CHAPTER NINETEEN

“Milord, may I be permitted to ask an obvious question?” Sarvalis asked, as streams of mortal souls trudged in a never-ending circle around his mountain of misery. He was so huge his voice boomed throughout the level, but his tone held enough reverence to not see him in any trouble for doing so.

Lord Belial hovered close to the torturer’s left shoulder. His arms were folded across his chest and his wings remained flat against his back. He maintained his airborne position through sheer will alone. Despite their difference in size, the smaller of the two dominated all he surveyed. Lord Belial turned his gaze away from the only individual that absorbed his attention on The Walk long enough to look at his master guardian of the Seventh Level.

Sarvalis bowed his huge head beneath that gaze.

“Ask.”

Sarvalis lifted his eyes and pointed his huge sword at the reptilian creature that crawled amongst the Damned on eight thick legs. Two heavily spiked tails swung in tight circles around its rear end and twin heads full of long sharp fangs swung on the top of snake-like necks at the other end, enabling the teeth to reach anywhere the spikes could not. Between the two it used that reach to shred any of the Damned that came too close. Despite the crowded conditions, an arm’s length ring of personal space had thus emerged around the creature; something Sarvalis had never seen before. Its celestial presence resonated like a beacon in the sea of mortal souls but after three laps, Sarvalis still couldn’t recognise its physical makeup.

He’d been pondering this question ever since Lord Belial appeared at his side and dumped a mass of bloodied meat and bone chunks at his feet with an order to get it moving. No piece was bigger than a finger-length, but watching it heal, Sarvalis still had no idea who this individual was or why he—she—it had warranted the supreme demon’s personal attention.

“Who is that really?”

Lord Belial returned his attention to the two-headed reptilian below and Sarvalis recognised the move as an unspoken dismissal of the subject. With a slight dip of his head to formally acknowledge the brush-off, Sarvalis went back to butchering the Damned in earnest; taking out on them the fact that he would probably never know who the strange guest was with every swing of his great sword.

At the end of its fourth lap, the celestial creature dug its enormous claws into the well-trodden pathway and refused to take another step in any direction. Anything that came within its reach was mauled without mercy and not once did it move its feet to do so. Sarvalis found the display of absolute brutality combined with inner power fascinating and he leaned forward to better observe the creature. If Lord Belial wasn’t so invested in it, he’d have petitioned for it to be put on a chain at his feet to serve as both a pet and a fellow tormentor. Such a prize would be enviable indeed. “Milord,” Sarvalis said, daring to speak his mind. “Should you ever tire of this one, nothing would give me greater pleasure than to relieve you of it.”

The master guardian hadn’t expected the corners of Lord Belial’s mouth to lift in amusement and he wondered what he’d said to elicit such a response. “I shall keep it in mind,” was all the great demon said.

A snarling screech from the Damned drew Sarvalis’ attention, and looking down, he saw the strange creature being plucked off the crowded path and held in the air as if something had it by the scruff of the neck. Large chunks of rock fell away from its scrabbling claws and from the way it hissed and squirmed in surprise, the move had not been of its own volition. Again, Sarvalis glanced between it and his liege, wanting more than ever to know the background of this exquisite creature. At the very least, where he could send his minions to secure him another just like it.

As the reptilian creature was deposited on a ridge opposite to where Sarvalis sat, Lord Belial moved away from the master guardian without a word. He continued to drift on non-existent air currents until he was behind the creature, then stepped down on to the same piece of ground as if he were walking off an invisible platform. Sarvalis couldn’t help but watch from the corner of his eye as he continued to slash through the Damned.

The creature must have sensed Lord Belial’s presence, which meant it wasn’t stupid either. It whirled in a tight circle to face him and backed up into the wall. Its spiked tails were off the ground in readiness, but parallel to its body instead of the more aggressive stance of overhead rotation (which meant it had intellect as well, another plus for the species). Both its heads twisted together so that all four eyes could watch the supreme demon.

Belial raised his hand and majestically rolled his wrist. By the time his palm was facing up, he’d created a leather-like ball of mass which Sarvalis couldn’t identify until the straps fell off either side of his palm to reveal a demonic two-headed collar and leash set. Studs of silver lined the collars in three distinct rows which merged into thicker studs that ran up the leash to Lord Belial’s hand. So, it is just a pet after all …

… or maybe not. The creature swung its tails up and twisted sidewards, pushing its shoulder into the cliff wall to get that little bit further away, hissing in hateful denial. What stunned Sarvalis was the fact his liege seemed to be enjoying the creature’s horrified defiance instead of squashing it on principle. The supreme demon almost chuckled as he placed his free hand against his hip. “My Well,” he said, flexing his fingers to make the leash set jiggle. “My rules. How badly do you wish to get back in?”

