Page 25 of An Unexpected Ascension (A War Between Worlds #1)

The Angel

We swerve through slow, trudging bodies.

Demons and fallen angels roaming the streets finding somewhere they might belong: the bar, the whorehouse, crossfit?

Yes, that last one exists here.

That would certainly be my form of Hell. Well, that and the mocking touches, gentle kisses, and sweet nothings the demon now whispers in my ear.

It’s true, I hate myself for having made such a poor decision last night, but for those few hours of drinking, dancing, and getting railed, I felt so alive.

Letting the worst kind of pleasure consume my mind rather than horrendous bits of memory that has started flooding back.

Subtly, I lift my wrist, finding that three-inch crimson line still separating my flesh.

It stopped bleeding after a while, but never clotted and it makes me wonder if I’ll bore this cut forever.

A stark reminder of the dumb mistake I made.

Not missing a thing, the demon says.

“Any wounds, punctures, or breaks do not mend themselves here.”

“So why do you heal?”

“Because I’ve been gifted the ability to borrow the Devil’s powers. It comes with limitations, but I do have the next best thing, sway with the God of Hell. So, really, I’m nearly a God myself.”

“Aren’t you fond of yourself.”

“Just stating facts.”

“Since you can borrow power, fix this.”

I shove my arm his way while we cross a street to the next block.

“I rather like seeing that little reminder.”

Blood outlines the contours of his torso, accentuating each muscle.

A glittering puddle, like liquid rubies, slips down his center as he contracts his abs and rolls his hips up into me.

The sight is morbid, grotesque, horrid, yet I can’t look away as it trails through the trimmed curling hairs of his groin.

It slickens his shaft and colors my thighs as I grind down on him. If I could die all over again, it would be here, impaled on the demon’s punishing cock, but I’d rather endure tomorrow’s shame than let him know that.

“Awe, come on. Torture me with that softness. Give your girl what she wants.” I try.

He chuckles, pulling me toward the front of a decrepit building, narrowly missing the corpse straggling blindly. My back slams into the chipped brick as he pins me to it with his body, those inked hands cradling my face.

“Not that!”

I growl, but my protest goes in one ear and out the other.

His lips tease mine in a sensual kiss, one meant for lovers, while his groin presses into my stomach. With my face still captured in his hands, I use one of my own to throw an uppercut punch, his sternum cracking with the blow.

He groans, his head falling back with his eyes squeezed tightly in pain. His grimace, a sight I’ve found more enticing than his smirk, crumbles his fa?ade. The arrogance evaporates like water spilt on concrete in one-hundred-and-ten-degree heat.

His hands fall to the wall beside my head, trapping me, but at least those demonic lips aren’t searing into mine with mockery.

“You deserve it,”

I mumble, refusing to feel bad.

Silence weighs heavily like a thick fog while he focuses on healing himself. Three, four, five deep breaths and he finally levels his head. His eyes fling open, pupils blown and nearly as black as the sea, fixate on me. I mentally kick myself for wincing, for showing my fear.

“Do you know what you’ve just done?”

“Yeah, stopped you from?—”

“You’ve just undermined me in front of everyone in Hell.”

He gestures behind him.

Past his shoulder, a crowd has formed. Bodies lingering, watching, waiting.

“Do you know what happens to lowly creatures who undermine the God’s Second?”

“Kill her!”

“Rip her arm off!”

“Fuck her!”

“Slit her throat!”

“Set her on fire!”

The crowd all shouts, one over the other, the excitement palpable. They’re nearly foaming at the mouth, eager to see my punishment. My heart thuds inside my chest, fear poisoning the blood inside my body.

The demon wraps my hair around his fist and drags me before the decrepit mob. Pulling me into his chest, he whispers in my ear.

“Alone, I’ll take every bit of your rage. Here? In the open, in front of all Lucifer’s followers?”

He licks the tear that’s fallen free, a little taste of terror.

“I won’t tolerate it. Now, tell me. Would you like to be punished here with this vile audience or would you rather I make you suffer tonight, just you and me?”

“Fuck, I hate you.”

A wave of tremors course through me.

“Audience it is.”

“Fine! Fine. Alone. Punish me tonight. Alone.” I seethe.

I can feel the grin slipping into place, his chuckle rumbling his chest.

“Good girl. Now sit pretty.”

