Dire Destiny of Ours (17 page)

I took the gem from my armor and set it on the table. Touching the seams of the Templar armor, I adjusted it back to bikini bottom size. My thoughtful hosts had left a stack of clothes on the table, but the armor was comfortable enough to use as pajamas.

The cloud bed called my name, but first I needed to take care of some personal business. I went into the other two rooms and found one that seemed to be the bathroom. A thick cloud of ultraviolet mist hovered in front of a mirror. I put a hand into it. It swirled, but didn't drift beyond its invisible confines. My teeth felt gross, and I really had to pee. I put my hands into the mist and wondering if it was water or something else. I suddenly felt cool liquid in my hands. Apparently, I had to imagine what I wanted. I washed my face. When the water fell back into the mist, it vanished.

"How am I supposed to brush my teeth?" I imagined a toothbrush, but nothing appeared even when I reached into the mist. Apparently, such a mundane object wasn't something enchanted into the spells here. After several more attempts to procure everything from dental floss to toothpaste, I decided to put my request in more general terms.

Clean my teeth.

I jet of liquid sprayed against my lips. I opened my mouth in surprise. The liquid fizzled on my tongue. Fighting back an instinct to flee, I let the liquid spray until my mouth was full. I closed my lips and almost giggled at the funky carbonated feeling going on in my mouth. Within seconds, my teeth felt polished and clean. I spat the cleanser into the mist where it vanished.

By now, I really had to pee. Even worse, it felt like I might have to do more and I didn't see a toilet anywhere. I regretted not having asked Flava how to take a poop in this place. The mist had absorbed the water and mouth cleanser. Surely, it would take in most other liquids as well, but what about solids? Did angels drop deuces? Did it smell like roses?

I suddenly realized I had no time to spare.

When I emerged from the bathroom ten minutes later, I had a whole new appreciation for angelic bathrooms. Not only had the mist taken care of all my scatological needs, but it had cleaned me right after. Even my Nightingale armor was clean. I smelled even better than roses.

The minute this war is over, I'm gonna replace the toilets and showers in the mansion with magic angel mist.

It had been only twenty minutes since Flava left, but my tired body felt like it had been hours. I headed for the cloud bed and let myself sink into it. It felt absolutely amazing, as if nothing were holding me up.

Just as my eyelids drooped and dreamtime tried to kick in, a sharp pain stabbed me in the stomach like an icepick. I gasped and curled into the fetal position. A sensation like jabbing needles ran up my legs, my arms, and my torso. I made it to the edge of the bed and rolled off. I hit the floor like a slab of beef. It took all my effort to drag myself toward the table where I'd left my gem. Something was horribly wrong. I wondered if I'd sustained internal injuries during the earlier fight, or if I'd completely misused the bathroom mist and vaporized my colon or something vital.

Ragged breaths rasped from my throat. I could hardly move. Every muscle in my body prickled with pain. My neck could no longer hold up my head and my face met the floor. It didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out this had nothing to do with internal injuries.

Minutes seemed to pass as slowly as hours while I lay on the floor, my breath coming in pants. Despite the panicked beating of my heart, I must have fallen asleep, or passed out. Strong hands gripping my arms woke me up. My head sagged forward as someone lifted me. I saw the bodies of Ketiss's guards on the floor, three in all.

"Kill him and pin him to the wall," a deep masculine voice said.

A figure dressed in black from head to foot was writing something on the wall. I realized with horror he was writing in blood.
No Darkness shall ever stop the Light.

It didn't take me long to realize what that meant. The light represented the Brightlings. The murder of their new religious icon, namely me, was supposed to scare the Darklings into thinking they were powerless to stop the Brightlings. These people might very well be Heretics setting up a crime scene to pin the blame on the Brightlings, or they might be enemy agents like those that had tried to kill me earlier today.

I knew one thing for sure. I was never going to get a decent night's sleep with people constantly trying to kill me.

I tried to move. I tried to channel magic. I tried to manifest into demon form. Nothing happened. The person writing with blood traced a strange symbol on the wall.

"Make sure it's large enough so his body will be in the center," the voice said again.

I didn't know how long it would take to finish drawing the symbol, but it gave me a few precious seconds to think. Unfortunately, I saw no way out of this situation. My heart hammered with fear. I felt sweat dripping down my face.

"He's awake," another voice said.

A masked figure knelt before me. "Are you afraid,
Destroyer
?" He said the word in a mocking tone. "I despise what you and your kind do to brainwash the idiots among us into thinking there is a god. Every time a false prophet rises up, we will be there to kill them. Perhaps one day the believers will realize the truth."

I tried to respond with a smart-ass remark but couldn't even make my lips move.

He laughed. "From powerful to powerless. I'll give you a few more minutes to anticipate your death."

Whoever was holding me up dropped me like a sack of potatoes. My nose hit the floor with a painful crunch. If I'd been in control of my body, I would've cried out in pain. As it was, I couldn't even grunt. I imagined unleashing a torrent of destruction on these assholes.

All my rage was for nothing. I couldn't so much as twitch a finger. I would soon be dead and with me would die the hope of saving Eden.

I tried with all my might to do something, anything, but my body refused to respond. I would have given anything to activate beast mode and rip into my captors like a hellhound chomping a baloney sandwich.

