Chapter 4
Chapter Four
Hack
Out from within.
The simple thought barely registers anymore as I summon Cirrus, my white demon horse, from the depths of my soul.
We are one entity as speed and time blend together into a haze of movement.
His gallop is born of my will, his direction follows the scent of new souls ready to be plucked from wherever they linger.
This has been our way for over two thousand years, ever since my birth village was burned to the ground, the men and women murdered without a passing thought.
That day, I vowed for revenge, willing to sell my soul to any higher power.
It turns out, Samhain, the ruler of all demon-kind and the elected Dei, heard my call.
I suppose, in the end, I did make a deal, but it wasn’t with the Devil as I assumed, it had been made with the ruler of Heyl, our demon land.
“Where, exactly, are we going?” Pierce and his midnight-black horse, Skia, are running parallel to me, our speed so great it warps the air around us.
“Remote village in Alberta.” I nod straight ahead and add, “Russell Beach.”
Pierce falls back a few paces, leaving me alone behind Slay, who always leads us to the dead.
Of the four of us, he’s the one most anthros—humans, in supernatural speak—fear, the one who brings about their greatest nightmares.
Some wish for him to come, others pray for him to stay away.
In the end, he’s not the cause of death, though Death is his more common name.
He, like the rest of us, is just the messenger. The transporter. The Soulseeker.
At first, we held the sole responsibility of seeking and accompanying souls to the Great Library.
Throughout the centuries, we began training demons recruited by the SOS—Society of Soulkeepers, headed by the thirteen Dei—later assigning the new trainees to the soul collecting roles.
We now oversee who we call our marshals and lackeys with the new system that has evolved over the centuries, only needing to step in from time to time.
This has given us more free time, allowing us to pursue different careers among the anthros.
These jobs are how we’ve amassed our fortunes and are able to have more than comfortable lives.
Each of the Dei is the ruler of their kyn, they are a variation of kings, queens, or elected officials. Samhain and Atlantis—the Dei of Celestials—are privileged to have four liege, the others have a mixture of two to three, with the exception of the firebourne Dei who only has one dragon liege.
Marshalls and lackeys are another story, as they are plentiful.
The Thirteen issue their liege with the responsibility of keeping their kyn in check, doling out necessary punishments and praise where it’s due.
Not that it’s ever due with our demon kyn.
I expect the angels and faeries are all about the positive reinforcements.
We are all cogs of the intricate machine that is the SOS, who, in turn, are ruled over by the Moirai. The fates.
Thirteen Dei.
Thirteen territories to collect souls from across the worlds.
Once the souls are collected and taken to the Library, they are judged by the Moirai via the Soulkeepers. Judgement is then passed and they’re either sent back out to live again in another place and time, or sent to their final resting place to live in peace or peril.
The blur that surrounds us becomes clear as we slow our pace and Slash trots up beside me on his russet horse, Elio, cocking his head to the side as we search out the soul we are here to collect.
We don’t always work together as a team, but today we were bored and decided to take a road trip, of sorts, with Slay.
Reaching our destination, we ride side by side down the main road of the village. It’s the early morning hour and although some of the anthros are stirring awake, motivating themselves for the hard day to come, most are still asleep.
Slay pulls back on the reins and his pale horse, Xanthos, comes to a complete stop, facing the wooden door of the building.
“I’ll go. Stay here.”
I can’t help the smirk that pops into place knowing damn well that Slash, behind me, is about to open his smart mouth.
“Not the boss of me, Slay.” So predictable.
“He is, though,” Pierce volleys back, as he always does. The voice of reason. The equilibrium to our band of brothers.
We are four.
The four most revered and feared throughout history.
Anthros have written literal books about us, demonized us—one of the rare truths—and sometimes even fetishized us.
What they tend to forget, or maybe never knew, is that before we roamed the Earth saving souls from eternal nothingness, we too were mortal men, living mortal lives, and dying in the most common of mortal ways back in our time.
Although that particular past is far behind us, the memories and the trauma are omnipresent.
We didn’t ask to be reborn as Demon Liege, but we are grateful for it nonetheless.