The Well was where the Highborn congregated and held court and only the invited ever set foot down there. It was to Hell what other realms referred to as a palace. Not even Sarvalis had been in there. Who in the Nine Levels of Hell was this creature? The only person in recent times to ever warrant Lord Belial’s personal attention like this was now safely holed up with his wife, beyond the reach of all. Had the great demon found a temporary substitute? And if so, who?

The creature’s chest heaved, and it shook both its heads; its lips curling savagely.

“As you wish.” Lord Belial’s hand tightened on the leash and he lifted himself into the air, this time using his wings which pushed dirt and dust at the creature. More importantly to Sarvalis, he was leaving the creature behind on the ledge. Effectively abandoning it. Alone. All by itself.

Sarvalis’ eyes narrowed, and he licked his fangs predatorily. Where there had been no hope before, the chance of owning it was once again a tantalising possibility. For the first time in eons, the Damned below were not the torturer’s primary focus and he only gave them enough cursory wounds to maintain his position. If Lord Belial went out of sight, Sarvalis would swoop across the chasm in a heartbeat to claim that delightful creature as his own before anyone else could take it. Already he was repositioning himself to do just that.

The creature lifted both heads at the retreating Demon Lord and shrieked out a note that caused the Damned below to cringe and Lord Belial to pause. Still airborne and with his back to the creature, he jiggled the leash at his side again. “Yes, or no? You have one more second to decide.”

No … pick ‘no’, Sarvalis willed.

The creature’s heads shuddered with what Sarvalis could only guess was revulsion, but within the allotted time, they both jerked downward once, shattering his hopes.

Instantly, the collars shot out in the creature’s direction. Lord Belial never released his end of the leash—it merely extended itself to accommodate the distance. The creature saw them coming and threw itself on to its hind legs with a cry of outrage. It tried to dodge the incoming chokers, but no matter where it turned, the collars followed. Inevitably, they locked around those throats with an unholy snap that made the silver studs ignite in possessive hellfire.

The width of the collars expanded until one set of edges sat on the creature’s shoulders and the other pushed its jaws upwards; making it a prized pet to be noticed. Technically, that was no different to what Sarvalis had planned, though he wouldn’t have given it such grandeur. In Hell, existence and the fear of the Damned were their own reward. Bat shaped wings unfurled from the leather folds of the creature’s back and lifted it into the air.

Given the way it struggled to maintain its balance in the air and how it had previously bitched about being left behind, Sarvalis doubted that the creature had known it could fly.

The leash shrank back towards Lord Belial in much the same manner that it had grown, guiding the creature to his side. The ruler of all Chaos gave the leash a single tug, then he and his new pet flew up and over the chasm wall, dropping down towards Antenora and the Well beyond.

Sarvalis would have given a lot of souls to know what that was all about.

* * *

Clarise took a long time to cry herself out. There was a very real possibility that she would never see Charon again outside a blood-link which he could cut off at any time. Or, since he no longer cared about anything, he could just as easily ignore the family contact altogether. Her last memory of him might very well be of when he’d screamed his hatred at her.

She had no one else to blame for her misery. Not once during his conception, or the years that followed, had Clarise stopped to think about how this would end for him. In hindsight, she could see how she had ridiculously assumed he would take after Beelzebub and live a naturally happy life as a Demon Lord with blood ties to the Hellion Highborn Guard. Maybe even share his father’s ability to move at incredible speeds. Something that would make him different—unique—special even, amongst their family.

Now he was unique, all right. Just not in a good way. Even her seemingly emotionless father, Lord Belial, chose to behave that way. Everyone was supposed to have emotions. Everyone … except Charon. Who, without the ability to love, would probably never have a family of his own. She had condemned him to a solitary life of emptiness, and all so that she could tolerate the presence of men in her life. Selfish didn’t even begin to describe it.

It is done, she kept reminding herself. It had needed to be done, and now it was done. He would never know the difference, and even if he did, he wouldn’t care. It was the best of a horrible, horrible situation. One entirely created by her hand. Beelzebub offered her no comfort during this time. Not because he couldn’t, but because the moment he’d tried, she’d shrieked and leapt away from him. She didn’t want comfort. She didn’t deserve it. This was all her fault.