Before I can ask him to clarify, he shoves me to my knees, his fist still gripping my hair. My scalp burns, but I don’t dare make a noise.

“Looks like I have a new pet!”

He sneers loud enough for everyone to hear.

“Too pretty to cut into pieces. Skin too soft to melt. What do the people think?”

“Whore her,”

one particular man in the front row states with twinkling eyes.

I narrow my gaze on him, and he meets my stare with a wicked smirk. Almost handsome in his navy button up and black slacks, if it wasn’t for the gaping knife wound on the side of his neck.

He’s pushed forward a step with the crowd behind him eager to absorb my humiliation like food for the starving.

“Ah! What a splendid idea. What a great whore she’ll be.”

He lifts me back to my feet.

“Humiliate her!”

another cheers from the center of the mob, his fist raised above the heads that hide him.

“Tempting!”

he responds.

“But I think I’ll take my pretty little pet in the privacy of my quarters. This one shall personally see to all my wicked desires, yes?”

His fingers crush my cheeks between them, squeezing in demand for a response.

“Yes.” I seethe.

“Very well, show’s over.”

Groans of disappointment flood the streets, but the crowd begins to disperse as he tucks my body to him. In an instant, we’re free-falling again, swirling and spinning, until our feet are solidly back on the ground. Only, we’re not in the streets anymore, but in a shop.

I shove away from Hermes, his presence utterly infuriating.

“Punish me all you want; I don’t regret it. In fact, I’d do it again.”

He nods, his lips tugging up.

“I don’t doubt it.”

A silver glint catches in the corner of my eye. I spin, noticing the wall behind a glass counter covered in various art forms of swords. Handles gold, silver, red, and black with intricate designs. Each one unique.

In the glass display case sits different assortments of sharp objects ready to claim their victims, lain over a silky black cloth.

The blades shimmer, flaunting their sensuality. A silent melody floats by, whispering and coaxing like a siren out at sea. It steals me away for a heartbeat, mesmerizing me, until the demon’s voice cuts through the entrancement.

“I’m just looking out for you. I wouldn’t want to drag home my little pet all battered and bloody. Although, I did really enjoy the bloody part last night.”

“Shut up.”

“We’re in Hell, Angel. Everywhere you look, you’ll find monsters. Ironically enough, you’re safest with me. Best to remember that.”

I sigh, sauntering toward the glass case, peering at a dagger with a particularly thin blade and black handle, wondering how it would feel in my hands. That one sang the loudest, the prettiest.

On Earth, I never held a weapon. Hated violence. Here? I have a feeling I should get used to both.

A slender man with exposed ribs and diseased skin saunters toward us from the back. His flesh a mix of grey, yellows, and greens. All colors that do not belong on a human.

“Hermes.” He nods.

“Jeremy.”

The demon returns the sentiment, pointing at the dagger pinned by my stare.

“We’ll take that one and the sword right there.”

He points to the weapon on the right of the shop owner, the blade nearly two feet long with a handle matching my own.

“Thought it would be cute to match.” He winks.

Naturally, my eyes roll to the back of my head.

“Shoot me,”

I mutter back.

Jeremy carefully places both weapons on top of the display case for approval, then holds out his arm. A wound nearly the length of his forearm oozes with yellow and green pus, a few maggots worming their way around in the decaying flesh.

Embarrassed, he picks them out, flicking them away like leftover crumbs from breakfast. Bile churns in my stomach, bubbling its way up my esophagus. Turning away, I breathe through my nose and shove that image deep, deep, deep into my subconscious for my nightmares later.

Hermes grabs his arm, wrapping his palm around the infection and within seconds it’s healed, not even a scar in its wake.

“Thank you. Thank you!”

He laughs in relief.

“My turn,”

I demand once we’re sheathing our new weapons.

“What did you do to earn such a service?”

I open my mouth, but nothing comes. He shakes his head, walking toward the door.

“You can’t leave it! If I have maggots eating my flesh, I will lose it.”

“Well, better find something I want in return then. You hardly fulfilled your end of the bargain last time.”

He shoves through the exit, and we traipse down the stairs, back out onto the street. I storm after him, fuming and huffing.

“You got me on my knees, exactly what you asked for. Our bargain was fulfilled. Now what do you want?”

“Haven’t quite figured it out yet.”

“I can’t believe you did that to me and now you won’t even fix it!”

“You liked it.”

