Page 37 of An Unexpected Ascension (A War Between Worlds #1)

The Demon

“How are you supposed to go like this?”

Lucifer hisses, pointing to the wound now sewn and patched up beneath my shirt and leather jacket.

“I’ll be fine. Another shot of whiskey, and I won’t feel a thing.”

His nostrils flare.

“Kidding. I’m not drunk. I know how important this is to you. I won’t fuck it up.”

Lucifer paces before his throne.

“It’s not just fucking it up, Lynx. They will not hesitate to eradicate you if you’re caught. Your pain slows you. I have half a mind to just fix you myself.”

“I would never forgive you.”

He growls in frustration.

The double doors swing open and down struts a fuming angel. Such a pure, pretty thing clad in all black.

She stalks right for me, her pace not slowing even a little. The collision has me falling back a step as her mouth finds mine. My hands fly up in the air in complete shock before her tongue warms my own. I bring them down to her hips and tug her to me while her fists grip the lapels of my jacket.

If she’s molten lava, then I’m the ocean because my insides liquify and sizzle against her burning rage.

When she pulls away, I smile in victory.

“Now fix yourself,”

she demands.

“As you wish.”

I heal the wounds on my body, my face included.

“Couldn’t watch me go another second in pain?”

“No. I couldn’t watch you fail your friend. That was for him.”

She points her thumb at Lucifer.

“Tell yourself that all you want.”

I wink and she scowls.

“Thank you,”

the Devil mutters to her before turning back to his seat.

“You two have fun while I’m gone.”

Lucifer stares at me like he’s watching a ghost and Briar heads for the door again. So, I leave her with my parting words.

“If this very moment is my last with you, Angel, I can’t complain. The view is amazing.”

And then I’m gone.

Not a soul that’s continued to exist, other than the Devil and Briar, has ever seen the Gods’ stone palace in Primordialis – a world within a world. For the arrogant Gods could not exist on the same plane as the very peasants that worshipped them. No, they were above such a thing, so much so that they created a separate plane of existence for themselves within a small pocket of Heaven.

There they ruled. There they lived and laughed and went about their merry lives. All while judging and damning humans as if they were nothing but objects to be sorted.

And because Primordialis is not a place you can happen upon by accident or even on purpose, the way by getting there must be willed by the Gods. However, with Lucifer being created from the very fabric of said Gods, we have a way in. It was all hypothetical of course. Lucifer hadn’t stepped foot in the world since he was summoned by the deities after his stunt with the sacred Tree of Knowledge, but we found it was worth a shot.

Late last night, the Devil gifted me with his memory of the world from centuries ago in hopes that I can simply borrow his magic to blink myself into a place I’ve never physically been before.

The risky part is now hoping that the Gods aren’t sitting upon their thrones right at this very moment.

Hence why we chose this day to exact our plan. Though time is irrelevant in the afterlife, the Gods have lived by the very concept: to hold humans accountable, to stamp historical events into existence, to celebrate their wins.

Today is the day Heaven was created. When the universe sprouted like a seed of a flower, blossoming, its very cells multiplying before it spread into a garden of worlds.

The Day of Genesis.

On this day, the Gods have been known to enjoy a gathering with other deities, welcoming lesser powers to join in drink, dance, and feast. Or so, the Tree of Knowledge has shared with the Devil as if the very universe was gifting Lucifer a single day to save his Ada.

Yes, while the Gods mingle, jest, and fuck, this measly demon would sneak into the stone palace unseen.

And that’s exactly what happens.

To my surprise, I appear in the center of the stone tower surrounded by vacant thrones. In the distance, merry music can be heard. The harp and violin playing in harmony, the rhythm upbeat and enough to drag any drunk God to his feet with a Goddess in tow.

At the edge of the tower, I can spot the temple below. Bright green vines wrap around immaculate white pillars, flowers blossoming and ripe provide a beautiful pop of color against clean, shiny stone. It’s as if the temple sits in the middle of a lush garden.

