Page 54 of Unbinding the Demon
Soft crepuscular rays glimmered through the wavering green leaves of the mighty ascended oak, the sacred keeper of ancestral knowledge. Beneath its enchanted boughs and beside the clear, winding stream stood two bright souls. Glittering butterflies and delicate fluttering petals danced on the breeze around them, while they peered into the calm, crystalline water that rested within the depths of the scrying well.
Lacey stepped away from the well and strolled over to the stream, where she dipped her dainty hand into the cooling water. Her fingertips trailed over the many colorful gemstones blanketing the bed of the sparkling rivulet. They glittered beneath the bright rays of the late afternoon sun as she playfully stirred them up. Her russet eyes glimmered with serenity, and her soul was at peace in the afterlife created by the summer fae.
The light gently kissed her cheeks, illuminating them with a warm, golden glow. A smile danced across her beautiful face, with her luscious raven ringlets tumbling down her back and slipping over her shoulder. She pulled a few of the vibrant jewels up to the surface, causing small shimmering droplets to drip back down upon the water’s flowing surface.
“I’m really going to miss you, you know,” she stated with a wistful smile as she walked back over to the well. Her newly acquired treasures rested in her palm, while her long, light green dress fluttered in the warm breeze behind her.
Elowynn smiled back with love, her fiery auburn locks catching the light like a flaming halo upon her crown. “I’ll miss you too, my dear.” Her emerald eyes glistened with unshed tears. “But my work is now complete, and I’m at peace with Gwendolyn’s future. The time has come for me to reincarnate.” The lush grass and colorful midsummer flowers swayed around them as she spoke.
Lacey peered back into the well, where an image of Gwendolyn and Azathoth cuddling on the stone bench by the lake came into view. Autumn leaves blazed around them, and the golden sun hung low on the horizon. “He’s going to take good care of her and be an amazing father to their future hellions.” She spoke as she watched, her eyes shining with love. “But I can’t leave just yet. Darrell’s fate is yet to come, and I plan to watch until he’s at peace. I want to see his joy when he receives whatever the stars have in store for him.” A sly smirk danced upon her full lips, and her small, soft laugh rang through the air like a crystal chime. She may not have seen the path ahead, but she believed in him. Greatness was written in his stars, just waiting for him to claim it.
Elowynn took Lacey’s hands in hers with a warm smile. “Perhaps we’ll see each other in another lifetime, then.” She squeezed her hands.
“I hope so,” Lacey responded softly. She squeezed her eyes shut as the two women embraced in a loving yet sorrowful hug.
Emerald green and russet brown eyes gazed back into the well, where they watched together one final time...
“Haha! Remember this one? That time that mob of angry monkeys ambushed you?” Gwendolyn held up her phone, showing Azathoth a comical image of himself stumbling over while being attacked by a barrel of rhesus macaques. He was dramatically feigning defeat with flailing arms, and the monkeys looked downright pissed.
Azathoth chuckled at the memory while pulling her closer to his side. “Yes, they sure got me good, didn’t they?” he joked with an amused grin.
“You surely had them believing that! Remember their victory dance once they thought you were dead!?” she exclaimed, snuggling further against him, brushing her cheek against the rough material of his jacket. Her finger continued to swipe, showing more images of their adventure.
“How could I ever forget?” he laughed.
His eyes glowed with love and adoration as he gazed down upon his wife, watching her joyfully reminisce about all the places they had traveled together. Autumn had come and gone twice now since they had wed, and with each passing season, their love only grew stronger. He had given her all the time she needed to allow her heart to heal and also to finish school.
Now, once again, the autumn winds were blowing over the shimmering lake. They danced through their hair and caught the colorful, changing leaves within their chilling grasp. But this time was different, because as summer’s warmth faded from the valley, so would they.
A few perching crows cawed above them, as Gwendolyn looked up and lovingly tucked a strand of hair behind Azathoth’s ear, feeling completely enamored with the demon beside her. The demon she loved and belonged with—Her husband.