My inner demon stirred.

Oh, are you pissed off too?

Even though it seemed to have a mind of its own, it was a part of me, just like the man brain in my pants, leaving me to answer my own question.

A foot nudged me in the ribs and shoved me onto my side. I felt my back rest against something hard, and assumed it must be the table. The wall with the bloody symbol came back into view.

"Enjoy the view while it lasts," said one of my tormentors.

I had one trick up my sleeve that might work if I could actually move my head. I'd learned how to blink—instantly move myself a short distance—but I had to see where I wanted to go. The last place I wanted to end up was closer to the wall where they planned to sacrifice me. While a blink might take me a short distance away, it would also leave me even more disoriented than I felt right now.

All I could do was watch the man paint the bloody symbol on the wall. I realized, with disgust, he was using the blood of the dead guards. I wanted to tear out his throat with my teeth. One final option suddenly occurred to me. Not wasting another second, I went into a light trance and withdrew inside myself. Dread fought my final hope as I went to the place inside my soul that connected me with my demon half. My spirit resided partially inside my body and partially in Haedaemos, the demon realm. It was a bizarre arrangement that was common to Daemos. To maintain the connection, there was a small opening, a window in my soul to the infernal realm.

Because of my paralyzed system and sluggish brain, it took longer than usual for me to reach that inner plane of existence. I hardly dared to look. When I did, a profound sense of relief warmed me. The window was there even though I wasn't in Eden.

I sent forth a tendril of my essence the same way I usually did when feeding my incubus tummy. Instead of questing forth into the world, I sent it through the window to seek out something that would show these people they'd messed with the wrong hombre.

Hellhounds.

The moment my probe went through the window, I detected a very powerful and familiar presence.

The Abyss awaits your command
, said a deep multi-harmonic voice.

I almost crapped a brick. The voice belonged to a very powerful demon known as an Abyssal. I'd first summoned this particular demon as a hellhound. The second time I'd summoned him as a flaming hand to kill off a horde of murderous demon scorps. The third time I'd called upon his services, he'd come in full glory as a massive Abyssal demon. Kassallandra had warned me never to summon him or others of his kind again.

Sorry, I just need a simple hellhound.

I sent my probe into the wilds of Haedaemos, questing for a suitable presence.

The Abyss will serve,
said the many-voices of the demon.

It had been a terrible struggle to maintain a grip on my sanity the last time I'd called forth this demon in its most powerful form. I didn't want to risk losing control. I found a dog-like presence not far from my demonic probe and quickly snared it.

Even though my eyes remained open the entire time, I had to fully return to my body for vision. I focused on the floor not far from me and willed the creature to spring forth from there. Thick black tar bubbled. A skeletal head rose from the ooze. Flesh wrapped around the bones as first one foot then another strained free of the birth pool. My potential murderers were too busy watching Michelangelo paint the wall with blood to notice as a monstrous hound broke free of the infernal pool.

Remain quiet
, I said using brainwaves.
Hide.

The hellhound stared with baleful yellow eyes at me. Just because I'd summoned it didn't mean it was immediately bound to obey me, especially in my current position.

I sent forth images of me destroying the roomful of Seraphim with Brilliance.
Obey, or die in agony
, I sent to the creature.

It stiffened, and the rebellion in its eyes faded to obedience. It slunk into the small closet near the bed, its footpads silent. I didn't know how a hellhound would do against vanilla Seraphim, but two would surely be better than one, I figured. I sent my presence back into Haedaemos.

Why do you not call upon me?
The Abyssal's chorus of voices sounded a hurt tone.

You're too dangerous. I could barely control the summoning last time.

We seek only to serve.
If infinity had a voice, it would sound like this demon's.

Despite the ultra-scary voice, it sounded sincere. I didn't care if it gave me chocolate and flowers. I wasn't about to call on it unless it was an absolute emergency.
I don't require your services right now.
I sent my probe questing. Something immensely powerful glided past my senses. I quickly withdrew for a second to avoid attracting its attention.

When I went back, I sensed the Abyssal lurking nearby. That thing obviously didn't plan to give up. Thankfully, I found a suitable demon and leashed it with my essence. When I returned to the physical world, I felt pressure under my arms and realized my captors were dragging me toward my final resting place.

"He's in some sort of trance," someone said.

"He'll wake up when my sword enters his guts," came the reply.

I felt the demonic presence wriggling on my tether like a fish on a hook. Fueled by desperation, I focused on the floor and called the hellhound into being. As it formed, I sent a message to the other one.

Come out and kill these people!

"What is that thing?" someone shouted as the second hellhound burst from the birthing pool.

The giant hound growled. Saliva drooled from its oversized muzzle. Its yellow eyes glowed with the fires of destruction. Hellhound one—I named him Punky since he'd been such a punk to me at first—lunged for the closest Seraphim. Drooler—the second hellhound—went for a figure I barely detected in my peripheral vision.

My captors dropped me. I landed on my butt, back against the wall. It was the perfect spectator position. One seraph swung a sword at Punky. The hellhound ducked under the sword and viciously chomped the attacker's arm. With a loud snarl and twisting motion, Punky tore the arm free and threw it to the ground. The seraph screamed. Blood spurted from his newly formed stump. Eyes wide with horror, he stumbled backward, feet slipping on his own blood.