He chortled, focused on the road before him.

I didn’t like it. I also didn’t hate it, but after seeing what happens to wounds that stay too long, I’m definitely not letting it happen again.

We journey in silence for a few blocks more until we cross a convenient store of sorts. I stop mid-step before deciding to just go in. Passing by the candy, the snacks, and pleasure toys, I find what I’m really looking for – liquor.

I grab a bottle of vodka and place it on the counter. A woman with green hair and a face full of piercings eyes me, assessing if I’m worth anything to her.

“What do you got?”

she rasps.

“I’m sorry?”

“For payment.”

“Oh, uh. How much is this? I don’t have any money.”

She snorts, her studded dimples glinting back at me.

“You’re cute. Clearly also new. No one has money. We make trades and deals.”

“Okay then, what would this cost me?”

Her gaze once again trails over me, this time much slower as if she’s contemplating which body part she’d like to rip off and make her own.

Instead, she drawls.

“It’s been a while since I’ve last seen Heaven.”

“I-I can’t really help you there.”

“Sure you can, sweetie. With a tongue like yours, I’m sure it would take no time at all.”

“Oh. Uh, wow. I-I don’t—”

I don’t bother finishing my sentence before leaving the bottle and sulking towards the door.

Hermes is leaning against the front of the store, arms folded, waiting impatiently.

“Get what you were looking for?”

“No.”

I quicken my pace, my face flushed red.

“Glinda’s payments are usually a little too sexual for my liking. Luckily, I have a lot more to offer than my cock. You, on the other hand...”

“Yeah, it wasn’t happening. It’s bad enough having tasted you, I don’t need to lick any more demons.”

His brow quirks.

“Wow, I was that good?”

Yes. No! Yes. Ugh!

A scowl mars my face.

“I really hope there’s alcohol where we’re going.”

“There won’t be. Although, if I had known that’s what you were trying to get, I might have helped out. I like you loosened up. You’re way more tolerable.”

“Trust me, when I’m drunk, you’re more tolerable too.”

“A drunkard then?”

My head whips toward him, eyes narrowed, my feet still stomping harshly against the ground with each step.

“What? No. I hardly drank past my mid-twenties.”

Another piece of myself clearing from the fog. I stopped drinking after twenty-five, decided not to use it as a crutch for my dead mother. However, something else lingers, another reason on the tip of my tongue that I just can’t pinpoint.

“So, a recovering drunkard.”

“No!”

I bark.

“I found that the liquor drowns out these stupid memories that won’t stop pestering me. Just flashes like puzzle pieces thrown about, no bigger picture.”

“Yep, that happens to everyone. Takes a while to settle in.”

“I don’t think my death was peaceful,”

I finally say out loud.

I’m not a fool, I know this demon doesn’t have the heart or soul to care how I died, but I do. The memories that assault me in the most unlikely moments are violent and painful. Puddles of deep red, phantom aches, flashes of wicked acts.

“Not many in Hell have a happy ending.”

“What about you?”

He’s contemplative for a few steps more, wondering if I’m worth the small talk. The city buildings slowly turn residential, the space between houses growing. The gradient of the grey street becomes darker, the concrete cracked and corroded.

It’s quieter here, bodies scarce. Some folks sit on their porch, their eyes glued to us as we pass by.

The blood sun is hotter outside the city, no buildings to shield the blistering rays. Soon enough, the sun will descend, and the red moon will rise. I wonder what kind of monsters we’ll encounter at night.

“As happy as one could be with death.”

“You seem so young, so it clearly wasn’t old age.”

He chuckles, looking up at the darkening skies, the red hue blending from scarlet to near burgundy with each step we take.

“No,”

he snaps.

“Has anyone ever told you it’s rude to ask someone how they died?”

“So sorry if I haven’t learned the etiquette of death. A little new here.”

Hermes ruffles his dark hair, his hand combing it back before dragging his palms down his face like the idea of this conversation alone stresses him out.

“I ended my own life and was happy to do it.”

His admission weighs heavily in the air, sitting on the fog that settles like thick clouds hovering just feet off the ground. One beat, two beat, three, four... neither of us saying another word.

Before long we’re consumed with mist, cool tendrils slithering around our legs, our waist. Every touch is like ice sizzling against our sun burnt skin.

“We waited too long,”

Hermes murmurs, eyes shifting all around us.