“I’d like to visit Jodhpur again someday. It was so beautiful there, and really cool to see the ancient ruins from the kingdom you once loved.” She mentioned with a smile, as the pictures changed from their time in India to ones of them riding reindeer amongst a snowy landscape in Lapland, Finland.
Azathoth’s teleportation abilities had made it easy for them to travel in their spare time. They’d gone all over the world, beholding natural beauty after natural beauty, experiencing new cultures, trying new foods, and meeting all kinds of wonderful people. All while still being able to make it home in time to feed Pepper Paws his dinner.
“I would very much enjoy that, too.” He smiled. His thumb caressed her upper arm. He cherished the fact that he had all eternity to travel this world and many more with the woman he loved by his side.
A perfectly clean gray Nissan sped into the driveway. It kicked up a wave of gravel behind it, pulling their attention away from each other. Both Gwendolyn and Azathoth stood up. They turned just in time to see William jump out of the passenger seat as if it were on fire. He clutched a Pyrex container in his hand and looked ready to kiss the ground. Darrell shook his head with a smile as he calmly got out after him.
William sprinted through the peacefully swaying field of tall grass and bright autumn flowers, flailing his arms and shouting like a madman. His high ponytail and silver hoop earrings bounced around his face, while his glossy cherry-red jacket glistened in the low light.
“Woo! We’re here! We made it!” Red Converse sneakers crunched over the stony beach. Then he tackled Gwendolyn with an attack hug, causing her to make a little “Oof” noise. “I thought we weren’t going to make it in time to watch the sunset with you guys!” he said with a laugh as he squeezed the life out of her lungs. He recklessly twirled her around, almost dropping the container and nearly causing them to fall into the lake.
“Ahh! William!” Her face flushed a scarlet hue from both her gleeful laughter and lack of oxygen.
Curious what all the hullabaloo was about and tantalized by the smell of food, Belzar appeared beside them with a poof. He jumped and barked with enthusiasm, wagging his fluffy tail and panting with his tongue hanging out to the side like a big, old dopey dog.
“Azathoth! Tell him to open that container! It smells delicious!” Belzar’s voice rang with excitement in the demon’s mind.
Darrell briskly jogged over, not too far behind William. Car keys rattled in his navy blue and light gray letterman jacket pocket, while a few crispy dead leaves crushed beneath his black boots. The descending sun painted the amused smile on his face as he watched William playfully grapple with Gwendolyn in a strangling hug.
“Jeez, William, you’re both gonna end up splashing around in the lake and ruining the chimichangas if you don’t calm down.” He laughed, then ruffled Belzar’s furry cheeks.
Azathoth, who was also laughing, shifted his amused gaze to meet Darrell’s twinkling eyes. “Chimichangas, you say?” He raised an excited, questioning brow. “No wonder Belzar’s so thrilled.”
Initially, Darrell had resisted the truth of what happened to Lacey and Azathoth’s origins. Her death had broken him, and it was way too much for him to handle at the time. But given a few months to dwell on things, he eventually came around and re-entered their lives. Now, over the years, he and Azathoth had formed a close friendship.
Along with Gwendolyn, Azathoth had also taken the time to teach both Darrell and William many things about sorcery. Both men had taken very well to it and were inching their way up to warlock status. Darrell developed a keen interest in necromancy, while William uncovered his passion for vitamancy.
“You heard me right, my man!” Darrell said while holding up his hand for an informal, rough handshake and hearty bro hug. “I can’t believe you two are actually leaving!” His once twisted black curls had grown out and now draped down to his chin in micro braids. They dangled over his face as the two men embraced.
“Yes, well, like I said, we’ll visit often and you’ll both have my sigil to call upon me whenever you want.” They broke away from the hug. “Speaking of which...” Azathoth pulled two black envelopes out of his jacket pocket and handed one to each of them. “There’s a spare key to the house along with my sigil in each of those.” He looped his arm around Gwendolyn’s shoulders and pulled her into his side with a rough shake.
Gwendolyn flailed her arms a bit as she stumbled into his overpowering embrace. “What is with you guys and trying to fucking kill me tonight?” she grumbled, then a powerful gust of wind abruptly blew through Azathoth’s hair, causing it to smack her in the face. “Blech!”
