Page 45 of Hell Hath No Fury (Tear Down Heaven #4)

Despite being the one who managed their weapons back on the RV, Iggs had never actually set off real C-4 before.

The only reason he knew how to wire it was because he occasionally had to supplement his gamer rage diet with angry gun nut content.

Their wrath was toxic but plentiful, plus he’d picked up a lot of useful skills, like how to use plastic explosives.

But watching a redneck blow up watermelons through a screen was a totally different experience from seeing fifteen pounds of C-4 explode in real life.

Nothing could’ve prepared him for the deafening sound of it, or the way the blast’s concussion made it feel like every cell in his body was being punched simultaneously.

All his instincts were screaming at him to duck and cover, but Iggs forced himself to stay on his feet, squinting through the blinding light for the moment the explosion failed.

It happened even sooner than he expected.

Leander had told him flat-out that blowing the prince up wouldn’t work, but the flare had barely faded before the Prince of Hate’s white sword shot out of the smoke to dig its serrated teeth into the stairs on the opposite side of the spiral.

The giant prince appeared a second later, using his sword’s chain like a rope to swing away from the gaping hole the C-4’s explosion had left in the staircase.

That was a surprise. Iggs hadn’t realized the hulked-out prince still had the presence of mind to do something smart like swing to safety.

He’d thought for sure they’d come right at him, but the fact that the prince had chosen to stay high actually made Iggs’s next plan even better.

It was actually the same idea he’d had before but without the safety of kiting.

It was pretty damn unsafe, to be honest, but Iggs didn’t have time to be a coward.

He’d never get another shot this clear again, so, before he could chicken out, he ripped off the bandage tying Lys to his back and jumped.

He'd never be able to match Bex for distance, but the moment Iggs’s feet left the ground, he knew he’d just made the best high jump of his life.

By the time Lys’s unconscious body landed on the stairs behind him, Iggs was flying through the center of the spiral staircase like a cannonball, shooting up through the dust and debris that was still falling from the explosion to wrap his arms around the Prince of Hate’s giant, unarmored legs.

Iggs changed the second he made contact, casting off his human disguise to reveal his true self. By the time the startled prince looked down, he was already grappled by a ten-foot tall, red-skinned, red-eyed demon of Wrath.

For one glorious second, Iggs saw true fear shining in the prince’s mirrored eyes.

Then his giant face distorted with hate as he started trying to kick Iggs off only to discover he couldn’t.

Now that Iggs was back in his true form, the two of them were the same size, and flying through the air like they were, the prince had no leverage.

All he could do was punch at Iggs’s horned head with his free hand, which hurt like hell, but not enough to stop a wrath demon going full throttle.

The fury was burning hot and fast in Iggs’s blood now, allowing him to ignore pain and forget danger as he climbed up the prince’s body to grab the wrist the princess’s chain was tied to with both hands.

The prince really started fighting then.

He thrashed like a cornered animal, biting and punching with all his might.

Every blow broke something important—a nose, a rib, a tooth—but Iggs had been a kick demon, and he’d lived through worse.

He certainly wasn’t going to let a little pain stop him as he squeezed the prince’s forearm between his giant red fists.

He couldn’t break the sin-iron chain itself—nothing could do that except a queen’s sword—but he could destroy the hand the prince was using to hold onto it.

Iggs did so with great pleasure, crushing his red palms together like a vise until he felt every one of the prince’s overgrown bones snap. The son of Gilgamesh howled in pain, but the real prize was when his destroyed hand fell open, releasing its grip on the princess’s chain.

Since they were still swinging through the air, this also released the only thing holding them up.

The residual momentum would’ve carried them to safety anyway, but Iggs was already prepared for that.

As soon as the spiral staircase came into range, he kicked off it with both legs, reversing their flight and sending them both hurtling down the empty center of the spiral stairs into the dark below.

“ You idiot !” the prince roared, his pulverized hand hanging limply beside him while he pummeled Iggs’s face with the other. “Now we’re both going to crash!”