“Fuck that, we’re all Liege, he’s just the dark and broody one. He’s the bad boy good girls seek out.” I throw my head back and laugh at Slash’s outrage.
When we’re roaming and seeking out the souls, we travel in our demon forms, unseen to anthros eyes.
I’m just glad our heads don't weigh anything more than they do in our human forms. The evil looking pumpkin, the smiling demon skull, the anthros skull, and for Slay, the scary motherfucker with a tied up mouth and a pilgrim’s hat.
I remember when he first decided to wear that thing.
He was collecting the soul of a man who’d just arrived to what they called the New World and died of malnutrition.
When Slay saw the hat, he thought it would suit his look.
He’s had it now for the better part of three hundred years so who am I to judge?
“Quit crying, Slash. He’s Death, it’s a tough title to carry.” I get a laugh out of Slash but only an exasperated shake from Pierce’s skull-head.
“Don’t enable him.” If it weren’t for these moments of true brotherhood, our existence would be far too somber to enjoy.
“Yeah, like he needs anyone to start shit. I’m just saying, it’s not easy being the embodiment of death.”
“Yeah, because Famine is so much fun. At least you get Conquest and Slash has War, which these anthros revere far too much.” It doesn’t matter how loud or soft we speak, in demon form, we can always hear each other.
It’s a gift from the Moirai, the Fates, in mortal terms, so that we may never lose our way.
“That’s because half of them don’t fucking know what war is. If they did, they’d fear me more than Death.” Slash grunts like he’s just put this discussion to rest.
Slay walks out from the home, a bright soul in his grasp. As long as he keeps hold of it, the soul will stay in this form until we reach The Shade and hand him off to the Soulkeepers in the Great Library. That’s when our job is done.
“Let’s head back.” I chuckle when Slay gives his order, a tiny, almost imperceptible smirk on his lips, and I turn to look over my shoulder at Slash, who has his arms out on either side of him like he’s expecting us to back him up. I shake my head.
War…so fucking typical.
We ride in silence as our horses defy the speed of time and space until we reach a portal on one of the ley lines that allows passage into The Shade—which is what some religions would call a purgatory of sorts.
We go through the portal and, seconds later, come out the other side as one. Slay is the only one still in demon form as we land in The Shade because he’s taking the soul to the Great Library. We follow, passing through the heavy wooden door that connects the anthros world to ours.
As liege, we use the portal that gives us direct access to the library, and next to it is the central portal hub for kyn to use when travelling to and from Kohrye, Ryetoh—what humans have dubbed as Heaven and Hell—as well as Earth.
“Liege Slay, welcome.”
Slay nods to the Soulkeeper, following him with the confined soul.
The keeper’s face is barely discernible beneath the dark-brown linen hood attached to his robe, which falls flawlessly to his ankles, cinched only at the waist by a rope.
Their identities are not hidden, per se, but not broadcast either.
“Well, this was fun but I’m thinking a trip to the market then we head home.
Our real home.” Slash prefers living in the anthros’ world rather than here, in The Shade, and I have to agree.
Although we are more ourselves among the supernatural than on Earth, where we are bound by law to hide our identities, there’s something soothing about the light of day and the canopy of night.
“Why’s that? You have a date?” Pierce chuckles at my jab.
If he could, Slash would fuck all day, every day, and he’s pretty much exhausted his sampling grounds in The Shade.
His reputation for fucking and leaving is common knowledge among the population.
Although that doesn’t deter them from trying again and again.
“Who’s cooking tonight?” Slash and I both look at Pierce, intrigued.
Then, as one, we all turn to Slay as he’s led down the long pathway to where we know the Soulkeepers will inventory the new arrival.
The Moirai have a great sense of humor, giving our fearless leader the gift of cooking paired with the loathing of being social.
“Fuuuuck, he mentioned something about shrimp scampi.” Slash is right, we went to the market together to buy the oregano and basil, then headed to the fish stand.
“It’s not like we need to ask him. He always makes enough for all of us, so we’ll go, eat, clean up after ourselves while he goes to his room, then leave.
Just another Saturday.” Slay will grunt and bitch then moan for good measure, but in the end, he’ll be happy that we ate his carefully prepared food. He’s strange like that.