Page 1 of As Above, So Below

PROLOGUE

Life for ademon is a dream.

An impossible thing no demon in their right mind would ever want. Yet here I stand, dreaming as I stare at the night sky. It’s undoubtedly foolish, and I’m sure to be reprimanded for wasting time in the veil. Especially by Vaelyn.

I can’t help myself.

I’ve grown tired of my existence—of my servitude, of reaping.

With a defeated sigh, I drag my gaze from the dark, glittering expanse overhead, to the rolling grassy hills in the southern tier of Monora. Thronged with screaming and bloodied mortals, the scene is a strange contrast to the tranquility of the universe.

Gods only know what they’re fighting about now.

It’s probably the result of some proclamation, marriage, or source of power or gold. Foolish things for foolish mortals to bicker, and fight, and kill one another over. The demonic blood in my veins sings in response to the carnage, small darts of excitement shooting up my spine. With pursed lips, I stifle the budding thrill and begin my hunt.

The god of death has sent me to collect one damned soul.

Death, for the living, is inescapable.

Another mortal, one of millions over the eons, beguiled into signing a contract with my father, Netharis. Today’s list of names ends with one Thalion Witherhorn. Judging by the family name, I’m hunting a fae.

A pull in my chest sets my feet forward.

South.

Into the fray, fighting, and chaos. These soldiers are too busy tonotice the path of dying grass cutting its way through them. They’ll ignore all the signs a vessel of death stalks them from the veil—the hair standing on the backs of their necks, the growing knot in their stomachs, the feeling of being watched. All of that, ignored.

They’re too busy killing one another to pay any attention to me.

Not that they can see me. While I walk among them, the veil separates us. I stand in a whole different realm, one that clings to the living world like a thin gossamer. It’s as if the veil wants nothing more than to adorn the living. Or smother them.

I am one of the many horrors found on the other side of life. It’s here I’ll await Thalion’s death and collect his soul.

Mortals signing damning contracts with my father is nothing new. It’s happened since the dawn of time. One would think mortals would eventually learn whatever Netharis promises isn’t worth the payment.

Like Thalion, I myself am contracted to the god of death.

Though, I suppose, serving him—collecting and ferrying these souls—for eternity is marginally better than spending the afterlife damned to whatever torture Netharis deems fit. Marginally.

My toe catches on the limb of a corpse and I stumble, my wings splaying wide to prevent a fall. Curling my lip in annoyance, I regain balance, tucking my wings behind me as I press forward.

The hunting instinct screams in my chest,needingto be followed.

Metal meeting metal catches my attention. A morningstar in the hands of a fae draws back, preparing for another strike against the helm of a human man. With lightening fast speed, the weapon descends, and the man, still reeling from the first blow, crumples onto the dirt. For good measure, the fae follows up with two more strikes, crushing the man’s helmet and his skull.

Breezing past him, a brilliant flash of white light nearly blinds me, and I recoil, raising a hand to shield my vision. A light wielder hides somewhere among these mortals.

My own innate responds, the near sentient magic curious, and thick dark fog ebbs underfoot. It’s as if my shadows recognize their opposite and the thought of feeding on a light wielder is too tempting to remain hidden. Attempting to peer through theviolent crowd, there are too many faces to determine which mortal my shadows should strangle.

“Press forward!”

To the left, a fae male seated atop an armored buckskin stallion points in my direction. The hunting instinct draws taut and vibrates as a soft smile pulls at the corners of my lips.

He is the one I hunt.

Set into motion once again, I begin my approach. A bloodied sword raised in his right hand, silver braids stream from under his helm as he charges his mount forward. He continues to shout commands to those around him, other fae on foot, all dressed in gleaming platinum plate armor.

Between he and I lie two dozen soldiers. Less in the few steps I take as Thalion cuts them down with graceful ease. Despite being battered and bloodied—or perhaps because of it—the fae I hunt makes for a beautiful sight.