The houses are few and far between now, but the fog – it’s like sitting in the middle of the ocean.

“Come on.”

He grips my hand, but the fear of the unknown dangers lurking about keep me from yanking it back.

He tugs me, our pace urgent, until suddenly my heels are digging into the ground. He whips his head back at me, but the muscles in my body seize.

Liquid ice sears my veins, forcing a shivering cold to settle deep inside of me. Fear. The cold is fear, and the air is so thick it’s nearly suffocating. Each breath takes sincere effort, only to fill my lungs with dust. Minuscule particles float in the air like ash that settles after days of desecration. Those particles coat my hair, my skin, my throat; decay flavoring my tongue.

But the raining ashes of death is nothing compared to the sight before me. Twisted and sharp and insidious.

Bones like roots sinking into the deserted terrain anchor an ancient skeleton. It’s form kneeling, hands clasped in the center of a sternum as if death stormed by in the middle of prayer. Its skull faces up toward the blood moon, jaw pried open beyond its physical limits, and protruding from its mouth is a trunk of a tree made entirely of bone diverging with sharp, hissing branches.

It’s horrid being in the presence of this monstrous thing. Utter death lingers in every bit of debris clinging to the air itself. A shudder courses through me, fear gripping my heart like a crushing fist.

“Briar,”

it calls my name.

“Briar.”

“brIAR!”

A stinging slap registers, sapphire eyes wide and searching meet mine. My hand instinctively cups my cheek to quell the burn.

“Did you just hit me?”

“Yeah, we have to move. You’re not safe out here and my command only does so much. Monsters alone, easy to tame. Monsters in a pack and we’re fucked.”

With my hand still entwined in his, he tugs me along through the fog.

“We don’t have time for you to relive your past.”

My feet trip over themselves trying to keep up. Our pace, a mix between jogging and walking.

“I saw something, something that wasn’t from my past. A vision, like Lucifer’s.”

He looks back at me for the briefest second before keeping his eyes focused on our path ahead. He doesn’t ask, the sudden need for silence an unvoiced request. A battered house appears through the dense mist and the burgundy dusk of night.

Slowing our approach, we creep toward it. The rotting wooden stairs groan with each step, the planks soft and pliable, barely able to hold our weight. He tucks my hand behind his back as he guides us up onto the porch.

What once might have been white paint now yellows, patches of color chipped. It's a small little ranch house, as basic as they come. Two broken windows on either side of the splintered door. The demon wraps his hand around the knob as if there wasn’t already a hole punched through the center, a whine echoing through the house, the door swinging open.

He sniffs, as if some primal beast lies within him, looking for any sign of another presence. The living room sits empty, other than a severely worn couch with flower patterns and burn holes adorning the piece. A heavy layer of dust covers the floor like snow, the soles of our shoes imprinted with each step through the room.

There’s an entryway into a kitchen, Hermes tucks himself against the wall, peering around the open frame. Again, empty. Passing the kitchen, leaving the dust untouched, we sneak down the short hallway, to the only other door.

Creeeeekkkk.

The rusted hinges scream as Hermes pushes through, stepping in quickly, but leaving me in the hall.

“Fuck!”

His shout startles me.

I peer in, catching a glimpse of a rotted corpse swallowed by a mattress. Three crows caw at the sight of the demon but continue pecking away at whatever is left of the body’s flesh, tearing at sinew and tendons. There’s a low groan with each rip, but it's almost as if the man had no energy left to bother.

That familiar churn in my stomach returns for the second time today. I can’t watch as Hermes flicks his wrist, the bed going up in flames. A weak scream sounds, caws screech, but within seconds it all ends, the entire scene out of sight.

The door widens, allowing me entry and in place of the bed now lies a scorch mark, evidence of what the demon had done.

“Where did they go?”

“I assume where all things go that are no longer needed.”

“That’s not really an answer,” I mutter.

He shrugs.

“All of Hell’s lands are a dumping ground. He’s found his new home in the wild.”

“Now what?” I ask.

“Now we wait for dawn.”

At the sound of a snap, a new bed materializes with fresh sheets that smell like lavender rather than spoiled bodily fluids.

“If you can conjure up one bed, then I’m sure you can conjure two.”

He inhales through his teeth.

“Ooo, so sorry. Just ran out of gas. One it is, plus, I know how much you love to cuddle.”

“I’d rather die all over again.”