15. The First Game #3
I’m sweating when the bright fire of a hellgate swirls and Silver steps out. His gaze sweeps over those of us still breathing. Then over the emaciated bodies and scorch marks.
Our eyes meet briefly, and reluctant embarrassment washes over me at my reaction to the red velvet.
“We will debrief in The Meet after breakfast,” he says. “If any of you have the stomachs for it.”
“Damn fucking straight I do,” Az says, crossing his chest with his fingers. “For a minute there, even the dead looked appetizing.”
I shoot him a glare, and he holds up his hands, palms facing me.
“Calm down, Angel girl,” a black-eyed male called Bane from our Company says. “He’s obviously joking. The feathers would be a bitch to pull out of his teeth.”
“Shit, Bane. You are sick. You know that?” Az says, then turns back to me, his hands still up as though pleading for mercy. “What I said was a joke, Scarvo. He’s the one who took it too far. I’d never eat a nephilim,” he swears. "I like my meat less bland.”
I scowl again. Lilliana laughs as she does every time the mountain of a male opens his mouth.
“Quick,” she gasps. “Someone hide the knives, the Halo-rat left her sense of humor back in Virtus and is getting stabby.”
Ignoring her completely, Az’s attention remains on me. “Okay, okay, I’m sorry. I’ll stop. Just trying to lighten the mood, that’s all. That game fucking sucked and I’m delirious from hunger.”
“People died!”
Can they not see the bodies and burn marks?
The insufferable demoness shrugs. “Less competition.”
“Oh, give it a rest, Lilliana,” Khali snaps. “If it wasn’t for her, you’d be one of them.”
Something flashes across the hard lines of Silver’s face, but Az nudges my arm before I can think more of it. The warmth in his eyes will never not surprise me.
“Anyone ever told you how hot you are when you get stabby my sweet innocent Angel girl?”
“That’s enough!” Silver barks.
Az winks. “Just saying,” he whispers, then the cavern falls silent.
What now? Have we all completed the challenge the way it was intended? Or did we find a loophole?
My suspicion is firmly on the latter.
These are games designed by demons. This is Hell. Of course they’d encourage indulgence, not restraint.
I glance around the dining hall and cave one last time as the cadet’s scramble for the hellgate. The only bodies remaining belong to those who had starved.
Jack. Micah. Gabe.
Did those who burned survive? Had they won? Been transported back to the Iron Isle on Hell's flames and been rewarded by not letting themselves suffer until dawn?
Silver’s face is unreadable, giving nothing away, but as I brush past him at the hellgate, he grabs my arm and pulls me back.
“Survival isn’t selfish, Little Nephilim. Starving to prove you’re holy only shows your obedience.”
Frowning up at him, I pull my arm free of his grip. “The others? Those who fed, they survived?”
He shakes his head. “The only meal that saves you is the one you share.”
My eyebrows knit together as my mother’s voice sounds in my head again, only it’s different now. This time it’s something she said, no sang, to me almost every night. A lullaby if you will.
I mutter the lyrics to gluttony’s warning, disturbed by how relevant they feel to what just happened.
“Some swallow all they see. The rest starve relentlessly. Taste enough but never feast—”
“Balance is the trick to peace,” he finishes for me, and my eyes fly wide as I crane my neck up at him.
He looks as surprised as I am.
How?
My mother had learned the song from an old lady at the hostel we used to stay at. Apparently, she would always sing it to her grandchild, a girl who, like me, struggled with the virtuous path always being the obvious route.
That was, before she grew too old for silly lullabies, of course, moved out of Tidecrest for a less miserable life no doubt, and never looked back.
I always assumed she’d made it up. That my mother and I were the only others who knew it.
The angels know how much the words had helped me ignore the darkness inside, taught me to become more like someone born in Virtus.
“How do you know that song?” I demand, but he shrugs.
Fine. Whatever. Then I think of the words in the other verses… every line imprinted on my brain, absorbed like muscle memory.
“Why would you of all people teach its lyrics?"
He’s a demon. He’s nothing like my mother. What game is he playing, teaching lessons like that which my mother taught me with her soft words to keep the darkness at bay. To make me a better person.
He shrugs. “It’s not my song, and these aren’t my lessons. Luckily you have six more games to figure it out. For now, go eat something. The hunger you feel now is all real and you will need the energy for what I have planned for you today.”
My stomach purrs at his words and the corners of his mouth lift as he holds out an arm, gesturing toward the gate’s entrance.
“I’m not hung—”
“Enough. Scarvo. You’ve earned a good meal. Besides, it sounds like the others have you to thank for making it out alive. We usually have a lot more casualties.”