For hours, she had thrown herself at the ground and grieved for the Lord her young son might have become. She wailed and slammed her hands against the ground, screaming in anguish as her son never would. But the hour grew late and though still distraught, she realised Avis would be worried about her. Perhaps even worried enough to come looking. Staring at her dirt-covered gloves, she slowly curled her hands into fists and pressed them into her eyes. She had no desire for Avis to see her like this. How could she explain her grief over a son they didn’t share?

The thought of Avis and Beelzebub fighting was enough to draw her out of her anguish. She closed her eyes against her fingers and cast a stimulation wave to smooth out all the puffiness in her face and the red blotches that came from her tears. The ringlets of dark hair that had fallen loose during her grief folded back up into her bun and the rose repositioned itself in the middle. Her makeup and her uniform became flawless. There, she thought to herself as she lowered her hands and breathed out slowly. If Avis saw me now, he would never know anything had transpired.

Rising to her feet, she dusted her gloves against her thighs, more to end the subject than to rid herself of the dirt particles that didn’t exist. Then she turned towards the opening that led back into the family levels, with every intention of returning to her husband. Her new life awaited her.

However, Beelzebub stood in her way. His wings were flared to cover the entirety of the cavern opening and he looked at her with a combination of regret and determination. “Where are you planning on going, Milady?” he asked.

Clarise saw no harm in telling him. “Avis will be looking for me. I must return …” Her words broke off as he pressed his lips together and slowly shook his horned head at her. A denial? For something as simple as going back to her apartment? Clarise’s hands instinctively found her hips and she arched her eyebrow sharply at him. “Excuse me?”

“It would be better if you remained here for a little while longer, Milady.” He looked above her head to draw her attention upwards, “The changing of the lights should be beginning soon. Perhaps you could distract yourself as you so often do with them …”

Clarise didn’t rise to the bait. Instead, she stared at him, dumbfounded. Why in the realms would he …?

… and then she realised.

She’d been away from Avis for hours! Hours, where she hadn’t been fulfilling her duties as his wife, protecting him from all who hated him. If Beelzebub was the one keeping her sequestered, it was because her father had made it so. She was no match for her father and would never claim to be, but the defence of her husband was the one time she would willingly try anyway.

But she hadn’t been protecting him, and as a result, Avis had been left to her father’s whims for hours. Her husband didn’t even need to be taken back to the Nine Levels of Hell to be tortured. It could be done in the comfort of her own room.

Realising the calamity of her selfishness, Clarise lifted her hand with every intention of calling for her husband through a blood-link. If she could get back to him quickly enough, she might be able to avert the worst of it.

Beelzebub vanished and materialised behind her. Two enormous hands caught her by the wrists before she could call Avis’ name and folded her arms across her stomach to hold them still. The other two went around her waist and lifted her off the ground, pinning her against his chest. Another two sprang from nowhere to restrain her legs at the knee. “Shhhhh,” her former lover crooned above her head. “You will be fine, Milady.”

It took Clarise a moment to realise what he’d done. After uttering a gasp of shock, she surged against him.

“Please, Milady, do not fight me,” he pleaded, and in that instant Clarise knew how their young son must have felt hours earlier. The sensation of being trapped was probably the last emotion that delightful little boy would ever have. Clarise shook her head as the sting of a sedative was pushed against her skin near the elbows and immediately shifted her flesh to block it. Not the time for distraction, she chastised herself.

Beelzebub’s grip tightened. “You will not win this, Milady. None may disturb them.”

Outraged by his actions, Clarise dropped most of her mass and shifted into mist to escape him, but he followed her—faster than she could imagine—creating a box that surrounded her essence.

“Desist, Milady,” the dark walls of her prison insisted as she threw herself from one side to the other with the little matter she maintained. “Your efforts are futile, and you will only hurt yourself if you continue. I have your room surrounded by no less than twelve Highborn Hellion Guards standing shoulder to shoulder with orders not to let anything past. It took half that number to destroy a realm in under a day. You will never get through them.”

I will NOT be held like this! she thought and went for the actual matter that his essence had claimed to create the box. Will against will, Clarise’s Highborn status gave her right of way and she tore his matter from him, absorbing it into herself. In doing so, she reformed into her natural demonic shape. However, Beelzebub’s speed had already enabled him to claim more from elsewhere.