Not minding his wife’s silly antics, Azathoth continued to speak. “We’re planning to use this place as our vacation home, but you two are more than welcome to stay here whenever you’d like.” He gestured to the house with the hand that wasn’t busy constricting Gwendolyn.
“Yeah, and you guys are also welcome to come visit us in Hell!” Gwendolyn added while swatting the last remaining strands of tickly black hair from her face. “Just pack up your bags, call upon this big, scary old oaf...” She pointed to Azathoth with her thumb. “And he’ll come pick you right up!”
“Only as long as you bring us more chimichangas, though,” Azathoth added with a laugh while pointing at the container.
“I’m down if I get to poke anguishing souls with a pitchfork while wearing a red hooded unitard,” William jested while placing his free hand on his hip.
“William, you know that’s a complete myth,” Azathoth replied while smirking. “There are no human souls being tortured in Hell, and no one, and I mean absolutely no one , wears red unitards there!” He chuckled in amusement while a look of pseudo-disappointment fell across William’s face.
“Will we even be able to survive there if we go? I mean, with all the fire and brimstone and stuff?” Darrell asked. The envelope crinkled in his hand as he fidgeted with it to center the key inside.
“Yes, I’m sure. All the fire and brimstone is within the fiery pits.” He shrugged. “We’ll probably settle down in one of the many other biomes in Hell. Most of them are very habitable for humans, and some even sort of resemble places you’d find here on Earth.” He and Gwendolyn smiled at one another as he squeezed her a little tighter.
“Alright, I guess we’ll come by and visit every now and then.” William pointed toward Azathoth with an exaggerated motion. “But I’m still going to wear a red unitard while I’m there,” he added with narrowed eyes, while Belzar stealthily sniffed at the container.
Darrell cleared his throat. “Okay, well, I’m hungry, so let’s eat those chimichangas and watch the sunset now. That should help get that image out of my head.” He chuckled, and Belzar yipped in agreement.
William raised one of his perfectly groomed brows. “Bitch, please, you know I’d look sexy as fuck wearing that!” he teased with a sassy head shake while pointing up in a circle.
The four of them laughed together, then began indulging in the delicious chimichangas. The soft golden rays of the setting sun danced upon them while adorning the land in gloaming beauty. They watched as the dwindling light glimmered across the calm, glossy waters of the lake, sparkling on the ripples created by the darkened silhouette of a passing loon. Mist swirled over the shoreline, slightly illuminated by the dying evenfall glow.
The demon, who had always loved watching the setting sun, found himself oddly distracted by his thoughts. He sucked in a deep breath of the crisp autumn air while his glowing golden gaze mirrored the gilded scenery before him.
Eagerness to return home and see his family again enveloped every inch of his fiery soul, yet a strange sense of anxiety fluttered within his infernal heart. He didn’t know how much Hell had changed over the past five thousand years. For all he knew, red unitards could, in fact, be in style. He feared the possibility that his loved ones might have passed on during his absence.
However, unbeknownst to him, he would soon find all his friends and family alive and well. His family, who had long ago thought him to be dead, would greet him and Gwendolyn with loving, open arms. Their reunion would be one of joy and excitement. He’d kick over his own gravestone, then gleefully hurl it out into the River Styx. “I’m not dead, suckers!” he’d shout in victory. Meanwhile, his loved ones would cheer, celebrating his triumphant return.
His wife, who sensed his unease and could hear his thoughts, gently squeezed his hand with a loving smile. The sun sank lower still, turning from glistening gold to luminous crimson. Trepidation glimmered in her eyes as she watched because she was nervous, too. She feared that his family wouldn’t accept her for being human, and it was hard to fathom finding her place in Hell.
But soon, her worries would be laid to rest. His family would not only accept her, but also adore and cherish her. Azathoth’s parents would become the father and mother she never had and shower her with parental love and affection. She would form close friendships with both her brother-in-law and sister-in-law. Scrayla would become like a sister to her and would help her meet other demons and make new friends.
