23. Black Death #2
I draw from everything around me—the dying threads of nature, buried metals, mineral deposits within the earth. Stone answers. Iron yields. Even the bedrock bends beneath the force of my will.
Stone folds in on itself. The heat slowly dissipates. The light inside the crevice dims as the hellfire is smothered out. A natural barrier of scorched stone covers and seals the gate.
I land.
For a moment, I do nothing except breathe and release nature back to itself.
Then I kneel and place my hand on the stone, binding it to this place with enough power that it’ll take more than another earthquake to reopen.
When it’s finished, I stand and, with a steady beat of my wings, head back toward the surface. As I rise, I pull the earth together behind me, forcing the fractured walls inward until the hole is filled and fused shut.
Back on solid ground, I retrieve my cloak and let my immortality recede. The weight of the world settles back into place as I call Mardoch to me and prepare to hunt down the demons who escaped on foot—along with any other lesser underworlders.
Once the demon reached civilization, its path became easy to follow.
Burned timbers. Shattered doors. A blood trail miles wide and the remains of lives ended too quickly.
For the past hour, tracking the destruction has become unnecessary. The screams—and the scent of smoke, sulfur, and death—have guided our course.
It hunts for pleasure. For sport.
I hunt to put an end to the suffering his victims endure.
Night has fallen. The sky above stretches dark and vast. The old gods—the watchers, now bound to the constellations—peer down through drifting clouds. The few with power enough to claim their place among the stars.
With the ash driven from this part of the world, their distant resting places are visible once more. And still, they remain as ever—silent. Indifferent.
Mardoch gallops even onward, but the tension in his body grows, and his wariness to proceed tells me we are close. That whatever we face is no soulless thing.
The stench thickens as we near a small, ramshackle town. It clings to the air, heavy enough to taste.
The cries—high, feminine—never cease. Many have reached me through the night, a barrage of terror and pain. Pleas torn from raw throats, offered to anyone listening, begging for mercy as if they knew I was coming.
The creature’s malevolence presses against my power—not recklessly, but with intent. It tests. Measures. Probes the edges of what I am, searching for weakness—something to exploit.
It sensed me some time ago and has been anticipating my arrival.
That becomes more evident when I reach the cluster of homes and find it waiting.
It steps from the shadows with two women held fast in its grasp.
One, it casts forward harshly, her body striking the ground between us with three sharp, distinct cracks.
Bones give way under the force. She goes limp instantly—broken, lifeless—her soul tearing free in the same moment before her last breath has passed her lips.
What remains lies twisted where it fell. Naked skin marred with bruises, torn skin, and darkened handprints that mar flesh.
The act is deliberate. A welcome gift and a clear sign of what he’s capable of.
“It’s a pity your god made them so easy to break. Don’t you agree? Toys are much more fun to play with when they're not so fragile.”
I mask my revulsion as I slip from the saddle and, with a few quiet words, send Mardoch from this place.
I disguise my visage, draw back my hood, and let my cloak fall away. “What it looks like is you’ve come to a plane you don’t belong in and need assistance finding your way back to Hell.”
The creature laughs as he stands bare before me. He’s massive—easily a head taller than I am. Power is built into him, thick muscle corded beneath dark, unyielding skin. His flaccid length hangs between those corded thighs, matted with drying blood.
Scores of shallow marks line his torso—failed attempts from those who tried to fight back. Their nails weren’t nearly sharp enough to pierce the thickness of his hide.
An Underworld Lord, by the looks of him. A species I know well… though not this one in particular.
His head is crowned with horns—long, curved ones and shorter, jagged protrusions—jutting from a ridged, armored skull, the bone running down the bridge of his nose.
His skin does not resemble flesh. It’s more a mix between charred stone and aged leather, scarred and textured as if shaped by endless torment.
His eyes burn white in the darkness.
Not reflecting light—producing it.
Born and bred for a single purpose: to torment, to guard, to break what passes through Hell’s keeping.
A beast wearing the shape of a man.
One who smiles as if delighted by my arrival.
“Help! Please!” the woman sobs.
Striding forward, he drags her across the ground, fist tangled in her hair.
When he stops, he forces her down onto her knees before him.
She’s facing me with soot, dirt, and blood cake on her skin.
Her face is a patchwork of bruises. One side of her face is a bloody mess, swelling where there’s fractured bone.
Her breathing is labored—each inhale takes effort. Her heartbeat, though thunderous, weakens with every passing second.
“The Harbinger is not here to save you,” he growls, his voice deep enough that it travels across the ruined ground and vibrates in my chest.
He tilts his horned head, studying me. “Are you?”
I reach behind me, unsheathing my blades as I step forward.
He chuckles—a low, rolling sound—and his lips peel back, revealing large, blunt teeth and a set of fangs. He plants a massive foot between the female's shoulder blades and kicks her face-first into the dirt. There’s a sharp snap as bone gives way—and her cry collapses into muffled sobs.
“Got a name, demon?”
He clicks his tongue, rolling his shoulders as thick muscle shifts beneath his skin. “Names are a tricky thing, aren’t they?” His arms spread wide in mock invitation. “If you want mine, you’ll have to pry it out of me.”
I move as I tell him, “I plan to.”
The moment I close the distance, the woman, seeing the battle headed her way, scrambles on her elbows and knees, desperate to get clear of us.
My first strike lands true. My right blade slices into his side, biting deep. Black blood seeps immediately, spraying out and coating me in the process. He catches my other blade in an iron grip, then jerks me forward and drives his forehead into my face.
Pain explodes as skin splits. Nose broken, my own blood spills into my mouth.
I spit it out and circle him, retreat just long enough to wipe it away, and find another opening.
When I surge back in, it’s with a speed he’s not prepared for, swords arcing and slashing across his chest and thigh before dancing out of his reach.
One breath, then I’m back to do the same to his back. Blades meet and part flesh.
He stumbles, his weight shifting unevenly.
Spinning, he roars and grabs my cloak, yanking me closer. His jaws snap inches from my face.
I surge upward, ripping free, and reel back long enough to then drive both blades into his torso in a single, precise strike. The force reverberates through me.
I draw them back an inch—just enough to grant me leverage—then hammer them forward again until the hilts meet flesh. I twist, controlled and unyielding, and feel the give, hear the wet, sickening squelch as his rearrange.
His lips peel back, teeth bared, eyes flaring as something in him snaps. A roar tears free—raw and violent—as his hand clamps onto me, squeezing until ribs break. The world lurches. I’m ripped from my footing and thrown hard, air driven from my lungs as I slam into the ground.
Hell and damnation, that hurt.
I roll with the impact and come up on my feet slowly, dusting myself off as I do.
He glances down at his healed chest, then back at me. “That all you’ve got? Is this the best Heaven has to offer?”
He slowly withdraws the swords and tosses them aside into the dirt.
It only takes mere seconds for his wounds to heal. The moment they seal shut, he casts his head to the side as his grin builds, the whites of his eyes burning brighter. His laugh isn’t amusement—it’s a challenge. He plants his feet, muscles bunching, and charges.
We collide like boulders. Air is driven from my lungs, but he doesn’t stop. He slams into me again and again, shoulder hammering my chest, forcing me back.
My heel catches on a rock. I lose my balance and go down—but I keep hold of him, dragging him with me.