Page 47

The creature's invisibility faltered further, revealing a glimpse of its true form—a nightmarish amalgamation of wolf and something far worse, its body distorted and wrong in ways that defied natural anatomy.

Its eyes were pits of flame in an elongated skull, its mouth filled with row upon row of teeth like obsidian shards.

With a sharp pull, I tightened the lash's hold. The hellhound thrashed wildly, trying to break free, but the celestial energy burned deeper with each movement, holy fire consuming unholy flesh. Its howls turned to shrieks, a sound like metal scraping against metal that set my teeth on edge.

Across the room, Sterling and Hawk were engaging another hellhound, their movements coordinated through years of hunting together.

Sterling's axe glowed faintly with runes of banishment, the blessed metal cutting through the hellhound's defenses where ordinary weapons would fail.

Hawk moved with precision despite his bulk, silver daggers flashing as he targeted the creature's most vulnerable points.

Sean had taken on the third hellhound alone, the Colt in one hand, a flask of holy oil in the other.

He fired with unerring accuracy, each bullet finding its mark despite the hellhound's partial invisibility.

The special ammunition tore through the creature's hide, making it shriek with pain and rage.

The hellhound I was fighting had begun to smoke, celestial fire spreading from the point of contact with my whip.

It thrashed more desperately now, claws scrabbling against stone as it tried to retreat.

I held firm, channeling more power through the lash, feeling the mark on my chest burn in response.

With a final, terrible howl, the hellhound burst into flames—not ordinary fire, but something cleaner, brighter. Holy fire, consuming it from within. Within seconds, all that remained was a scorch mark on the ancient stone and the lingering scent of sulfur.

I turned to help the others, but Sterling and Hawk had their hellhound on the defensive. Sterling's axe came down in a powerful arc, separating the creature's head from its body in a single, clean strike. Black ichor sprayed across the stone, hissing where it touched the ground.

Only Sean was still fighting, his hellhound proving more resilient than the others. It had cornered him against the altar, its massive bulk blocking any escape route. Sean fired his last round, the bullet burying itself in the hellhound's shoulder but failing to stop its advance.

I was moving before conscious thought, the Heavenly Lash singing through the air. It caught the hellhound's back leg, celestial energy burning through muscle and bone. The creature stumbled, momentarily distracted from its prey—giving Sean the opening he needed.

He lunged forward, silver knife in hand, driving the blade up under the hellhound's jaw and into its brain. The hellhound convulsed, its body twitching violently as unholy life drained from it. With a final, weak growl, it collapsed, already beginning to dissolve into sulfurous smoke.

For a moment, we all stood panting, bloodied but alive. The hellhounds were defeated, but twelve identical Asmodeus figures still surrounded us, watching with expressions of mild interest, as if we were particularly entertaining insects.

“Bravo,” they said in unison, the word dripping with mockery. “You've survived the first round. I'm almost impressed.”

I straightened despite the pain lancing through my side, refusing to show weakness. “Which one of you is real?” I demanded, voice rough from exertion. “Or are you too much of a coward to face us directly?”

The Asmodeus figures laughed, the sound unnaturally perfect, synchronized to the millisecond.

“Oh, I'm facing you directly. Twelve times over.” They spread their hands in identical gestures of false generosity.

“But I'll make you a deal. Find the real me in the next minute, and I'll let you live. Fail—” the smile widened on twelve identical faces “—and you'll wish the hellhounds had finished you.”

“We don't have time for games,” Sean growled, reloading his gun with practiced efficiency despite the blood still dripping from a gash above his eye.

“On the contrary,” all twelve Asmodeus replied. “Time is the only thing you have left.”

And with that ominous statement, the identical figures began to move, circling our battered group like wolves around wounded prey.

“Any bright ideas?” Hawk muttered, his breathing labored from the exertion of the fight.

Cassiel had been unusually quiet during the hellhound battle, conserving his strength for what was to come. Now he stepped forward, his gaze tracking each Asmodeus duplicate with inhuman focus.

“They're all connected to the original,” he said quietly. “Find the source, and the copies will fall.”

“Great,” Sean said, sarcasm thick in his voice. “And how exactly do we do that when they all look identical?”

