Page 5 of Fallen: Darkness Ascending, Vol.1

The bloated pig-demon turns on his twisted hooves, cracked horns pointing at me, and a slough of blood mists into the air from its soaked body as it begins to charge.

My attempt to side-step and change angles only trips my feet into Stray, my hand catching his shoulder and trying to stop me from fully falling, but the extra few moments in one place are all the speed demon needs.

His form passes harmlessly through the small ghost at my feet, the broad side of one cracked horn goring into my body and dragging me along for a few steps, my back breaking the fence behind me and slamming into my neighbor’s shed on the other side before the behemoth squeals in delight, throwing its head up and to the side and sending me soaring into the air.

My limbs cut through the wind as I flail, seeing the glow of a strange, black-colored light begin to streak through the eternal night sky.

My rescue , I think numbly as my weight begins to sink into the ground at the end of my fall. To the ground, through a trellis and thick clay pot, first.

The force of the thrust is enough to make me bounce upon impact, dragging forward a foot or two before coming to a heavy stop.

Broken shards are cut through my back and neck, the point of one, broken tomato-trellis driven through my skull and out my eye.

I can’t close it, the lid bumping into the bamboo, and I can’t look around.

I can feel the concrete blocks that serve as the border of my neighbor’s garden, one splintered beneath my tailbone.

I feel my knee, twisted, backwards.

All the pain, none of the release of death.

In the distance, the hellhog squeals a dying cry, and there’s a loud thump that quakes the ground when it falls.

In the slightly further distance, the baying of other demons has started to orchestrate. Between myself, the condemned soul, and this big demon too, there’s a lot of free food laying around for the taking. The stench must be overwhelming to their starved noses.

A so-far unbroken part of the fence now shatters inward, and Phantasmus’s form rolls and tumbles in the ground a pair of times before he catches himself and comes to a jerking halt, hand and knee on the ground, wings torn but splayed as though to make himself bigger.

He pants .

Blood bubbles and drips from him in a variety of places as he slowly comes to stand, facing off against the figure now stepping calmly through the freshly torn fence.

Elegance. Beauty. Grace. Godliness.

White feathers.

Dark lashes around brown eyes.

A golden spear, flowing white robes behind gold plates of armor, long, silken, ethereal curls of hair.

Another screeching of hungry demons draws the soft brown eyes to the horizon, just for a moment, then the brows lower with a look of furious, disapproving rage as the gaze returns to Phantasmus across the yard.

The demon glances to me, snarls and screeches, then thrusts his broken wings to lift up into a shadow of the night, and disappear.

I feel my chest fail to fully exhale my sigh of relief.

The impact, or maybe the initial blow, must have deflated my lungs.

In fact, I can’t move any part of my body, really.

I feel like a puppet whose strings have all been detached, no way to tug on my limbs and make them dance.

I suppose that’s why I’m not screaming, given the torturous pain thrumming through the various pieces of my body.

I feel every crack of bone, slice of skin, shred of meat, pool of blood, all at once, all undiluted by the threat or promise of unconsciousness.

The dusty ground kicks up around bare, clean feet, but none of the soot or ash stains the white strands of his clothes .

His knee crashes beside me, hands reaching and holding, actual fear in his eyes as he looks me up and down.

“I’m here, little lamb,” he says softly, under his own breath. I only hear the first two words—the other are drowned under the sounds of demons fighting, a few houses down the road. He shakes his head, taking in the bamboo speared through my face. “Be not afraid, now, I’m here.”

I can see his thoughts turning and turning in his mind as he takes me in, as a palm cups across my cheek and I feel the slightest, cold pull of myself into his skin. His sigh shakes ashy dust through the air, and he leans in over me. “I…have to save you. Do you understand?”

There’s something bracing in his voice, a warning, an apology. I can’t respond either way, can’t ask what he means, and he nods to himself and repeats the words more quietly, the sounds of demon deaths cresting through the darkness.

A small ghost appears at my side, and I can feel Stray licking at my face to try and get me to snap out of it. I wish I could tell him it won’t work, this time.

“What a good boy…” White linens drape over me as I’m gently dragged up from the rubble, into a caring lap. Stray follows along, in stride, staying right next to me as my body mysteriously floats in front of him. “Listen to me, Hope, listen here.”

The gate bursts off its hinges behind him, a trio of demons snaked around each other, biting and clawing. Dim light faintly glints off a small, golden horn in the mix.

“Trust me, lamb…I’ll keep you safe.”

Both hands on either side of my head, he bows over me until our foreheads and noses touch as well, and I feel myself drift away with such sudden, unrelenting force it manages to make my body react and recoil.

My consciousness immediately wanes, vision blurring.

I almost expect it to go back to showing me the real world, the starry night sky, but every time my sight wanes in and out, it’s all just hell that I see.

That crimson-amber sky above that exudes the opposite of light.

“ I’ve got you.”

I can feel myself run empty. Feel the life leave my feet, the tips of my fingers, the center of my stomach. Drained and gurgling to empty like a tub with the plug pulled, my awareness and existence all spin around themselves and slip away through the soft touch of a head pressed to mine.

I’ve been killed by demons before, too many times to count. I know how it feels to have it happen slow, or quick. I know each type of demon has its favorite place to slurp your soul from, the places where they can’t help but gorge and dine and overstuff themselves with your energy.

I know Phantasmus’s favorite is his teeth.

And I know Cornelius’s favorite is from his hand. The tips of his fingers, and the central slope of his palm.

But this is a new first, for me. I don’t have firsts very often anymore.

I’ve been killed by demons plenty of times so far, but…

Never Cornelius.

Never with this much purposeful intention.

…Never Cornelius …!

His head lifts from mine in the few moments before I’m fully gone, spear appearing into his hand as he turns his shoulder and begins to pierce into one of the shrieking animals charging at him.

I see Phantasmus behind it, face smeared over with blood like paint, claws locked into the other demon and a string of flesh connecting the crimson fangs to the demon’s body, a stake of gold splitting through one chest and then into the other.

That in-black mouth downturns and begins to wail in pain.

The last bit of my life floats into Cornelius through the thumpad, a caress of my life against his loving hand as I fade away.