Slabs of glittering veined marble are adorned with every fruit to ever exist, rich cheese and aged meats, food only fit for worthy mouths. Decanters of wine made from iridescent crystal sit beside it, never seeing the end of that deep burgundy drink despite how many goblets it fills.

And then there are the partygoers and their hosts. I don’t think I’ve seen so much wealth worn on a person in one place. Gold and silver, glittering gems in every color, grandeur crowns created of both metal and jewels! I wouldn’t be shocked if they claimed the fabric draped across their bodies were stitched with the very souls they’ve condemned and eradicated.

Though the sight of all those Gods – beings that would easily end my very existence with a snap of their fingers – is a frightful view, it doesn’t stop me from admiring the sheer beauty that is this world.

Sparing only another heartbeat, I find the spiral staircase of the tower and descend. The Tree has given Lucifer many glimpses of the Gods’ Palace, but hardly anything close to blueprints. I would have to rely on memories of hallways and brief views of different rooms.

The first floor beneath the tower begins in a narrow corridor, bright with a light that rivals the warm sun. It shines down, sparkling against the marble floors and gold accents along the walls – little baby angels, their wings extended in flight.

Slowly, I open the door of the first room, finding a wall of windows overlooking the flourishing temple below and a long, glossy wooden table. I wonder if this is what they consider their war room or if it’s where their thrones are.

Either way, this room is nothing to me.

I continue, each room more irrelevant than the last. Until I come upon someone’s personal quarters. The left side of the double door opens soundlessly as I slip inside the empty room.

From the red curtains heavily hanging near the wide window to the matching velvet chair near the hearth, I’d guess it to be a male’s room. Though the stone walls hold a hollow coldness, the remaining accents – like the feather white bedspread – create a brightness from within.

One thing I find odd about this palace is the lack of warmth despite how comfortable the Gods have made this world. Not a single picture to behold, nothing personal to reveal who keeps this bed warm at night.

Perhaps, other than the silk tucked in the crook of the desk chair. With quiet footsteps, I approach the wooden desk. Atop it sits nothing but blank paper, an ink pot, and a quill as if the Gods ever used their time for anything but indulging themselves.

Within its drawers, I spy restraints, and a collar made of rich brown leather. I don’t dare touch the thing, but as I begin to shut the drawer, something shifts inside and catches my eye. Slowly, opening it up again, I lift the leather collar. Beneath it a single golden skeleton key sits in wait. Light glints against the shimmering metal, almost winking at me, urging me to take it. Lifting it out, I tuck it in my pocket.

I return the desk back to its untouched state and make my way to the door, only to pause at a pair of footsteps sounding down the hall.

A light giggling overshadows a deep grunt and the two grow closer. I press myself against the wall, praying to the Devil they don’t come barreling in here, but with the Gods luck, a heavy thud shakes the wooden barrier I hide behind.

Fuck.

The handle rattles before the door swings wide open, nearly crushing me.

A brunette with elegant curls cascading down her back is hoisted up, her legs wrapped around the waist of a God. His dark complexion and onyx hair tells me he’s one of Achaz’s sons.

He plucks the golden tiara shimmering with diamonds and tosses the thing to the ground. It clatters noisily, spinning for what seems like ages before finally dropping completely against the floor. She only laughs as though the treasure was merely a toy.

Before they can strip each other bare, I slip out of the room and sprint for the spiraling staircase to descend to another level and then another to get as far away from the pair as possible. This time, I find myself in another grand ball room, just more space to entertain powerful Gods.

I begin to wonder if Ada joins the party outside. Is it possible that she might be entertaining the other son of Achaz? That would not be ideal for me at all.

There’s a door across the grand room and through it is a kitchen. The very thought that the Gods need the sort of thing humors me. Perhaps it’s for aesthetic purposes, but everything they have, from the very grapes that they pop into their mouths to the wine that sloshes within their golden goblets, is all created from the power that simmers in their veins.

And beside the pantry is a staircase, what seems to be the last one seeing as this floor meets the ground. With each step down, the lights dim. The brick walls hold a chill that the rest of Primordialis does not.

A dungeon.

That is what lies down here beneath the kitchen of the Gods’ Palace.

