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“You’re not in a position to demand anything. And, as far as I can tell, you owe me for pulling you out of the Pit.”
“I don’t owe you anything, demon,” I spat.
“Even after I did you the courtesy of helping you cross the finish line?” he taunted.
“Stop playing with her, Azaroth,” said the high-pitched demon. “Let’s just take her back already.”
The demon, Azaroth, turned his head to the side to address his companion. “Patience, Skrix,” he said, “It’s been a long time since we’ve had a fresh angel to play with.”
Azaroth.
Gharol.
Skrix.
Those were their names. The idiots had given me their names. I scampered back a few feet and fought to stand. Azaroth watched me as I pulled myself up to full height, the fire behind his eyes crackling with the excitement of a possible fight.
He was a fair deal taller than I was, and, despite the stubborn haze around my vision, I could see more of the details on his body. For a moment I had thought he was wearing armor the color of charcoal, but it wasn’t armor he was covered in.
They were scales.
Scales that looked as hard as metal, and so dark that they would absorb all light; not that there was much light down here to begin with.
“What is it going to do, I wonder?” asked Azaroth, his voice low, his knife held by his side.
I licked my lips, scanned all three of the demons around me, and took a sharp breath. “Azaroth, Gharol, and Skrix,” I said, unfurling my wings, “Demons of Hell. I, Sarakiel, Lightbringer of the Seventh Choir, Tenth of Her Name, banish you from this place and send you back from whence you came!”
Despite my injuries, I managed to speak with intent. I had wanted to command them, to use the power of their names to send them away from me. This… usually worked, but this time I was met with blank faces. And then laughter.
Gharol’s laughter sounded like bits of iron scraping against each other. Skrix’s laughter came as a distorted hissing sound, like a snake choking on its own breath. Azaroth’s was a deep, deep laugh like the rumble at the core of the Earth itself.
Clearly the use of their names meant nothing down here, or—judging by their riotous laughter—these weren’t their real names, which meant it was time for Plan B.
If ever there was a moment to use what was left of my Light, it was that one. I was injured, cut up, bleeding, and surrounded by demons. Worse, demons who were laughing at me. I was a joke to them, and that just wouldn’t do.
The flash of my Light caught them by surprise. It shone from the space between my wings, illuminating the ground and the rocks around me. The Light should have been far more potent than it was, I was having trouble manifesting it, but it made the demons shriek and retreat all the same.
Gharol roared, covered his face, and ran far enough away that the Light couldn’t touch him. Skrix scurried behind a rock, hissing and hurling obscenities as he went. Azaroth shielded his eyes and fell back a few paces. I could hear his skin sizzling as the Light burned the scales on his arm, but he stood his ground.
At the same time, I felt my wounds begin to knit together and seal. After this there wouldn’t be much more of my Light left; if there was any left at all. But it was worth it to feel refreshed, to feel strong again, and to feel like I had some kind of power down in this wretched place.
I bid my Light to dim and snuff out as soon as the deepest and worst of my wounds were healed. When it was gone, Azaroth lowered his arm and inspected the damage. I could see him clearly now. I could see all of them and the broken, barren land I was in.
All around me, as far as the eye could see, were hills and mountains with jagged peaks. The ground was the color of coal, pockmarked by spots of burning green fire that shot out of cave mouths and from the tops of flowing rivers. I realized quickly that the rivers weren’t water, but molten hot magma that slithered and rolled, sending puffs of noxious gas into a yellow and purple sky that looked more like a mantle of bruises than anything else.
The demons in front of me were also a sight to behold.
Gharol was a hulking behemoth covered in thick, rusted iron plates that scraped against each other whenever he moved. Spikes and barbs protruded from his body at sharp angles, he had a jaw that looked like it could bite through solid steel, and a single cyclopean eye bulged from the center of his head.
Skrix was a lithe, shadowy thing with slick, oily, skin and an elongated face. A long, forked tongue poked out of his mouth to whip the air, giving him a snake-like appearance. It was his eyes, though, that drew the most attention. There were six of them, each pair larger than the other, going up and along his entire head.
Azaroth—the leader of this trio—was a demon of coal and fire, with bat-like wings that extended from his shoulders and ended in mean-looking hooks. His eyes were alight with orange flame. When he spoke, that same light would shine out of his throat. Covering his body were charcoal-colored scales, some of which were burned and singed now thanks to my Light.
It was his crown, though, that caught my attention, because it was a crown of bones and bits of broken skulls adorned with what looked like… feathers.
Azaroth snarled as he inspected the damage to his arm. “Bold,” he said, in his baritone voice. “And stupid.”
“I warned you,” I said.