“It’s going to be alright. My family will accept you; of this, I have no doubt.” Azathoth spoke the truth, with his comforting words dancing softly into her mind.
“Thank you,” she responded in his thoughts with a small smile and snuggled closer into his side while taking another bite of her chimichanga.
“Besides, just think, we’ll soon be having a family of our own.” Claws appeared on his hand as he rested it over her stomach. “I’m very eager to plant my spawns of evil within your womb,” he telepathically purred. A bright red blush spread across her cheeks, matching the crimson skyline.
Next to them stood William, who was completely unaware of the very intimate conversation happening beside him. His pale hair fluttered in the autumn breeze as he gazed out over the water, watching the fires of the sun sink further yet. As the wind kissed his smiling face, he felt as if it were whispering lamentations to his bereft soul. His heart, which was once so carefree and full of life, was now swallowed by pain and loss. Although he was still the vivacious person he’d always been, Oliver's loss had dimmed his once bright spirit.
He brushed a disobedient straggler hair out of his face, feeling the heavy weight of the sinking crimson sun upon his shoulders. He knew Sycamore Valley was now haunted by the corrupted spirits who’d passed on, forced to wander in a hopeless state of blackened incorporeality. The thought of Oliver wandering among them violently ripped through his heart.
Though, try as he might, no amount of necromantic sorcery had allowed him to contact Oliver’s spirit. He’d managed to contact Amelia’s spirit a few times, but never Oliver. It was as if he wasn’t even there at all. And although he knew it was preposterous, deep within the depths of his forlorn soul, he secretly felt as if he would see his beloved again someday.
The last threads of dying light spilled out along the waning crepuscule and glistened in Darrell’s dark brown eyes. He had gotten into a top school for criminal investigation and had just begun his junior year. With his keen eye and quick wits, combined with his natural knack for sorcery, he’d soon become a well-known and respected detective. Yet despite his career successes, nothing would fulfill his life quite like Lacey had.
Like William, he’d also tried to contact his beloved’s spirit, and Lacey would occasionally answer him in her own gentle ways. Sometimes he’d hear the musical cadence of her voice dancing upon the wind, or feel her soft caress upon his cheek. Her loss had gutted him, and he often found himself wandering by her grave, screaming out at the rain in grief. He tried to catch glimpses of her everywhere he looked, searching hopelessly for what was not there. Within the depths of his heart, he knew he’d always love her, but a piece of him had died when she had.
He held the last few bites of his chimichanga out to Belzar, who happily gobbled it up, despite having already eaten three. Belzar, too, was a bit antsy about going to Hell. He’d come to love this strange dimension and his human friends. But despite his uncertainty, he was still focused on one very important thing, and that was being the goodest boy ever.
The last glimmer of light died beneath the misty mountains, while the twinkling stars bloomed across the darkening skyline. And as they watched the veil of night cloak the land, the sorceress’s soul smiled lovingly down upon them for the last time. Then, gently, like the soft breeze blowing through the autumn branches, her bright spirit was carried away on the opalescent winds of rebirth to her next life.
The light of the chinoiserie table lamp illuminated the living room, casting its dim yellow glow over Azathoth and Gwendolyn as they prepared to leave. Gwendolyn’s swords clanked inside one of the two black duffel bags that Azathoth had slung over his shoulder. He had the Teloch Axe tied to his belt and a half-eaten chimichanga in his hand. Belzar stood beside him, wagging his tail with his own bag full of bones and sticks in his mouth. Gwendolyn walked over to the couch and scooped up Pepper Paws’s little sleepy body.
“Come on, Peps. It’s time to go,” she whispered and kissed his cute, fuzzy head. With a soft click, she turned off the lamp, leaving the room illuminated only by the lunar glow of the moon. She smiled at Azathoth with warmth while he polished off the last of the chimichanga. “What are you planning to do with the axe once we get there?” she inquired.
“I’m going to return it to Satan.” He shrugged. “It’s much too dangerous and coveted for us to keep lying around, and he’ll know the best thing to do with it.”
Her eyes widened at that. “Will I get to meet him too?” A rush of anxiety stirred in her heart.
