was capable of saving them, saving Azariah. I would make sure of it. I would let Kimaris and King Belial torment me for millenia.
I would turn my soul black in Hell if it meant I could keep those same marks from touching Stavros, Zach, Kais, and Az.
The night was cold, fall heavy this time of year, frost already starting to dress the bushes. I’d stayed later than I meant to, I wanted to be far out of sight of the gate by the time morning came.
I headed for the churchyard gate, rather than moving through town and risking being spotted by Az or the patrollers. There was a moment’s hesitation at the posts. My hand rested on one and Az’s blessing warmed my hand.
That was all I needed. He could really do it. He could keep them safe, and in a weird way I’d grown kind of partial to that angel. He deserved to keep his ass out of Hell. He was worth my place as his sacrifice.
I ducked under one of the blessed crucifixes and marched barefoot away from Bethel.
My toes were icicles, my skin was probably blue with cold, my teeth were chattering. Everyone assumed Hell on Earth was meant to be hot, but actually in Maine, it was still cold as fuck in late October.
I’d made it out of sight of Bethel just as the sky started to brighten, and I was wandering through the remnants of a woods—trees toppled and torn up at their roots, burnt to husks and left to crumble—waiting for Hell to come and find me, when I heard the drums.
I was climbing up a low hill, and the army waited on the other side, a great mass of hellions armed in plastic bags and crude masks, beating their fists on shields made of refuse—one scorched red stop sign pumping in the air. One of Kimaris' generals, Gamaeron, stood at the center of them, his massive hooves beating down the earth underneath him into a pit. I was either too late, or right on time. This army was obviously meant for Bethel and they were preparing for battle.
I searched the crowd for Kimaris and couldn’t decide if I was relieved or disappointed when I didn’t find him. If he were here, it might’ve made it easier to turn the army around. But I couldn’t really be mad at putting off our reunion.
I would just have to talk these fuckers down and hope they were leaning more toward the sin of sloth than the sin of wrath for the day.
I hurried down the hill, not caring that I was starting to catch their attention as I leapt over felled tree trunks and hissed as my feet scratched against the razed ground.
The drumming faltered at my approach, but the war cries raised, yelps and barks and nails-on-a-chalkboard screeches echoing in the air. I slowed as I grew closer, the cloud of brimstone and sulphur and rot heavy around this crew. My chin raised high, my gaze yellow in warning as I neared their mass.
“Brethren,” I called, the word bitter on my tongue. I glared at the masks, wondering exactly what kind of creatures I was dealing with. Were these the former souls of humans, twisted into weapons against their own kind? Or were these the beasts that grew in the spite and pain of Hell’s pits until they breathed with a life of their own?
“Sissssster,” one hissed in greeting as they started to back away and part to make room for me.
I stopped in my approach, finding the raised face who’d spoken.
“Your sister is hungry,” I snarled, and I jumped forward, ripping the mask away.
It was a pain hellion, and I mourned my former diet of sweetness and affection as I pulled the beast to me and drained it, my body protesting with every drop, agony rushing through me like a whip of blades.
The beasts around me howled, some in protest, and others in celebration of my violence. They parted like a corridor leading to Gamaeron, who was crouched in anticipation of my approach.
I dropped the withered pain beast to the ground, saw it’s papery skin wrinkling and then dissipating like a nest of maggots, burrowing into the parched earth. Gamaeron, with the head of a vulture and uncannily knowing eyes, only watched me with every step. I was not friends with the generals of Hell, especially not the ones who served Kimaris, but Gamaeron had perhaps been the least offensive of that lot. He