CHAPTER SEVENTEEN #2
The dog’s tail thumps weakly against the stone.
“When this is over—and that’s a big ‘if’ because I’ll probably die doing something heroically stupid—but if I make it out, I’m done.
Done with humanity, done with their endless capacity for disappointment.
” I secure the splint on the dog’s leg, doing my best to be as gentle as possible.
“From now on, I’m fighting for the ones who can’t fight for themselves.
The ones who actually deserve it.” The dog looks up at me with her big brown eyes, and I swear she understands every word I just said.
Sitting back, on my haunches, I survey my handiwork. The dog looks slightly less like it’s actively dying, which I’m going to count as a win.
“You know what you need? You need a name,” I say suddenly, and the dog’s ears perk up as much as they are able. “I can’t keep calling you ‘dog’ or ‘princess.’ That’s just lazy.”
I study the animal for a moment, trying to think of the best possible name for him. The way it had survived in literal Hell, the way it had looked at me with hope despite every reason not to trust anything ever again. The way it was still fighting.
“Ember,” I decide, letting her hear it for the first time, trying to gauge her expression. “Your name is going to be Ember, because even in Hell, even when everything’s burning, you’re still here, still fighting.”
Ember’s tail thumps harder, and I swear I see her smile.
“Right. Ember it is.” I pull out one of my ration bars and break it into small pieces, holding out my hand. Ember sniffs and takes one piece carefully, like someone who’s learned to make every resource count.
As Ember eats, I check my weapons and try to form something resembling a plan. Pestilence’s fortress would be deeper still, in the absolute bowels of Hell. That’s where she’ll be keeping Kennedy. That’s where I’d have to go.
But first, I needed to make sure my new friend is safe.
I spot what looks like a natural alcove in the back of the structure, partially hidden behind fallen stones. It’s defensible, hard to spot, and far enough from the main pathways that nothing should stumble across it randomly.
“You’re going to stay here,” I tell Ember, carefully moving the dog into the alcove. “I’m going to leave you water and food, but I’m going to come back for you. I promise.”
I set up a small supply cache—water, rations, and some basic medical supplies.
Then I do something I haven’t done in centuries.
I weave a protection ward around the alcove.
It’s old magic, the kind that was beaten into me during my training as an Archangel so many lifetimes ago, I almost forgot I could still do it.
The ward shimmers into place, invisible to most eyes, but strong enough to keep out anything that might wander by.
“That’ll keep you safe until I get back,” I say, scratching gently behind Ember’s ears. “Don’t go anywhere, don’t try to follow me, just rest and heal. Can you do that for me?”
Ember whines softly but settles down, tucking its nose under its tail.
“Good girl.”
I stand and stretch before I go toward the deeper darkness, toward where I can feel Pestilence’s presence like a disease in the air. This is a trap. I knew it was a trap from the beginning, yet here I am. Pestilence wants me for something, and she’s taken Kennedy to make sure I come.
But as I walk away from Ember, I feel something I hadn’t felt in a long time.
Purpose.
Not the hollow, exhausting purpose of saving humanity because it is my duty.
This is different. This is something deeply personal.
This is about saving Kennedy because I love her, even if I was brave enough to tell her.
But it is also about saving Ember because something innocent deserves protection, deserves kindness, deserves to live.
“Cain?” I try my comm one more time, not expecting it to work.
Static.
I’m about three levels deeper into Hell—literally—when I realized I’ve made a tactical error. And that error has horns, teeth, and approximately six too many limbs for my comfort
“Well, fuck,” I mutter, watching the demon unfold itself from the shadows like some kind of nightmarish origami. “That’s new and disturbing.”
My comm crackles again, and suddenly Cain’s voice is loud and clear. “What’s disturbing?”
“Oh, just some horned demon, no offense,” I mock. “With about six too many arms and a real affinity for flexibility.”
“That’s a Torment Shredder.” Cain’s voice crackles with static through my comm. The interference down here is getting worse with every level. “Class Four demon, highly aggressive, excellent at—”
“Shredding things?” I offer, watching the creature’s multiple arms end in what looks like razor-wire claws. “Yeah, I picked up on that from the name.”
“I was going to say ‘ambush tactics,’ but sure, go with the obvious.
The demon tilts its head—heads?—studying me with too many eyes. When it speaks, its voice sounds like metal scraping against bone. “Archangel,” it slurs as it sniffs the air. “I heard you would come.”
“Yeah, I’m getting really tired of everyone knowing my schedule better than I do.” I draw my sword, the blade igniting with holy fire. The light makes the demon hiss and recoil. “Let me guess—Pestilence wants me alive for some dramatic torture session?”
“She wants your heart still beating. Everything else is… negotiable.” The demon’s grin splits its face in ways that defy anatomy. “I have always wanted to see if an Archangel can survive without wings.”
“Funny. I’ve always wanted to see if demons can survive without heads. Let’s compare notes.”
The creature lunges without hesitation.
Thankfully, I’m ready—or at least, I thought I was ready. My body remembers the movements, the combat patterns drilled into me over millennia of warfare. Duck, parry, strike.
Except my body is also about two seconds slower than it used to be when the demon’s claws rake across my ribs, tearing through leather and flesh like tissue paper.
Pain explodes across my side, hot and vicious.
I stumble back, blade coming up in a defensive arc that catches two of its arms but misses the third that slams into my chest.
“I have really got to get back to the gym,” I jest, just before I hit the ground hard enough to crack stone, the impact driving the air from my lungs.
Kennedy. Think of Kennedy.