“Yes,” he chuckled. “Of course you will. Don’t worry, though. He’s far different from how he’s been depicted. In fact, he’s greatly admired by everyone who’s ever met him. He is a god of enlightenment, after all.” Excitement glimmered in his luminescent eyes as he held out his large, clawed hand. “Now, come, my love.”
With her kitty snugly cradled in her arms and a smile on her face, she walked back over to her beloved demon with an excited bounce in her step. He wrapped one large arm around her petite waist, and then the other around Belzar. His wings folded protectively around them both as they prepared to depart from this world.
“Are you ready to leave this world with me, Buttercup?” he asked in a whisper.
“Yes,” she whispered back. “I’d go anywhere with you.” Her emerald eyes were filled with uncertainty about what was to come, but in her heart, she trusted him. “Are you ready too?”
“I’ve been ready for a long, long time,” his deep voice murmured with a slight laugh as he tightened his grip and smiled.
Emerald green met fiery gold as they lovingly gazed into each other’s eyes. He leaned in and pressed his lips to hers in a tender kiss filled with love and adoration. His lips worshipped hers in a rapturous dance, and she returned it with equal passion. Black mist began to swirl up from the floorboards around them, enveloping their embraced bodies as their kiss continued. Then, within the blink of an eye, they disappeared.
And they lived happily ever after, together in Hell.
Deep within the darkness of the abyssal forest, where trees grew with lamenting corpses woven into their ghastly trunks, and mighty abyss wolves howled their harrowing dirges to the blackened skies, the dark prince viciously yanked one of his swords from the chest of a dying Tenverian guard. Blackened blood coated his dripping weapon. Hair that was far too long and tangled from centuries of neglect and self-hatred blew in the ashen winds behind him as he stared back at the guard.
Coal-black armor clanked as the cadaverous guard collapsed to the rocky, blood-soaked ground. His dull, ruby gaze wearily scanned around, noting the other fifty or so guards who laid slaughtered across the root-entangled forest floor. He didn’t care in the slightest. Tenverians couldn’t feel empathy or sorrow, after all. What he did care about, however, was why the mentally deranged prince now looked so different.
Loathing filled his dying eyes as they raked over the prince’s smooth, non-decayed skin. “What happened to you, weakling prince?” His voice was a deep, gravelly growl laced with hatred and malice.
Valarendrik answered with a swift swing of his sword, lopping his head clean off. Only after the head rolled did he verbally respond. “That is nothing for you to be concerned with.” His voice was deep, but quiet.
In truth, the prince did look quite different. Azathoth and Gwendolyn had paid him a visit, and after seeing what had become of Belzar, he had requested the same be done to him. Although he was still undead, the demon had gladly healed his abyssal rot. The once-decayed and fleshless areas on his body had filled in with healthy pale gray skin, and his crimson eyes were far brighter, no longer glazed over with death.
It was only out of fear of what horrors might become of the crown that they abstained from trying to make him a fully living being. That made Valarendrik loathe the crown all the more. He yearned to know what it was like to be alive, to feel his heart beating within his chest, and to see the living worlds. But that was currently an unattainable dream. He was still undead, hopelessly trapped in a hostile world of death and decay.
Valarendrik’s keen senses picked up on slight movement within the shadows of the trees. The last remaining guard was trying to make an escape. Silent as the grave and swift as the wind, Valarendrik sprinted over the many freshly killed corpses like a shadowy specter. He kicked off a large mossy stone and leapt into the air with graceful agility. He landed directly in front of the guard and grabbed him by the collar of his black cloak.
A look of terror flashed across the guard’s face as he was forcefully pinned against an ashen corpse tree. He knew well that the “ weakling prince” was, in fact, the strongest Tenverian of them all. For across his left eye was the mark of a king, and he had two of them.
The prince’s sword expeditiously flashed, bringing the sharp tip against the other Tenverian’s throat with expert precision. Sickly branches from the tree clawed at the two men who snarled and flashed their teeth like wild beasts at each other. The guard knew he was no match for the rogue prince, and the prince knew it as well.