“That’s the plan, asshole,” Iggs growled, hugging the prince even tighter. “I’m taking you to hell.”

The prince screamed again, his voice cracking with fear as he beat his fist against every part of Iggs that he could reach.

Iggs let him do it, ignoring the blows to focus on leaning his weight in the right direction to flip them over.

By the time the prince realized what Iggs was doing, he was already on the bottom, his terrified mirrored eyes shining with the reflected light of the tower above them.

That was all Iggs had time to see before the impact slammed through him like a speeding train, and the whole world went dark.

The blackness almost felt like a trophy.

Iggs had always taken pride in being the toughest demon in the crew aside from Bex herself, but that was a hell of a fall and a Hell to fall into, which, of course, was the entire point.

Leander had been right when he’d accused Iggs of making it up as he went, but the one idea he’d had from the start—and the one he was really proud of—was dropping the prince into the Lowest Hells.

If he could do that, then it wouldn’t matter what happened after the fall.

Whether he lived or not, the prince would still be trapped down here, which was the same thing as a win.

Even better, Bex knew how to enter and exit the Lowest Hells without getting stuck, which meant she could pull Iggs out while leaving the prince to rot. Assuming Iggs survived, of course.

Aside from that one minor detail, though, it was a great plan. Even Lys wouldn’t have been able to find something to criticize about it, which was why Iggs was so pissed when he came to with a groan.

That wasn’t right. He’d never been in the Lowest Hells before, but Iggs was pretty sure he should be plummeting through eternal darkness right now, not waking up with a headache.

He cracked his eyes open next, squinting in the dim, dusty light filtering down from the hole above to see he was lying at the bottom of what looked like a giant well.

The stairs, he realized blearily. He was lying at the bottom of the giant spiral staircase.

The last step was actually right in front of him, close enough to see the thick layer of grimy dust on top of it.

He also saw a door in the wall beside it.

A giant black one carved with the same towering image of Gilgamesh that he’d seen on the entrance to the Middle Hells, which explained why his plan had failed.

The stairs didn’t go to the pit Bex had jumped into.

They went to the Lowest Hells’ front door, because of course they did.

Why would Gilgamesh have a staircase that went into a Hell no one could get out of? Stupid, stupid, stupid .

But it was too late to regret his choices now.

Iggs just hoped the fall had done some damage, because his Hells trap looked like a bust. His own body had already mostly put itself back together thanks to Ishtar’s gift of regeneration, but other than Greed’s healing sword, most princes didn’t have the ability to recover damage in the field.

It was probably too much to hope that the Prince of Hate had splatted on impact, but if Iggs had managed to break something big, this could still be an easy win.

He was pushing up on his elbows to look around and see if he'd gotten lucky when a hand the size of a trashcan lid closed around his left leg.

“You little shit .”

The voice was warped and twisted, but Iggs still recognized it as the Prince of Hate yanked his body—Iggs’s fully transformed, ten-foot tall wrath demon body—off the ground like a piece of trash to dangle Iggs upside down in front of him.

Leander had warned him the Prince of Hate would get stronger as he took damage, but this was ridiculous.

Iggs didn’t know how long he’d blacked out for, but the prince was now twice the size he’d been when they fell down here.

The only reason Iggs didn’t give himself up for dead right then and there was because wrath demons didn’t give up, and because the Prince of Hate looked terrible .

He was clearly teetering on the edge of what his body could take.

His olive skin was stretched so thin over his bulging muscles that every blood vessel was visible.

He hadn’t escaped the fall entirely unscathed.

His right hand was still curled into a useless fist from where Iggs had crushed it earlier, and he was standing with all his weight on one leg like it hurt to use the other.

But while Iggs was stoked to see that his efforts had made some kind of impact, the giant prince was definitely still in killing form as he swung Iggs over his head like a club.

“This is why I hate working in the Hells!” he roared as he slammed Iggs’s body into the dusty stone floor. “You demons are all animals constantly biting the hand that feeds you! Even when you’re beaten, you never know when to quit !”