“How dare you!” she shouted, as he instantly filled the doorway again, no longer seeing him as her former lover or even a friend—just someone who stood between her and her beloved husband.

Beelzebub must have sensed the change in her, for he widened the gap between his feet and unfurled his wings. Neither was necessary for one with his speed and she suspected it was done merely to make her heed his warning. “It does not have to be this way, Milady,” he said, still trying to appeal to her sense of Highborn Hellion honour.

“Your loyalty was always to my father.”

“Always,” he agreed, without hesitation. “I cannot permit you to contact your husband, Milady, and I will stop you at every turn, should you try.” He lifted his eyes away from her, practically willing her to follow his line of sight to the explosions of colour that had commenced overhead. “I doubt it will be much longer anyway. So, perhaps if you were to calm yourself …”

“You knew this was happening all along.” She threw the accusation at him like a dagger, refusing to yield to any suggestion he had at this point. “That was why you wanted to come with me to see Charon. Not because you are his father and concerned about his well-being, but to make sure I stayed distracted!”

Beelzebub lowered his gaze to her and folded both sets of arms in icy displeasure, causing a pang of regret to burn inside Clarise’s broken heart. “You are being both emotional and unreasonable, Milady,” he said with a slow headshake, as if speaking to a child. “Both attributes are beneath you.”

His speed would stop her at every turn. If she tried to get past him or contact Avis, he would stop her, just as he claimed. The dance between them would go on forever, with her being the only loser. He would capture her, she would steal his mass to escape, and he would regain more to start the process all over again. All he had to do was keep her in the gardens, and by proxy, he would win.

Barely able to stand the mounting frustration, Clarise swung away from him. Thankfully, he didn’t reappear in front of her again. She looked down at her demonic form, and in a rage-filled fit of disgust, she abandoned it for her Mystallian one. Her gloved hands knotted into tight fists of resentment. “Do. NOT. Touch. Me,” she warned, when she felt him approach her from behind.

“If that is your wish.”

“What I wish,” she snarled, whirling on one heel to face him again. He stiffened in surprise at her ferocity. “… is to return to my husband and ensure for my own peace of mind that he is in precisely the same state of health he was in when I left him this morning!”

“And what I wish is that we did not have to be at this juncture,” he replied coolly. “Yet here we are. But just so that you know, your father did not specifically order me to confine you to these gardens. That was my doing. Just as I have kept the gardens clear to permit you time to grieve over Charon, I am still keeping them clear so that only I will witness your current loss of control. Do not ever accuse me of not caring for you.”

His contradictory rationale infuriated her. “So, you think you are doing this for me?”

“I know I am,” he replied, in a matter of fact way. “You are one of the most refined of all the Highborn ladies and this time tomorrow I have no doubt you will be horrified by your conduct with me. If I were to step aside and permit you to rush to Avis’ side, you would only get as far as my wall of Highborn Hellion Guards. In that event, the embarrassment you will cause yourself if you create a scene therein will haunt you forever. I cannot allow that.”

“So, I am a prisoner instead?”

“For your own good,” he insisted.

In the past, Clarise would have yielded to his wisdom. Accepted that he meant well and tried to put the unfairness of the situation behind them for the good of the whole. Part of her still wanted to. There was no trickery in his words. None whatsoever. He completely believed he was acting in her best interest.

But something else bubbled up inside her that made her want to stamp her foot, or scream, or both. She slid her fisted hands underneath her cloak, grinding her teeth until her jaw ached. “I will never forgive you for this,” she declared, fighting the tears that welled in her eyes.

Although it was only a few harmless words, Beelzebub looked more wounded than if she had used a blade. “To preserve your sanctity, I will bear that mantle if I must, Milady.”

Clarise closed her eyes and turned away from him. A million cutting retorts occurred to her and any one of them would have added to his misery; but what would be the point? He’d still not let her pass and verbally destroying him for no other reason than self-gratification felt wrong.

But now more than ever, she knew she’d made the right choice between the men in her life. Avis would never do this to her. Not for any reason. Their beginnings may have been … difficult, but he called her his queen now. His life. He would defend her to the end if he had to—but only if that was what she wanted.

She promised herself this would be the last time she’d tolerate decisions being made about her without her input by people who thought they were acting in her best interest. If that made her Mystallian, then that was a mantle she would have to bear as well.

​

CHAPTER TWENTY

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