My heart pounds as I quietly traipse down the narrow hallway. The brick walls extend from floor to ceiling, not even the smallest bit of sun glitters through a single crack between the stones. There’s no proof that the outside exists from here. Water slips down between the crevices of brick, darkening the beige color to a dirt brown where it puddles on the cement floor.

The dampness in here over time can drown a person, the little particles of condensation crawling into the lungs, building into a river to suffocate you from the inside out.

There are four wooden doors, two on either side of the hall, and above each black metal handle sits a padlock.

“Ada?”

I whisper, afraid to be too loud.

I place my ear to the first door and knock only loud enough to be heard by the being on the other side.

“Are you in there?”

I wait a beat and when no one responds, I try the second door.

Still nothing.

“Ada?”

I call through the last door on the left.

The sound of chains dragging along the floor forces me to pause.

“Ada?”

My voice cracks, my heart galloping in anxious excitement.

“Hello?”

The voice of a woman responds from beyond the wood. I yank on the lock, tugging to test my strength and break the metal.

“Ada is that you?”

“Yes. I’m Ada,”

the woman replies.

“Who are you?”

I can feel the tension in this dungeon. An unseeable force of taught air like a blockade of some sort. Closing my eyes, I try picturing myself inside her room. I conjure images of red hair, of damp concrete, of chains and torment.

But nothing happens.

It’s almost as if my magic doesn’t work here.

Instead, I decide to try the key. Lifting the large black lock from the hinge it hangs on, I jam the key into the hole and wriggle it around until it turns. There’s a loud click as I tug, unlatching it from the door before yanking the heavy thing open.

Finally, it’s her. Red hair dulled with dirt, a face pained and bruised as if the Gods have willed the wounds to stay, her hazel eyes so bleak. In a tangle lay her boney limbs on a cement floor, her figure doused in a darkness no other parts of Primordialis has ever seen.

Wide, frightened eyes meet mine as she shuffles back along the floor, pushing herself into the wall. Her arms fold across her chest to hold herself, the only comfort she’s grown used to.

I hold both hands up and lower myself into a crouch to face her. Hazel eyes stare back at me, only they’re not the eyes I’ve come to know from the pictures and memories of the Devil. No, these eyes I find before me are dark. Every bit of light, of happiness, of hope has been sucked dry leaving a lifeless soul reflecting back.

“Ada, I’m not here to hurt you. I’ve come to take you home, to Lucifer.”

She shakes her head.

The blackened ends of her fiery red hair sway along her shoulders with the movement.

Dirt cakes those ends, gluing chunks of her hair together, then coat her bare shoulders hiding freckles showing on cleaner patches of skin that haven’t seen the light of day in ages.

“I’m here to save you.”

The sound of footsteps echoes overhead in a loud warning. Her eyes dart to the door as her fingers begin to shake. I can hear two males talking and laughing drunkenly. Their words muffled by the thick stone and heavy door.

“They’re coming,”

she whispers, her body shivering in fear.

“Then we must go.”

I step forward, but she flinches, causing my heart to stumble.

“I promise I will not hurt you. I only want to bring you home.”

“Home.”

She says the word like it’s foreign.

I nod and she studies me wearily with haunted eyes. The voices continue above us, leading me to believe that they might be a very big problem.

Crouching down, I try the key on the cuffs that hug her wrists and ankles.

They fall noisily, clattering to the ground.

Ada flinches and finds my eyes with sheer terror, but I only slip my arms beneath her bent knees and haul her to my chest.

The white silk camisole slips up along her thighs, revealing colorful bruises that mar her pale, translucent skin.

With dirt crusted fingers, she pulls the hem down as far as it will go, and I avert my eyes to give her as much privacy as having her in my arms will allow.

I find those gaunt eyes, circles dark and deep beneath them.

“Let’s go home,”

I tell her.

Hesitantly, she wraps her arms around my neck, and I carry her out into the narrow hallway. As I ascend the stairs, I listen carefully for the voices. I just need to get out of this dungeon to be able to blink us back to Hell.

After what feels like ages, the kitchen beyond the door quiets, allowing us to slip out and finally go home.