“Devour him... Taste his flesh and blood on your tongue,” the crown of bones whispered sibilantly into the prince’s mind.
Valarendrik ignored the crown’s sinister request, as he always did. He felt pity as his ruby eyes gazed down at the guard. He was young, barely even a man. Valarendrik mentally cursed himself. Reluctantly, he decided to let the boy live. Not because the guard deserved it, but because he bore the curse of empathy.
“Return to Tenveriel.” He pinned the guard against the tree ever harder and spoke with fierce authority. “Remind my mother, Queen Cerindier, of what happens to the guards she sends.” He nodded to the piles of dead Tenverian guards whom he had slain single-handedly.
The young guard hissed in anger, but was relieved that he would get to live on. He felt nothing for his fallen brethren, for he was incapable of such a thing. Valarendrik jerked away and watched with an icy glare as the guard scrambled out of there like his life depended on it—because it did.
“Sagacor,” Valarendrik called lowly, keeping his eyes fixated on the direction the guard had disappeared in.
With a harrowing whinny, the large, cadaverous steed emerged from within the black, wisping mist. His powerful hooves clunked over the mossy stones and crushed through the many roots, with the eerie rattling of his saddle chiming throughout the trees. The prince jumped up onto his back, and they cantered off through the dark, nightmarish forest toward their small, hidden abode.
What the prince didn’t know was that the guards weren’t sent to capture him this time around. They were sent to collect information. The queen was seeking a powerful relic of great value. One which Valarendrik had stolen long ago—the Ophidian Orb. As the fortunate guard sprinted away, a cruel smile twisted across his corpse-like face. He had managed to dodge the blade by stealing papers from Sagacor’s saddle, hidden in the shadows. Papers that contained the prince’s notes taken straight from the abyssal book.
As time went on, the rotten queen was growing more and more impatient. She needed Valarendrik dead, and she needed him dead soon. But first, she needed him to produce an heir, and she needed that damn orb back! Though she’d never show it, she feared her supposedly mentally ill son. Because unbeknownst to the prince, an ominous prophecy had been spoken about him. And the queen knew this prophecy would soon come to pass if she did nothing about it.
Valarendrik knew he had been born with an illuminated soul. The demon had told him so. However, he knew nothing about what that meant. He only knew that it was something unnatural in The Abyss. He was unnatural. What he didn't know was that it had been foreseen that he would bring death to death in Tenveriel, and a queen of colors unknown to their world would rule by his side. He was destined to be the most powerful king to ever sit on the Tenverian throne.
And little did he know that life in The Abyss would soon change forever. ..
For far beyond the accursed forest, over mountains high and valleys low, the abysmal cremation grounds were stirring. As furious dust devils born of abyssal winds swirled across the ashen ground, a trembling hand arose from beneath its barren surface.
With great effort and shaky movements, a large figure struggled to pull himself out from the ashes. Once dark brown waves were now black as coal, and his sun-kissed skin had turned to a pale, ashen gray. As he weakly stumbled onto his knees, his once electric blue eyes opened, revealing irises like rubies floating within obsidian depths. His hands violently trembled as he gazed down upon the black claws that had grown from his fingertips. Confusion and fear filled his disoriented soul, and he began to weep blackened tears.
“William...” he whispered mournfully, with black streams trickling down his deathly cold cheeks. His last memory was of what he had done to his most beloved. His body heaved with grief as he furiously slammed his fist onto the ground. He screamed out toward the tempestuous obsidian sky in anguish, revealing his sharp, pointed teeth.
Other souls emerged from within the depths of the valley around him. All were equally confused and filled with fear and agony over what had happened to them. For those who had died by the enchanted abyssal blades arose from the cremation grounds, reborn of ash and darkness, with their epitaphs of humanity engraved into their souls.
While they wandered around in utter turmoil, below their shuffling feet and deep within the bowels of The Abyss, the man who was responsible for their misfortune dwelled. He would receive no requiem nor necrologies. Adelstein’s corrupt soul would only scream out in terror and anguish as he writhed within the blackness of the abyssal pits.
And there he would rot forevermore.