killing my children,” he says, growling. “You wield a weapon you do not understand, forged by beings who long ago abandoned this world. Do not mistake my irritation for fear. You are nothing.”
The chamber suddenly trembles. The Dark One looks up.
Chapter Twenty-two
The demons stir uneasily, and for the first time since I entered his chamber, the Dark One’s attention shifts away from me. I smile. “Something wrong?”
His gaze returns to me, hot and hateful. “There is a disturbance.”
“In the force?”
“In my arena, vampire.”
The chamber shakes again. Dust sifts down. Somewhere beyond the iron doors, back in the Great Hall where I had first entered, shouts erupt. Men. Women. Creatures. Warriors. Lots of them. Still hovering, I turn to look, but the doors had shut behind me.
The Dark One goes very still. Azul looks up at me.
“What is it?” I ask the wizard.
“Something is different,” he says. Then his bulbous eyes widen. “Oooh! One moment.”
“What?”
“The holding cells have all opened.”
“Wait. What?”
“It’s true.”
The Dark One’s voice thunders through his throne room. “Baltazar!”
The roar of thousands of voices. Metal clangs. Stone cracks. Something enormous bellows. Another tremor rocks through this entire underground palace.
Those demons milling before the throne of bones begin turning in every direction. Some look toward the iron doors. Others look to the ceiling. A few look at the Dark One, waiting for orders. Except no such orders come.
The Dark One’s burning eyes snap back to me. “You did this!”
“I don’t even know what’s going on.”
“It’s a rebellion, Samantha,” says Azul. “Many have escaped. I can hear them shouting. They want freedom and revenge.”
I smile. “Well, I had nothing to do with it.”
The Dark One stretches out one massive arm, then points at the closed iron doors. Shadows gather around his fingers.
“Kill them all,” he says to no one in particular, though I suspect all his demons hear him.
But they hesitate. They don’t seem to quite know what to do.
That is, until the massive iron doors into the throne room blow open.
A wave of prisoners and warriors flow into the chamber.
Some are armed with stolen swords. Some carry chains.
Some use only their claws, fists, horns, and teeth.
Behind them come the warriors and gladiators, those destined to fight in the arena: winged creatures, horned monsters, armored beasts.
Things kidnapped and forced to fight, now suddenly free and looking for revenge.
For a heartbeat, the throne room falls eerily still. Then demons and warriors collide. The sound is deafening.
The Dark One looks from the fighting up to me, his expression darkening. The Devil Killer warms in my hand. The thing is veritably begging to be used. A small, sharp warning erupts just inside my ear. I turn my head and spin away as a flaming arrow whizzes past me.
This just got real.
Chapter Twenty-three
The palace erupts.
Roars of violence. Screams of anger and pain. Metal crashing against metal. Stone cracking, walls shattering, the ceiling collapsing. Looks like the Dark One hadn’t built to code.
More horns blare from somewhere above us, below us, and, somehow, from within the walls themselves.
I suspect the games above have been called off.
I also suspect those warriors fighting up there have joined the fray.
Which means that Baltazar has something to do with this incident.
Not just me. Only Baltazar has the power to release the warriors from the arena prison. What in the hell is going on?