Page 11 of An Unexpected Ascension (A War Between Worlds #1)

The Demon

The first female Fentonelli and the last of her name...

Her father is already as good as dead.

Has been from the moment he left that house of theirs, the moment his wretched soul was revealed to his sweet, innocent daughter.

That man has been drinking himself to sleep every night since and it’s just a matter of time before he’s knocking on Heaven’s gates, begging for entry.

Despite the many times he’s beaten his wife, despite leaving his family behind instead of manning up, despite killing himself while wallowing in self-pity – he'll still be accepted into the God’s home.

Why? Because he’ll atone for his sins and that will be enough.

The Gods don’t care who walks their streets, so long as they pledge their eternal fealty to them.

With each passing angel through those gates, comes a little more power.

Greedy, manipulative fucks.

And Briar, to be the last lingering Fentonelli.

Over the years, I’ve condemned every male to ever be sired from that name.

Never once have I come across a female.

They all knew they had it coming and took their fates with malicious grins and undeserving pride as they stared me down with those feral green eyes.

Then she appeared with that same jade gaze, but her soul sang a different tune.

Not one of pure evil, but of something sweeter.

Something lighter and...

No, I will not allow myself to be swayed by a pretty face.

She’s still a descendant of the very people who ruined my life.

So, I will do what I’ve always done and return the favor.

Yet, eradicating her seems so...

pointless, now that she’s the last of her kind.

All my woes, all that vengeance unreadily coming to an end.

That sickness in me longs to drag it out. Ending her is to end centuries worth of hatred and revenge. No, I can’t let it be so simple.

My mind simmers with endless thoughts of Briar Fentonelli as I stroll through the center market, if you can even call it strolling.

No, my gait’s a little more aggressive than a pleasant idling with zero purpose to my journey.

Giving me a wide berth, Heaven dwellers scatter, avoiding me as if I were made of repellent, ready to kill the innocent, little bugs too stupid to get close.

Their fear scents the air, masking that flowery perfume that drifts by every so often.

In prior visits, I would relish the way my presence makes a Saint cower or a nun recite the sign of the holy cross.

How one accidental look into my eyes forces an angel to spew prayers as if it would save them from Hell.

But today, I mock none of that foolishness.

Instead, I just blink myself back to Hell, storming down the East Wing to my solitary quarters.

Quiet.

I need quiet to focus and think about how I want to ruin this girl.

Many ticks later, a knock sounds on my door.

It cracks open before the permission to enter can even be spoken aloud.

“You’re late.”

The God of Hell strides to my window, overlooking the dreary lands. I, on the other hand, burrow deeper beneath a sea of blankets, shielding myself from the midday ruby sun.

“I’ve never seen the unliving sleep so much when one doesn’t even need it. You’re wasting away, passing time when you know there’s no end. Your slumber is pointless, get up.”

Hmmmmph was my only reply.

Lucifer sighs.

“What ails you so that you cannot even bother to spar with me today?”

He’s not leaving. No, the Deity of the Underworld never does know when to mind his own business.

Tearing myself from my black duvet, I climb out of the comfort of my bed. The air that fills this manor is always a touch hot, never quite comfortable. Yet a chill kisses the bare skin of my torso before I can slip into a torn T-shirt and my leather breastplate for sparring.

“I’m up. Let’s get this over with.”

“Well, perhaps letting out a little aggression might do you some good. Might clear that rambling head of yours. I can practically hear your thoughts rolling around in there.”

I follow him out of my room, down the hall, and up the many flights of stairs to the very top level of his manor.

The room itself is barely that, no walls to keep the harsh winds or heat from claiming you.

Just brick pillars holding a pointed roof over our heads for protection from the blood sun.

The ground itself is made of concrete, stained from years of accidental slips of a blade while practicing new skills.

The air here is dense, but the first step in learning the ancient dance of warriors is to be able to embrace your atmosphere.