I studied the duplicates, my mind racing. There had to be a tell, some small detail that would reveal the real Asmodeus. The way they moved, perhaps, or how they reacted to our scrutiny. The real one would be more invested, more present than mere illusions.

“Wait,” I said, a realization striking me. “The floor. Watch how they move over the floor.”

The others followed my gaze to where dust and small debris were scattered across the ancient stone tiles. As the duplicates moved, I saw what I was looking for—eleven of them left no footprints, disturbed no dust. But one...

“There,” I said, pointing to an Asmodeus on the far side of the church. “That one's real.”

The duplicate I'd identified smiled wider than the others, a subtle difference that confirmed my suspicion. “Very good,” he said, his voice carrying a weight the others lacked. With a casual gesture, the other eleven duplicates vanished like smoke.

“Now we're getting somewhere,” the real Asmodeus said, straightening his already perfect suit. “You've earned the right to the next round.”

But as he spoke, I noticed movement behind him—a shadow detaching itself from the deeper darkness at the back of the church. A figure approaching silently, a dagger gleaming in hand.

Too late, I opened my mouth to warn Hawk, who stood closest to the approaching threat. The dagger flashed, and suddenly Asmodeus was behind Hawk, the blade pressed against his spine with delicate precision.

“Don't move,” Asmodeus said softly, all pretense of playfulness gone from his voice. “Or I sever his spinal cord right here.”

We froze. The air in the church seemed to solidify, time stretching into an agonizing standstill. I could see the slight tremble in Hawk's hands, the only outward sign of his fear. His eyes met mine, conveying a clear message: Don't give him what he wants.

“Let him go,” Sean said, his voice low and dangerous. His gun was raised, aimed at Asmodeus's head, but we all knew he wouldn't risk the shot with Hawk's life hanging in the balance.

“Give me the Heart,” Asmodeus countered, “and I let him go.” The proposition was delivered casually, as if discussing a minor business transaction rather than a life.

Hawk gritted his teeth, his face pale but determined. “Don't you dare,” he managed, the words strained but clear. “My life isn't worth what's coming if that seal breaks.”

I glanced at Cassiel, who stood closest to where we had hidden the ornate container that housed the Heart.

The wooden box was roughly the size of a small chest, its surface carved with ancient sigils that pulsed with faint light.

We'd placed it behind the altar, warded with every protection we could manage, but those wards meant nothing to a being of Asmodeus's power.

“We can find another way,” I said, stalling for time. “The Heart isn't here. We moved it.”

Asmodeus's smile widened fractionally. “Oh? Then perhaps I should kill your friend now and continue my search elsewhere.”

Hawk didn't flinch, his face set in lines of grim determination. “Don't listen to him,” he said, eyes fixed on Sterling. “This is bigger than any of us.”

Cassiel stepped forward then, his celestial presence burning brighter. The air around him rippled with barely contained power, dust motes swirling in complex patterns around his advancing form.

“Then let's make a deal.” His voice carried a resonance that made the church's ancient stones vibrate in sympathy. It was not a human voice now, but something older, something that remembered the world before language.

Asmodeus raised a single perfect eyebrow, intrigued. He kept the dagger at Hawk's back, but his attention shifted to the angel. “And what could you possibly offer me that I don't already have within my grasp?”

“A duel,” Cassiel replied, his voice cold and precise. “If I win, we keep the box. If I lose, you take it. Do you accept?”

The simple proposition hung in the air, weighty with implications. Demons were bound by certain rules, certain traditions. A formal challenge, properly structured, had power beyond mere words.

Asmodeus's expression shifted from amusement to calculation. “A duel,” he repeated, as if testing the word. “Between an exile and a prince of Hell. Intriguing.”

“Those are my terms,” Cassiel pressed, taking another step forward. “Release Hawk, face me directly, and let the victor claim the prize.”

Sean's hand closed on my arm, a silent warning. Whatever Cassiel was planning, it was dangerous. Angels were powerful, yes—but Asmodeus was ancient, a high-ranking demon whose powers had been honed through millennia of corruption and conquest.

But Cassiel seemed confident, or at least determined. His eyes never left Asmodeus, his stance balanced and ready, like a swordsman preparing for combat.

Asmodeus considered for a long moment, his golden eyes unblinking. Then, in a gesture both theatrical and deliberate, he lowered the dagger from Hawk's back. “I accept your challenge, Watcher.”