The demon is on me in an instant, all claws and gnashing teeth and the smell of sulfur and rotting blood. I manage to get my sword up just in time to keep its jaws from closing around my throat, the blade wedged between rows of serrated teeth.
“You are weak,” the demon hisses, its breath hot and rancid against my face. “She was wrong to fear you. You’re nothing.”
“Yeah?” I growl, my free hand scrambling for my dagger. “You try fighting your way through Hell with subpar coffee and no sleep for three days. See how fresh you are.”
My fingers close around the hilt, and I drive the dagger up into the demon’s side, right between two of its lower ribs. Angelic-forged steel meets demonic flesh with a satisfying sizzle.
The creature shrieks and recoils. I use the momentum to roll away, forcing myself to my feet despite the screaming protest from my ribs.
“Okay,” I mutter, spitting blood. “Round two. Let’s try this again.”
“Reaver?” Cain’s voice is tight with concern. “Your vitals just spiked. What’s happening?”
“Oh, you know me. Just making friends. You know how it is, everyone wants a piece of you.”
The demon circles me, favoring the side where I stabbed it.
Good. Pain means vulnerability, and vulnerability means I have a chance.
But my side is bleeding badly, and my wings feel heavy.
Too heavy. The heat down here is oppressive, draining, and designed to sap strength from any Heavenly creature that might venture down.
Pestilence knew exactly what she was doing when she chose this place.
I remind myself again, Kennedy is down here. In this heat. In this hell.
That thought ignites something in my chest, something that burns hotter than the flames around us.
“You know what?” I address my lumbering opponent while adjusting my grip on my sword. “I don’t have time for this. I’ve got somewhere to be.”
The demon laughs, a wet, bubbling, disturbing sound. “You think you have a choice? You think—”
I move. Not with the careful precision of a tactical fighter. Not with the measured strikes of someone conserving energy. With the desperate, furious speed of a man who has everything to lose.
My blade catches the demon across its throat in a slash that sends black ichor spraying across molten stone.
Before it can recover, I’m inside its guard, my dagger finding the soft spot beneath its sternum.
The creature howls and lashes out, its claws catching my shoulder, tearing through muscle, and hitting bone.
I feel something snap—bone or tendon, I can’t tell—but I don’t stop, I can’t stop, because Kennedy is down here, and every second I waste fighting this thing is another second she’s suffering.
Dropping my dagger, I grab the demon’s head with my bare hands, feeling my palms blister against its superheated skin. The creature thrashes, its multiple arms trying to dislodge me, but I hold on.
“I. Don’t. Have. TIME!” I roar, channeling every ounce of power I have left into my hands. Fire erupts from my palms.
The demon’s screams reach a pitch that could shatter glass across three dimensions. Its flesh begins to bubble and melt, the essence that animated it burning away under the pure, searing light of my wrath.
When it finally stops moving, I let go and step back, breathing hard. The demon collapses into ash and sulfur, nothing left but a scorch mark on the stone and the lingering smell of burnt corruption.
I stand there for a moment, swaying slightly, trying to remember how breathing works.
“Reaver?” Cain’s voice is quiet. “You alive? That sounded pretty fucking intense.”
“Yeah.” I touch my side, and my hand comes away slick with blood. “How bad do I look?”
“Your vitals are shit. You’re bleeding from at least three major wounds. Your right shoulder is probably dislocated. And according to my readings, you just burned through about forty percent of your remaining energy in that final attack.”
“So I’ve looked better.”
“I’m saying you need to pull back. Regroup. You can’t save Kennedy if you’re dead.”
I think of Kennedy and the little dog who has no other hope but me. “I can’t save her if I give up either,” I say quietly.
There is a long pause, and I hear Cain sigh. “You really love her, don’t you?”
I don’t answer right away. Love isn’t a word I use often. Love is dangerous and makes you weak. Love makes you do stupid things like dive into Hell with three days of no sleep and a rapidly depleting power supply.
But as I stand here, bleeding and exhausted, in the literal depths of Hell, I realize something. Love doesn’t make you weak, it makes you unstoppable.
“Yeah,” I said finally. “Yeah, I really do.”
“Then let’s go get her.” Cain’s voice is firm and supportive. “But Reaver, try not to fight every demon between here and Pestilence’s fortress. We don’t have time for your side quests.”
“I make no promises.” I sheath my sword and crack my neck. “But I’ll try.” I spread my wings and continued my descent, leaving the demon’s ashes behind. Kennedy is waiting, and Hell itself can’t stop me from reaching her.
As I descend, my comm crackles again, not adjusting as quickly as I am, but that doesn’t stop me from speaking.
“If you can hear me, I found something worth fighting for. Two somethings, actually. One’s a woman I’m too fucked-up to deserve and the other’s a dog who showed me more trust in five minutes than humanity’s shown me in five centuries. ”
More static.
“When I get out of here—if I get out of here—things are going to be different. No more wasting time on beings who don’t want to be saved. From now on, I fight for the ones who deserve it,” I vow.
I click off the comm and keep walking deeper into Hell. The temperature rises with every step, and the screaming grows louder. I can see the outline of Pestilence’s fortress in the distance now—a massive structure of bone and disease, pulsing with sick amber glow.
Kennedy is in there somewhere, and Ember is counting on me to come back.
No pressure.
“Alright, Pesta,” I mutter, tightening my grip on my sword. “Let’s see what you want with me.”
I spread my wings and launch myself toward the fortress, ready for whatever hell Pestilence has planned.
Behind me in a protected alcove is Ember waiting for me to make good on my promise to return. I won’t let either of them down.
Even if it kills me. Especially if it kills me.
Because some things were worth dying for, and maybe, just maybe, I’ll finally find what those things are.