Page 11 of Fallen: Darkness Ascending, Vol.1

A cloud of ash and dust explodes into the air as its shoulder is struck with great force, knocking its approach off to the side, leaving its torn body more shredded and exposed, bleeding, as it turns its snarl to the approaching threat.

Phantasmus’s arm, outstretched straight and long, the fingers bent inward and claws alight with red electricity.

The energy drips from the talons like blood, coalescing in the center between each digit, then rocketing forward in a spear of crimson to strike the awoken demon in the face and send it staggered to the side.

Enraged.

Something clicks in my head as I watch my demon take calm, precise steps forward between the trees to launch more bullets of blood at the creature. That’s his gun . In the real world, that’s Phantasmus’s gun. Things always have a darker reflection in hell, but the reflection comes from somewhere.

Broken bodies crack and squelch beneath the behemoth’s wide feet as it gets itself upright, screams sharply into the air at a pitch that almost makes my ears want to bleed, and begins to charge at Phantasmus.

Bullets rip into its body, but it’s undeterred as it rushes forward.

Phantasmus continues the onslaught as it approaches, wings beginning to spread and catch air, only leaping at the very last moment.

Leg bending, body falling with intention, Phantasmus leans and spears his claws into the nape of the demon, driving in and yanking, the two blundering off as the creature continues to run and slam through trees.

I scramble forward to where Stray is lying in a thick spiderweb, forcing myself to brush the cobs away from his ghost, trying to feel for his true shape with my hands.

He’s moving a little, looking around, trying to adjust his position, but he definitely seems hurt or tired.

I wish I could see —I scoop him up under my arms, delicately, unable to hear if he’s whimpering or whining and just trying to operate based on the feel of his breaths.

He’s a big dog, and I’m not very strong, but adrenaline lends just enough energy for me to brace his side-body against my chest, forearms bent under him, and hustle my way through the trees opposite from the sound of fighting demons.

The forest floor is dangerous, I can’t see exactly where fallen branches or bushes are, and I carry him as far away from the fight as I can manage.

It isn’t far enough. My arms begin to fail, and I set Stray down before I drop him, the sounds of battle crash chaotically through the forest, not headed in any single direction, and through the mess of it all I can hear Phantasmus’s pained screeching.

Then quieter movements through the forest, steps too heavy to be his.

My chest begins to burn from panting, from fear, from worry.

This is really it. Without Cornelius to save me, without Phantasmus to distract it, without some way to know what I’m up against in the real world, I, this…

I’m going to die.

It rushes from the trees nearby, and I barely have time to scream and get my feet running before its body crashes over mine, throwing me to the ground, and that instant contact rips and drains the warmth from my body, siphoned into the demon as a form of energy as it roars at me from the back of my head, flecks of saliva and blood showering into my hair.

I see streaks of ghostly light moving around me.

I scream at Stray to run.

The creature’s weight drops onto me heavily, maw slamming into my skull as I scream and weep and mourn my own end.

Blood soaks into the ground beneath me, the behemoth’s body writhing atop me, lungs burning within me.

The crack of bones and bursting of blood burns my ears.

Then it twists, turning, and begins to come away in a guttural, whining screech.

I try to scramble, amazed it hadn’t started to bite into me and tear into flesh.

I can barely breathe, barely scoot myself across the forest floor, glancing back only to see blood and viscera raining in the air around us.

It drips and pelts into my face, my eyes, across Stray’s ghost. The blood flicks upward off curved, black claws as the body is dug through, carved into.

A kid at Christmas ripping open his biggest gift.

A dog over-eagerly digging into dirt to bury a bone.

A demon blind with blood lust shredding through the flesh of its offending kin.

The horror of the sight makes me freeze up, staring through blood-speckled eyes.

Phantasmus drags his claws in long swipes across the back of the beast, it’s resistance and fight slowly fading as the lithe demon stays balanced on its back, unburying the bones of the creature’s spine by digging trenches on either side of it.

The back end of each swipe tosses viscera into the air, which seems to almost float and halo around the demon before raining back down on us.

Crimson, wolven fangs descend on a brick of spine bone.

Latching on, trying to bite through, hands landing on either side and wrenching with great force to snap the bones apart.

The behemoth’s body shakes the earth as it falls over, limbs twitching, bones crackling between Phantasmus’s fangs like crab legs between metal pincers, spinal juices squirting into the air.

He shakes his head back and forth animalistically, losing grip on the spine and diving his face into the body again to dig with hands, having revealed organs now, too.

I manage to turn from the sight, crawling through the trees and over decomposing skeletons, finding my feet, fleeing until I fall sometime later. Far enough that I don’t hear the crunching feast.

Stray lays on my legs as I pant and choke on ash. I shake, cold to my bones, and cry as quietly as I can.

I don’t bother with breathing exercises, I know they won’t work.

I sit, traumatized, at the base of a bloody tree and pet against Stray as I wait one fate or another to claim me.

It’s minutes and minutes later when the sound of footsteps make their way closer.

Shuffling. Ambling. Off-balance. I stare ahead, motionless, my breaths louder than I’d like but I can’t stop the panting, sobbing huffs.

The footsteps stop, a few trees behind me.

“…Get up.”

Choked, gargling, weak. The voice is spoken through blood but…

more than normal. Breathier, less forceful.

I dare to lean to the side and glance around the trunk of the tree and look at him.

There’s a somewhat scornful expression on his face, chest heaving as he pants, one arm crossed to the other which has been shredded and almost completely torn off.

It hangs by the bone, and a few strips of tendon.

The rest of his dark body is ripped, blood-flecked, gored, or missing pieces.

His voice speaks again, gurgling, “You’re far better off being my prey. I, at least, won’t hurt your dog.”

My breath falters a bit at that, my hand stroking long across Stray’s body and down his tail. He’s still breathing, but I think he fell asleep on me. If not injured, then definitely got the wind knocked out of him.

Phantasmus’s horns glint as he jerks. “I’m slow. Weak. Tired. Run , if you want. You might get away. But…I’d be surprised to see you abandon your pet.”

I swallow. He’s right, I wouldn’t leave Stray here—certainly not in his condition—and I can’t carry him for any meaningful distance. I feel so…defeated. Shaking my head, I whisper in desperate frustration, “What do you want from me?”

Phantasmus pants for a few more heavy and slow breaths.

“Your body. Your blood.”