Clear your mind, find your breath, and let your surroundings be just that while you focus on your target.

My eyes never divvy from the Devil, not while I conjure my old, trusted sword.

Blade now dull with decades of sparring and never any actual use.

My hand molds to the rusting handle, copper tinged with bits of green.

It was a found prize I had collected from around the manor many years ago, sitting idle in the armory closet.

The shoddy piece of work hardly stood straight then and now only makes for a sentimental toy.

Lucifer draws his weapon, the blade singing as it’s unsheathed.

The silver glints against the raspberry rays of the sun, light refracting off the spotless metal.

Pride, strength, honor.

Grey skulls etched into the black handle peek beneath Lucifer’s grip, and he grins.

“If you’re waiting for the end of eternity to replace that piece of shit, you’ll be waiting a while yet.”

I raise my sword, widening my stance as we face each other.

“You’ll miss this thing the moment I’m rid of it. How will you contend with a matched opponent? You rather like winning.”

Lucifer shifts, stepping forward, his eyes never wavering from my own.

“So, you admit you let me win.”

With his right foot now closer, I pivot my left foot back.

I assess his subtle movements, the twitch of his eyes, the sway of his elbow as he bears the weight of his weapon.

All made easier by the tight leather armor he dons instead of his usual button up or suit jacket.

Running Hell is a business after all, one must look the part.

“Indirectly, perhaps. My sword does put me at a disadvantage.”

Lucifer strikes.

His blade cutting through the air only to meet mine with a thundering clank, the sound rings around us.

I shove at his weapon, leaping out of his reach.

Spinning on my heels, I use the momentum to swipe my sword up and then slash it down, aiming for his right shoulder only to be blocked with a swift defense.

Despite my quick retreat, the Devil’s blade catches my forearm. In my haste to dress, I did not bother with a full suit of armor, so the skin I wear now bleeds.

“Serves you right, Lynx. Short cuts could lead to much worse than a simple wound.”

“Good thing my God’s power will fix the very wounds he inflicts.”

My blade faintly tears across the leathers protecting this chest.

“And you would be dead.”

“If I could die at all.”

He chuckles, now working for a steady breath.

A minor misstep, a trip wire in my own brain rendering me invalid for all of two seconds while Lucifer’s razor-sharp blade glides across the side of my neck.

Blood gushes, wetting me wholly, drenching my leathers and my hands, making it too slippery to bother fighting back.

The God of Hell sighs, halting while I hold the wound on my neck.

Within moments, the laceration clears, the skin zipping together, leaving a scar. Lucifer’s brow quirks in curiosity.

“Adds to my charm,”

I explain, running a finger over the raised skin.

“You deserve that too. Get out of that head of yours.”

Dropping my weapon that now drips with crimson, it clanks against the concrete floor.

“Yeah, I’m working on it.”

The blood dirtying Lucifer’s blade vanishes before the sword itself disappears into the Aether. My eyes drift to the puddle of my making as he strips himself of his leathers.

“I know all too well what it’s like to become a victim to your own dark thoughts. I miss my life, Lynx. I miss the love that it once held. Every breath I take down here, every faux beat of my heart is torture knowing the reason for it all has been stolen.”

“I know,”

I whisper, bringing my gaze to meet his.

Those dark brown eyes glisten with rage and hurt. I want so badly to make it all go away for him because the universe knows I will never have that opportunity for myself.

“Each meeting of our swords is another moment wasted; another moment my soul’s purpose remains captive.”

“I—”

“I don’t tell you this for your pity, just as a reminder that patience and practiced focus is necessary. This is Hell, there will always be another plague to infect you, but you must fight through its hold.”

His eyes rove over me and he chuckles.

“Go clean up, you brute.”

I wave him off.

“You love the sight of it. What will you do once I get that new sword, huh?”

“I’ll win again. Unless your new weapon is inside that head of yours.”

Snorting, I stalk off down the stairs to clean myself off.